Valentines

Chapter 3: Professional Interest

By FullMentalPanic

Red streaked on white as hot blood melted tiny crimson rivers in the snow around the struggling figure. The bleeding was unlikely to be fatal unless internal damage was substantial. It was hardly worth stopping the truck over. He had been quite pleased with how ahead of schedule they had been up to this point. His maneuvering with last minute transports had put him days ahead of the written itinerary and he was put out that something was disrupting his successful punctuality. Situations like these just had to be made the best of. He moved his glasses down his nose so they wouldn't fog up from his body heat and picked his way over the snow.

His assistant skittered beside him, holding the light steady as flurries of white swirled in blinding competition. This type of weather was not unheard of at this time of year in this region, but it was irksome. The preliminary cargo should have arrived at the destination by now. He had been counting on rolling into Nibelheim and commencing with the project at daybreak. Now, the sun would be presiding over the valley before he did. It was all rather vexing.

He came to a halt where the driver bent beside flailing limbs. One could get only so far with theories, practical application yielded so much more and he was eager to begin with it; to see and not just surmise about what would happen.

"Well?" he stamped his feet against the cold imperiously.

"It's a wolf," said the crouching man.

Any imbecile with a pair of eyes could see that. Surely they hadn't stopped just to assess the species of the object that had gotten itself hit by dashing in front of the vehicle. He tilted his head at the strangled growls issuing from the animal's throat. Perhaps there was something salvageable in this situation. Flexibility was one of the true marks of genius. Even before he had officially been appointed for this project he had begun speculating and theorizing about the possibilities surrounding this new specimen. The objective and quantitative results of experimentation were infinitely preferable to even the most elegant theorems.

The project was still in the stages of initial testing and hypothesis. The effects of the sample on modern tissue were yet to be tested. He had an obliging mass of living cells here before him; he could be the first to procure results.

"Go and withdraw fifty milliliters from the specimen and bring it back," he snapped to his shivering assistant. The young man nodded and turned back to the vehicle.

"Leave the light, if you please. It isn't exactly easy to see out here."

His assistant handed over the light and stumbled back toward the truck.

The driver rose to his feet and pulled something from the recesses of his coat. It didn't bode well for the continued existence of his specimen.

"What are you doing?" he queried suspiciously, swinging the light to shine fully on the scene.

"Putting it out of its misery," said the man with mild surprise, aiming a small handgun in the general direction of the sample. "There's nothing else we can do for it."

"That action is unnecessary," he said firmly. "The specimen still has a purpose to serve."

"Sir, there's nothing that can be accomplished with it in this state." With a general motion the man indicated the sample's neck and body. The head was twisted at an obscene angle that made the sample's continued twitching quite impressive. The left front limb flopped uselessly beside its empty socket. "Its not going to recover and its going to be agony until it dies."

"On the contrary, the fact that it is still alive only proves its suitability for the rigors of experimentation."

With a wet shuffle, his assistant slid back into the illuminating glare, a hypodermic needle in a precarious grip.

"Inject it into the specimen." It was true that starting off with fifty millimeters was generous, but this way results were guaranteed. He could always reduce the amount in future experiments. The thrashing had stilled and he had a momentary qualm that the specimen had expired.

His assistant darted a wary glance at the tangle of limbs and approached cautiously. The driver looked disapproving, but stepped back. The stillness was broken when a violent snapping sent his assistant dashing clear with hands marked by rows of superficial cuts.

He chuckled. It would prove to be a most excellent specimen.


Waking up on a hard floor was not ideal, even if one had the forethought to bring a supply of blankets with them. Lucrecia let her eyes dry to burning in the morning light before she slowly blinked. She felt dehydrated and still tired, but today she had purpose. Rising with an emotion that didn't quite meet the grade as eagerness, she prepared herself for the day.

Wetting a cloth from a water flask kept solely for that purpose, she scrubbed away the dry salt from her face. Crying herself to sleep was no longer an unusual occurrence, having someone beside her while she did so was. A presence in a voice that had briefly made her feel better. It was so different; Vincent's voice was deep and completely his own, broken stones wrapped in raw silk. She blinked at herself in the mirror and impatiently pulled at the tangles in her hair. When he was only manifested in his voice she could forget whose son he was. Then he had gone and said that, and any illusion of comfort she'd been able to shelter herself in had shattered...and it was her own fault.

She pulled the door open aggressively, ready to crowd out the past with the present, and tripped and sprawled forward.

"The toes on those shoes are very sharp."

She hadn't been the only one to fall asleep in an unconventional location. She scrambled and drew her body around so her back was against the wall.

Vincent lounged in front of the door, limbs reaching far beyond its width, facing her, head cushioned on his outstretched arm. She used the dark outline of his hair as the boundary not to be crossed. As long as she didn't look at his face she could hold the strands of her sanity together. Looking at the familiar color bordering that unapproachable face was bad enough though, and she let her eyes fall to the side.

Clothes were safe, these were a completely generic pair of loose shirt and trousers. They could have been worn by anyone; they were a little too informal in fact. It was evident that he had risen from his bed last night in the clothes he intended to sleep in and hadn't left her door since that point...hadn't left her. Before her thoughts could do more than stumble around this fact, they settled on something else that startled her mind to a different topic.

"Why do you have a gun with you?"

No answer was forthcoming. Then she saw a subtle shifting in his shirt as if he was slowly bending himself to regard the gun resting on the floor and held in his right hand. He settled back into his original position, and after a moment of apparent inflection answered.

"Yes."

"That's not an answer."

"...No?"

"It's not an answer that answers my question."

"...the question?"

"Why do you have a gun?"

"I'm your bodyguard."

"You find it necessary to sleep with your gun?"

"On more than one occasion."

"In a company building?"

"Yes."

She was getting aggravated, particularly because his replies were tending on the monosyllabic while his tone still indicated that he was being completely reasonable. It left her wrestling with the desire to shake the dignity, and longer answers, out of him.

"Inappropriate," she breathed.

"For a bodyguard to be armed?"

