For an array of reasons, Vincent was unable to take his eyes off of Aria as she lay next him. She had already drifted back into a light sleep, her head turned slightly toward him. Her right hand lay palm up, near her face. Lightly, he ran his fingers across the skin of her palm. It was smooth, unscratched, unscarred, perfectly healed. For a single moment, he considered her undertaking, and allowed himself to imagine the possibilities of a success. Granted, her blood was unrecognizable, but she healed with amazing speed. He would have to grapple with her appearance changes at Jenova's will. These compromises were strikingly familiar. An unexpected wave of relief washed over him at the fleeting idea that he had met his match. He lay on his left side, hiding his left hand under his pillow, and rested his right hand on top of her warm, smooth wrist.

As expected, he awoke alone. Muffled voices sounded from the living room: greetings, from what he could determine. He straightened his appearance and opened the bedroom door, finding a doctor and a nurse from the hospital talking to Aria. They sat on the white couches, across from one another.

"Ah, Mr. Valentine. Good morning," the curt doctor called across the room.

Vincent nodded his reply, crossed the room, and sat next to Aria. He did not notice her eyes shift to look at him, nor her brief grin at his choice of seat. He did notice dark circles under her eyes.

"We were just preparing for the second injection. Ms. Marx's vitals are all basically normal. A slightly raised temperature, but that's not surprising. I've noted the fading of the tattoos, and am fairly convinced it's increased cell regeneration. It's almost like an extremely deep exfoliation, ridding itself of the old, growing brand new. We'll continue to watch that. Is there anything else we should know?"

Silence.

"My shoulder blade...it doesn't make sense, but it aches a little. It's come and gone since the first injection, but then, I haven't been moving as much. I'm probably just stiff."

"That's a possibility. The cells might be rejecting the prosthetic implant. The scars indicate a rather crude operation took place. If the pain continues, perhaps we can look into a more...organic, aesthetically pleasing option. Keep me informed."

Vincent's brow twitched at the doctor's phrasing. The prosthetic was aesthetically pleasing, he thought. It connected them.

"Anything else?" the man asked abruptly.

She looked to Vincent quickly, then back to the doctor. "No. That's all."

"Okay."

Moments later, the doctor pressed the needle into her skin, and more cells entered her body. Again, the injection was painless. Her arm did not bleed. The doctor shook her hand, and in minutes, was gone, leaving a promise that he would return the following morning.

"You did not tell him about last night. Your hand...Cloud's vision..." Vincent noted. Aria sighed, moving toward the refrigerator. She opened it, and pulled out a variety of fruits.

"I know. I couldn't shake the feeling that...that information would be too tempting. Shinra is rebuilding, without much of a military, and if they thought they could duplicate my condition on other people...it would be a disaster. Innocent people would die, or worse, be taken over by Jenova because their bodies can't handle it." She began slicing apples while she spoke. "I just didn't see an immediate reason for telling him about my hand. I am fine, after all," she noted, sliding a white bowl of apple slices across the counter toward him.

Despite the undeniably drastic circumstances, Vincent took pleasure in sharing such a normal moment with her. He sat in a bar stool opposite the counter from her, and watched her hands as they disassembled apples, pears, strawberries, and bananas.

"I hope you don't feel obligated to stay here. I know I can't leave, but you can. If you want to go out during the day, I don't want you to feel like a prisoner, too," she explained, never looking up from her work.

"I don't." This time, he noticed her small smile.

Aria continued piecing together a fruit salad, a notable energy in her work. She hummed, her head bouncing to the melody of the catchy tune. Once, very briefly, she rolled her right shoulder and grimaced, but quickly returned to the task at hand. As she focused more on her culinary masterpiece, she thought less about suppressing the song that had surfaced from her memory. Lyrics began quietly flowing from her.

"'You know you gotta help me out...Don't you put me on the back burner...You know you gotta help me out. You're gonna bring yourself down. You're gonna bring yourself down,'" she sang, at first to herself, then louder, as she finished preparing breakfast.

"'I got soul, but I'm not a soldier. I got soul, but I'm not a soldier...'"

He could not fight the smirk that overtook his face. Upon seeing his expression, she stopped for a moment, then burst into laughter.

