To Defy Fate

by Lithele

An FF7 AU that branches off quite a bit before the game starts.

Warnings/notes:

I write very slowly or not at all!! If you hate waiting for more story it would be best not to start reading this, though I suppose this chapter is somewhat self-contained. Also, I didn't run this past a beta, so please feel free to point out mistakes to me! I suck at editing myself.

This is an FF7 AU that branches off long before the game starts. The rest of the story will most likely not be half as angsty as the prologue. As of now, the only couples I have planned are Zack/Aerith and Vincent/Lucrecia, but couples are not the focus of this story.

Rated PG-13 for Cid's future swearing I guess?

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Chapter 1

Vincent woke to a hollow silence—there was no clinical, steady whirring of machines that he had long grown accustomed to, no voices or scrawling of pens on paper, not even the tiny squeaks of bats or rodents. The accompanying darkness was nothing new, but that silence, almost alive, disoriented him so that it took some time to gather and arrange his thoughts into some semblance of order, to remember himself.

When he did, the scream wrenched from his throat shattered the dead, stale air, life frightened back into the darkness as if responding to the shriek of a beast gone mad.

Failure. He remembered this first. Failure to protect the woman he loved, failure to protect her happiness, her well-being, even her unborn son, from the machinations of a madman. He, Vincent Valentine, Turk and one of the best shots in Shinra, had been defeated, subdued and humiliated by Hojo, just a scientist, and not a very impressive one at that, unless one counted his impressive lack of ethics or empathy. Hojo, who cared only for his twisted objectives and experiments, and the prestige gained with them. That was what he had lost to. Shameful.

The shame, too, was a sharp and visceral. Shame not only for his failure… Lucrecia. He was so sorry. But shame for his lost humanity. Vincent could feel it, lurking within him—the changes Hojo and wrought on him, the foulness that the lank-haired scientist had carved into his skin, bones and mind, ready to burst from him at any time. He vaguely recalled those times when the beast within had gotten the better of him. When Hojo's experiments had finally succeeded, Vincent in his rage had lashed out at his captor, only to see talons and discolored and leathery skin where his hand was supposed to be. Hojo's elated cackle was etched deeply and indelibly into Vincent's memory.

The desire to hide from his past failures and what he had become was the only emotion that seemed to bring him any relief. Any thoughts of the past only led to recollections of failure being driven home, stabbing into his gut, and any thoughts of the future equally painful despair. How could he live with what he had become? Even now he could feel his emotional turmoil drawing the dark coiled serpent of his inner beast to the surface. He had no future, and his past was best forgotten. Was it not best to just go back to sleep, where there was some hope for peace? Dreams, or rather nightmares, were unforgiving, but facing reality was far worse.

But even the thoughts of escaping into dreams did not bring real comfort, because of the single image that kept returning to the forefront of his mind—Lucrecia's face, the last time he had seen her. Defeated, despairing, and lost. He had thought that Lucrecia would be happy with Hojo, and the son she had had by him, and so he had blessed their union, happy that she was happy even if her happiness was not delivered to her by Vincent himself. But there was the rub. She was not happy. No matter how much thoughts of escape tempted him, that image returned to him to cause him pain, no matter how hard he tried to bury it, that horrible image of her—because he hadn't stopped Hojo. Was she even still alive? He wouldn't put it past Hojo to dispose of her after getting what he wanted—a perfect little Ancient child of his own blood. Or had she been overcome by horror at what she had become? What about her son? Vincent shuddered to think of an infant allowed near Hojo.

He found that he needed to know, more than he wanted to hide from his own pain. Was she happy? Was she even alive? He needed to see her face. It was his own selfish desire to know, he realized. He doubted she would welcome the presence of someone who had failed her so completely as he had, but he needed to see her face again before he had any chance of peace. See her face creased upward in a smile, instead of the horrible expression that was the only one he could now remember. If he could do that, perhaps he could atone for all the ways that he had failed her.

He was alone here, he now realized, as purpose seemed to clear his mind, remove distracting thought—at least for now. The lab was empty and dead, left completely unattended. He found he did not particularly care why Hojo had appeared to abandon it. All he cared about was that it made it very easy for him to leave. It was simple to free himself. The beast had infiltrated every inch of him. When he stepped out of the lab and into the dank tunnels beneath the mansion, he did not feel the elation he had thought he would feel at leaving when he had first been confined here. How long ago? He had lost his sense of the passage of time. What had Lucrecia been doing? Was she still with Hojo? Was her son alive? How old was her son now?

The planks that spiraled up the tower leading out of Hojo's Nibelheim lab were old and tended only by time and dust, and bats had taken up residence in the eaves of the tower's sloped roof. Several of the small animals dived at him, screeching and hungry, but they left him alone after he crushed one of them with his metal claw, the most visible sign of his shame and inhumanity. He let it tumble out of his hand, dispassionately, watched it fall to the dirt at the bottom of the tower, obscured in darkness. A barely audible thump indicated the tiny corpse's meeting with the ground. He couldn't bring himself to feel anything for the dead beast, so small it didn't even fill the palms of his new hand, so fragile its bones had snapped with a twitch of his talon-like fingers.

He explored the mansion, hoping for some sign of Lucrecia or Hojo or one of the other lab attendants, or perhaps even little Sephiroth, but seeing nothing more telling than that the rooms had been kept free of dust and the plants in the greenhouse were being watered. Probably some brave soul from the town had been hired to keep the mansion clean.

He did see his reflection in a mirror as he searched the mansion, and he regarded himself with as little emotion as possible, afraid that any emotional fluctuation would make him lose control of his volatile body, make him transform into the beast. His hair was longer, his eyes reddish, and his arm a shiny brass, but beyond that, he was surprised to note that he didn't look all that different than he had before, no matter how different he felt on the inside. A sudden perverse urge drove him to fetch a red cloak he had seen in his search of the house. He wrapped it around himself and returned to the mirror. He regarded his new reflection with a grim, humorless smile. The figure he now saw was much more appropriate—he looked frightening and a little demonic in the blood-red frame. He approved. Now his outward appearance better suited his inner self. Better for those he met to be wary of him, for there was much to be wary of. He didn't know how well he could control what Hojo had turned him into. Better to proclaim himself a wolf than hide in the skin of a sheep.

