It had been a long time since Vincent had formally been a Turk- nearly thirty years- but there were aspects one never forgot. He had not been there when Veld had lost his wife, daughter, and left arm, but he had been present to help others grieve. Nero had recovered enough to return home, but was still too weak to return to duty. Even his shadows had deserted him- though Cissnei speculated that might have as much to do with depression as it did physical recovery. Every Turk was allowed time to themselves to mourn and recover, and then they were drawn a little at a time back into the land of the living.
Nero had lost his home and family in one fell swoop, as well as undergone a serious physical ordeal. If he needed more time, Vincent was willing to grant it. However, Nero had recovered to the point where he no longer needed to stay in bed all day. That being the case, Vincent decided it might be time for a day out.
Nero's sleep schedule was erratic at best, and he still leaned heavily toward nocturnal. That coupled with his sensitivity to bright light meant an evening trip would be in order. When Veld came home, it was to Vincent sitting on the floor with the various pieces of his father's old Death Penalty rifle spread out neatly on several sheets of newsprint.
"Spring cleaning?" Veld asked.
"Field trip," Vincent clarified. "I thought Nero and I could do a little father-son bonding over target practice."
Veld's expression had turned carefully neutral, a sure sign that he was a bit dubious about this idea. "You think he can manage that?"
He didn't mean physically.
"It'll just be a short walk in the woods," Vincent assured him. "My dad used to take me out and let me plug tin cans with his old Lariat. We never did a lot together, but that always stood out as a good memory."
"Can Nero handle a rifle?" Veld asked, genuinely curious.
"We'll find out. As far as I know, he's never used one. He's depleted enough that he shouldn't disappear anything, and he might have better luck holding something that requires two hands." That was Vincent's logic anyway.
Veld nodded thoughtfully. "I'll make you some sandwiches."
Veld made a bit more than sandwiches. Despite his protests that he could manage a campfire just fine, thank you very much, Vincent relented with only mild annoyance when Veld pulled rank and undertook the task of filling the cooler for them himself. Vincent busied himself rounding up the necessary equipment: sleeping bags, mess kit, backpacks, and so on. Nero seemed bemused by it all.
"So we're doing what now?" he asked, Ned looking on curiously from his arms.
"Going camping," Vincent repeated. "You've never been out of Midgar, right?"
"No. I mean yes. I mean...right," Nero stammered and Vincent couldn't help smiling a little.
"I thought maybe you'd like a change of scenery. Plants and trees are supposed to be therapeutic or something, aren't they?"
Nero shrugged. "That's what Cissnei says."
"Well, can't argue with doctor's orders. It's only for the weekend. You can stand two days away from civilization, can't you?"
"I guess…"
Nero seemed to be actively contemplating the in's and out's of this. He'd probably had some sort of combat survival training at one point, but odds were low he'd ever had to put it into practice. The Restrictors had kept the Tsviets on a very short leash.
"I'd like you to try it," Vincent pressed. "If you don't like it, we don't have to do it again."
Nero considered, and nodded. "Okay."
They left first thing the next morning. Despite Nero being more comfortable in the dark, it would take time to get past Edge's borders, across Kalm's plains, and out to the foothills of the mountains. If they left now, by the time they got there, it would be light enough to pitch the tent, and take a nap if they wanted before night fell. The dark didn't bother Vincent; Galian and Chaos could see as well at midnight as they could at noon. Still, there were some things that were easier to do while the sun was still out.
Nero hunched in the passenger's seat of the rental car, trying to watch the scenery while avoiding the sun. As they neared the city limits, Nero's slack posture of teenaged indifference grew more and more taut. Mask had removed his microchip, Omega had taken care of the explosive attached to it. There was nothing to detonate should Nero set foot outside of Midgar. However, he seemed to be having trouble reminding himself of this.
"Look," Vincent said, hoping to distract him. Obediently, Nero lifted his head.