"You're something," he told her.

"God, I haven't heard that song in years. And yet, it's still so true," she joked, raising a slice of strawberry to his lips. He accepted the fruit, and the fingertips that held it. Both were sweet, feeding two forms of hunger.

.

The days passed slowly through old movies on the large television, accidental naps, small meals, and deeper exploration of the kitchen cabinets. Vincent left for a few hours every other day, bringing back clothing for the both of them, foods that seemed exotic to Aria, and some choice toiletries. She could not help but be amused that he went out of his way to find all-natural cleansers for his skin. His latest findings included a rare fruit that they both decided tasted poisonous, and a small bouquet of lilacs.

What she did not realize was that he only left when Jenova targeted him. When he looked to Aria and found Lucrecia, he calmly, coolly found a reason to leave and soothe his nerves. He concentrated on his memories of Aria while he was away, and never failed to find her waiting for him when he returned. As he concentrated more and more on the fact that Lucrecia was only an illusion, the trips became shorter and shorter. Jenova was losing its battle with Vincent.

Aria had tested her boundaries with Vincent throughout the week that followed, moving closer and closer to him, and found none. He welcomed the invasion of personal space with a frustrating bitter-sweetness lurking in the back of his mind. Being caught off guard had proven more difficult when there was no place to escape. On two separate occasions, he had opened his eyes in the dead of night and found Lucrecia sleeping peacefully beside him. The first night, a familiar searing pain shot through his chest, and remained until he succumbed to a restless sleep. The second night, he saw through the ache, took a deep breath, brushed the light brown hair from her face, and closed his eyes tightly, reminding himself that she was only an illusion.

.

Six days after the second injection, another afternoon disappeared to a classic silent film on television. The sun descended, tired of the lazy day. By nightfall, Aria lay entwined in Vincent's arms, her back to his stomach, his legs on either side of her own, her head on his chest.

As the black and white film ended, she craned her neck to check on her companion, and found him in the middle of another nap. His breathing was slow; his chest rose and fell only slightly. A dark lash line sealed his closed eyes. The sleep was peaceful, as evident by his marble-smooth features. Watching him sleep brought memories of lying with him on the night of the Harvest to the surface of her mind. She recalled pulling the tan shirt away from his skin, revealing his own unique map of scars, and her smile broadened. He breathed in deeply, turning his head slightly, displaying the sharp angles of his jaw line. Suddenly, she recalled tasting cool, smooth skin on Tifa's couch, then nibbling at it in Tifa's guest room. Her blood seemed to warm as a blush rose in her cheeks. She could not help but realize how much time had passed since that night. She remembered cutting his shirt off and laughed softly, her hand covering her mouth instantly to suppress the reaction. Despite the sudden sense of need that these vivid memories inspired, Aria could not quite bring herself to drag him back to consciousness yet. Instead, she slid out of his light embrace and headed for the bathroom.

While allowing her shower water to heat, Aria examined her fading tattoos. The black Ancient symbols on her leg had lightened to a gray. Her wings were nearly gone. Turning her back to the mirror, she twisted to look at the remains of her phoenix. It, too, had lightened significantly, drawing the eye more toward her metal shoulder blade. The stark, intrusive piece throbbed as she stared at it, the now-constant ache increasing with her attention. She sighed, stretched her shoulder as much as possible, and returned her focus to her vanishing tattoos. At first, she swallowed hard, sad to see her artwork go. After some careful inspection, though, she noticed how smooth her skin had become. Without the regular sun exposure she was accustomed to, it had also lightened in tone. In the artificial light of the bathroom, she seemed to glow, her dark hair a stark contrast to her snowy skin. Her scars, too, had lightened, some disappearing altogether. Her only notable flaw was the dark circles that had somehow formed under her eyes. She had slept well, but upon touching the sallow skin just above her cheekbones, a strange sensation of craving came over her. Reality slipped away momentarily as she concentrated on the hunger that seemed to emanate from her bones. The lights flickered and snapped her back to her reflection. Outside of her dark eyes, the rest of her body glimmered. Choosing to view her changes as a positive fresh start over a loss of personal artwork, she proceeded with a much-welcome hot shower.