A/N: Damn, this fic is getting long. My reviewers! Thanks to: -CNFB-, Risikaa, KT, CaseyAnn'sPrecious, OvenBased, kiralover44, and Nalie! I'm really trying to stick with this even though I am usually the biggest procrastinator in existence :D KT, CaseyAnn'sPrecious, and OvenBased (you sort of asked...) you all asked about Cloud, and as far as I can see, he probably won't be a major character, though he will have his uses, I'm sure.... *evil grin*
Vincent did not sleep fitfully. He could hardly sleep at all, his mind scattering into so many splinters he could not collect them all and force them together coherently.
He felt alone, terribly alone, even though he knew Sephiroth was only a short ways down the hall, probably not even sleeping at all. His bed smelled like them both, and was a painful reminder that made him both sick with sorrow and somehow vaguely unsatisfied. What scared him was that he knew if Sephiroth asked, he would probably do it again. He would hate himself, hate Sephiroth more, but given time, he almost knew he would do it. How messed up was that?
He was still angry, that wasn't going away, but he still wanted Sephiroth. It made him infuriated that he did, as he moved over the sheets trying to get comfortable, able to detect the scent that wasn't his every time the fabric moved slightly.
Vincent did hate Sephiroth in a way. Mostly for hurting him, but also for making him want to forgive when he knew he shouldn't.
Chaos was roiling somewhere in his stomach, twisting, prying, making him anxious and angry. It seemed it was now back with a vengeance when he most needed reprieve from all of his thoughts. It enjoyed his suffering, furthering it. It made it impossible to sleep or concentrate on anything else while his body continued to feel things he wanted to just forget or bury somewhere.
He squinched his eyes shut, willing it to go away. Naturally, it didn't. That didn't seem to be the way things worked for him.
It took hours, but finally admitting defeat, he slowly moved up onto his arms, black hair hanging in his face. The drapes were closed, blocking out the moonlight, though its light changed their tint. He moved across the bed, throwing his feet over. He let out a sigh, not quite knowing what he planned to do. He just needed to get up and walk around or something. Laying down and trying to sleep obviously wasn't working successfully.
With ruffled hair, he moved over to the corner, grabbing his boots. He wouldn't put them on his feet, as it would be too loud. Sephiroth would likely hear him anyway, though Vincent wasn't sure if the man would be against him going out or not. It didn't seem like he would be; the man went outside at night himself, Vincent knew.
He tried to make his way out into the hall silently, barely allowing the door to shift at all. The hardwood flooring was cool on his bare feet, feeling good compared to the hot blankets that had seemed stifling the more he had turned over and tried to become comfortable.
Sephiroth's door was closed and no light came from beneath the door, though he knew that didn't really matter. Sephiroth, during the last few days, had never once turned the lights on to his recollection. It was strange at first, but Vincent had found it was very soothing on his sensitive eyes, and helped when he came in from outside, his head pounding from all of the bright rays of the sun.
He was beginning to realize that Sephiroth liked the dark.
When he walked into the kitchen, Sephiroth was sitting at the table, his green eyes reflecting from the dim white light that was filtering in between a space in the dark curtains. They were absolutely predatory, making Vincent stop, his breath caught in his throat from the unexpectedness of it.
Did his own eyes reflect like that?
Sephiroth said nothing, his eyes piercing into Vincent's unblinkingly. Something about it was both frightening and strangely alluring.
"I see you could not sleep," Sephiroth observed finally, breaking the awkward, almost deafening silence.
"There's a lot to think about," Vincent said honestly, walking into the kitchen. His hand rested on the island as he kept his eyes on Sephiroth.
"So there is." It was stated flatly, without any feeling whatsoever.
Vincent immediately tensed at the change in tone, wondering if it had been a bad idea to get out of bed. He wasn't sure the thing he needed at the moment was another conversation with Sephiroth. His mind wasn't ready to face emotionlessness.
Sephiroth was drinking from one of the mismatched coffee cups, the glinting, mirror-like surface of his eyes never leaving Vincent. There was something resting on the table behind the man's hand that he couldn't quite distinguish. He mistook it for a piece of silverware because of the vague shine to it.
"Come here, Vincent," Sephiroth said, setting down the ceramic mug lightly.