"Wow…"
The freeway had been built at plate-level, and so allowed an unobstructed, panoramic view of the broad green stretch of grasslands and gray peaks of the mountains rising in the distance. Nero stared, transfixed and only turned to look back several minutes after the road had evened out and they were speeding along at ground level once more. Automatically, he put a hand to the back of his neck. The expression on his naked face was difficult to read. Mostly, he seemed surprised that he was still in one piece. Slowly, he lowered his hand and turned around to look out the windshield again.
Vincent wanted to ask if everything was alright, if Nero needed anything, but couldn't think of a good way to do so. Instead, he let the silence hang, and the moment drifted away, left behind them somewhere on the road.
"I think...I think I get it now," Nero said quietly. Vincent turned briefly to look at him, but Nero was focused on the scenery. "What Az- what he was talking about when he tried to tell us about the Surface."
"Your Foster father?" Vincent asked.
Nero turned to look at him. "What's a Foster father?"
Of course.
"Foster parents look after kids who don't have any family to take care of them," Vincent said, trying to explain. "They don't outright adopt them- sometimes they do, but not always. Mostly they just take care of children until somebody else adopts them."
"Huh." It was a typical response that meant Nero appreciated the concept of the thing, even if he didn't necessarily understand it. "Sort of like the nurses and tutors in the children's ward."
"Probably," Vincent allowed, trying to remind himself that no human child could survive without any affection at all, and therefore the caregivers had to have had some semblance of a heart. Hopefully life at Deepground didn't begin with a weapon in one's hand.
"What's 'adopt?'"
Oh gods. For some reason, Vincent had not prepared for this.
"People adopt children who don't have any family to take care of them. Children who are all alone in the world, without parents are called 'orphans'. If they're lucky, a Foster family will take them in and care for them, if they're really lucky, a family- Foster or otherwise- will adopt them. They'll legally become part of the family, take their surname, and be treated by the other family members as if they'd always been there. They belong to that family, but not as if they were a possession. After they're adopted, they have people who care about them and a place to call home."
Nero thought about that for a minute. "...am I an orphan?"
Vincent tried not to wince. The question cut unexpectedly deep. "Technically, no," he answered, trying to keep his voice even. "I'm still here. I didn't know about you until long after you were born, so my name's not on your birth certificate as your father. Biologically, you're not, but on paper you are. I…" The words caught in his throat, and he thought about swallowing them back. "I could adopt you, if you wanted."
Nero seemed perplexed, his brows creased in confusion. "Why? I mean, yeah, okay, you guys have been taking care of me since…" he trailed off into painful silence for a moment. "It's not like I'm completely helpless. Not anymore."
"I guess it'd be more symbolic at this point," Vincent agreed. "It'd make some things easier; I could make medical decisions on your behalf if you weren't able to yourself, or sponsor you for a lot of other things that have nothing to do with being a refugee. I know you don't need us at this stage of your life but… Having parents, even adopted ones, is like having a safety net. There's always someone who will have your back, someone who will always love you no matter what, and there will always be a safe place to return to if you need it. You'd...have that anyway. We don't really need to put it on paper for that to be an option. But we could, if you wanted to. If you don't, that's fine."
It wasn't fine, but Vincent had no business railroading him into something like that. He might still be weak, might be missing his shadows, but Nero was an adult by anyone's estimation. He could, in theory, fend for himself. He might be out of the running for the Turks, but there were a host of less-glamorous- and far safer- career paths to pursue. He didn't need Vincent hovering over him as if he were a toddler intent on testing his own mortality. Nero had turned away and was staring out the window again.
"I think this is what he must have been talking about," Nero said at length. "The blue, the green, and the sun overhead. I can see it now. I think I get it. Kind of."
"Good," was all Vincent could manage. Nero leaned back against the seat, something like a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. The single word might not have been deep or inspiring, but apparently, it had been enough.
There was still plenty of day left by the time they pulled up to the empty lot off the side of the road. Vincent had no use for tame camp sites full of tourists and children. He and Nero did not need a woodland already cleared of wild things. After all, they would be the scariest things in the forest.
