Dual Trigger
-By Chronic Guardian-
Reunione dei Giorni: Valentine, Chapter 2
"Really, Vincent, sometimes you can be such a laggard!" The older man chuckled while ruffling Signore Vincent's hair. Again, Aria willfully restrained herself from taking defensive action on behalf of her handler. After watching him be forcefully brought to the house, she'd mentally reinforced his orders of peace before walking inside herself and being promptly confronted with another scene of irreverence.
Every fiber of her being screamed to tackle the older man and enforce discipline upon him. Were it not for her just barely heedable logistical processes reminding her that Signore Vincent didn't want it that way, she would've done it in a heartbeat.
Behind her, Dr. Crescent, or Mrs. Valentine as they had established on the ride over, shuffled inside and closed the door. Aria twitched as the bolt clicked. She could easily break it down in an emergency, but it would still present an unnecessary barrier in the event that they needed to exit quickly. Behind any one of these doors could be—
No. She mentally stopped herself. This was a safe place. A place without guns or violence or death.
A place without room for any of the things that made up her world.
Aria was quickly beginning to wonder whether or not she'd rather still be out on a mission instead of "vacationing".
"Zack, keep the girl company will you?" the old man who had pulled Vincent out of the car called out as they left the entryway and headed deeper into the house. "Sephiroth and I've got a few things to talk about with these two."
"No problem, Mister Valentine!" someone replied from the next room over. "Just let me—whoops!"
A crash followed almost immediately..
"Aria," Vincent pronounced, giving a nod towards the noise.
She returned the nod and silently approached the scene, reluctantly leaving him to investigate.
Upon entering the room, a kitchen by the looks of it, she found a raven haired boy sprawled on the floor, surrounded by spilt flour, gingerly rubbing his head.
"Gotta stop doing that," he moaned softly as he slowly collected himself up to a crouch and dusted himself off. "There's no way it's good for—oh! Hey there." He grinned at her and thrust a hand forward. "Sephiroth's sister, right? I'm Zack."
She regarded him, deciding after a moment that he presented a minimal threat despite being abrupt.
His grin faded as he slowly looked between his extended hand and hers, still at her sides. "Umm.."
"Oh." This was probably his version of an introduction. She hurriedly took his hand and shook it as she'd seen Vincent do when interacting with a branch agent for the first time. None of them had ever offered a shake to a cyborg before, but she figured Zack didn't know any better. "Aria. It's a pleasure to meet you. Who's Sephiroth?"
Zack quickly withdrew his hand from the shake and flicked it twice, wincing with the motion. "Yikes. That's a strong grip you've got th—wait a minute. You don't remember Sephiroth?"
She shook her head, "No."
Then she remembered what Vincent had said about a boy who knew her here, and quickly tried nodding instead. "Yes! Yes, I do... I think."
"Uh huh..." Zack nodded slowly as his dark eyebrows descended into a suspicious squint. "Well... you wanna give me a hand with these?" He waved his hand towards the counter where a pan of layered pastry was accompanied by what appeared to be tin stencils. An upturned stool lay pointing towards them, hinting towards the reason for the earlier crash.
"What are they?"
"Cookies," Zack said, walking over to the pan and pressing one of the stencils in. "They aren't really traditional here, but Mr. Valentine said they'd be fun to make at least once."
She gave him a tilted look. "Mister Valentine?"
"Y'know, Grim," Zack responded, waving a hand in the air as if trying to waft in the nonexistent memory. "Vincent's dad? He's a little old, but he's still nice."
So that's who the man was...
"Anyway," the boy continued. "Cookies?"
Aria approached the pan and noted an open cookbook depicting the same baked goods cut into squares. She'd never tried any cooking down at the Agency. Tasting the other girl's attempts had effectively dissuaded her from that line of thought. Besides Claes, none of them were really any good at it.
"I'll watch," she told him, resetting the fallen stool to the side and taking a seat.
"You serious?" Zack's vibrant blue eyes gave her that odd look again. "C'mon, it's not hard."
He placed one of the tin stencils in her hand, then pressed it into the chocolate topped treat in the pan, producing the outline of a winged figure. Plucking the cutout from the rest of the material, he placed it on a platter, losing a little along the way, and repeated the process, again placing his hands on top of hers to guide them back towards the pan.
"You got it?"
She experimentally wiggled the cookie cutter and extracted the resulting shape. Despite the slightly crumbling edges, it looked close enough to the one Zack had done. She nodded to herself, satisfied.
"See? There you go!" Zack beamed at her and picked up his own stencil as they proceeded to carve out shapes from the rest of the tray.
When they had finished, the had a full platter of the cutouts in varying states of completeness and a collection of leftover bits strewn about the pan.
"What do we do with these?" Aria asked after trying unsuccessfully to form the scraps into something presentable.