"What? No - to appear outside your room in such attire!"

He didn't bother to assess himself this time. If he had any reaction it wasn't shown anywhere in his body, not even in any twitching in his long fingers lying motionless on the floor.

"I neglected to bring my corporate pajamas."

"I wasn't referring to the professionalism of your clothes. Any type of sleepwear would be out of place when you should be on the job."

"I would think that a willingness to perform in spite of personal dress would be seen as a sign of dedication."

"Or that you aren't prepared to serve in the capacity that you should be."

"If there's a demand for something I'll provide a solution."

"I did not require your help."

"I won't ignore you when you cry."

"It's not your place!"

"You would be more convincing if you would look a person in the eye when you're talking to him."

Focusing solely on his chin, or mouth, or one eyebrow really wasn't giving her adequate insight. It also wasn't relentlessly proclaiming whose features he shared. She did not want to be reminded who he was. She stood and looked commandingly at his right ear, reasserting that she was the superior.

"Mr. Bodyguard, go and equip yourself properly for the day."

"...As you order, ma'am."

She stalked away, wondering if this was really better than wandering through the manor alone with nothing to distract her. Irritation was arrested in development as the front door of the mansion was flung open. Noise and confusion marched in with a handful of figures, not entirely human looking figures. Strong light from behind blurred quick movements from what looked like a mass of traditional human anatomy and furred limbs.

A scramble of footsteps brought the mass out of the glare from the door and into distinction. Three men, and some furred and heaving creature that didn't seem to be put together right. All of the men had dark hair.

She closed her eyes briefly. Black was a very common hair color, one that she was going to have to get used to seeing. Besides, one of the trio was definitely an individual she was looking forward to meeting.

"Dr. Crescent."

She looked at the man stepping forward, head tipped back to regard her. More black hair, but the face was completely different from the one she was trying to suppress, and she could look at it freely. A few weeks ago she would have been pleased to have a project on her record with this professor. Now she viewed his coming almost as that of a savior.

"Professor Hojo," she said. "I am delighted by your early arrival."

His hands went behind his back and he sniffed. "Not as early as it could have been, but the delay came with some benefits."

A motion of his hand brought the other two stepping forward, and for the first time Lucrecia looked steadily at the creature struggling between them. A wolf, the type that was local to the area although it seemed to have some unusual rusty stripes on its otherwise brown coat. The two men detaining it, one dressed in the white coat of her profession, seemed to be holding it at bay with two poles driven into the animal's neck. The wolf twisted and she caught a glimpse of some kind of cord. There were some amateurishly constructed nooses on the ends of the poles and the two men were keeping the wolf at arms length and then some between them.

Small shavings of wood flew out from beneath its front paw and its back arched as it twisted in ways that didn't seem possible with the angles of joint articulation the creature possessed. It seemed that the support and suppression of its restraints was the only thing keeping it from turning head over heels. The left front leg seemed loose and uncontrolled even as it was flung wildly about, and she realized it was dislocated.

A low commotion of scuffling and scrapes rose from where the wolf tried to escape and evade, but the voice of the wolf itself didn't betray any violence. It was piercing but low; the sounds issuing from its throat desperate but empty of aggression. It was in pain.

"What happened to it?" She came down the stairs trying to see if there was anything else to reveal the animal's condition.

"It got in front of the vehicle."

"What have you done for treatment so far?" Didn't they come equipped with any kind of potions or elixirs? It did seem like it was hard to get close to the creature though. She hadn't ever reinserted a limb into its joint socket so it was possible they didn't have that kind of experience either.

"It has been injected with fifty millimeters of the project specimen."

"Fifty!" She stopped halfway down the curve of the staircase in shock.

"There is still plenty of the specimen left. Hollander was granted only very specific organ samples for his undertaking. We will be working with the majority, and it is still nearly ninety percent intact."

"That's not - animal experimentation should only be engaged in with a clear hypothesis as a guideline!"

"Perhaps when you have to pay for the animal subject yourself that is a prudent course, but this specimen presented itself to us."

The rusty streaks were dried blood.

"Professor Hojo, what has this accomplished?"

"You should have observed it after impact. It was struggling, yes, but with nowhere near the energy it is exhibiting now! It is already showing strong signs of being affected and it was injected less than six hours ago!"

A crack snapped her eyes back to the creature. She couldn't tell what had happened, but its thrashings had turned even more frenzied and the contortions made it seem as if it had developed more joints. She hadn't known wolves could scream.

"Professor!"

"Oh, it's not dying, or at least it won't be for several more hours. There is still plenty of time left for observation."

A loud sound from behind buried everything else in the room and made her duck and grasp her ears. It was a sound that was unfamiliar but one she still recognized; a gunshot. She turned.

Standing on the second floor landing in front of the window and looking collected and poised in uniform and not at all like he had spent the night on the floor was Vincent. She was shocked into looking him full in the face. The features were calm to a degree that she wouldn't have thought possible. The remembered red of his eyes was bringing the whole of that face into an association that made her blood pound and her body stagger with a feeling almost akin to nausea. The only thing that was keeping it at bay was that what glittered in his eyes was something she was wholly unacquainted with, and he was not looking at her. She grabbed the railing and spun back to the foyer.

Professor Hojo was in her line of sight, but it didn't seem like the wolf was moving. Quickly, she stepped down, reaching the floor of the manor in half a dozen steps. She moved to get beside the professor to see what had happened.

The way was blocked by a blue shoulder. Smoothly Vincent moved in front of her and stepped closer to where the animal lay. His gun held up near his shoulder.

"Mr. Val -" she stumbled over the name and dropped her eyes in sudden dread that he would turn his face toward her. If there was any pause in his steps she didn't hear it as he continued forward. She felt a swelling of annoyance and looked up.

The professor had straightened from his inspection of the beast and was regarding Vincent, now beside him, with narrowed eyes. All she could see of Vincent was the back of his dark head.

"My specimen is defunct," said the professor.

