It was a long time before Vincent decided he'd had enough, though the rest of the afternoon had left him in blessed, surrounded solitude. None of the tavern's patrons, it seemed, felt brave enough to breach the empty stool on either of his sides, nor intrude upon him until long after the sun had begun to set and darkness crept over the white sands that lapped the door.

It was then that he paid for what Cid had not, and turned to leave. But the small, miserably lonesome flash from the bar caught his attention with the movement. The gunman frowned, reaching out to take it in his good hand.

The phone beeped faintly, complaining of messages long unchecked. And despite his better judgment, Vincent flipped it open to see who had been trying to reach her.

The list was made up of a single name, repeating itself over and over, as though repeating itself would get someone's attention. 31 missed calls, all from him. The list of unread text messages was even longer, an unbroken stream of 'Dad.'

The gunman frowned, scrolling slowly down the long line of messages.

I'm sorry.

I love you.

He closed the phone with a snap, tucking it away as he turned for the door.

The morning would find it on Lyla's bedstand, as if it had never been missing at all, but in the mean time, Vincent had something to do.

It was somewhat later in Junon than in Costa del Sol, but sleep was the last thing on Dr. Caraway's mind. Every light in the house had been left on, dinner sat on a nearby table, cold and unfinished, as he sat on the sofa, TV droning in the background, his focus entirely on the phone in his hands.

Ring.

Please ring.

The doorbell answered before the phone, sending a small, electric chime through the apartments.

The doctor jumped, startled, phone slipping from his hands and landing so that it perched between two of the couch cushions. He quickly moved to his feet, running fingers through his unkempt and graying hair in an attempt to make himself somewhat more presentable even as he went to open the door.

"... oh. Hello."

The darkness outside concealed the most of his face in shadows, but even under the yellowing streetlamps there was no mistaking the bloody sweep of Vincent's cloak. He nodded when the large man appeared in the doorframe.

"Dr. Caraway."

"I can't say that I was expecting you. ... please, come in," the graying man said after a moment, weary, though genuine in his hospitality, standing aside to usher Vincent in.

The gunman stepped just inside obligingly, waiting until the door had closed to speak again. It was a moment before he realized he had no idea how to breach the subject he had come to discuss.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Caraway asked cautiously, appraising his guest with reserve. "Mr. Valentine."

If the sound of his name from the scientist's lips startled him, the former AVALANCHE operative failed to show it. He only lowered his head slightly, inclining it the better to see his host. "I came to tell you that she's safe, for now." He said in a low, even tone. "And to ask about Prometheus and Pandora."

"I see." His face was overcome with relief, gratitude. "I'll answer what I can. Come in, sit down," Caraway directed, walking back to the main room and pausing to switch off the television before easing himself into a seat on the sofa.

This time Vincent hesitated before following, the reservation across his elegant features easily hidden. "They're mentally linked," he said, taking a perching seat across from the doctor. "How?"

"It wasn't planned," Caraway confessed, a frown pulling at his mouth and causing the lines around his eyes to become more defined somehow. Tired. "Not what Gast and I... had intended. But Hojo, Shinra thought he was brilliant. They thought he was bold... he was crazy. We knew by then, seeing what he allowed to be done to his own son, and what he did himself. Many projects have Jenova in their makeup, but not like they do. Their makeup is the almost the same, with only one variation. The reason for their link is... not scientific, but mystical. Jenova herself is responsible. ... I don't think Hojo planned for it, either, despite his desire for them to be..."

"To be..." Vincent prompted, eyebrows raising.

"Prometheus and Pandora are sibling projects," Caraway explained, his expression darkening. "Hojo wanted them to be a mating pair. Perhaps to see what sort of super soldier the two of them would make. ... maybe just for fun."

An image of Rei sprung, unbidden, into Vincent's mind. He lowered his head.

"Sounds like him."

Caraway frowned, lowering his own head in turn. "I took her when I found out."

But, never having met, the link endured. It connected them through the cycles of life and death. It anchored them together, now.

Vincent didn't mention it. He didn't know what he could say, and there was no way for Dr. Caraway to explain in greater detail something he did not understand, himself.

The gunman frowned. Mystical means. One more bridge that could only be crossed on faith.

He had to admit, he'd had about enough of those.

"We thought we were doing something right. Good for the planet," Caraway went on, voice rising to well above the murmur it had started out at. "Gast and I. We never wanted to let them be used. You know well what was done to Sephiroth. Hojo was favored by the company, having given them their great prodigy. ... allowed to roam free. Everyone turned a blind eye when he hunted Gast down and killed him. Took his wife and child and turned them into experiments. ... she was the last component to the Pandora Project, Ilfalna Faremis. I wanted to set them free, too. Couldn't get close. But Pandora was my project, too. I saved who I could. ... resigned. Got a man killed in the process." His frown deepened. "No good deed goes unpunished."

"You saved more than just your daughter." Vincent's expression was cool, even.

"By keeping them apart," Caraway finished.

He nodded.

He looked up, each movement slow, cautious. "... is she really alright? Things had... been getting worse, lately. ... I didn't know how to help her."