The mansion told him nothing. He found himself forced to leave the building, to gain what information he could from those dwelling in the town. He found himself glad it was twilight. The cloak of night felt far more secure and safe, and he didn't know that he could face the sun after so long.

The first to see him was a child—she ran away, screaming. Vincent nodded. An appropriate reaction. Others that saw him regarded him with wary eyes, more than they would give a normal stranger, perhaps, but not as much as Vincent had been expecting. Well, he had put as much warning as he could into his appearance—he could not force them to heed the warning. He made for the bar. His time as a Turk had shown him time and time again that a bar was the best place to gather information, where tongues were loosened by cheap brew, and gossips hovered like flies to disperse and sponge up their coveted news.

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Four years had passed. Four years he'd been in that basement. Four years he'd been Hojo's plaything. Four years since Lucrecia's son had been born, and since Vincent had last seen the woman he loved.

Four years since Lucrecia had, apparently, disappeared from Nibelheim's inn, leaving all her belongings behind—since Hojo had left with Lucrecia's infant son, without even bothering to search for his missing lover.

Anything could have happened to her in four years.

He bought another round for the drunken man who had provided him with much of his information. He was amused that he was buying it with Hojo's money, found in his search of the mansion. But now, he was left with few choices. He knew that Lucrecia had parted ways with Hojo and her son four years ago. Whether she had returned to them was not known, and was the first possibility he must investigate.

He left Nibelheim at once, feeling no desire to find a bed for the night with this new desire in place of the need to sleep—to find out what had happened to Lucrecia. His best bet was to make for the nearest Turk base of operations and make use of the resources and information therein. The first one he arrived at, in the cliffs of Cosmo Canyon, was empty and abandoned, cleared of its equipment and personnel, its resources redirected elsewhere. Apparently Cosmo Canyon's denizens were not seen as a possible threat at this time and no longer required surveillance. He moved on, sleeping rarely and often by day, and soon came to the base at Gongaga. This one was manned, so he planned his infiltration carefully. It was disappointingly easy—but then, the Turks didn't often have to worry about protecting against their own, let alone an experienced Turk such as Vincent, who had lasted far longer in the Turks than many of his contemporaries and knew their practices like the back of his hand. His normal hand, he amended.

When he tried, for kicks, to log onto the system under his own name, he was grimly amused when it returned the message, "Username invalid. Error: user dead. Please try again." Well, that was true enough. Vincent Valentine of the Turks was certainly dead. What was he now? Vincent Valentine of the…dead? The thought was oddly funny.

Accessing the information he wanted took a little doing, but he soon found Lucrecia's file.

"Missing" was scrawled in large block letters across the screen. "Signs of mental imbalance. If spotted, apprehend and return to HQ. Not considered dangerous, but knows classified information. Code Orange."

She hadn't returned to Shinra then, and she was well enough hidden to have avoided the all-seeing eyes and invisible fingers of the Turks. He read further to see that the last time she had been spotted was in Corel, six months ago. She was most likely still on this continent. She was described by eyewitnesses as looking listless and gaunt and not entirely aware of her surroundings.

Though he felt a good deal of worry for her and her apparent ill health, he found himself happy that she had not returned to Hojo, the first time he had felt the emotion for a long time. It was a strange feeling, like putting on clothes that no longer fit.

In any case, this new information settled it. He would head for Corel next. Before he left, he also checked Sephiroth's file, but all information on him was behind so many levels of restricted access that he could discover no more than that the boy was alive.

Well, there wasn't much he could do about that at this point. At least he had a lead on Lucrecia.

He traveled to Corel, and didn't manage to learn much from the miners until he talked to two young boys, perhaps 9 or 10 years old. They seemed a little in awe of him. Vincent wondered what he looked like by this point, after all his traveling, almost constantly outdoors, even sleeping far away from where any human might be to avoid the possibility of hurting anyone. He only approached human settlements to ask about Lucrecia or, occasionally, to buy supplies.

"Long, dark brown hair, right? Yeah, she was here. Didn't stay long," the darker skinned boy said. "She didn't seem right in the head, if you don't mind me sayin' so." The other one ribbed his companion sharply. The dark-skinned boy grunted. "It's true, Dyne!"

Vincent inclined his head. "It's all right. Have you any idea where she was going? Or what she intended to do?"

The two boys shook their heads. "Sorry man. She didn't do more than ask for some water and stare into space. One day she was just poof! Gone."

Vincent nodded, damping down on his disappointment. Of course it couldn't be this easy to find her.

As he left, he heard one of the boys whisper to the other, "Hey Barrett! You think maybe he's a vampire?"

"No way!! He's gotta be a werewolf!"

They sounded far too excited about it, he thought in what was almost indignation. Shouldn't they be scared of him?

He found no more leads in Corel, to his utter disappointment. Unfortunately, that left him discovering nothing from this trip that he hadn't already known. He traveled to Costa Del Sol next—perhaps she had left the continent on one of the ferries, to pursue her son. But there was no sign she had ever been there. He traveled to all of the settlements on the western continent searching for some sign of her, knowing that the trail had most likely long gone cold, that she had a high chance of already being dead, considering the state the boys Barrett and Dyne had described her as being in. But he didn't even consider stopping his search. At some point, his search for her had become the entire point of his existence, his sole purpose and goal. And his atonement for his failure, this search that may well prove fruitless, stretch on until he died. He didn't flinch from the thought—if his price for failure was to search for her until his heart failed his body, and perhaps even beyond, then so be it. He would search every nook and cranny in the world for her if need be. This was his purgatory.

Locales and people blurred together in his memory. Time lost meaning. He was certain he now looked like the phantom on the outside that he felt like within, who could not rest until his task was complete. Though there was one encounter that he remembered, that stuck out clearly in his memory, elevated above all others in its meaning to him—his meeting with Professor Gast at Cosmo Canyon.

Gast had recognized him, against all odds. "You," the scientist had said, his face turning white. "The Turk…with Hojo and Lucrecia. You're still alive?"

