The journey to Costa del Sol took less time than he anticipated, though he had to remind himself that he was not working on any schedule. He bought a ticket on the next available ferry, which would arrive just after sunset, and found a shady patio to occupy his time.
From his uncomfortable seat just off the beach, he could watch the beachgoers. Couples walked hand in hand, laughing at private jokes, pointing out the various beauties of the ocean. He was more interested in watching the few single beachgoers awkwardly pack their towels and sunscreen into small colorful bags, attempting to leave no trace of their lonely visits as they migrated back to the cobblestone streets. He wondered why these seemingly plain people would visit such a place alone. His mind made creative connections between the various strangers to pass the time. The bald man in red shorts had been following the younger brunette in the white bikini for days. He had no idea that she was on to him, and already had plans to leave town tonight, to slip right through his fingers for the last time. She let her bun down and dark hair cascaded over her shoulders. The evening breezes were cooling the beach. Luckily, she had brought a sheer white cover up and white cotton pants. His story disintegrated as he watched her watch the water. Soon, she turned, craning her neck back toward town, and the growing traces of foolish hope fell away. He shook his head at his own naivete, and headed back toward the ferry docks.

The day had seemed endless: re-assembling a global empire proved exhausting work. Slender fingers wrapped around a glass of brassy liquid relaxation and did not let go. The black jacket that had been tossed carelessly over the back of a kitchen chair now lay in a crumpled heap on the floor. Reno found its appearance symbolic, and let it stay. It colored his apartment just the right shade of, "Running on fumes."
He had just rested his head back on the overstuffed gray armchair when the knock sounded at his door. It was a light, courteous rapping, telling him immediately that it was no one he knew. He strongly considered leaving it, staying in his chair ever-so-silently, and letting the visitor slink away unanswered.
Another knock, slightly louder, pushed him out of the chair and angrily to the door.
"What? What, what, what? Can I get ten hours? Just ten fucking hours?" he rambled, steaming at the untimely guest, and consequently, violently swinging open the door without a glance through the peephole. The sight of the man standing in the hallway caused him to jolt, scrambling for a weapon of any kind, and coming up empty-handed.
"Relax."
"What are you doing here?"
"I'm still asking myself the same. I'm not here to harm you..."
Reno was taken aback by the distance in his eyes. He was clearly distracted, exhausted.
"Well, I hope not. We made a deal. Those days are over. So...were you wanting to come in? Or...?" He struggled to accommodate the man, but relaxed a bit when he shrugged one shoulder and nodded ambivalently.
"You want...something to drink?" Reno asked, closing the door behind him.
"No, thank you."
"Well, sit down, I guess. What..." he began, watching the slightly dazed man find a place on the couch, "What can I do for you?"
Before he could answer, Reno put the pieces together. Or, as it were, the missing piece.
"Ah...shit," he sighed in understanding. He collapsed into his chair once more, taking a long drink.
"So...what happened, Valentine?"
Vincent was firm in his belief. "Nothing has happened. Nothing certain." Reno noticed the red eyes coming into focus as he spoke.
"...She left. Distanced herself and slipped away while we were here. She wanted to be alone while her body...rid itself of the cells."
"And how does one go about that?" Reno asked skeptically. The only answer was a shrug.
"I gotta ask, Vincent...You have people who actually like you. Why would you come here to grie-...wait this out?"
"They look at me...like they did when I first joined them. With pity, with 'understanding' nods and feigned empathy for something they do not understand."
"Hmm. Well don't worry about any pity from me. I knew that tornado of a woman."
For the first time, Vincent looked him in the eye. Reno smirked and raised his glass slightly.
"And that is why you hunted me down. There are only a handful of us left...that even knew who she was."
Vincent sighed at Reno's use of the past tense.
"I won't sit here and praise her name for you, though," Reno added firmly. Vincent furrowed his brow.
"I had no such expectation. I know...how she complicated things." He surprised himself with his ability to still sympathize with a Turk's frame of mind.
"You got that right. She was an unpredictable, dangerous, double-crossing..." It was now Reno's eyes that went distant as he looked back at his past. "...skilled, cool...genuinely cool...person."
From the corner of his eye, Reno could see Vincent relax against the back of the couch. He had no reason to invite the gunman into his apartment, no reason to trust he was not there to kill him. But the bond of the title, 'Turk,' and the end of the recent threats to Edge and Gaia combined into an inkling of camaraderie. They had both survived Sephiroth twice, mostly unscarred or worse for the wear. Peacetime had settled into Reno's disposition. A number of elements came together at just the right time, causing him to indulge Vincent's unspoken pleas for a glimpse into Aria's past. The man was not yet ready to let go, or perhaps this was part of the process; Reno couldn't tell. Either way, his drink fueled his tongue.
"I didn't actually meet her until she brought me in to replace her..."

.

If she had been sitting in the room with them, he knew he would be laughing. He knew he would have cracked his first real, teeth-baring, laugh-line inducing smile in over thirty years. She would be doubled over, helplessly defending her honor as Reno scorched her, telling her most charmingly embarrassing stories. Somehow, he was managing to verbally maneuver around Sephiroth, and steered clear of her downfall with the company. Then again, that was where his stories would cut off anyway. Had she been in the room, Vincent's side would ache from laughter. As it were, he merely closed his eyes in appreciation of Reno's recollections. He envisioned each tale with crystal clarity, watching in his mind as she suffered through a Wutaian shaman cutting tattoos into her arms, outran the Midgar Zolom while her friends watched on, embraced Rufus as he crashed a Turks-only outing as a young man, danced on one bar after another, helped Reno adjust to life as a bodyguard, all with a signature, devilish grin that implied that fear played a minimal role in her life.
"Time settled her down immensely. By the time she...left, she didn't really belong anymore. She seemed to have outgrown us, the whole company. Her heart wasn't in it in the end. Granted, she was older than most of us by a few years, so... Some of us saw it coming. Some of us were...blindsided."
Vincent recognized the allusion to Rufus when he heard it.
"But things were too crazy to do much about it at that point," Reno mused, sensing the benefits of his memories diminishing.
"So," he said, sitting up straight for the first time in an hour, "you need a place to stay for the night, I guess."
"No, I had no intention of..."
"Nah, it's fine. I've stuck around long enough to get a two-bedroom, if you can believe it. Sheets on the bed and everything. Help yourself, don't kill me in my sleep, if you don't mind."
Vincent stood slowly, and avoided Reno's gaze.
"Reno...thank you."
The redhead rubbed his eyes, still trying to wrap his mind around the evening.
"You're alright," he answered, casually sauntering away to his own bedroom, and raising a single hand in goodnight.
Vincent turned toward the front door and let the words play in his mind. Not, "it's alright," but, "You're alright." Reno knew what Vincent needed even before he realized it himself. He shook his head at the realization, and decided not to refuse the offering.
The bedroom was large, compared to the living room. Vincent undressed to his boxers, placing the newly-named Cerberus under the opposite pillow, and let his body relax into the bed. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he noticed a small glimmer of light a few inches from his face. He slid his right hand upward and touched the light, realizing it was the charm that decorated his weapon.

He held it tightly in his palm, running his fingers over its grooves until he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.