He could feel his own pulse quicken, his breathing wanting to become shorter, though he tried in vain to keep it even. Chaos seemed to be tearing at his insides suddenly, squeezing and pinching in a not so subtle warning. Even his own mind warned him against it; he was not ready to deal with this yet, wouldn't be for awhile. What did Sephiroth want?
Vincent shook his head, ignoring the desire in him. "I'd better not," he whispered, gaze dropping and wandering over to the island. He knew he couldn't. If Sephiroth had asked at any other time though....
He was surprised by his own refusal, but knew that it was the intelligent choice. He wasn't ready. He couldn't. Not now. But he wanted to, he couldn't deny that.
"Fine," Sephiroth said, getting up from the table.
The chair scraped the floor roughly, making Vincent flinch. His posture went rigid, blood beginning to flood too quickly into every vein from the instant nervousness and uncertainty.
"I can't," Vincent asserted, though his voice was soft, unconvincing.
"No?" Sephiroth asked, coming closer. He didn't move to stand in front of Vincent, instead he stopped more to the side of him, the glow of his eyes more powerful than ever.
"I..." Vincent tried to form words, but he was having an inner struggle, attempting to deny the neediness in himself, though he knew it was almost pointless.
A hand extended, a cool leather-clad finger barely touching Vincent's chin. He made a noise from somewhere in his chest, one that sounded frustrated. He took a step back, ceasing the contact with the last stubborn part that wanted to preserve his sanity.
"No," he stated again, his eyes becoming fearful, not from Sephiroth, but what was going on inside of him. He wanted to go to him. Everything was screaming not to, but that didn't stop the urge from nearly making him bolt forward.
Vincent didn't have to make the decision. Sephiroth paid the word no mind, stepping close enough that his black coat fluttered against the boy's legs. What happened next, was so shockingly unexpected, that Vincent gasped.
A loose hold consisting mostly of leather, was suddenly around him. One arm snaked around his waist, while the other went to his upper back. It was an awkward embrace, very much platonic.
It was uncomfortable at first, very stiff and unyielding on Sephiroth's part, as well as his own. He was so surprised that it took several seconds for him to register that it was really happening. There was the smell of the leather itself, then of Sephiroth, which now was salty and almost oceanic, the sea having permeated his clothing and hair. But he could smell that sweat underneath it all, and knew that the man hadn't taken a shower. Something about that fact was strangely satisfying.
Vincent didn't struggle, finally melting into the form that was both cold and warm at the same time. He could feel the heat of the man's body through the leather, but the material itself was almost as cold as the floor. Silver hair was tossed over his shoulder and tickling down his neck, reminding him of the last time they had been that close.
Sephiroth himself seemed to lose a little tension, his hand moving to Vincent's hair, where it pushed through the ebony locks, that hot breath somewhere above the boy's head. The whole thing was extremely comforting, to the point that Vincent let out an inadvertent sigh.
"I can't be like this for you," Sephiroth said, his face against the silky black hair. "It isn't in me."
Vincent could feel his eyes wanting to tear up, but he bit his lip to stop it, knowing it was stupid, knowing he would be nothing but a child to want something so weak and as desperately as he did. He nodded into the coat in grim acceptance, burying his face in it, one of his hands grabbing onto the leather and bunching it into his fist.
"Just this once," Sephiroth whispered, his lips touching the boy's ear, a gloved hand smoothing back the black hair.
Nothing had happened since that night over a week ago. Sephiroth had held him for a short while, and that had been it. The man had thankfully asked for nothing. And much like before, Sephiroth made no indication that he remembered the occurrence. Thinking back to it made Vincent want to shiver. It had been...perfect. He had needed some sort of kindness, no matter what the form, and the man had finally relented and given it to him. It had been so unexpected, the last thing he would have ever predicted to happen. Sephiroth seemed to become more and more mysterious with time.
He could almost come up with nothing as to 'why'. It was so...unlike everything he knew about the General. Sephiroth did not often touch people to be comforting; like the man had said, it was not him. He could remember being picked up off of the floor by Sephiroth back in the labs, and the very few times the man had reached out and chastely put his fingers under his jaw, but that was it. Sephiroth did not use physical action to calm people, instead he more often just soothed almost coldly with words. So why? Had the man felt guilty?Sephiroth seemed so inhuman at times, that even guilt was difficult to picture. He wasn't sure he would ever know why the man had suddenly decided to cater to what he had craved so terribly.