"In a sense," Vincent had responded.

"You…how much do you know about it??" the scientist had demanded of Vincent, unconsciously clutching at Vincent's shirt, his eyes haunted and sunken low in Gast's face. It had occurred to Vincent that here was a man who may feel as guilty about that whole sordid affair as Vincent himself did. He hadn't known the half of it.

Gast had poured out the entire story to Vincent, with the desperation of a man grasping after a lifeline. Vincent knew most of it—Gast's discovery of the purported corpse of an Ancient, the inception of the Jenova Project, the recruitment of such scientists as Hojo and Lucrecia to the study. And of course, Hojo's decision to perform his own branch of study involving human test subjects, which Vincent had protested and Gast, to the scientist's present horror, had not given more than a token protest to, due to Lucrecia's willingness to be the subject of the study and his own deplorable curiosity.

But the revelation that Gast had then delivered to him had struck Vincent dumb—Jenova was no Ancient at all. Worse, Jenova was what Gast had described as the "calamity from the sky", an alien being that had caused great damage and disaster to the planet. Jenova was not only not an Ancient, she had decimated their race, and had caused near irreparable damage to the planet. And with the Jenova Project, they had tried to bring that calamity back.

They had sat in stricken silence at Cosmo Canyon's hallowed fire after that, the fire an angry finger of the planet, admonishing them for their crimes against it. The enormity of their failure sat gaping wide between the two men, a black pit of their past, staring back at them in accusation with the faces of not only Lucrecia and her son, the victims in the present, but the faces of the planet itself, which they had betrayed in their arrogance and stupidity. It was an unbearable weight.

Vincent had been the one to finally break the silence.

"We both have sinned," Vincent had said, in a husky voice, degraded by misuse. "In ignorance and in weakness. There is no one involved in this affair that does not deserve blame, save Lucrecia's son."

"I don't know what will become of the boy," Gast had said wearily. "He was not a normal child from the beginning, and I let Hojo have too much influence on him. To think I…" Gast trailed off, resting his head in his hands. "Lucrecia, too. I hope she's alive…"

"I am searching for her now," Vincent had told him. "I do not know if she still lives, and I do not know what effect the treatment had on her. But if she lives, I will find her," he had said, with absolute conviction.

Gast had nodded, relaxing the tiniest bit, as if one worry had been lifted from him. "I am researching this 'calamity from the skies'," Gast had said, with a little more aplomb. "I have heard that the Northern Crater carries a connection to it."

"Then we both have our tasks. And Lucrecia's son…Sephiroth. Is he well?"

"As healthy a child as I've ever seen, and well-behaved," Gast had said, with a little bit of what Vincent interpreted as paternal pride. "But too old for his age. I don't know if it's because of his upbringing or his…heritage."

"Is Shinra treating him well?"

"He's valuable to them, so yes. Exceedingly well. They dote on him, in fact. Shinra seems intent on grooming him to be the perfect military leader, and he has all the intelligence, physical ability, and charisma that he needs to do it. And considering how much all the female scientists in my lab adore him," he said with a little smile, "I'd say that he doesn't lack for attention, at the least, though you couldn't tell from his reaction to it. He seems to suffer their attention more than anything else. He's a very mature child, very composed. He's grown up well, I'd say. A true prodigy. Although…" Gast bit his lip. "You won't like hearing this, I expect. Another thing I shouldn't have allowed to happen…"

"I'm not in the position to be approving or disapproving of your actions, professor. Please continue."

"We lied to him. We told him his mother was dead, and that her name was Jenova," Gast had said flatly. "He doesn't even know Lucrecia exists. We didn't tell him who his father was either, though Sephiroth is a smart boy and may very well have already figured it out—not that Hojo acts like a father in any conventional sense." The last had been said with disgust.

"I can imagine." Vincent could as easily imagine Hojo acting as a father as he could imagine President Shinra playing with a chocobo chick.

"We essentially left the boy parentless, Valentine," Gast had continued, desperately. "He grew up in a lab to be a soldier. I know I say he seems to have turned out well enough, and as far as I can see it's true. Most of my colleagues and I did our best to raise him, but our primary role is to serve as researchers, not parents. No child deserves the life he has, and I don't know how deeply it affects him now. I shouldn't have allowed the lie about his mother—but I thought it best at the time. I thought it best not to tell him that his mother had gone mad and left him as an infant. How harsh it sounds! But if she's alive…he has a mother out there. A real mother, not cells cultured from a corpse. We had no right to hide it from him. He's strong enough to have accepted the truth."

"When I find Lucrecia, I will make sure they are reunited," Vincent had promised. "No child should be deprived of his mother if it can be helped, nor a mother her child."

They had parted with their respective tasks, and the agreement to keep an eye on Sephiroth as they could. Vincent found himself remembering that meeting whenever he felt weary, and drawing determination from it. There was another that felt his burden and worked to atone for it. Someone who knew of and understood his sins, and his efforts to absolve himself of them. It was an odd sort of brotherhood.

He had long ago combed through the western continent, and had moved on to the other land masses of the world. He was crossing the western continent once more on the way to Midgar continent, after completing an exhaustive search of Wutai, a place Lucrecia had always had a fascination with. As he was passing the waterfall at the great central lake in the middle of the continent, he had paused at edge of the cliff, to stare down over the hundreds, thousands of gallons of churning white water pouring over the edge every second, crashing headlong and ceaselessly into the rocks below, faded to a faint splotch of gray in the distance and mist.

Lucrecia. It reminded him of her. She had loved water—rivers, the ocean, rain, waterfalls. The water was so clean and pure, she would say. It felt like it washed away all thoughts, all fears, all worries and dreads, carried of in its clear embrace. Whenever she was stressed or unhappy, she would read by a fountain, or if it was raining, she pulled an armchair to a window and watched the rain come down from gray skies, watery trails chasing each other down glass panes. She would try to convince everyone that they simply must have a company trip to the beach—Costa Del Sol was always lovely!—but really, a simple picnic by the Kalm River was more than enough for her. He brought a hand to his mouth as he realized he was smiling, remembering these times from when Lucrecia had been happy, and he had been happy, surprised that he still could.