Her companion smiled secretively as he collected residual globs by running his fingers along the edges of the pan. "These we get to eat now," he told her, handing over the results of his scavenging. "Try it. Mister Valentine's an expert at making this kinda stuff."
Aria eyed the lump of chocolate and peanut buttery confection before again reminding herself that this was a safe place and reluctantly putting it into her mouth.
The food dissolved on her tongue the moment it left her fingers. A swirl of flavors, savory, salty, and sweet, danced across her taste buds before leaving a lingering taste that was a mere shadow of the original. Immediately, she reached for more.
"Good, huh?" Zack said, claiming some of the leftovers as his own.
"Ummfgh," Aria responded. Blushing, she swallowed down the mouthful and tried again. "...Yes."
Zack laughed, loud, clear laughter.
And even though she didn't see why it was funny, Aria smiled and laughed as well.
}§{
Vincent clutched the arms of the chair in his father's study as images of an unchecked Aria played through his mind. He'd met the Fair's child, Zack, once or twice in passing, and he seemed a decent enough boy. Vincent just hoped Aria would be able to keep her combat senses under control in case the child decided to play a prank of some sort. The conditioning played some fine lines when it came to orders, or so he had heard. The cyborgs could probably stay up for days on end without food or water if their handler ordered it, but under particular odd conditions they were also known to bypass that loyalty and go straight for the kill.
In his heart he prayed that Zack was still as innocent as he had seemed.
Beside him, Lucrecia squeezed his forearm and tried to smile reassuringly. "Dear?"
"...Mmm?" he mumbled, snapping out of his trance.
She shifted her eyes meaningfully across the coffee table to where his son and father sat. Following her gaze with his face, he raised his eyebrows and waited for a further prompt.
"What's Aerith like now?" Sephiroth repeated, his intense turquoise eyes studying Vincent's crimson brown ones. "You said she'd be different."
Yes, indeed he had said that. It had been meant as a vague blanketing statement, but he should have known his son would want details. Although Sephiroth primarily took after him in personality, that didn't mean the boy lacked his mother's inquisitive nature.
Vincent cleared his throat then paused, trying to think of how to explain the situation.
"She... doesn't remember much," he began. It was a good place to start. "Sometimes she—"
"Does she remember me?"
Vincent sighed. He should've known that would be the first question to follow. "No. She barely remembers herself."
"Do you think I can help her remember?"
"You don't want to help her remember," Vincent told his son flatly. "The girl you know died in the accident. From here on out, it's best we just accept who she is now, who she's become."
"Who you've made her to be?" Lucrecia finished, her tone taking a slight dip with the words.
Vincent worked down a grimace. Not a bad description at all...
"Yeah... that."
"I see then," his father nodded slowly and steepled his fingers. "So that's what's been bothering you."
Were it not his father who said it, Vincent would've been wearing one of his famous death glares by now. However, if only because of that, he pushed down his instinctive response and simply used the same approach he'd used on his son: zero tolerance.
"No, you don't see," he told his father, forcing himself to stare into the man's serene eyes. "Agency protocol forbids an exact explanation, but what we're dealing with here is bigger than—"
The warm chuckle that interrupted his lecture was hardly the response he'd been hoping for.
"Do you really take me for that much of a fool, my son?"
He grunted. "If you keep trying to just laugh off what's been done? Then yes, absolutely."
His father waved it off and smiled. "No. Listen to me Vincent. I've had my taste of the world and its ways. Perhaps I don't skulk in its shadows anymore, but I understand well enough what hides there. Whatever it is you've done to save her, I imagine it came at a great price. For even though I'd like to believe our government is doing things simply for the good of its people, I'm old enough to know it doesn't work that way. Everything has a price, something that must be exchanged, especially in natural affairs. I know, with all the bureaucracy and man made walls we want to say that we're beyond the natural order. But you and I both know that's false. Charity comes not from the rule of law, but from the fruit of the spirit; matters in which the state cannot meddle. For them, the shadow of miracles can only be obtained at great cost. And you believe them. So in exchange for saving Aerith, you think you've turned her into a monster."
Stopping there, the old man took a sip of coffee and smiled again, allowing Vincent to soak in his words.
"...Haven't I?" Vincent responded after a moment. He thought he understood what his father meant, but one could never be too sure with the odd ways of Grimoire Valentine. The man was fond of things like half-truths and false implications, often turning ordinary conversations into philosophical gauntlets.
It was always exasperating, but somehow it had always proven helpful up to this point.
"Not yet," Grim answered, a sly grin squinting his eyes ever so slightly.
"How do you...?"
"Monsters aren't allowed here."
Vincent regarded his father warily, wondering if the lighthearted return was meant to be a joke or another estranged metaphor.
"Grandpa?" Sephiroth asked, breaking into the slowly stretching silence.