Vincent said nothing, but crouched next to where the wolf should have been. Lucrecia stepped to the side and saw an animal face broken in fresh red. Vincent reached into the bloodied fur and mangled flesh to where amazingly intact eyes stared blankly. He closed the lids over the pale blue with one hand and stood, returning his gun to concealment as he did so. Even if she had been willing to risk looking at his expression, which she wasn't, it was hidden by the hair falling on the left side of his face. Somehow, his hands were unstained by blood.

"I presume," said the professor with a kind of affronted energy. "That you are the Turk who has been assigned to this project."

"Vincent Valentine."

He didn't say anything about being at his service.

"Typically one in your position is subject to the wishes of the head of the project," said Professor Hojo.

"My orders only specifically named Dr. Crescent as the one I would be assigned to. I am subject to her wishes."

Hers and not yours. Vincent moved further from the professor and toward the other scientist.

"What wish did she express, that you felt compelled to follow?"

"Dr. Crescent didn't want the animal to suffer."

She looked intently at the back of Vincent's uncommunicative head, that was true. He stood right next to the young person now and said something in a low voice. The white-coated man raised his hands slowly and she saw that they were swathed in makeshift bandages.

"My rank precedes that of Dr. Crescent, my orders should do the same."

"My primary objective takes priority should any circumstances conflicting with it arise." With smooth motions he drew aside the wrappings to reveal the wounds. Jagged lines stood out against the skin. Vincent had his back to the professor, and the professor's voice was growing in volume as he was denied full attention.

"Which objective is that?"

"Dr. Crescent's protection."

"There was no danger to her," he said dismissively.

"As there was no danger to him?" said Vincent pointedly indicating the injured hands and finally turning his face back to the professor. Lucrecia watched the space between his lips and his nose, but there was very limited information she could draw from it.

"My assistant fully understands the responsibilities and prestige that come with accompanying me. He is entirely prepared for whatever his position requires."

The assistant's eyes darted and he shifted uneasily.

"Are you lacking in any healing equipment?" Vincent asked.

"There is an adequate supply of potions that accompanied us."

"Why hasn't he been treated then?"

"Waste precious tonic on scratches like that!"

"If he is as dedicated as you claim, it would be to your benefit to keep him in working condition."

"He had no trouble assisting with my former specimen's detainment."

"An act that relies on large motor coordination. Lab work will be dependent on fine motor dexterity."

In swift movements Lucrecia couldn't quite follow, Vincent extracted a potion from somewhere on his person and doused the contents on the assistant's hands. The professor huffed in exasperation, but looked thoughtful as the potion acted as catalyst and energy source in one on the basal level of skin until his assistant's injury was sealed with new, undamaged cells.

"Your concern over the efficiency of the execution of the project is accepted," stated the professor in a tone of one making an enormous concession.

"Project efficiency was my sole interest," said Vincent with no inflection that Lucrecia could understand, but his face was turned toward the assistant who seemed shocked by whatever he saw there.

"Leaving my specimen intact would make that statement easier to believe."

"The remains should be adequate for autopsy."

The professor brightened visibly.

"Of course!" he said enthusiastically. "It was quite clear that the injection had solicited changes in the specimen's physiology. There will be ample evidence to study. How fortunate that I used fifty millimeters. Go and retrieve a means for transporting the corpse." The last part was directed to the assistant who bolted outside.

Lucrecia watched the edge of Vincent's face as he glanced at the professor, and caught a subtle curling of his lips as he turned back to the animal he had killed. The skin on his hands still showed no spot or blemish. She wondered if he carried more blood on his hands that wasn't shown. If so, it was something they had in common.


Today wasn't so bad. He'd slept more soundly than he had in weeks; his rest unbroken by dreams of any kind, he had woken refreshed. Even if it had been by a sharp prod in the ribs.

The first reaction that had triggered was to draw his gun, slightly difficult considering it had been holstered under his left shoulder and the side he'd been lying on. The second was that he was feeling unprecedentedly well rested followed by the close third realization that he hadn't been awoken by a threat.

He had relaxed back into the doorway to enjoy his allowable state of peace. Then she started talking. Or had he spoken first? Vincent did not fire on all cylinders immediately after waking. He did have a certain set of skills that would deploy even if he wasn't completely lucid, but anything he said was likely to be lacking in eloquence, not to mention discretion. In the past when he had been snatched from sleep, Veld had usually been present and able to function and speak with his unflappable keenness so that all that was required of Vincent was to stand there and look imposing until his brain engaged.

His acumen had been floundering, but was cast even more adrift by her conversational direction. Her incredulity over the fact that he was armed made him give himself a once over to make sure she wasn't using some kind of entendre. It was so obvious he was surprised by it, his weapon was so natural that it seemed as essential to him as his skin. It was almost constantly with him, warmed against his body until he considered it an extension of his flesh. Even when showering he made sure it was within reaching distance, and there were three distinct instances where he'd been very glad he'd taken that precaution.

Even so, her prodding and the abrupt interruption to his slumber had not made him lose hold of what he'd decided last night. He'd been prepared for their conversation of the wee smas to be the emotional equivalent of an one-night stand. She was a professional and she was his superior, as she had driven home with her parting order. Publicly or even privately acknowledging last night was unlikely to fit into the mold she was trying to fit herself into. He fully expected her to pretend it had never happened and act accordingly. It didn't follow that he would do the same.

The connection he'd felt with her and how he'd acted to comfort her had taken deep root as soon as he'd allowed the seed to fall. He was going to protect her, and he wasn't going to pry into whatever it was that had upset her. He would be thorough in his investigation and knowledge about all else surrounding her, but he would allow her the privacy of her sorrow. He would be respectful of Dr. Crescent and critically observant in his role as her bodyguard, and turn a blind eye and a blank mind to whatever was making Lucrecia cry at night. This personal resolve did not prevent him from flying into his suit as the sounds of commotion in the foyer touched his ears.

He had briefly considered just charging in regardless of 'personal professional dress', but the reputation that came from wearing a Turks uniform, or even being spotlessly attired, could vitally unsettle an opponent. Additionally, there were calm voices resonating from that direction, Dr. Crescent's among them; it seemed adequate to make the assumption that the situation wasn't immediately volatile. Unless there was an assailant who preferred to make threats in low voiced decorum, as he himself was prone to doing.

