2-7. A Harbor in the Tempest

April. Spring had come to Nibelheim slowly, seeping up through the layers of frost, replacing the stinging winter air with a cool, bracing breeze laden with sea salt. The villagers emerged from their siege against the weather and roamed the town and countryside, in pairs, in bands, in young giggling packs. They had grown used to the infiltrators in their midst which had once sparked so much whispered debate. Many of them greeted Dr. Gast and Lucrecia in the street, though the Turks and Hojo still recieved little but polite nods. The presence of the Shinra scientists had become almost natural to most of them, accepted as a fixture of the town, like the Mansion or the mountains themselves. And on the slopes above them, half-hidden among the graying crags of Mount Nibel, the once-controversial reactor hummed quietly, all but ignored.

After work one April day, with the windows opened wide, Lucrecia packed away her winter clothes in her traveling trunk and pulled out the clothes she'd worn last summer, when she'd first joined the Project. She unfolded them slowly and slipped them into drawers and onto hangers, troubled by a strange sense of unfamiliarity. She came across a dress she'd worn on one of her first walks with Vincent, the beige blouse she'd worn when she came to Nibelheim, and even the dull, functional clothes she'd favored during her days at the Midgar Science Academy. It seemed strange to fold these same things into her wardrobe; they almost seemed to belong to another person. They belonged to a naïve, optimistic student, no more, her mind filled with the promise of an exciting new project. And now…who did they belong to? A washed-up scientist…or a woman at the dawn of a new world…

She sat down at the table when the last pieces were put away, flipping through the first few pages of her notebook without reading them. Her mind was filled with the eternal gray dusk of Midgar, her stifled, stratified, and hopeless home—so different from fertile Nibelheim, with its open fields and its innocent people. She found herself missing the city of her birth, faults and all; it had treated her well enough, providing education good enough to prepare her for a job like this, and a populace uncurious enough to let her tend to her own business without questions… at least, they let students tend to their lives without curiosity. But the Shinra officials…

She'd left Midgar anonymously and independently, a young student and helper to the Shinra elite. She expected to return much different: more important, more powerful, the mother of the most important person in Shinra. Even a loss of privacy, even the incessant questions of the press, were worth what she'd gain.

Almost anything was worth it, for that.

After a time she left the table and looked over her bookshelf for something to read. The shelves were filled with science texts for the most part, but lately they also held a steadily growing collection of books on the Ancients. She chose one that she hadn't finished yet—a memoir of a young Cetra woman—and curled up against the headboard of the bed to read.

For the next few hours, she was lost in the world of the Forgotten City and the lives of its long-dead inhabitants. The memoir had been translated from the diaries of a Cetra scholar who had lived two hundred years before the coming of Jenova. She had written about what she'd learned—the history of her people, the healing force of the Lifestream—as well as her own life. The scholar had married the man she loved, a young adventurer, against the will of her family, and the two of them had set out to find a new home beyond the Ancients' homeland.

The night slowly grew darker, but Lucrecia barely noticed it; as the room grew darker and the words began to blur on the page, the mental images they invoked grew stronger, until, finally, she slipped into a restless sleep.

She found herself among the glistening streets and spiralling towers of the city of the Ancients, a place she felt was her home—though, she sensed, not for long. A quiet unrest was gathering against her in this place, and she would soon have to leave.

Night was falling over the city, lengthening the wavering shadows of archway and building, bridge and pillar. She was walking slowly along the perimeter road toward the city's southern edge. The streets were empty, and a chilling air floated down from the mountains above. She pulled her cloak closer around her and walked on, as her faint footsteps echoed against the silent walls.

She drew close to the crossroads between the perimeter road and the city's main thoroughfare, which ran straight from the edge of the city to the doors of the capital building. Standing in the center of the road, she gazed toward the capital, awestruck and—though she could not explain why—deeply afraid. As she stood there motionless, a swirl of movement caught the corner of her eye. Before she could react, a pair of strong arms slid around her shoulders and pulled her back into an embrace. She sighed deeply, recognizing her husband's touch.

"Going to the temple?" he asked quietly; his voice did not disturb the stillness of the place, but his touch dispelled the chill. She turned to look at him, at his familiar red—

Red? They're supposed to be green…

Supposed to be?

—eyes.

"Yes," she answered. "To pray for the safety of our child."

Her husband smiled, laying his hands protectively over her greatly swollen belly. His head bent forward, and his long black hair—almost as long as hers—brushed against her face.

Not supposed to be that dark, not black…in the book…

What book?

…it was brown.

"I'm glad," he said. "I hope the Planet will bless our child, in its new home."

"As do I." She pressed her cheek against his cheek—pale, sunburned from exploring, who is this man? I think I love him…is this the one I love?—and slipped out of the circle of his arms. "I have to go. It's almost night."

He nodded. The subtle light in his eyes—not Mako, but Cetra, the glow of the Chosen—warmed her, chased away a little of the fear that lurked in her heart. She looked him over, this man she loved, standing in the city of her birth with a cloak like hers around him, dark red—

Green, he wore green…

—to keep away the chill. She smiled, lifted her hand in farewell, and he did the same.

It's not forever; I'll see him again.

She turned away and walked alone toward the Capital.

The Capital, too, was empty, its hallowed halls silent. There were no scholars here, studying late; no other worshippers coming for solace or strength. She walked with her hands folded in front of her, though the impulse was strong to spread them over her stomach, as if to shield her child from some unseen threat. With quickening steps she approached the inner sanctum of the Capital, the most revered place in the Cetra homeland.

The temple stood silent and waiting in its eternal green twilight; only the glow of the sacred Lifestream well illuminated its marble walls and stairs. She held her breath and began to descend the gracefully spiralling staircase that led to the altar. As she drew closer to the altar, she felt a stirring within her body, as if the child sensed the holiness of the place.