The gunman glanced up. Somehow, the information didn't surprise him. Not now knowing that Sephiroth was rebuilding, and who knew for how long. He had been complete- or, nearly so, when they arrived.

Still, he couldn't help but wonder if they had come earlier than Jenova had intended.

Aloud he only said, "Upset. ...overwhelmed. But alright. Processing."

"I never wanted to lie to her," Caraway explained, his gaze very decidedly elsewhere. "Only wanted to keep her safe. From Hojo and anything else. To him, she was just a project, same as his son. He never saw them as people."

"I'm not sure he saw anyone as people, Dr. Caraway."

"All animals to cut open and play with." He looked back to the man in red. "I thought he had only killed you. I'm sorry to see that he made you a toy instead."

"I wrote my own dirge." Vincent said quietly, rising to his feet. "Thank you for your help."

"I'm only sorry I can't do more." He rose to his feet as well, prepared to show his guest out. "Valentine," he said again, hesitating. "Do me a favor and look after her?"

The lank man paused in the doorway, turning to meet the Doctor's tired eyes. He nodded once, deliberately, wondering how reassuring the promise of a corpse could be.

"The best I can."

"I appreciate it," the doctor replied, smiling faintly, exhausted. "Thank you... for letting me know."

He nodded again, making his way outside. It was a long trip back to Costa Del Sol.

Cid had never made his return to the bar, having left money enough for the first four rounds on the counter before heading out, trusting Vincent could handle the rest if he had stayed and continued to drink. Which, knowing Vincent, Cid figured he would. But now it was late. Late enough the bar would be closing down soon, and Vincent was the only one of their number who had not appeared at the hotel. And so Cid had made himself comfortable in the lobby, arms folded, feet propped up on an expensive-looking coffee-table. Waiting.

"Boy needs a fuckin' curfew."

"Reno?" Came the serene guess from somewhere to his left. Vincent raised an eyebrow with dry mirth.

The voice startled him enough to make him drop his cigarette, which he quickly jumped up to stamp out. "Leapin' fuckin' giant-ass lizards, don't go sneakin' up on me like that. Where've you been at? Didn't think you'd stay at that place 'til last call. Had no one to grouse about Shinra with while y'were gone."

There was a queer expression on the gunman's face. One almost like wicked amusement. He snorted softly, sinking into the seat beside Cid with practiced ease. "I had an errand to run."

"Doesn't soun' like it was the fun kind. Also, noticed you didn't bring any beer back, so must've been a crappy errand," the pilot surmised.

"I've had funner."

"Ya gonna tell me or do I hafta pry it outta ya?"

He shifted enough to fold his arms. "I wanted to ask Dr. Caraway about Prometheus."

"He got anything useful to say?" Cid asked with genuine curiosity, settling back into his seat and crossing his arms over his chest.

"Not particularly." There was the faintest edge of regret in the man's even tone. "But he cleared up one thing. ...Whatever links Lyla and Sephiroth isn't measurable."

"Great. That's comfortin'," the pilot drawled, frowning. "Why don' you just buy a phone, you crazy bastard. Coulda jus' called him to learn nothin' instead of goin' all the way to Junon."

Vincent gave him a long, cool look. "Yuffie wouldn't stop calling it."

"Don' give her the number. Would be nice to reach you inna pinch, y'know."

"Mn." he mned, nodding. "I'll consider that."

"No y'won't, but that's alright." The blonde stretched his arms over his head, cracking his back before pulling another cigarette and his lighter out of his front pocket. "So no idea how long we're gonna be waitin' for Sephiroth to turn up."

"Soon." Vincent murmured, watching the motions with mild interest. He had considered picking up the habit, here and there, if only for the calming aspect of having something to occupy his hands. But in the end, one vice was more than enough.

"That's nice an' specific," Cid remarked as he lit up, pausing to take a long drag off his cigarette. "That Rei was like havin' a homing device with us, 'cept she was all narrowly focused and not really helpful. But coulda been with some persuasion. Seemed to be adjustin' alright."

"We'll find her." The gunman frowned. "She won't be far behind Sephiroth."

And part of him balked when he'd almost said 'her father.'

"Yeah. Figured she'd be trailin' after him, whenever he turns up."

"At least we know for sure he's headed this way."

"Think those articles make it a sure thing?" the pilot asked before a long exhale of smoke.

"No. But Lyla's nightmares do."

"Whatcha talkin'?" Cid asked, arching a brow.

"She's like Rei." Vincent frowned, looking over at his friend. "Not as clear. But connected."

"Sounds unpleasant," the pilot told him decidedly.

The gunman nodded his stoic agreement.

Cid took another drag before putting his cigarette out in the potted plant beside them, the soil around which was already dotted with a number of white-and-tan stubs. "Think I'll turn in. Late for an old man like me," he snorted.

"Don't break a hip on the stairs."

Cid laughed loudly as he made his way across the lobby, offering a salute over his shoulder. "Don't bust a lung on your way up, either."

Vincent snorted, but he was smiling, under the cowl.