Vincent sprang into the hallway, landing only on his toes and the front pads of his feet. He had invested a lot of gil in shoes that could tread silently, and it was nice to see that pay off. The copious windows of the landing bore a subtle pattern of stained glass and were fairly useless for reflecting anything useful. Pressed against the right hand wall, he could tell that the tone of Dr. Crescent's voice had changed to one of more anxiety and there were sounds of a distressed animal as well. Animals always added a level of unpredictability. People could reason and be verbally as well as physically disarmed, but even if there were certain patterns they tended to follow, animals always brought a type of explosive spontaneity to any situation. Spontaneity that it was his mode of operation not to take any chances with.

With swift stealthiness, he angled his head against the wall so that he could see at least a little beyond it. It was Turk MO to get as thorough an assessment of the situation as possible before sauntering in with the air and appearance of one completely savvy and at ease. Unfortunately he wouldn't be able to do things that way this time. He could just barely make out Dr. Crescent on the curving staircase, but he wouldn't be able to discern anyone else unless he stuck his entire head around the wall. If he had to do that he might as well just step out entirely and give them the option of shooting him in a non-vital area rather than proclaiming a head shot as the only option. He drew back and put on his persona, held his gun so the railing would conceal it, and stepped out onto the landing.

Absolutely no one noticed him. A scientist and the man he assumed was the transport driver were struggling to keep a bucking animal, that most strongly resembled a wolf, at bay. Dr. Crescent and another scientist, likely the professor heading the project, were utterly absorbed in their own conversation. A conversation that seemed to be getting prickly as the professor failed to pick up on the fact that Dr. Crescent wasn't athrill with the experiment he was trying to conduct. Then the wolf broke and screamed.

He saw the faces of the driver and the other scientist go white as they strained to keep the creature in one spot. The younger scientist was quite obviously having trouble, and his white wrapped hands were shaking.

"Professor!"

He could hear the urgency and the plea that tried to mask itself as a command.

"Oh, it's not dying, or at least it won't be for several more hours. There is still plenty of time left for observation."

Hardly.

The professor was doing a sort of sway and pace in front of the animal, so Vincent only had time for one shot into the boiling mass of pain and potential destruction before the professor got in his way. Then the man stopped squarely in front of the animal, which Vincent wasn't entirely sure was dead, making it impossible for an immediate second shot without hitting the professor. The two other men were regarding him with a kind of surprised recognition, the scientist's heavily flavored with shock, and he chalked up another point in favor of wearing recognizable clothes. The professor was focused only on the damaged creature, apparently not paying any mind to what had taken it down. Dr. Crescent was taking an alarming pace down the stairs towards the group on the first floor.

Vincent still wasn't confident that he had killed the wolf and he leaped after Dr. Crescent taking the most expedient route possible to the floor. Despite that uncompromisingly fast tread of hers, he was able to insert himself between her and the still not decisively neutralized threat. He didn't hear anything suspicious coming from it, but there was still some ringing in his ears from the aftereffects of firing. A few steps more and he beheld the stillness of the beast. Those around him seemed to be saying a few words, but until he removed that last fifteen percent of doubt concerning the death of the wolf it wasn't vitally important.

He lowered himself to within an arm's length to make absolutely certain. The standard ammunition he used were hollow points and it was clear from the entry point that whatever lay beyond was a shredded mass of tissue. Getting a head shot had been fortunate, and something he hadn't been certain of with the frenzied twisting, but the animal's restraints had kept its head fairly steady in spite of the contortions of its body. The distortion of his hearing cleared and he knew the death had been instant. He closed the eyes that were now as empty of life as they were of pain. He stood, retracting his weapon back into waiting.

It couldn't be said that the conflict was over though. From the landing he had been fairly certain of the head professor's identity. With the irked man now right beside him, it was irrefutably confirmed. Professor Hojo had the company-flaunted accolade of always getting results. Whether or not those results were relevant or useful was a detail that usually didn't receive much documentation. Vincent had never met or seen him personally. His impression of the thirty-ish man was that Professor Hojo was focused on his own importance and cleverness and not on how to most efficiently work with and utilize the talent around him.

Regardless, they were both subject to the same company as long as they expected to keep their current salary. More than anything else, the battle to assert who was operating within company policy was what their conversation had been about. Although there were strict outlines of hierarchy in the Research Department, the guidelines for Turk interaction with the rest of the company had purposefully been left vague. There were a set of instructions that put higher ranking members of the departments at ease in regards to their own importance, but they were riddled with clauses concerning extenuating circumstances. Vincent was quite capable of utilizing those to steer clear of the professor's attempts to pin him with any certain offense while he conducted whatever business he deemed best. Of course, if the professor switched from a pin to a sledgehammer, even Vincent would have some trouble keeping his toes un-mashed. Distraction, in the possibility of dissection, was the simplest way of ending the discussion.

He helped the youngest of the scientists move the freed body onto a stretcher. There was an art to moving a bloodied corpse with the least mess possible, and he didn't expect anyone else had experienced much opportunity to study it. It was why he was here.

Even so, there were some smears of blood on the floorboards after the driver and younger scientist lifted away the body. Cleaning up, or eliminating evidence, was yet another thing that was included in his job description. Everyone else was bustling about with transporting the remains to the lab. He wasn't sure if anyone would be back.

"Dr. Crescent."

She turned with an agitated shudder, her eyes again looking past him. No one else even slowed down.

"Will there be any need of my services during your work in the lab?"

"No."

"...I'll be familiarizing myself with the manor and surrounding terrain then."

She gave a curt nod at the air above his head and quickly followed the processional. It was unlikely that there would be any threat to her while she was working with the professor. He'd eliminated the only possible source of danger and the younger scientist would provide an extra pair of observational eyes even if the driver left after completing the presumed list of tasks the professor expected from him.

