Don't have much food, but help yourself. You can stay if you want. I have cable. Don't drink my booze.
Vincent set the note back on the counter and froze for a moment, internal, opposing forces trying to take him out the front door and back into the living room at the same time. He had not intended to stay, and yet had no thoughts of another destination. The unknown lost out to the comfort of the gray couch.
As he slid into his place from the night before, he noticed the presence of a black photo album on the silver coffee table. It had not been there before. He picked it up and set it on his lap, slowly taking in every page.
Most of the photos and press clippings were about Reno, Rude, or Tseng, as they were the most publicized members of the team. In the early pages, Reno was always in frame with Rufus. Aria appeared with every other turn of a page. The photos illustrated Reno's stories. Someone had caught a shot of her holding onto Rude's arm, leaning out over the Da Chao cliff. He ran his fingers over the plastic pages, internally smirking at her youth, her short hair, her suit. When he next turned the page, he experienced a similar feeling to that of the night before: his body wanted to laugh, but his spirits would not allow it.
Carefully placed in chronological order were professional photos of the Turks at various galas and benefits, always in formal clothing, always looking away from the camera. In one, Aria blocked the majority of her face with a compact mirror, checking her makeup, while Rude guided her hand, his back to the camera. In another, Reno and Aria's backs were turned around, facing the backdrop and looking up in the far corner to which Aria was pointing.
As the pages gathered on the left side of the book, Aria's appearance began to taper off. She turned more into the woman he met in Midgar before fighting Sephiroth, and less into a wild young woman. Knowing more of her history made Vincent think back to the Cosmo Harvest. She was free that night, and returning to her old self. He felt warm, knowing that he had caught a glimpse of the carefree, fun woman she had been as a Turk. The photos became more candid, centering more on Reno and Rufus. He wondered who had taken the shots as he settled on a frame of Rufus genuinely laughing, his mouth stretched into a wide smile, as Reno pulled at his arm from a white couch. The book closed with a heavy thud, and he placed it back on the table with a sigh. This, he thought, must be healing. Closure could not be far behind.

.

"Toss me those chopsticks, would ya?" Reno asked, already picking vegetables out of the white box and popping them into his mouth. Vincent chose to stand and pass the red packaged utensils to his host in the armchair. Reno nodded, not expecting the man to actually toss them, knowing that any of his actual friends would have thrown them with all their strength.
Vincent opened his own chopsticks and sat back on the couch, his metal fingers wrapped around a small white box of his own. The television across from him had been turned on, and he passively watched the news, as had been his routine for the last week. Occasionally, Reno added in details that the reporters left out, proving that he was a very well-informed man. Most of the broadcast consisted of the growth of Edge, and the upswing of its economy, thanks in part, they claimed, to the small storefronts of the Business District. According to the report, one business in particular was celebrating a one-year anniversary of its grand re-opening. Reno pointed with his chopsticks at the screen casually.
"That place is good. The owner, had a place in Mid-Town, back before..."
Vincent only nodded once, and Reno went back to eating, forgetting the small talk momentarily. Silence was not in his nature, though, and he was soon gearing up for a weighty question. It came during a mind-numbing Shinra Electric Company commercial.
"What will you do...now?"
Vincent's brow flashed a furrow, his quiet paranoia whispering endings to the question.
What will you do now that it's over? Now that she's dead? Now that you're only a burden to the few who still know your name?
"The WRO will need help rebuilding..." he answered, hardly believing the words himself.
"Right..." Reno countered, collecting the paper boxes and heading toward the kitchen. As he turned back toward the living room, he stopped and watched Vincent's back for moment. He seemed to fold into himself in Reno's absence, as if whatever invisible forces held him up with others, could not sustain his weight when alone. And in that subtle sinking posture, Reno felt a pang of sympathetic remorse. He swallowed it down quickly, feeling annoyed at such a response. He sighed, and headed back into the room, watching Vincent's spine lengthen again.
"Alright," he said, sucking in a breath and balancing on his chair's armrest. "When will you call it?"
Red eyes burned into him.
"If you put as much energy into moving on as you're sacrificing to...whatever this is...I think you'll find life much easier. You don't speak, you hardly eat, I can't believe how much you sleep. Sorry, man, I know you like it here 'cause I leave you alone, but we're goin' on a month...you gotta do something."
He expected Reno to explain how Vincent's behavior was affecting him, much like Cid had done toward the end of his stay in Rocket Town. He expected to be given the "cheer up or move on" ultimatum. It did not come. Instead, Reno made another proposition.
"Why don't you put your energy into something nice for her? A memorial."
Vincent blinked at the word.
"A celebration," Reno corrected. Vincent did not protest, but simply considered where he would head next. Perhaps back to Nibelheim, to claim the property that he deserved more than anyone in Shinra. He could renovate it with the money he had stored away in a Wutaian bank. Thirty five years of interest would have benefited his funds-
"Where?" Reno continued, interrupting his train of thought. "I'll fly you. Just tell me where you want to go."
"Why are you doing this?" Vincent asked.
Reno was quiet for a long moment, looking at his hands. He did not look up again when he answered.
"She deserves it. You do, too. You have to commit yourself to this world, man. Stopping worrying about all the things that are out of your control." His signature playful tone returned with, "Besides, I can't have you turn in on yourself and go crazy. The monsters would take over and all hell would break loose and I'd have to clean up the mess. I don't have that kind of time. So, where to?"
Such casual mention of his demons struck Vincent in such a way that tugged at the corners of his lips.
"The Canyon."

.