The older man stirred before looking down at the boy, curiosity dancing in his eyes. "Yes, young Sephiroth?"
"Why would Aerith be a monster?"
Grim shrugged. "I can only postulate, given Vincent's dutiful silence, but—"
"What does postulate mean?"
Vincent put two fingers to his forehead and massaged it gently. It was enough that his father had to be long-winded with him, but with his seven year old son? Again, making things more difficult than they needed to be.
"To postulate is simply to guess," Grim explained, not breaking stride with his voice. "At any rate, I would think that something happened to Aerith to allow her to survive the tragedy. Perhaps they somehow locked away all the sad memories that happened to her that night. Modern science, despite being far short of a panacea, is still rather impressive these days. But then, with her memories gone, she would become empty. And where there is emptiness, darkness is prone to follow."
"Then we'll just have to fill her up with better memories," Sephiroth finished curtly, nodding to himself in approval of the idea.
Grim beamed. "Exactly, m'boy!"
Trying with partial success to suppress a grunt at the fanciful remarks in the face of such a serious subject, Vincent glared at his father. The words were nice, yes, but they only partially matched up and making it vague for Sephiroth's sake hadn't helped any. Now wasn't the time to be making fluffy generalizations, it was a time for answers, for knowing exactly why his father believed Aerith would be okay. Because even though Vincent hated the eloquent words of his father, he knew he also wanted to believe them.
Still, he wouldn't be getting any straight answers if his father felt they needed to be gentle for Sephiroth's sake.
"Sephiroth," he addressed his son while keeping his eyes on his father. "Go check on Aria."
Beside him, Lucrecia stirred. He should have known she would. All this time apart and now he was sending away their child from his promised reunion. "Vincent..."
He sighed. Now that he thought about it, he shouldn't be dragging her in either. "I'm sorry," he told them quietly. "I need to talk to my father alone. Would you two mind...?"
"Don't you dare take too long," Lucrecia muttered, getting up from her chair. "Otherwise you'll be taking this Christmas dry."
Vincent afforded her an incredulous glance. It wasn't much of a threat. Vincent didn't indulge in many pleasures, he'd consciously directed himself to not depend upon them. Besides, it wasn't like he was ever trying to get drunk. Being bereft of his traditional glass of red wine would only be marginally more gloomy.
"Perhaps Lucrecia too has learned the art of metaphor," Grim chuckled from across the way as he and Vincent became alone in the room. "Does she often allow you to believe your own lies?"
Vincent felt his fingers tighten again. "...What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing," Grim continued to smile and shake his head. "You are a paragon of moderation in most respects, my son, but in pity and guilt you indulge yourself. Perhaps Lucrecia is right to deny you the false balm you feed yourself."
"... Which when said plainly means?"
His father sighed and leaned forward, resting his chin on folded hands. While looking off into the far wall, he spoke. "You blame yourself, don't you? You never drink enough to block it out all the way, I know, you share my tolerance; but the pain is becoming unbearable. And yet, the true medicine, the support of your family, you deny yourself."
"What do I blame myself for?"
Grim's expression clouded slightly as he shrugged his mantled shoulders. "Many things. You were born to be a guardian, my son. There are many things you can't change, but still feel responsible for. And I think Aerith has become one of them."
"And why shouldn't she be my responsibility?" Vincent said the words calmly, but both of them felt the hidden venom drawn to the surface. His father's forehead creased, the first sign of worry he'd shown since the arrival.
Then Grim used a voice Vincent had never heard him use before. A voice that was solid and serious. "Because, Vincent," he replied slowly, "you're treating her as a tragedy before her final curtain falls. Her story may be sad, but don't you believe for a moment that it's over. And, I though can't say I enjoy old Hemingway, he spoke true that the sun also rises."
Vincent remained frozen, now transfixed by his suddenly determined father who seemed for once to live up to his name.
"Let us simply leave it at this, my son," Grim sighed, closing his eyes and leaning back into his seat. "One may easily fall into hell by himself, doing nothing and not feel a thing until the numbing cold gives way to flame. But the sting of waking up and clawing one's way out before that moment, climbing out of the depths and returning to the light we were meant for, such a thing cannot be accomplished on one man's strength alone.
"But take heart, Vincent. For you are not alone."
"And if I cause another to fall to hell with me?"
His father's eyes opened.
"Then don't forget that you are only one man against a grand mechanism capable of saving them. At times, my son, there is yet cause to rejoice in the frailty of the deeds of man."
At a loss for words, Vincent simply nodded and drank the coffee his father had brewed.
}§{
Despite himself and his increasing age, Sephiroth Valentine was still a very tactile child. He loved the warm, soft feel of his mother's hand as he guided her out of the study and down the hall to where the kitchen looked over the living room. He'd missed holding her hand over the past year. When he'd first turned seven, he'd been flooded with self-important thoughts about how big he'd grown and how the ways of his childhood were behind him. Now he didn't care what Zack might say, he wanted to hold again the hand that had guided him in his earliest days.