Blood was always easiest to clean up when it was fresh, and on a hard surface. He kept small packets of sanitized cloth in his regular uniform that worked excellently for removing small spots of 'incrimination'. As he wasn't trying to eliminate all evidence from traceable existence this time, he could find a regular trash can to toss the debris into. Which was how he started his official search of the lower story, trying to figure out where he could dispose of a handful of bloodied cloth.

There was some sort of trash compacting device in the kitchen that looked as if it could also be accessed from outside. In an isolated area such as this, periodic trash burning or burial was probably the methodology for waste removal. He wondered if that was another thing they were going to expect him to take care of. He'd been trying to suppress the memories of that time he'd gone undercover as a janitor.

Chewing on more over-processed food as he committed the layout of the building to memory he decided that it was essential for him to get something fresh from the village. Dr. Crescent didn't seem to believe there should be absolutely no contact between the Shinra team and the locals, and if he was supposed to be guarding her from something or someone in Nibelheim, making his presence known would be a good thing.

There wasn't anything particularly arresting about any of the lower rooms. Most of the windows only presented a view of the surrounding cliff-face, no matter what angle he approached them from. Which brought the house a certain degree of defensibility. No sniper would be able to get an angle for a shot through three-quarters of the ground floor windows. The ones that looked out into the yard only showed the limited and open ground inside the wall. The wall itself was very uniform, not the type that allowed for hidden assailants. The gaggle of bushes and wrist thin trees wouldn't provide much cover either, but the truck pulled up in front of the building would. The footprints in the snow didn't indicate that anyone but those he'd seen had been about, however it was an excuse to go outside.

The snow was only a handful of centimeters deep, the type that would melt before noon, but it still released a blaze of light as the early sunlight brushed it. He was trying to decide if it lent some cheeriness to the landscape or just made everything more stark when he realized that, shallow or not, the snow was getting his feet damp. Too bad water-proofing hadn't been in last quarter's pay-grade.

He shook off the clinging wet and circled once around the truck. There weren't any lurking threats, not that he'd expected them, but because of the wolf he hadn't completely ruled them out. He looked, then jumped into the cargo portion of the truck to make sure there wasn't anything else the professor had felt compelled to drag off the road. There was nothing alive, though there was a large container that resembled a generously sized coffin. Cadavers were fairly common in research. The rest of the truck's contents were enclosed in several crates disturbingly similar to the ones he'd had to move yesterday.

Vincent jumped down and headed back inside. If he hung around any longer he might get conscripted into hauling cargo again. Time to look busy with specialized and non-transferable skills.

The second story of the house was much like the first in terms of one being able to assassinate a passerby through a window. His own room would be completely inaccessible unless one would be dedicated enough to scale the cliff to get a shot at him through the window. Dr. Crescent's room did have a few spots where it would be possible for an armed person to get a kill shot. They were random spots where she would have to be standing though. She wouldn't be accessible in bed. Still, he would have to switch rooms with her.

He'd been avoiding the sounds of occasional passing feet as the cargo was moved. He wished them all success in getting that modified casket down the ladder. He could always tap the walls if he ran out of ways to look busy, but going from the example of the 'secret' passage, anything clandestine about the manor would likely be very obvious.

As obvious, for instance, as the locked door.

It was on the upper right wing of the house. He leaned against the opposite wall to decide if it would be worth picking the lock. It might just be locked because the room wasn't being used. That sounded entirely too reasonable.

He glanced at the window, no screens.

He unlatched it and shoved. It swung open and the freshness that rushed in drove home anew how little airing the place got. He stepped onto the sill and gripped the frame so he could lean out the full length of his arm. There was a window that would look into the locked room, he could make out a little of the interior from here. It was hardly interesting. He didn't feel like giving it that much distinction, but the locked door was looking like the object that would merit the most attention on the non-'secret' portions of the manor. Unless something else could catch his attention. He looked around hopefully and found what he was searching for.

On the ceiling of the hallway was the outline of a trapdoor. The handle of knotted string hung down a good distance, though still a bit out of reach. Unless he jumped, which he did. Shinra hadn't made a point of investing in the technology of trapdoors. With his full suspended weight it didn't budge. He had misjudged, it was actually roped silk, how classy. He gave as good a yank as possible with his feet off the floor, but it still didn't move. Good thing no one was around to see this. He braced a foot on each wall and dragged down on the cord with every advantage gravity and body weight could give him. He should have eaten more these past weeks. The trapdoor seemed to realize he was serious and suddenly popped open. He was nearly upside down now so he brought his legs down and swung with a bit of an arch to land clear of the onrushing ladder. He landed on his feet and the ladder crashed to the floor behind him. Ladders were out to get him. This one was at least in a conventional location.

The crash didn't seem to have damaged the floor and he lightly ascended the ladder. The third floor was more of an attic than anything else and seemed to have been added for decorative effect. There was hardly anything up here, only a few battered cases illuminated from the windows. The entire floor was open and unpartitioned, giving a relatively unobstructed view of how large each level of the mansion was. Strategically placed points of support broke up an absolutely clear look of the space. Unlike the locked room, it was apparent that no one had been on this floor for some time, years perhaps. Not a mark stirred the dust on the floor, not even the small prints of mice or rats.

Looking out he could see that the windows on this level would be the easiest to scope from outside. It was a moot point since this floor didn't seem to be in use, and it wasn't going to be easily accessible either so it was unlikely to be a first choice point of entry for anyone trying to get into the mansion.

The air was musty and he cracked open one of the windows to get some ventilation. The windows on this level were mostly floor to ceiling, and the ones facing away from the cliff actually had a decent view of the sky. He walked the entire floor to determine that it was impressively structurally sound before briefly glancing at the metal boxes. He didn't feel inclined to meticulously search through each one at the moment, and filed it away as something to do when he was particularly bored.

Looking out of the windows here was impressing upon him how much he didn't want to be inside, and how he would be easier to get along with if he could go for a space of time without running into any other people. Not wanting to leave the sanctuary of the uppermost story, Vincent drew in the ladder and shut the trapdoor from above.