Had Sephiroth not been so careful to keep his distance, he might have almost brushed it off as some sort of fantasy. But Sephiroth had shown that he was capable of being kind, even if he did not appear to be naturally inclined to be that way.
Vincent could feel his resolve weakening.
Learning to use Cerberus was one of the most challenging skills Vincent was trying to master. Not only was the gun heavy and bulky, but he literally felt like he was going to dislocate something when he fired in succession, or worse, when he let all three barrels hurtle out bullets at the same time. There was a sort of 'master' way to cock the gun, which was by pulling back the center hammer as far back as it would go. This would allow him to use the gun as an automatic, where he would just squeeze the trigger and it would go off until it ran out of rounds from all three cylinders.
It turned out that although Sephiroth did not use a gun when fighting, he was still quite proficient with them. He used Cerberus with an ease that Vincent envied, his stronger hands and arms able to take the recoil with a learned grace. But even so, he was improving quickly. Sephiroth had brought enough bullets for him to get a fairly good start.
The training with Chaos was not easy either. Sephiroth was learning it just as much as he was, sometimes showing an open surprise to the abilities it gave Vincent. He had discovered that as Chaos he could use magic, something he had never done before. The man was teaching him the basics, how to get the effects he wanted, though he knew that it would take years for him to fully understand all of it.
He had always known Sephiroth did not use materia, but he had never realized how complicated it was. Instead of having a single ability at a time according to whatever materia was equipped, he was able to choose what he wanted. He would eventually even be able to blend different magic together, according to Sephiroth (something he wouldn't be trying until much later). But it wasn't just choosing; one had to know what they wanted. He had to think 'fire'. He then had to tell that fire to come from his hand, and then try to manipulate it, all of which turned out to be quite difficult. It was, however, making the magic that was the hardest part.
Sephiroth told him to use emotion, so he did. That was actually how it had all come about, anger. During one training session as Chaos, he had been trying to attack Sephiroth from above, circling and waiting. Just as he had dived downward, a ball of energy was directed straight at him, blue and glowing. He had swerved out of the way to avoid it, his wings folding in close, protected. For some reason, his hand seemed to move of its own accord, as Chaos raged somewhere inside, fury bubbling into Vincent, corrupting his own feelings. Then, without any idea of what was happening, he had sent a flaming sphere streaking through the air at Sephiroth.
The man, ever one to anticipate the unexpected, had moved out of the way, but had been surprised enough to not completely get out of its path. The blazing orb had grazed the end of his black coat, which had caught in the wind when he had evaded. It left the leather singed, a distinct burn mark stretching down one side of it, leaving that spot permanently discolored and shinier on the surface.
Sephiroth hadn't been angry, in fact, he had said "Well done" while examining the damage to his coat.
It was getting it to happen again that was difficult. Vincent tried to get angry, tried to think about hurting Sephiroth, but it wasn't in him. He would think back to everything, which would get him mad, but not enough that he wanted to physically harm the man that was teaching him. So instead, he concentrated on Hojo, on Chaos, thinking about what he was. If he could also bring in some leftover anger about Sephiroth, he did. Then there would be a flicker, and a flame would come to life in the palm of his gauntlet, small, but deadly all the same. It was fleeting; he wasn't able to produce it long at all, but it was definitely a start.
It took usually took emotions to bring about effects. Sephiroth had explained, however, that it was all a matter of perspective, that it would work with any emotion that was intense or somehow malicious. It just so happened that anger and hatred were stronger emotions, and were easier to direct at enemies.
Technically, the emotions didn't matter, but Sephiroth had said that attaching emotion would work well for him. It was hard to simply think 'fire' intensely. When it was linked to something, it became much simpler, it suddenly had mental energy focused on it. Then he would concentrate on heat, on flame, or whatever he was trying to conjure. When the magic had intent behind it, it wasn't half so difficult to manipulate.
The blue spheres and slashes Sephiroth himself created, turned out to be of no element. They were simply raw harnessed energy, which he had explained was the most powerful, but was more difficult to learn to create. It was also much more draining.
That was the one negative side effect: the draining on his stores of magic. Each time he managed to use the magic it would lessen the time he could remain Chaos. It was only a temporary, but he knew that if he wanted to use a lot of the magic he would have to do so in a very short time frame, or otherwise use it sparingly.
It was finally, at the end of another grueling session of training, that the subject from before came up again. Vincent had been fighting Sephiroth with his gauntlet again, his breathing rapid from all of the stress he had put on his small body. He could tell he was getting stronger though, which was encouraging.