Squeezing gently, he smiled up at her. But only for a moment before again looking vigilantly down the hall.
She had a far off look in her eyes, a look he'd mostly seen right after Aerith's parents died. He understood it as worry, but he didn't quite get the reason for it. After all, she was home now, with him and father and Grandpa Grim. What could go wrong now?
As they neared the kitchen, laughter erupted and was subsequently amplified by the surrounding hardwood floors. Sephiroth raised a quizzical eyebrow and proceeded cautiously.
Zack and Aerith, as it turned out, had taken to cutting out the toffy squares. What could possibly be funny about cutting the bar cookies was beyond Sephiroth until he caught sight of the tray filled not with squares but crumbling cutouts of various shapes. That idiot... Sighing to himself, the Valentine boy released his mother's hand and marched over to take a firm hold on Zack's arm.
"H-Hey! Sephiroth!" Zack grinned and tousled his ash blonde hair. "So you done talking with your parents?"
Sephiroth ignored the banter and pointed emphatically at the tray. "Zack, what are these?"
"Cookies! Remember? We were going to make some with cookie cutters today. Aren't they awesome?"
"These are toffy squares," Sephiroth reproved stoically. "The cookie cutters were meant for the gingerbread. Toffy wasn't made for cookie cutters, it doesn't stick together right. Look," he held up one of the misshapen toffy forms. "You end up with one-winged angels."
Zack did a double take. "Whoa... seriously?"
Behind him, his mother gave a soft chuckle. "Sephiroth is always serious, isn't he?" she asked coming up to stand beside her son. "It's alright though. We'll make do with what we have. Sephiroth, dear? Do you know where the gingerbread dough is?"
Sephiroth nodded.
"...And would you mind bringing it out?"
He pursed his lips. "You should clear the counter first," he stated. Grandpa Grim didn't mind, but it bugged Sephiroth when the kitchen got messy during prolonged use.
"Even more cookies?" Zack beamed. "Man, today just keeps getting better!"
Beside him, Aerith gave a small smile and nodded.
Sephiroth paused to look at her, this being the first real opportunity now that they'd resolved the matter of the toffy squares. To his eyes, she didn't look very different. She still had the same curtained bangs, the same long, rope-braid, and the same curious green eyes. If anything, her smile seemed brighter now than it had before.
But there was one easy way to tell.
After months of being relentlessly tickled for Aerith's enjoyment, Sephiroth had learned that his sister had an equally vulnerable spot just at the middle of her spine. He'd been so enamoured with the revelation that he'd immediately tried it out on others... and found that it didn't work the same on them.
If this girl was still Aerith, she'd react to the spot.
Of course, he couldn't just walk up and try it now. Now she was looking at him. It had to be a surprise for it to work right. So as they cleared the counter, Sephiroth did his best to inconspicuously glance at her for an opening. Unfortunately, she seemed to have caught on and continued to monitor his movements. It wasn't until they'd gotten out the Gingerbread dough and begun cutting out shapes that her attention drifted over to Zack instead.
Then was the moment to strike.
Aerith would invariably swipe back once the initial shock wore off so he would have to be fast. A quick jab of dancing fingers and a hasty retreat. In the back of his mind it occurred to him that this could be awkward in the case that it wasn't Aerith, but he quickly shook it off on the count that he simply had to know whether or not this girl was still his sister.
It would only take an instant later to know, so he assured himself it would be worth it.
Drawing back his arm slightly and just barely wiggling his fingers in preparation, he darted into the motion.
}§{
~Author's Notes:~
Grim Valentine is now officially my favorite character to write. Again, this iteration is heavily influenced by his appearance in "Valentines" since original sighting of Mr. Valentine senior are limited to a handful of cutscenes in the Dirge of Cerberus storyline. The real trick now is to show that he still isn't perfect.
Writing young/non-evil Sephiroth is a weird experience. Given the severe altering of the circumstances I think I've pitted myself against the age old developmental question of "Nature vs. Nurture" with the verdict still pending.. Also, fans will note that Sephiroth's hair color is given as ash blonde in this chapter. This was done not only because silver is a stretch for a seven year old, but because it's the lightest color I can see coming out of Vincent and Lucrecia's gene pool. That said, how the heck he retained his signature "mako" eyes is beyond me, so don't ask. Maybe genetic mutation?
On Cookies:
This is a difficult subject to approach, particularly since I'm no expert in international traditions. However, because cookie cutters were integral in my vision for the scene, Biscotti was out of the question and most distinctly Italian delights soon followed it. In my defence, Gingerbread is purportedly German, right? Plus, there's always my impervious shield of Grim Valentine just being plain eclectic. Thanks Grim *high fives*.