That accomplished he turned back to the windows that faced the cliff, which opened stiffly. He stepped forward onto the sill and looked out. The slope of the rock face was still closely angled to the house and no more than a few meters away. He could make that easily. He jumped.

Maybe 'easily' had been generous. The crags he had been aiming for weren't as deep as he had surmised and there was an unnerving moment of sliding before he latched onto the rock. What really made it difficult was connecting to the cliff with hands and feet only and keeping his uniform from getting mussed. A challengeless existence was an unsavoured one. Now that he was settled it wouldn't be all that hard to proceed. The stone was chilly, but the sun had been up long enough that any ice from the storm last night was only in the most shadowed crevices. His shoes were even fairly compatible at getting grip on the uneven surface, and he was glad he had the name of the manufacturer.

His exercise had been far from consistent recently and rock climbing provided a mixture of stretching and exertion that was both familiar and soothing. He was sorry that the climb was so short.

Pulling himself over the top ledge without letting any of the snow that still dotted the crest get on his suit was a little tricky, but he was glad to be there. As he had thought, the snow was already melting away. The cliff was stone, but it was topped with enough soil to be life sustaining. Vibrant green was laced over with the fast fading snow, looking unaffected and perhaps even more brilliant with its veil of ice. Bits of color were being freed from the white in spring bloom that had barely been realized when he left Junon.

There were trees too, a lot of them. They weren't even the pine type that was common for mountains, all of them were fully clothed in smooth young greenery. There was a freshness and strength to them that lightened his spirit. He walked among the trees more to prolong the feeling than to determine the ease with which someone could hide in them. Unless that someone was himself.

At every Shinra stronghold and on every long term assignment, he would find himself a place of refuge, sometimes several. A place of quiet except for the voice of growing things. Sometimes that quiet was relative, but he always found something no matter how far from his assigned duties he had to wander. Which was why he was often annoyed when he and Veld were put on the same assignment. Veld invariably found out his strongholds of solitude and dragged him back to productive society.

He wasn't in any hurry to get back now. He could make sure there weren't any lurking shady characters for a good few hours yet. If he hadn't been hungry. He wasn't oppressively hungry though, and he explored several kilometers of woods before turning back to 'civilization'. The grove and grassland above the manor had plenty of hiding places, but as the house couldn't be attacked from most of them, it wasn't much of an issue. The cliff could be scaled, but if someone should choose that path they would have to do so completely exposed.

He selected a different method to descend the heights. Partly to get acquainted with alternate ways of accessing it and partly because he still wasn't planning on returning to the house. The occasion to make himself visible and threatening had come. He made sure to stand straight and to show the full width of his shoulders.

Nibelheim wasn't an easy town to sneak around in, so it was fortunate that stealth wasn't currently his goal. Most of the houses were snugged up against the mountainside leaving no room to skulk unless he went through barely-there backyards and over houses. Taking a precarious higher path looked like it might be possible if he ever wanted to simply observe.

Everything seemed to center around a water tower in the center square. Were the village founders worried about water shortages or was it merely precaution? Or did it actually allow them the luxury of indoor plumbing? Was that why there wasn't anyone outside? Were they all enjoying the convenience of hot showers and flushing toilets? A few steps further and sounds of life and laughter reached him.

He stopped in front of the village inn. Faces and movement flashed through the windows. Was it common for people to gather here, or was it a special occasion? In any event, most of the town was probably there right now, if the number of visible houses was a good way to measure Nibelheim's inhabitants. Making sure his coat was loose enough for easy access to his gun, he opened the door.

A communal call of greeting broke off as he stepped inside. The silence wasn't one of hostility though, rather it breathed curiosity.

"Welcome!"

He eyed the smiling innkeeper with a shade of incredulity, especially as the congenial expression seemed to be almost universally mirrored in the patrons. Politeness from someone trying to run a business was one thing, but he was picking up the same amount of amiability from the crowd.

He didn't feel quite up to a smile but he managed to shift his countenance to pleasantly neutral as he stepped forward. The expression was strained as more than one person obviously made room for him. They were either being friendly or trying to get close to their enemy. He wouldn't have minded so much if he had known which.

He moved into their midst. If he was trying to build up a benign relationship with any possible non-aggressives in this town, now would be the perfect time to utter some light comments about the weather and the general robustness of the village population. The apparently uniform affability that didn't seem to be hiding any unease or ill intent had thrown him though, and he was floundering for a decently harmless topic of conversation that wouldn't be outside the experience of an isolated villager. He stayed silent.

It would be considered normal to be standing with so many people around him, but normal situations were rarely the ones he was called on to deal with. The fact that he couldn't see any openly hostile individuals made him more wary and intensely conscious of how his back was exposed. Trying not to look like he was deliberately shunning the places that had been offered him, he slipped to a space at the end of the counter against the back wall. He didn't cross his arms or his legs, he didn't slump forward or sit ramrod straight. He was very careful not to portray any body language that might be perceived as withdrawing himself from anyone in the common area.

The left side of his face was next to the wall so the side facing everyone in the room was the unobscured one. He turned himself to show as much of his face without showing the longer hair on the left side as possible. Looking open and trustworthy right now was important. It would also downplay how he looked from the left side so he could utilize it if he ever wanted to be less noticeable in the future.

Of course he'd have to go for a different wardrobe as well if he was genuinely intent on being inscrutable. His suit stood out like a beacon of snootiness amid the work clothes of everyone around him. At least, he wished it had branded him as stuck up and unapproachable.

"So, work for Shinra do ya?"

It also proclaimed his place of employment. There was only one type of career in this area that would require a uniform.

"Just one of many," he said lightly. Announcing his presence was one of the reasons he came into the village, and maybe phrasing it like he did would give the impression that he wasn't working alone up here. Perhaps they would be intimidated enough to stop asking questions.

"How about that? Lots of trucks and activity heading up to your mansion lately."

He should be trying to pick up intelligence anyway. He might learn something from talking to them. Like how a grand total of two trucks in two days qualified as 'lots'.