The woman he loved would have adored this place.

And looking down at the colossus of water that shameless announced its majesty with a deafening, triumphant roar, he knew where he might find her.

Searching the waterfall took some time, but he soon stumbled upon a narrow passage in the rocks some ways down the cliff. Scrambling past the slippery stone, he found himself in a sort of grotto behind the waterfall, peering out into the world and at the dimmed sun through a curtain of water.

It was here, after an interminable span of time in which his entire life had been this search, that he found her.

She was a shadow of the woman he had known. Her long hair was matted and scraggly, annealed to her head, back and shoulders like a monk's cowl. She was thin and wasted, the rags of her clothes, once impeccably clean and cheerfully colored, now darkened to a dirty, solemn gray. She was shoeless, and her shoulders were slumped and defeated. There was nothing of the vivacious woman who had once teased Professor Gast to near apoplexy.

When she slowly turned to look at him, finally realizing he was there, he was stricken to notice that her eyes, too, were not as he knew. Once a sparkling, soft green, they were now a piercing and fever-bright, so bright they glowed, casting their immediate surroundings into their sharp blue-green light and drawing shadowy lines in the creases and planes of her tired face.

She stared at him blankly, her mouth opening and closing fruitlessly to produce some sound. "V…Vin…" she finally managed, her voice a painful, phlegmy croak. "Vin…"

Vincent stepped towards her. "Lucrecia," he said softly, not trusting his own voice. "I've found you…at long last."

She stared at him, looking torn, poised as if to run, but looking as if she could not bring herself to do so—maybe she didn't have the strength to. "Vin…cent," she finally managed to get out, through a harsh cough. "How…did you…" Then she seemed to take a good look at him, and her eyes widened. "What happened to you?" she demanded, her voice loosened by startlement and concern. She rushed to him, reaching out to him hesitantly, her touch at his face the lightest of touches, as soft and insubstantial as the feet and wings of a butterfly. His own hand extending towards her was equally hesitant, and they spent a long moment staring at each other unblinking, their arms stretched out between them.

"…was…Hojo, wasn't it," Lucrecia finally said, looking resigned. "You're different. I can tell," she said vaguely.

Vincent saw no point in lying. "Yes…but it was no more than he did to you."

She shook her head vigorously. "My choice…but I know, that he hated you…"

Vincent grabbed her shoulders as she began to shrink away from him. "It's past, and there's nothing to be done about it. You're the one I worry about. Have you been all there all this time?"

"Most of it," she said a little dreamily. "Since I left. I've been waiting…to die, but…I can't Vincent. I can't." She caught his gaze with her frantic, wild, electric blue eyes. "I can't die. She won't let me. I feel her presence all the time, drawing me toward her. That's part of why I hid here. So close to the Planet, her voice is softer. I feel more like I used to feel…"

"Her?" Vincent asked, suspecting even as he asked what the answer would be, dreading to hear her answer.

"Jenova," Lucrecia said in a hoarse whisper, barely audible over the roar of the water. "She's alive, in a way…and I'm a part of her now."

There was silence between them as Vincent struggled for something to say, to reassure perhaps. But he could think of nothing that could be of aid to her. She stared down at her feet, her fists clenched so tightly that her nails drew blood from her palms. Even as Vincent watched the tiny wounds healed.

"Her call," Lucrecia whispered, more to herself than him at this point. "I know…if I follow it, I will become something awful. Jenova…wants to destroy. Drain the life from this planet. I always thought that Ancients were supposed to be so good and wonderful, close to the planet, but Jenova…I know, she doesn't care about the planet or anything on it. She's only thinking of herself."

"Jenova is not an Ancient, Lucrecia," Vincent said, finally finding something he could say, even if it wasn't particularly reassuring. "I met Gast not long ago…he discovered this, recently. She's some sort of alien being, a parasite that feeds on worlds. She's part of the reason the Ancients were wiped out."

Lucrecia blinked, seeming hard-pressed to process this revelation. "Not an Ancient…" she repeated, mulling over it. "Gast…we…were wrong?" She paled. "Then what we injected in me…what I left to Sephiroth…this alien? Jenova?"

This time, she fell to her knees, staring sightlessly. "Sephiroth…" she whispered. "I've failed you worse than I thought. My son…I'm so, so sorry…"

When she buried her head in her hands, Vincent did not feel any hesitation when he dropped to his knees and folded her in his arms. He doubted he would have felt it so easy to touch her, as he had touched no other person in years, if he hadn't felt a deep kinship for Lucrecia right then. Regret was a feeling he knew deeply.

"Your son is doing well, according to Gast," Vincent told her gently. "He's healthy, strong, and very intelligent. He is being treated well." He decided now may not be the best time to tell her that her son didn't know she was his mother.

She relaxed, a little. "He's well…that's good. But…I wonder, if he feels the call like I do? What is it like for him? Jenova is a part of his very genetic material. I wonder…what he's feeling. If he's happy there, with Hojo. At least he has one parent…"

Vincent couldn't hide a grimace at that. He hoped Lucrecia would miss it, in the strange state of mind she was in, but on the contrary, she seemed hyper-perceptive. She frowned at him, narrowing her eyes in consideration. Vincent breathed a mental sigh of relief when her expression softened, another as she misinterpreted his discomfort. "I'm sorry, Vincent, I shouldn't mention that man around you. It's because you were defending me that all this happened to you, even though I was doing my best to be hard to defend." She laughed self-deprecatingly. "I'm so sorry. Hojo has changed so much. I should have seen it sooner… As it is, what I did to Sephiroth is as much my fault as Hojo's." She laid her head into one hand, rubbed her eyes. As much as Vincent wanted to deny what she said, he knew it would be a lie, and she would know it too. "How can I have been so stupid," she mused. "My son…"

"Your crime, at least, was born of love, Lucrecia," he said. "For Hojo," he added, as much as it pained him to do so. "Hojo's crime was born of something else. Greed, perhaps. Or curiosity. Ambition. But your sin was born of something noble."