Vincent did his best to check his pace. Nero's legs were just as long as his, but the boy got winded easily. They had to stop a few times to rest while Nero used his inhaler before they arrived at a suitable place to make camp. Nero was nothing if adept at following orders and obeying instructions. It took far less time than Vincent would have thought possible to pitch the tent, arrange their gear, and stack the beginnings of a fire. There were still a few hours of daylight left, and Vincent's first instinct was to go out and shoot some game for their supper. Nero, however, looked exhausted.
"How 'bout a nap before dinner?" Vincent suggested. "I'll wake you once the sun's gone down."
Nero did not have to be told twice. Crawling into the tent, he lay down on his sleeping bag and was dead to the world within minutes. Vincent debated the merits of catching forty winks himself. He wasn't especially tired; didn't need to sleep at all, really. He could keep watch while his son slept. He could call Veld and let him know they had arrived safely. There were a number of other things he could do, but he hated to stray too far from Nero. Nightmares still plagued him, and Vincent was all too familiar with how that went.
Rummaging in his pocket, he pulled out his PHS- Nero had reminded him to bring it- and dialed Veld.
"Hello? Hey Veld. Yeah, we made it fine. The drive was okay. We talked a little. Yeah, well, 'a little' is about all we can manage. He handled the hike fine. Wore him out, though. He's asleep now. Yeah, I'll tell him. You too. Bye."
And that was that. There wasn't anything else to do that didn't involve leaving the campsite. Well, he was always nagging Veld to relax. Perhaps he ought to take his own advice? Pocketing his phone once more, Vincent crawled into the tent himself. Nero lay half-curled on his side of the old army tent, fast asleep. Stretching out on his own sleeping bag, Vincent put his hands behind his head, and closed his eyes. It didn't last. Nero hadn't bothered to put his mask on before going to sleep. He didn't technically need it, but still wore it overnight just in case. Surely it wasn't creepy to watch someone sleep if that someone was your own kid? Resettling, Vincent counted Nero's breaths until his own became equally soft and even, and despite his best efforts, his eyes drifted closed.
Vincent still had nightmares; not as often, but they did still happen. They had evolved somewhat since Cloud and the others had freed him from the coffin in the Shinra mansion's basement. For a long time the dreams had been a blur of pain; cold sharp things accompanied by endless darkness and the bitter tang of his own mako-laced blood.
When Veld reentered his life, the dreams had shifted to accommodate him. Fire and ash and Veld's terrified voice had been stirred into the already gut-churning mix. And then Nero had appeared. There were a few variations involving his new-found son. They ranged from the terrible yet manageable scenario of Nero cursing him for slaughtering his Deepground family, to visions of Nero dying horribly. Nero's death was either directly his fault, or the result of inaction on Vincent's part. Either way, Vincent always started awake from those fighting back the urge to be sick.
This one was new. There was something incredibly important he had forgotten. Something to do with Nero. It was critical that he remember, Nero's life might be in danger. He had to remember, had to do something immediately!
Vincent started upright into a strange, small, dark space. Panic seized him even as he reached for Galian's ability to see in the dark.
"Dad?"
The single word cut through the tangle of his thoughts like a razor. Reality swept into the vacuum the fear had left. He was in a tent, not the crypt. He and Nero were camping. Turning his head, Vincent didn't need Galian's help to make out Nero's eyes glowing gold in the darkness like one of his squeakies.
"You okay?"
Vincent took a deep breath and shook off the last of the nightmare.
"Yeah, fine."
Nero just looked at him, still and silent. Well, they were supposed to be getting to know each other better. It wasn't as if Nero hadn't just watched him start terrified out of a deep sleep.
"I still get nightmares sometimes," he confessed.
Nero nodded, the gleam of his eyes briefly winking out. "I know how that goes."
"I know you do," Vincent said, smiling a little. "I wish you didn't."
The shadows shifted as Nero shrugged. "They're just dreams, they're not real."
"I almost wish they were," Vincent mused. "At least I could shoot them."
Vincent had expected Nero to snicker, or perhaps smile, but the boy remained silent and thoughtful.
"Sorry."
"No, it's okay," Nero said. "I just… I've been thinking."
"Did it hurt?"
The golden eyes rolled in exasperation, but a brief white smile flashed beneath them.