"I remember when they first built an excavation site on Mt. Nibel," remarked someone else, good-naturedly elbowing his way closer to Vincent. "Lot of job offers came from that set up."

It was standard for Shinra to employ the surrounding population for a Mako excavation or reactor site. It helped ensure Shinra wouldn't be challenged.

"How many of you are employed there?" Vincent asked. Shinra would only go so far for local compliance. They were still leery of someone discovering how to replicate their schematics and let in a limited number of outsiders.

"None."

No one had been deemed trustworthy?

"The hike it takes to get to the site isn't worth taking there and back every day, and we weren't excited about bunking down up there."

Ah, this was really something he should have researched before arriving, but when he'd left he had been...distracted.

"The pay wasn't a temptation?" Were they susceptible to being bribed?

The current speaker snorted and another spoke up.

"Not really, if it takes us away from our homes it's not worth it."

The snorter added, "We live here by choice. If what we wanted wasn't here already we wouldn't be here either."

"What is here?" How was this village staying afloat? Where things weren't bare rock, greenery didn't seem to have any trouble growing so it was possible they were able to produce at least some their own food. Did they just kill whatever meat they wanted? How did their economy work?

They both smiled, and it rippled among everyone who was close enough to listen. The innkeeper spoke, "We have the mountain."

That was far from informative. There was either some benignly motivated conspiracy or they were all genuinely moved and attached to the stone bones of the earth and the way that meadow was crowned with a thousand trees. Well, it wasn't as if he couldn't sympathize with the latter, and it was nice to be around people who would actually look him in the eye when they were talking to him.

Having real food in front of him helped his mood considerably as well, though not in a convivial capacity. Fortunately, his audience was capable and willing to fill in the silence. His own quiet was interpreted as overwhelming approval for the food he'd been served. He supposed that inference was close enough and didn't bother to correct them as they smugly gave him space to enjoy their exquisite local fare.

Attention turned away from him completely when someone new walked in the door, someone he was mildly acquainted with. The driver from the professor's vehicle ambled inside.

"Well, you're an unlooked for sight."

He flicked his eyes without moving his head over to where the stairs opened from the second story and saw his driver from yesterday, who apparently knew the professor's driver. He really didn't want to have to go through a friendly and heartfelt greeting like the one he was watching right now. Judging from the rapport he'd built up with his own driver, it was a pretty safe unlikelihood.

Both drivers took a seat on the section of the counter that was parallel to the wall. While Vincent wasn't exactly crushed that his driver didn't like him, he knew it might be to his best benefit if no one recognized him. He tipped back the glass he was drinking from to obscure as many of his features as possible. The left side of his face, and therefore the one clouded by hair, was the one that had been facing the driver for nearly all the time they had been traveling together. Even so, the way the hair hung on the right side of his face was reminiscent of the other half and might bring it to mind.

He let the glass slide from his grasp back onto the counter, coating his hand with the condensation gathered on its surface. With a quick motion he smoothed his hair away from his face so it was in a rough approximation of that slicked back look Veld was always telling him was so professional looking. It felt odd with no sensation cradling his jaw, but he knew he also looked different than he usually did. He wondered if he'd started getting discernible tan lines on his face from where his hair blocked the sun. It was worth it if it allowed him to remain unidentified long enough to eavesdrop.

"You won't believe what I've been through."

"Could be, but I doubt it. What are you doing up here so soon anyway? I thought it was gonna be a few more days at least before your guy came in."

"He surprised everyone. Sprang off that boat the day after you left looking offended that we didn't all seem delighted that he was there. The schedule was all worked out so I'd have work in the days before he showed up and then he comes right in the middle of a shift and demands instant transport. Has the rank to make it happen too."

"Maybe being under orders makes the trip easier."

"As opposed to how you just volunteered to drive your passenger over early even though you weren't scheduled to leave until the next day?"

Vincent hadn't known that.

"That schedule was just a soft estimate. Officially I was just supposed to take the guy when he showed. Accounting for fine print though, I probably could have argued for not taking him until the schedule said. That's what I should have done."

"Not a cheery ride?"

"He didn't say anything for the entire trip. Just stared out the window for hours and hours on end. You know how long that trip is and I was counting on conversation to help keep me awake."

"So you had to pull over to keep from passing out at the wheel?"

"Two hours in, I just wanted the whole trip to be over as fast as possible. If he wasn't talkative, he was at least unnerving enough to keep me from falling asleep. I wasn't going to lengthen that trip for anything. If the guy had just talked once, it would have made things easier."

"It doesn't always."

"Why, your guy a chatterbox?"

"That's too kind a term."

"So what's an appropriate one?"

"One that would get me kicked out of the company. Just because a person is talking it doesn't follow that the conversation is good."

"So spill."

"The esteemed professor -"

"Which one?"

"Hojo."

"It was just you and Hojo for a fifteen hour drive? That actually makes me feel better."

"There was a silent assistant, probably someone your passenger would hang out with, and it was more like seventeen hours."

"Couldn't make it through the night? Why didn't you just have the assistant or the professor take a turn at driving?"

"Why didn't you ask your passenger to drive so you weren't up working all day and then staying up for a fifteen hour drive after that?"

"He's kind of like this vacuum that sucks up every possibility of speech."

"In any case, the professor was prissy about how driving was in my job description and not his or his assistant's, and we were delayed because the truck hit a wolf."

"Did it make you blow out a tire or something? That shouldn't have delayed you two hours."

"Part of it was dealing with the snow, but we could have been done with the whole situation in five minutes except that...professor decided the wolf would be good for his experiments."

"...Why?"

"You think I know how his mind works, or want to? This thing was in a condition where it was going to starve to death because it was too beat up to function on its own even if it didn't kick the bucket in the next few hours, and he decides it's in perfect shape to inject with some bizarre sciency stuff. He didn't even inject it himself, made his assistant do it, and the kid got clawed up for his trouble. And then the prof won't let him treat the injury beyond tying his hands up in bandages. We had a nasty time getting this thing restrained and in the back of the transport. To be honest I was kind of hoping it would just die on the way over."