He was rewarded with a small smile directed into the ground. He had been waiting so long to see that smile, no matter that it was a shadow of what it had once been—it was as if something in his chest loosened, as if time had been stopped for him up until now. He hoped to see her smile even more.

"Love," she said softly. Bittersweet. "I used to love him. For so long, that I forgot what I had loved him for to begin with. I didn't even notice that he no longer was what I had loved, until it was too late."

She folded her legs under herself until she was sitting in a graceless sprawl on the ground. "When we were young, I had such a crush on him. I thought he was the most motivated, intelligent, fascinating boy in the world. Absolutely brilliant. I would always congratulate myself on how great I was for not being like the other shallow, superficial girls, who had crushes on the handsome ones, and had a new destined love every week." She laughed the self-deprecating laugh again. "I guess it would have served me better to be shallow, in the end."

Vincent had nothing he could say to that.

Then Vincent was thrown out of his depth when Lucrecia suddenly grasped both his hands in hers, metal and flesh indiscriminately. "Thank you, Vincent," she said feverishly. "You didn't have to listen to me. You don't owe me a thing. In fact, I'm the one that owes you a debt, for what happened to you for protecting me." Her eyes flickered, as if something had occurred to her. "Not only that, but you sought me out all the way here, as well. I don't deserve it, Vincent," she said, her grip tightening on his hands, thought he could only feel it on his right side. "I don't deserve your love. You shouldn't be doing this for me."

Vincent shook his head. "I'm the one that failed you, after claiming I loved you. This is only my atonement for that. I am the undeserving one."

He was mollified by a little giggle. "You never change," she said with a faint smile. "Always so dutiful, and serious…honorable…"

A pause. And then, "I'm so sorry for everything, Vincent," she said abruptly, looking down again. "I'm such a fool."

She lapsed into silence, staring at the ground. Vincent frowned at that, for the loss of her smile, for the cessation of her talkative mood. He felt an ominous dread, that if he let the silence reign, if he let this connection die, he would lose her permanently this time, to stagnancy and guilt. He acted.

"Lucrecia," he said firmly, and she looked up at him, startled out of her reverie. "Please, come with me, away from here. You won't find peace until you see that your son is all right. That's what worries you the most, isn't it? Your biggest regret." He closed his hands around hers. "Let's go to Midgar to see him."

She tore her hands from his and backed away. He let her, seeing her wild, panicked eyes, which were at the same time filled with intense longing.

"I can't, Vincent," she said, a little shrilly. "I can't. I can't face him. I don't deserve to be called his mother. I must have been mad—I thought I was so noble, sacrificing myself for science, and sure enough, I'm tasting the results of that decision now. But Sephiroth is the one who was the true sacrifice, and through no choice of his own. He's already suffered enough. He doesn't need a wretch of a mother like me."

He probably wouldn't be able to convince her that her son would want to see her, especially since he'd never really met the boy and had no clue if Sephiroth really would want to see her or not. Especially if he had never known that Lucrecia was his real mother.

"At least come to see him, even if you can't face him," he said gently. "At least you'll be able to see that he's doing well."

She shook her head vigorously in response. "No…what if he sees me? And, if I leave here, I might be too weak to keep Jenova from affecting my mind…and…"

As she continued to make excuses for herself, Vincent revised his plans. She wasn't ready yet. She couldn't move on. Gast atoned through research, so that he might find ways to correct the mistakes he had made, Vincent by watching over the one he had failed. Lucrecia, it seemed, atoned through asceticism and the complete denial to herself of her own desires, thinking she didn't deserve them. He could see her yearning—she wanted to be with her son. She had never had the chance to hold him, from what Vincent could remember—she had been too weakened by the Jenova injections by that point. She wanted to be with her son, but didn't think she deserved it, and Vincent doubted she would until she felt like she had redeemed herself.

He had promised to reunite mother and son though, and he would, no matter how long it took.

"Then I will have to go alone, this time," he said. "I will see to it that he is happy. And if I can, I'll bring him to you." He added, with a touch of inspiration, "If he's suffering, Lucrecia, I think you may be the only one in the world who would understand well enough to help him."

She didn't say anything, but by her stilled movements and soft, deep intake of breath, he knew she had heard.

In that case, he saw no reason to linger. Vincent was sure she needed time to think. "I will take my leave then," he said with an inclination of his head. "I will return, so please wait for me."

He turned to leave, and was more happy than he would admit to when he heard a frantic "Wait!" echoing behind him. She ran up to him, holding a long rifle cradled between her arms and torso.

"Take this, Vincent. I noticed you don't have a gun, anymore, and I think it would be good for you to have," she said in a rushed manner, fidgeting a little after he had taken it. "I have no use for it, but I'm sure it will be of use to you. Most of the materia are mastered. You know how to use materia right? Of course you do… There's a Restore of course, and a Heal. A Time. Magic materia." She seemed to realize she was babbling. "Please be safe, Vincent."

He took it, a little dumbfounded, noticed the many slots for materia in it, many of which were filled. He ran his hand along the long barrel of the gun, a little awed. It was the best weapon he'd ever seen, and with all the mastered materia, a princely gift. "Thank you, Lucrecia. I will be."

She watched him leave with what Vincent liked to think was hope in her eyes. His step was lighter than he could ever remember it being.

--------------------

Midgar had changed a lot since his childhood. Mako energy was a recent innovation, and a life-changing one. Electricity from Lightning materia had been the main source of energy up until then, as well as fossil fuels, though oil was expensive and rare. The development of Mako energy for widespread consumption had caused a revolution in the way people lived their daily lives, due to Mako's availability and power.

When he was young, he had been in awe of the innovations that Shinra had delivered to them, seeming to come up with something new and exciting every day. It had been a festive, exuberant atmosphere, full of limitless possibilities and belief in the future—it was his youthful beliefs and idealism that had led him to join Shinra. Midgar then had been a city fresh and vigorous, in the spring of its youth. Now he looked at Midgar and saw a city gray and dirty, drained of life, slums and Plate alike. The inhabitants looked tired and weighed down by invisible burdens, and all the colors were dim and cheerless. Vincent wondered if his new view of the city was due more to an actual change on the city's part, or his admittedly more dark and cynical view of the world, especially anything having to do with Shinra. He finally decided it was most likely a combination of the two.