"I was thinking...if my shadows don't come back…"
"They will," Vincent assured him.
"If they don't come back," Nero continued, voice oddly calm and steady. "I'll be normal- or something close to it- for the rest of my life. I can handle dreams, but what am I going to do about real, physical threats?"
"You know how to fight," Vincent replied.
"Yeah, but…" Here Nero paused, looked away. "I never got good at the weapon I was assigned."
"That wasn't on you. You were set up to fail. It wasn't right or fair to try to make you use a weapon you weren't comfortable with."
"Maybe so, but if I'd figured out guns, I'd at least have something to fall back on," Nero argued quietly. "It's like favoring one hand over the other. I'm left handicapped."
Vincent would have argued the point, but realization had ignited his mind.
"Are you saying you want to learn to shoot?"
Nero shifted uncomfortably, but nodded. "I feel like I should try."
Vincent had a small, yet slightly alarming collection of firearms in the gun safe he shared with Veld. Given the nature of their trip and Nero's past history with guns, he'd only packed what he deemed the essentials: the Lariat, the Winchester, the Longbarrel, and his father's Death Penalty. All were two-handed rifles. The Lariat and Winchester were especially good beginner models; few moving parts and sturdily built. Hopefully Nero would be more comfortable with something he could hold with both hands- especially since he wasn't likely to lose it in his shadows.
"Okay, well, do you know how to disassemble, clean, and reassemble a gun?"
Nero nodded. "Yeah."
"Okay, show me." Spreading some newspaper on the ground, Vincent placed the Lariat in front of Nero. It might be dark, but they could both see what they were doing. He watched as Nero picked up the gun, examined it, and then slowly took it apart, deliberately placing each piece where he could find it again. It didn't take him long at all to clean, oil, and replace each piece. It wasn't a record by any stretch, but he'd perfectly done what Vincent had asked him to do.
"Nice work," Vincent commented. "Try this one."
Nero took apart and cleaned all four rifles under Vincent's watchful eye. He seemed to take extra care with the Death Penalty.
"It won't break," Vincent assured him. "It's old, but it's sturdy."
"It's magic," Nero replied. "Can't you feel it? The little feather at the end is affecting the whole thing."
"Is it?" Vincent blinked. He'd never noticed. Death Penalty models usually came with a phoenix pinion fixed to the sights, but he'd never stopped to consider why. It probably had something to do with the gun's ridiculously high accuracy and ability to take down even the largest enemies with just one bullet.
"There's a spell woven into the pieces," Nero went on, gingerly picking the rifle apart. "I don't want to mess this up."
It took longer than the others, but Nero reverently put the whole thing back together. Breathing a sigh of relief, he handed it back to Vincent.
"You okay?"
Nero nodded. "Yeah."
"Okay. Let's go."
Shouldering the rifles, they walked a short distance to a clearing ringed by old trees. Vincent set up a couple of tin cans on a low branch to use as targets.
"Okay," he began, coming over to help Nero settle the rifle in his hands. Picking out the Lariat- the smallest and simplest of the guns- he handed it to Nero who hefted it with some trepidation. Almost automatically, his hands began to tremble. Nero had gotten better at physical contact. He no longer flinched at every touch, but he still tensed automatically as Vincent stepped into his space.
"Like this," Vincent said calmly, placing his hands over his son's. Nero adjusted his hold, the tremors easing slightly.
"Breathe in, let it out," Vincent coached. "One… Two…"
He nudged Nero's finger and felt him squeeze the trigger. The rifle fired with an almighty BANG and bucked violently, but Nero didn't lose his grip. An eyeblink later, one of the empty tin cans leaped off the tree branch, spiraling to the forest floor. It wasn't a bullseye, but he'd plugged it solidly in the body. Nero grinned widely.
"It worked!"
"That was good," said Vincent. "I knew you could do it. Let's try it again."
He went to pick up the can, as well as a couple more, and set them all up on the branch. Going back to Nero's side, he said, "Go ahead." This time he stepped back to let Nero handle the gun on his own.