"But it didn't."

"When we picked it up it was a few steps from death's door, but after it was injected it was like every minute jabbed it a little more to life. Jabbed it with barbed wire too, half an hour into this it didn't stop making noise."

"Didn't the professor get worried about it?"

"Him? He got more excited the worse it sounded and all I could think about was how hard it was going to be to get this thing out of the truck again without anyone losing a limb."

"You've still got all of yours, was everyone else as lucky?"

"Barely, it nearly took my arm off while we were maneuvering it out of the truck. By 'we' I mean myself and the assistant. Mr. High and Mighty couldn't trouble himself to help. Oh wait, he got the door. How considerate."

"What did you do with the wolf? Is it locked up in some cage in the manor?"

"Nope, dead."

"So the professor just wanted to be in a lab environment before he killed it?"

"The way this thing died wasn't part of any plan of the professor's."

"And what happened was?"

"Alright, so pretty much all attention is on making sure this thing doesn't kill anyone, including itself. You should have seen how it was thrashing! Worst thing is that me and the kid have to end up just standing in the entrance room while the professor chats it up with some lady scientist who's already at the mansion. The kid is having trouble on his end because his hands are still all messed up and I know it's only a matter of time before one of us slips up."

"Things couldn't get worse?"

"The whole point is that they could get worse, which they did. I still don't really know what happened, but it was like the wolf...broke. All the noise it had been making was nothing to what it put out now and I couldn't even begin to figure out how it was corkscrewing the way it was. I could see the kid was about to have his hold broken and I was going crazy trying to figure out how we were going to fix this when there was a gunshot."

"Was this where it reaches the 'worst'?"

"No, actually. I'm not really sure if the sound of the gun did more than surprise me. It's like the noise was so loud it just wiped out everything else out of focus. And also, he killed the wolf."

"He?"

"This is the first time I think any of us in the room noticed him, but after we hear the gunshot, we look up to the balcony and there's one of those blue suited Turks standing there looking like he's ready to shoot anything that moves."

"...What'd this guy look like?"

"Black hair, not just dark, kind of shaggy, falling in his face. Looks kind of small from far off because he's so thin, but real tall. And red eyes. Couldn't see that right away, but when he came closer you can tell. Not red like he's short on sleep or messing around with stimulants, but red irises."

The lighter haired driver slammed his drink against the counter and gave a bark of laughter. "That's my guy. The man who wouldn't talk."

"You drove him there, did you really think it would be someone else?"

"Guess I was hoping there might be some other Turks lurking around so it wasn't that guy taking the credit for getting that wolf off your hands. Did he say anything?"

"Well not -"

"I knew it."

"Not right away. The lady scientist starts coming down the stairs to where we are and the Turk snaps over to her fast as she takes the first step. He jumps down to this mid-landing and I have a moment of thinking that he's following her when he launches himself over the railing."

So he had. It had seemed like the quickest way of getting down.

"I think for a moment that the guy is just crazy. That shooting the wolf was just a nervous tic and not something thought out and that he's just flying off the cuff, when he reaches out and grabs one of the support pillars of the balcony."

It had been fortunate those were there. He'd been anticipating having to roll to kill his momentum, but when a pillar was handy he didn't object to taking advantage of it.

"It's like he swings around it and slides down at the same time because by the time he's facing all of us again he's low enough that he kind of steps off, and he doesn't make a sound hitting the floor."

"Well, something like that would've made him more interesting to ride with. How'd the professor take the demise of his 'experiment'?"

"Not well. I thought for a bit that this Turk, Valentine he calls himself, was out of his depth. You know the clout that scientists have, especially Hojo, one of the top tier dogs. I was thinking Hojo was going to pull rank and squash the guy, but Valentine slipped around issues of protocol and direct and indirect orders like an eel on a greased floor. Hojo couldn't pin him down with anything, and Valentine up and used one of his own potions on the kid's hands."

Of course he had. The personal inclinations of the 'head' of the project had no weight compared to what was genuinely effective and needed for the endeavor.

"Must have left the professor spitting mad."

"He was getting there, but Valentine suggests the professor can dissect the wolf and he was distracted."

"Hmm, you have to help with moving it?"

"Yeah, but Valentine helped too. Guy knows his way around a corpse. Makes me glad I'm not a Turk. He made himself scarce after we got the body moved out though. I've been moving stuff upstairs and -"

The man's voice dropped, but Vincent was sure he read 'secret' something or other on the man's lips. He allowed himself a mental eye roll.

"If I see any ladders within the next twenty-four hours..."

"You make me feel guilty for sleeping all morning."

"Don't, I'm going to knock out for a solid fourteen hours as soon as I get the chance."

The conversation turned lighter and less informative. Vincent motioned the innkeeper over to him. He payed for his own meal and for another round for the two drivers.

"Do you want them to know you sent it?" the innkeeper asked in confused politeness.

"That's not necessary," said Vincent. He rose and slipped back into the crowd so he could leave without either of the two men seeing him. He had collected a goodly bit of intelligence, had a passable mental layout of the mansion and surrounding area, and had made it apparent that a Turk was prowling in the area. For the moment, tolerable progress had been made in assuring Dr. Crescent's protection, and he still wanted to pick up fresh food for the dinner he would have to make himself. He stepped back into the sun.


That night he woke cold. The enduring horror of loss was not forgotten. His father was still dead. That death had finally slunk into his dreams. All of him, soul and skin, shook from what he had seen. He didn't fall asleep again.


A/N: I go with Steve Blum's presentation for Vincent's voice. So sorry this took awhile, but I hope y'all like it. The Mansion is a conglomeration of the various versions that we see in FFVII, CC, and DoC. Vincent always seemed like he was a follower of the double-tap principle, but literary wise I wanted things to be done in one shot so I had Hojo get in the way with the wolf killing. I have Hojo mapped out as a man ruled by ambition and a kind of twisted optimism. BTW, 358/2 is awesome and worth buying a Nintendo DS for (on ebay).