Infiltrating Shinra Tower was laughably easy, especially for Vincent, aided by inside knowledge and by the physical "gifts" that Hojo had left him. He couldn't precisely fly, at least in his human form, but he didn't really need to.

The research facility was a good bit tougher to get into, but as he remembered, many employees weren't particularly vigilant, and left their access cards in the gym lockers. The Shinra building was the safest in the world, after all, and who would have ill intention for Shinra anyway? Besides the occasional planet-worshipping terrorist bent on vengeance and Vincent, of course.

Sephiroth was his objective, but he found it impossible to pass by the locked rooms and tanks in which Hojo kept his "specimens" without doing something about it. It was during the course of his search that he came face-to-face with the man who had conceived of Vincent's nightmare.

Hojo was unchanged. His greasy hair still hung limply from his head, untended and forgotten save an elastic band that gathered loose strands back from his sallow, bony face, dominated by gaunt cheeks and fervent eyes behind thick glasses. The scientist was, as always, hunched over in his lab coat, making him look more twisted and inhuman than old, like some demon or imp was crouched in front of Vincent. The scientist was intent on a computer terminal, apparently unaware of Vincent's presence. Vincent told himself firmly that it would be best to leave without letting Hojo know he was there, to not stir up trouble. A fine sentiment, if Hojo hadn't suddenly turned to catch Vincent in his direct, mad gaze, a gaze that quickly transmuted into one of sick glee, most disturbing because of the familiar enthusiasm. Vincent was chagrined to realize he was growling deep in his throat, too low to be human—no wonder Hojo had noticed his presence. Worse, he could feel the change coming on, as it hadn't for a long time—the snake uncoiling in the pit, in response to his unvoiced anger.

It didn't help his control when Hojo laughed his horrible, grating laugh, one that remembered and associated with deep, dark, hazy nightmares, filled with sick green light and horrible pain. "The Turk! Well, what a pleasant surprise!" the scientist exclaimed with a delighted cackle. "Truly a successful experiment. I didn't think you'd actually wake up, let alone seek me out. How delightful! Do tell me how it feels, Turk… Valentine, was it?"

Vincent was bounced back midway through his lunge at the hated scientist by some invisible force shield, and he reeled back with a wordless snarl, already more monstrous-sounding than human. Hojo had the gall to tsk at him. "Temper, temper," Hojo admonished. "Wouldn't want to let a monster loose in here, would you?" A laugh. The man actually found himself funny.

Vincent bit his lip and tried to force the maelstrom back down, and was at least partially successful. No, he would not let himself be the monster Hojo had made him. He had been one of Hojo's precious human samples, but he would not give Hojo the satisfaction of seeing what had come of his destroying Vincent's life.

Hojo didn't seem particularly conscious of Vincent's struggle. In fact, he barely seemed to acknowledge Vincent's presence at all. "I haven't had nearly so much success with my subsequent experiments," he mused, seeming to address himself more than Vincent. "I wonder why? It's tragic, but fusion of disparate intelligent organisms is on such shaky theoretical ground, and appropriate subjects are so hard to come by. I can't determine why your fusion was successful while all the others weren't. I must gather more data...I have a new shipment of specimens coming, that will be useful...unfortunately, 80 of my human specimens don't survive even the initial treatment. Shame that... They don't grow on trees, you know, especially since we're not at war right now. Ah well...oh? What's this?"

Vincent had taken out Lucrecia's gun, which was now aimed unerringly at Hojo's heart. Vincent regarded the man with a calm he was surprised to realize he possessed, especially in the face of the man he hated most in the world. Hojo was truly mad, without a doubt. Even as Hojo had described his deplorable use of humans as subjects, their near-inevitable deaths, Vincent had detected no actual malice from him—only disregard, a bone-chilling apathy for his fellow human beings, replaced by a rabid desire to unveil the mysteries of the world. Here was scientific curiosity completely unchecked by empathy or morality. Even Vincent himself seemed more a vessel of scientific discovery to Hojo than a hated rival that Hojo had taken his vengeance upon. More a vessel than a person, really. Vincent had always thought of Hojo as some sadist, but in reality he was far less human than that.

Looking into Hojo's eyes, Vincent realized that Hojo was too mad to even be afraid of death.

Vincent pulled the trigger.

Force shields in the lab were meant to restrain recalcitrant test subjects from injuring the scientists, not to stop bullets, especially bullets from a gun as masterful as the one Vincent now held.

Hojo was dead long before he hit the floor.

After Vincent made absolutely sure the man was dead, he stood there for a few long moments, staring at the dead body of his personal demon, his mind crystal clear. It hadn't been an act of catharsis, really—it hadn't felt like an act of vengeance at all. It had felt more like the fulfillment of a duty—he had the same detached satisfaction he might have had if he had just finished the day's paperwork or completed a shift of acting as a bodyguard, back when he had been a Turk. A job well done. A service to all.

He left the room and didn't look back.

He took a certain pleasure in informing every one of Hojo's erstwhile specimens of their captor's untimely death as he helped them escape. Elation, relief, gratitude, grim satisfaction, disappointment that they hadn't been the one to bring the man down, even catatonia... He saw all of these reactions, in various combinations. He had those of the people that seemed most in possession of their normal faculties to organize and look after the rest of them, especially the unresponsive ones, and showed them how to get out of the tower with the least chance of detection, gave them some weapons found in the lab, and told them where they might go afterwards. That was really the best he could do for them. There were some captives that were too far gone down the path of inhumanity for Vincent to risk setting free—they acted precisely like the monsters they resembled, and would be a danger to anyone they encountered. Vincent had deliberated over it, but finally made the difficult decision to put them out of their misery. He knew if he was in their place, he would have wanted the same.