Nero bit his lip and shouldered the rifle a second time. His hands were shaking, making the barrel waver slightly. Closing his eyes, he tried to do as instructed. Taking a deep breath, he let it out, paused, and pulled the trigger. Without Vincent behind him, the kick made him stumble a half-step back. A dull PLUNK echoed through the trees as another can tumbled to the ground.
"Excellent," said Vincent. "You're getting the hang of it. Try another one."
"Another shot, or another gun?"
Vincent thought about that for a moment, then reached down and picked up the Death Penalty.
"Here. Remember what I've showed you so far, and let's see how you do with this."
Nero eyed the gun warily. "I dunno, Dad. You sure that's a good idea?"
"I think you can handle it. You're doing well so far. And the gun itself...well, I didn't know about the magic, but I always felt stronger with this in my hand. Trust the gun, Nero. And trust yourself."
Nero didn't trust either the gun or himself, but he took a deep breath and tried to do as he was asked. The shaking in his hands was worse now, the pinions of the phoenix feather lighting up like individual wires, burning bright with an uncast spell.
"Dad…" Nero said, clearly afraid.
Vincent eyed the gun. It never acted like that when he used it. Maybe he was asking a bit too much of Nero.
"Let me," he said, cautiously taking the gun out of Nero's hands. He aimed and fired in one quick, smooth motion, putting a bullet straight through one of the cans.
"Okay, that's normal." He examined the gun, wondering if he was missing something. His father had owned it, and passed it down to him. Surely Nero ought to be able to use it as well.
Or not. Nero still looked spooked. If possible, he was even paler than usual. This was supposed to be a confidence-building exercise, as well as a practical one. The last thing he wanted was to further traumatize the kid.
Still considering the gun, he had a thought. Maybe the gun had been fully charged with magic, something he'd never stopped to think about before. Nero was a mage, but his affinity was with shadows, not mechanical weapons. Using a gun like this might be asking for trouble. The kid was young, and his own magic had recently deserted him. He probably didn't have the strength to handle Death Penalty -and might never.
"Never mind," he told Nero. "You don't have to use it. Try another one instead, or if you'd rather stop now, that's fine, too."
Nero stumbled the half-step toward Vincent and latched both arms around him. He was still shaking hard, breath coming too deep and heavy as he fought to calm down.
"Thank you," he mumbled into Vincent's shoulder, voice small.
Vincent put both his arms around Nero, tentative at first, then pulling him close.
"No problem, Nero. Like I said, this is supposed to be a little vacation. It should be fun, and relaxing. We don't have to do anything that you don't want to do."
"I'm sorry. I just… I'm sorry. Thank you. I'm sorry." The shaking had subsided but wasn't completely gone. His breathing had slowed a little, but he was clearly still upset. "If...if I'd gone on… I dunno. It might have exploded, or I might have hit you, or me or...or something and…" He trailed off and shuddered.
"Hey." Vincent pulled back a little so he could see Nero's face. "It's fine. I shouldn't have asked. This might be a surprise to you," he went on, a wry edge coming into his voice, "but I don't always make the right decision. If you think something's wrong, you can tell me, like you just did. That's the smart thing to do. I'm glad that you spoke up. You've got good instincts. More than that - you noticed something about the gun that I never have, as long as I've owned it. So you're one up on me, kid."
That got him a nervous little laugh. Nero stepped back and nodded. "Yeah. Right. So. Maybe one of the others that isn't magic?"
"Sure. In fact, why don't you choose which one? If you feel something's off, say so. Use the one that feels right for you."
"Okay." Nero looked over the other two rifles, heft each one, and eventually selected the Winchester. "Let's try this one."
"I thought you couldn't cook," Nero observed in his usual benignly tactless way.
"I can't," Vincent agreed. "At least, nothing fancy. Campfire food is about the only thing I can do."
"Cool."
It was a rare chance to use a knife, even if it was only to skin and dress the monster they'd shot. The rest would require opening a tin can, and even Vincent could do that. The campfire crackled brightly, sending a faint spiral of smoke toward the stars. Nero had graduated from tin cans to vermin and had taken down several creatures himself. He wasn't quite as far-sighted as his father, nor as quick, but the reflex would come with time.