"Have you thought it over?" Sephiroth asked unexpectedly, watching the ocean waves, as he offhandedly returned his sword to his back.
Vincent didn't have to ask what the man was talking about; he knew. It was something he had been thinking about since the day it had been offered. It was one of the reasons he had slowly been moving away from the anger that Chaos fed off of.
Vincent nodded, then said quickly: "My answer is yes."
The slit-like pupils looked preternatural in the sunlight. They seemed as though they should only be completely nocturnal, so animal-like, dark. But somehow they suited Sephiroth. It was when the green eyes focused in on him, that he couldn't help but think he could be making a grave mistake. They would likely see each other regularly, and they would be interacting. There were so many things that could go wrong.
Sephiroth could teach him many things, but he could also hurt him in ways he knew no one else was capable.
Tseng was standing in the briefing room behind Lazard, who was seated in front of a laptop, fingers moving over the keys hurriedly.
The glare of the computer screen reflected off of the blonde man's glasses, concealing his eyes for the most part. His hands were gloved in a white leather that was folded into neat cuffs at the wrists, and he wore a dark, fitted suit with a crisp dress shirt beneath. His blond hair was above his shoulders, curling up at the ends, with long bangs that framed his face. He looked very much the part of Director of SOLDIER.
"So?" Tseng prompted, his eyes moving over the text that wasn't obscured by Lazard.
"It appears the body was found just under an hour ago, in the southern part of Wutai. The description is...rather lacking." Lazard's gloved hand moved to his chin almost worriedly, while the other clicked open another window. "There," he said, turning the computer so that Tseng could better see it.
"That is him," Tseng confirmed. "Hojo's assistant."
"Yes, well, this is what he looks like now," Lazard stated, switching to yet another window.
It was a picture of what once used to once be a man. His face was virtually missing, white, blood covered skull revealed underneath the tatters of what was left. There was a mop of hair, which was held together in jagged locks by clinging bits of flesh and dried blood. The rest of his body, which was naked, was covered in wounds, some of which looked to be septic.
"They took their time," Tseng observed, looking over the photo with distaste.
There was a balled up white lab coat, sprayed with red blood almost as it if was done purely for effect. Placed on top of it was a laminated ID, the one the assistant had used at the lab to access the rooms.
"It says that this was exactly how he was found," Lazard murmured distractedly, reading a smaller page full of text in the corner of the screen.
It was quite the message, but from whom? Tseng had more than his share of ideas, as the coat and ID were very suggestive. It was obviously done by someone very angry, someone who wanted revenge, or could it be something else? There were quite a few who had things against Hojo and his lab, but the assistant....
Sephiroth was the first who came to mind, but that explanation made little sense. He was gone, and even had he returned for some reason to end the assistant—Renault was his name—he would not have bothered to take him to Wutai or to torture him. He had not tortured Hojo, so it was almost completely certain that Sephiroth had nothing to do with this particular murder.
That left the most logical answer: someone in Wutai. There were many groups, so it would be more than a little difficult to get to the real answer. But the main question that struck Tseng, was why? Why now? This could have happened sooner, yet it had not. It had happened after Hojo's demise, which might be important. The war though, that was what seemed to provide some purpose. The Wutai had recently lost another battle against Shinra, so perhaps they went searching for a scientist, but why? And why did the scientist end up brutally mutilated, dead? There would not be much use in killing someone you needed, unless perhaps he was not the original intended.
Tseng knew he was missing many pieces, but his quick mind was already beginning to place the few bits of information he did have into a broader picture.
The wheels of Wutai were rusted, nearly broken down, but they were still moving. The minds behind the once great scattering of empires were not silenced by an iron fist, they still moved unheeded. The enemies had banded together. But were they all the cause of this, or was it someone in particular?
Tseng had a feeling this was something disconnected, not quite a part of everything that had happened. The death was not the normal beheading standard of the Wutai.... Things were very complicated with so many volatile groups being pushed together.
What was the saying? 'The enemy of my enemy is my friend'? That seemed to be the exact problem. Shinra had many enemies, now they were conspiring alongside one another. They would have to remain vigilant. There was purpose behind the killing, and whatever was brewing would likely have a negative impact upon Shinra if not stopped before fruitation.
The Turks had quite a lot of digging to do.