In the midst of all the rest of them, most of whom Vincent had to reluctantly admit to as resembling the stars of a carnival freak show, thanks to a certain deceased mad scientist, there was one pair that really stood out—a completely normal-looking mother and child. Vincent was disgusted by this—the girl was barely a toddler, with a chubby, cherubic face, enormous, bright eyes, and an infectious laugh. This was beyond his ability to understand. How could anyone possibly countenance subjecting a toddler, and such a good-natured toddler at that, to this nightmare? Shinra was rotten to the core.

Though later, he would wonder if she was really just a toddler.

"Oh, we know you," the little girl had told him brightly, and surprisingly intelligibly, when he tried to explain what was going on to the very out of place pair. "They said you were coming." She beamed at him.

He blinked at her. 'They' had told her this? The other prisoners perhaps? But these two had been locked in a separate from any of the others. How could they have...

"Oh, don't mind her," the woman said, with a lot more poise and dignity than Vincent would expect from someone who had been in Hojo's lab for who knows how long. "She says this sort of thing all the time."

Vincent relaxed a little. "I see. I'm afraid I don't have much experience around children. In any case, I'm here to..."

"We did know you were coming though, so no need to explain," the woman said with a gracious smile, moving to join the others with her daughter in her arms. Vincent tried not to gape after her.

"Oh!" the little girl exclaimed, peeking at him over her mother's shoulder as he followed them. "Daddy says, stop blaming yourself, it was never your fault," as if quoting someone, with her face creased in concentration. Then she giggled. "You're a silly man!" she announced, smiling at him.

Vincent stopped dead in his tracks. Silly? "Daddy?"

"She means Professor Gast," the girl's mother said. "I believe you were acquainted?"

It took a second for that to sink in. Daddy...? "Gast? You're his wife, I take it?" She nodded. "Where is he?"

Her smile turned a little sad. "Dead, I'm afraid." Vincent felt a sharp pang of emotion that he was hard-pressed to identify as grief, an emotion similar but completely unlike regret or guilt. "I'm sorry to tell you so suddenly..."

"No, I'm sorry to have reminded you of it...Mrs. Gast?"

"Please, call me Ifalna," the woman said. "And this is Aerith," she added, holding the little girl out to Vincent a little. The child grinned at him, piercing him with deep green eyes that held supernatural clarity for one so young.

"Could you tell me about Daddy sometime?" the little girl said wistfully. "I don't know much about when he was alive. And he doesn't talk about it much." She pouted.

Vincent stared at her. Was she speaking about him in the present tense on purpose...? He discarded the thought. He could try to wrap his brain around this later. "Someday I will," he promised her gravely. "But right now, we must get you out of here."

She nodded and tried to look serious, which looked odd on her face, because her eyes were sparkling. "Okay Vincent! Thank you!"

He was absolutely certain he hadn't told them his name.

At some point during his impromptu rescue operation, the alarm was set off—he would have to get himself out of there soon. Vincent uttered a silent curse. Luckily, he had already helped evacuate most of the captives, but though he had gone out of his way to search for Sephiroth, he had still not happened upon him. He had been so sure he'd find him in Shinra Tower, considering how important he was, he hadn't even taken it into consideration that the boy might not be there.

His dismay at his first oversight almost led to a second, far more deadly one, only prevented by a split second, intuitive raising of his left arm to block the sharp downward slice of a sword. The blade rang cleanly against the metal. If he had his original arm still, it would have been cleaved completely off.

His assailant leapt back. Vincent had time enough to glimpse a small figure, much smaller than he'd have thought considering the power behind the blow, dressed in loose white clothing with silver hair tied in a low ponytail. Before he could discern any more detail than this, his attacker launched at him once more in a graceful, elegant motion that gave Vincent a distinct impression that his opponent was floating—a feeling of ethereal, otherworldly grace.

Vincent moved quickly to the side to avoid the renewed attack, firing a few shots that his attacker dodged easily with movements almost too fast for even Vincent to see. No normal human, this one, as if Vincent needed any more confirmation than his being present in Hojo's lab. His attacker was then too close for him to get in a shot, so he spun out of the way. He nearly got himself gutted when he saw his attacker's face and stumbled. Familiar green eyes glared at him from a child's round face, framed by silver bangs. The resemblance to Lucrecia was uncanny.

"Sephiroth," he managed to get out, dropping the gun to his side—what if he had actually managed to shoot the boy? Disastrous didn't even begin to describe it. But it soon became clear that stopping the fight was not a viable option; for if anything, the boy had redoubled his attack when Vincent had dropped his guard. Vincent was forced to catch the blade in the folds of his cloak to avoid it, eliciting a ripping sound from the familiar fabric that made him wince. Vincent then dodged a series of deadly, sweeping strikes in rapid succession, and lamented the turn this encounter had taken. Hurting Sephiroth was not even an option, and Vincent readily admitted to himself that he had next to no chance of stopping the boy long enough to talk to him without Vincent having to injure him first. The boy was that frightening a fighter, and at such a young age...

Sephiroth appeared to be getting a little impatient, and with an intent expression that looked alien on his young, still pudgy face, he made an especially determined, perhaps frustrated strike at him. Vincent leapt onto a desk behind him to evade the blow, and then down to the other side of the desk when Sephiroth made a sweeping strike at his calves.

He had a second or two, before Sephiroth was in range again. "Sephiroth," he began again. "I'm here on behalf of your mother..."

Sephiroth was over the desk in a flash, as if it hadn't even been there. And with that, Vincent was on the defensive once again. A sudden rush of heat warned him of magic being cast, and he threw off his cloak in front of him to block the approaching fireball. One corner of his mind mourned the loss of the cloak even as he dodged out of the way—the rest took the brief seconds he had while Sephiroth was distracted by the burning ruins of his cloak to cast Reflect on himself. Sephiroth was no fool—with a flash of what looked like annoyance sparking in his eyes, he abandoned magic and switched back to physical attacks.

But the pause had given Vincent enough time to get a better grasp of his surroundings, and this time he dodged the blows and ducked into the next room, Sephiroth close behind him. A quick glance at the room confirmed his recollection of its layout. He put on a sudden burst of speed and made an inhuman leap to a catwalk far above them, nestled in the eaves of the room. He caught onto a bar with his free hand as he flew by and allowed the rotational motion to deposit him gracefully on the platform.