The sky's few clouds were streaked with golds and reds when Vincent stepped out of Cosmo Inn. Though he had not spent much time in the Canyon, the atmosphere felt peculiar. The air was thick, though occasionally, a chilled breeze would send collective goosebumps through the village. The sun had descended behind the far mountains, but still lit the sky enough to cast a warm glow over the red ground. A small fire had been started in the center of the town. He approached the fire pit cautiously, still uncertain that he belonged there. An older man sat at the far edge of the circle, holding a photograph and wooden pipe. He sat alone, watching the flames, transfixed in thought.
"He recently lost his father," a familiar voice explained. Vincent turned, and watched Nanaki approach, glad to see a familiar face after Reno had been called back to Edge.
"He came to the fire for release from his grieving. When he is ready," the feline explained, sitting down close to Vincent's legs, "he will place his father's belongings in the fire, and be free of the weight."
"The weight?" Vincent asked, watching the man.
"The weight of mourning, blame, anger. Death. It casts a heavy shadow on those it leaves behind. But if you did not know the power of the flame, I have to wonder why you came here."
Vincent lowered himself to the ground, now just below eye-level with Nanaki. Silence filled the space between them for several long moments. Only when they both looked into the fire did Vincent feel ready to answer.
"I suppose I'm in the shadow."
"And you want back in the light." It was not a question.
"So I say. And yet I came here, where she came alive to me for the first time. I followed her here two years ago..."
Low thunder rolled in the distance.
"Perhaps you have again." After a long pause, Nanaki continued.
"My apologies. I suppose it is unfair of me to fan those flames. But such is my heritage. We do not believe that physical absence coincides with loss. That man now has a guardian waiting for him in the lifestream that will make his own passing an easy transition, when the time comes. He has a spirit watching over him until then, to give him strength to carry on. Burning the belongings is symbolic of accepting that new relationship. From the fire comes new life."
As Nanaki finished his thought, he looked to the sky. More dry thunder rolled, louder this time. He laughed quietly, from his throat. Vincent turned to look at him, curious of the joke.
"Sometimes...for both sides. If you believe in that sort of thing."
With that, he padded to the edge of the circle and lay down, leaving Vincent to the fire.
He watched as the other man stood, kissing the photograph. With a deep breath and closed eyes, the man gently tossed the items into the fire. Blue sparks flew into the air as the flames consumed the photo and pipe, and the expression of sorrow on the man's face turned into one of joy and relief. He smiled into the sky, turned, and disappeared into the darkening village.
Vincent longed for that expression to take over his own features, and the feeling that went with it to fill his now-lean frame. He stared into the fire, his eyes finding images in the smoke that rose: bodiless wings, unreadable writing, a phoenix. A sigh of appreciation fell from him, and he stood, pulling from his pocket the only physical reminder he had.
He scanned the village, recalling with striking detail the long night he had spent there two years before. Behind him, the stairs on which he stood, watching her breathe fire; to his right, the long-gone fire pit around which they had danced; to his left, the bar at which she had blessed him with the gift of survival he now considered a curse. "Are you going to continue in this shadow?" she had asked him on that very night.
Shaking the thought from his head, he looked back down at his own artifact.
The cryptic riddle was engraved in his mind, as he had spent hours thinking of nothing else. He turned his head slightly, catching Nanaki's eye.

"Cerberus guards the gates of Hell," he said over his shoulder. Nanaki raised his head.

"Yes."

"From whom?"

Nanaki was quiet for a thoughtful moment. He sighed and finally replied, "I suppose one could say the creature stands on the outside, keeping out those who do not belong. But I find it more likely he faces inward, keeping the demons at bay and protecting the innocent."

"I thought so, too," Vincent agreed before falling silent for several minutes more.

His skin welcomed the warmth of the fire as he stepped closer. A distant thunder provoked him to finally raise the letter to his lips, before releasing it into the flames.
Dark blue sparks spiraled upward from the fire, taking with them the ache in his chest, the tightness of his shoulders, the clench of his jaw, and the lump in his throat. A fresher air filled his lungs to their limit, igniting his spirit and clearing his mind. He held the breath, his eyes closed in a mild euphoria, and let his head fall back. Finally, he released the breath, and as it rushed past his lips, his eyes opened just in time to witness a thick bolt of lightning cross the dark sky, branching out into hundreds of smaller lines and lighting up the village like a white hot sun.
As he turned from the fire, walking back toward the inn, he could have sworn he caught a grin on Nanaki's face.

.

"I knew her as a child. I was not close with her family, but I was around when Shinra became interested in her. We all knew about Penelope's...disappearance, and the entire village agreed to protect the Marx family. You should know, it was no small task, convincing the entire town to hide Aria's identity to Shinra."
"The first time I came here with her...several people seemed to know her as 'Aria,' though to the rest of the world she had been 'Penelope' for years. It is incredible that the facade was maintained as long as it was. Nearly ten years..." Vincent mused, finding it suddenly easy to talk about whom he had lost.
"To protect her secret. To protect us from her secret. If Shinra had done to her what they did to Sephiroth...I wonder if we could have possibly survived. But because her parents were very wise and willing to make a very difficult choice, she was given a normal life. Or, I suppose, as normal a life as a hero can ask for."
Vincent rested his head against the back of the only leather chair in the inn's lobby. "She would not like you calling her a hero. She would tell you that anyone else would have done the same."
"I credit those few glimpses of humility to her parents. I know they are proud. You should be as well."
Vincent nodded once before closing his eyes in a contented sleepiness.

.

"Feel lighter?" Reno asked in a chipper voice as Vincent climbed into the Shinra helicopter only two hours later.
Red eyes flashed a smile-less, though much warmer expression than the Turk had ever seen.
"Good. To celebrate, I got reservations at that restaurant that was on TV. And I called in an old friend to discuss a possible business venture."
"I cannot understand your kindness, but I value it greatly."
Reno snorted and shook his head, raising the chopper and heading toward Edge.
"You're welcome, 'yo."