"Did you and Veld ever do this?" Nero asked, stirring the baked beans so they wouldn't burn to the bottom of the pot.
"No," Vincent replied, stabbing the meat with a metal skewer, "but my dad and I did back when I was a kid."
"Really?" Nero cocked his head, curious.
"My dad was busy a lot when I was young," Vincent said. "He worked a lot. He was an academic; teacher, researcher, that sort of thing. We didn't get to spend a ton of time together, but this was one of my favorite memories." He gestured broadly at the woods. "We'd go camping, just the two of us. We'd hike, fish, hunt, do manly stuff."
Nero had absorbed enough cultural awareness and gender bias humor that he cracked a smile.
"My dad taught me to shoot," Vincent went on. "It's okay if that's not your thing," he hurried to add, "but I want you to be able to handle a gun safely. You should be able to defend yourself."
He did not mention Nero's absent shadows. He didn't have to. Nero nodded thoughtfully.
"If you want, I can teach you to fish," Vincent offered. "No guns involved, just patience. And it's just as rewarding, if not more so. Fish generally taste better than monsters." He didn't mention having to clean the fish. It wasn't his favorite part of the sport, but Veld had a rule: You kill it, you clean it.
Nero nodded. "Okay." A pause. "What...what was he like? Your dad, I mean. And your mom. You knew them both, right?"
The question brought images to Vincent's mind, faces that he hadn't seen in his mind's eyes for some time. Decades, in his mother's case. She was more of a feeling, now, than a picture.
"My dad was...really smart," he began. "The kind of smart that wins awards and...well, he was always looking for new things. And old things. Old stories, myths, things our ancestors knew that we haven't got a clue about.
"Sometimes he was kind of distant, but that wasn't because he didn't care about us, about me and my mom. It was because his mind was always busy, always thinking about ten things at once. When he did take time for me, though, he was pretty easy-going. He knew how to laugh, and he was patient." A smile touched his lips, as the memories flowed. "He actually had a really sharp sense of humor, but most people didn't know that. I was...kind of a disappointment to him."
Nero's brows creased at this. "How?" he asked before he could think better. "Er...you don't have to answer that. It's just… By Surface standards, seems like you did okay to me?"
Vincent tapped the side of his own head. "Headmates. They've been there a long time. Caused a lot of trouble for me when I was a kid. I couldn't explain, and my parents didn't know what to do with me. It was years before I got any kind of control over Mask and the others. That's….why my mother left."
He paused, taking a moment to busy himself with the food, filling a bowl for Nero and one for himself.
"Things got crazy, and I caused a lot of trouble at school. Dad was really upset, and Mom...I've always thought she blamed herself. One day she just...walked away. Didn't say goodbye, didn't take anything with her. We never found out where she went, or if she…"
He cleared his throat and looked at Nero. "So we've got something in common, you and I. Both our mothers disappeared."
There was nothing to say to that, so Nero edged a bit closer and leaned against him in solidarity. It was the only thing he could think of to do. Oh wait- no it wasn't.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. There was a time when he would have wondered if Vincent's mother and his own were together somewhere. He knew better now. Vincent's mother was more than likely dead, as for his own… There was no way to know.
"Thanks," said Vincent, leaning back. " I think...I think my dad and your foster dad would've been friends. Wish they could've met. Probably would have shared embarrassing stories about the two of us."
"Probably," Nero agreed, several instances coming to mind.
"I wish my dad could've met you," said Vincent, turning to look at Nero. "He would've loved you too. I know he would. All he really wanted for me was to have a good life. I think he was afraid I'd never have that. And in some ways he was right, but...there's you. He'd be glad."
Nero's shy smile flickered in and out of shadow as the warm light of the campfire danced across his face. There was still so much he didn't understand but at that moment, he felt like one small piece of the puzzle had fallen into place. He understood a little bit what Vincent had been trying for so long to say. Maybe not all of it, but some.
"Thanks, Dad."
It didn't feel like enough, but Vincent smiled. It would do.