He looked downward to see his prediction confirmed. Sephiroth, in the heat of the chase and most likely with a modicum of overconfidence, had followed him in his mad leap and was now reaching the apex of his arc, just short of being able to reach the catwalk. Sephiroth might be the most incredible fighter Vincent had ever faced, but he also had the physical body of a preadolescent child. It seemed by the look in Sephiroth's eyes that he had just realized his limitations as well. He looked stricken—he probably managed to succeed at just about everything, so any sort of failure was a surprise, and especially bitter.

Vincent dropped the gun to get a grip on the platform and reached out to grasp Sephiroth's right, unarmed hand.

Of course, Sephiroth tried to attack him with an upward cut of his blade as soon as he had the chance. Vincent caught the blade squarely with his metallic left hand and wrenched the sword away from the boy's grip. He threw it aside and found himself with a boy—much smaller-seeming now that he wasn't holding a weapon—dangling from his grip as he perched on the edge of a narrow platform.

Not quite how he had pictured his first meeting with Lucrecia's son. But at least Vincent would finally get a chance to talk.

"Sephiroth," he began once more, hopefully for the final time. He could feel Sephiroth's weight shifting in his attempt to free himself—he would have to make this quick. "I'm here on behalf of your mother. I would like to bring you to see her, if you so desire..."

Anger lanced through the boy's eyes. "My mother is dead," Sephiroth said flatly, in a boy's soprano. It was the first time the boy had spoken during the entire exchange—it was jarring to hear the auditory reminder of the boy's age. "Don't try to use her to manipulate me."

This was not a conversation Vincent had looked forward to. Words were not his forte. Well, there was nothing for it. The best thing to do would be to tell the truth. It would be an insult to Sephiroth's intelligence to talk around the truth, and in any case, Vincent didn't think he could manage it. Successfully, at least.

"You have been lied to," Vincent said. "Jenova is not your mother. The woman who bore you and whose blood you carry is named Lucrecia, and she is still alive."

"I am not some fool child yearning after his dead mother, so don't bother making up lies," Sephiroth snapped. "What are you after? Who are you working for? How do you know of me?"

"I know of you because you are Lucrecia's son, and my wish is to reunite the two of you." Sephiorth looked away, snorting contemptuously. From the boy's composure you'd think it was Sephiroth dangling Vincent over empty air, and not the other way around.

A thought struck him, and he cursed himself for not having thought of it before. Just because he hated Hojo didn't mean everyone did... "I assume you know I am the one that killed Hojo." He took the steady look in the boy's eyes as affirmation. "For your sake, I'm sorry I killed him. I do not mean to cause you any pain, as I assume you know that..." Vincent stopped. Did Sephiroth really know? If the boy didn't, Vincent didn't know that he could tell the boy that Hojo of all people was his father. The truth about his mother was one thing, but the truth about his father...

"I know he's my father," Sephiroth said coldly. "And if you think I would mourn his death, you don't know him very well."

Vincent surprised himself by laughing at this statement—he would admit that there was some tinge of hysteria in it, but the statement was so, so ironic. Apparently he had surprised Sephiroth as well, because the boy had an expression of confusion on his face, a much more becoming set of his young features than the serious, heavy configurations he'd displayed up until then.

"Sorry," Vincent said, stifling his laughter. When had he last laughed? He didn't even have a memory of ever having done so, though he was sure he had at some point. "Believe me, I am quite familiar with the...good doctor." He suddenly found his mood to be extremely light, almost giddy, and even while noting that it was probably a horrible, bad idea, he lifted Sephiroth up onto the platform and gently set the boy down on his feet. Sephiroth tried gamely not to look completely out of his depth, but his wide eyes and his gaping jaw told of his failure to do so. He obviously had no idea what to make of Vincent, and at the moment, Vincent didn't know if he could explain himself either.

"I see no way of convincing you that I tell the truth, and I do not blame you for disbelieving me," Vincent told the boy, who, robbed of his sword and killing momentum, seemed hesitant to attack. "So I will ask you this—are you happy here?"

Sephiroth blinked, his head snapping back slightly. "Happy?" Clearly not the question he had been expecting, but then, he probably had no idea what to expect from Vincent anymore. "...well yes, I suppose..." His eyes narrowed and he assumed an offensive stance. "Why am I talking to you anyway?"

Vincent had leapt to the floor beneath the platform before Sephiroth finished speaking—he could hear the guards coming, and he preferred to avoid a fight, and this encounter would not get them anywhere. He would have to come again; he had been naive to believe that the boy would take the words of a stranger seriously. He looked back up to the disoriented-looking boy. "I'm sorry I didn't come for you earlier, Sephiroth. I shouldn't have let you spend your childhood here. There's nothing I can do about it now—I will not force you into anything against your will. But if you are ever unhappy here, know this—I will come for you."

The guards were almost there—Vincent turned heel and ran with the promise ringing between them, leaving a dumbfounded child staring after him.

The boy seemed as mature and strong as Gast had said—but who knows how damaging his upbringing had truly been. At the very least, Vincent would be there to watch over him, for as long as he needed it. Sephiroth would not ever be left alone to deal with his fate—he was innocent of wrongdoing and as a guilty party in the affair, one of the few still alive, it was Vincent's duty to ensure that Sephiroth suffered as little as possible. And if Sephiroth was doing well...perhaps Lucrecia would find some peace as well. Vincent would do anything and everything he could to help Lucrecia find a way to face her sin. Sephiroth was Lucrecia's greatest guilt and regret. One day, Sephiroth would want to meet his real mother—Vincent would make sure this would occur, no matter how long it took. Mother and son would finally meet, face to face, eye to eye. On that day, he hoped she would leave her cocoon of self-hatred behind her, and her time would move again; that he would see her happy again, that her bright smile would once again grace the world. He would give everything he had in him, and anything else that he could give, to make that day come to pass.

His promises to Sephiroth, to Lucrecia, to Gast, even to Gast's little daughter—they would all be kept, and the wrongs done would be rectified, no matter how long it took. He was a patient man.