She knelt, a little clumsily, and began to whisper her prayer with increasing urgency. "By the Power that creates and protects us all, bird and plant and Cetra, please shield my child from-"

"NOOOOOO!"

A harsh shout fractured her train of thought, and her head jerked upward, her eyes wide. Her breath caught in her throat. Above her, where the shifting green light of the Lifestream had reflected on the walls, was only darkness. A veil of shadow was creeping down the walls of the temple, killing the reflected light. She wheeled around and lost her balance, crumpling on the stairs of the altar. She could not find the source of the voice. There was no one there but herself—and the formless shadow that slid down the walls.

And the child…

She heard the voice again, though she did not know who or what was speaking. "How dare you come here, to profane the sacred well!"

Her voice was weak, trembling, in the pressing silence of the temple. "I came here to pray for my child."

"Your child is poisoned, it is not Cetra. You have no place here."

"Not Cetra…" she breathed, as panic gathered in the pit of her stomach. The shadows flowed down the walls, extinguishing the holy light, and before her horrified eyes the emerald well of Lifestream ran as red as blood…

She looked up toward the center of the altar, praying without words for a glimmer of light, but the darkness had swallowed the temple. She heard a low, quiet laugh, and deep within her, deeper than any light could reach, she felt the scratching of tiny claws…


The dream wrenched apart as a shriek escaped her throat. There was a loud crack, and a moment later, she felt someone envelop her in a tight embrace.

But there's no one, not here, not now…

My husband…no, who…? Vincent…

Vincent!

Lucrecia's eyes flew open. Her heart was pounding, and she gasped to catch her breath. She saw a bedside lamp, the bedside lamp, from her room at the inn in Nibelheim… the room's ceiling with its dark wooden beams… and recognized the man holding her, the man she loved, with soft brown eyes and black hair—which fell to his sharp cheekbones, but not to his shoulders…

"Vincent," she said, half sigh, half sob. Vincent sat back on the edge of the bed, taking her hand in both of his own. He had taken off his jacket and holster, which lay in a heap on the floor, but he still wore the rest of the Turk uniform.

"I'm sorry. I knocked, but you didn't answer… and then I heard you scream…you must have been dreaming."

Lucrecia nodded. "I was." She looked up; the door stood open, and the keyhole was blasted and warped. Vincent stood and walked to it, then calmly closed the door.

"I'll pay for the damage," he said quietly.

"You…" she began, but did not finish. She knew what he'd done: he'd shot the lock off the door. "Just because you heard me?"

"Because I heard you in pain." There was a sharp knock on the door; Vincent opened it again to reveal the alarmed face of the desk clerk.

"What's going on here?"

"Nothing," Vincent replied. "It's done. Send the repair bill to Valentine, room four. Tomorrow."

"But—"

"Good evening." Vincent closed the door again, crossed to the table, and dragged one of the chairs against the door to block it. He came back to Lucrecia, sat on the bed beside her and took her into his arms again. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." She took a deep breath. "Just a nightmare."

"Don't say 'just'; they're powerful things." He glanced down at the book, lying half-open on the bed beside her. Following his eyes, Lucrecia picked it up and tossed it on the stand behind her. "Ancients?"

"I was reading it…I think I fell asleep. I dreamed…I was one of them."

"An Ancient? What happened?"

Lucrecia shivered, half-remembering a dark shadow, blotting out a cool green light. "I don't want to think about it."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, just…" She drew a breath that shook with remembered fear. "Stay here, for a while. Please."

Vincent closed his eyes, holding her close; under his shirt front she could feel his heart racing. "I'll stay as long as you'll let me."

"And don't…make me think about…the dream. Not tonight, at least. I want to forget about it for a while."

I want to forget about everything…for a while.

"All right." He was quiet for a moment, absorbed in his own mind. When he spoke, his voice was quiet and calm, as it had been under the Mansion's trees, as it had been after the party. "I can understand wanting to forget. I wish there was nothing in your life that you'd want to forget. I wish nothing like that could reach you. I wish I could keep it away, or fight it, if I can. But if I can't change it, then…I would like to help you forget it, for a while. You've done the same for me, so many times. It's the least I can do."

She felt tears pressing against her throat, from relief, gratitude, and a multitude of things she could barely define. "Thank you," Lucrecia whispered. "I feel so lucky to have you."

"No…" Unable to finish, he kissed her, almost abruptly, on the lips; she felt his uneven breathing, saw his eyes clenched shut, and longed for him to speak again. After a moment he moved back, and started again. "No…not lucky, not you. I'm lucky I have you. I still can't believe you might love me, you're the most unbelievable person I've ever known."

"I do love you, Vincent," she said softly, and any further words were stopped by another fervent kiss.

"You have no idea what that means to me," he said when he moved away. He watched her for a moment, and in his face, normally so closed, she saw a heart-stopping mixture of hunger, love, and pain. "I love you more than anything else I know. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"I hope you never have to find out," she replied.

He held her close again, for a long time, without a word. Then she heard him whispering her name, not to get her attention, but simply to hear the sound of it. And lastly, more quietly than anything else, at the very edge of her hearing, she thought she heard him whisper something else.

"Lucrecia Valentine."

Before she could react, or even confirm what she thought she'd heard, he moved again, kissing her face and her throat—and in his arms and his body she felt a tension, a building energy, that cried out to be released.

Now, she thought. A time like this…you never know when it will come again.

Resisting the impulse to encourage him, Lucrecia gently guided him back, against the pillows beside her. Vincent watched, stunned, as she slowly loosened the black tie at his throat—as much a badge of the Turks as the infamous dark blue itself—and dropped it on the floor. He remained motionless as she reached across him and turned off the light.


Note: I stole the lovely title from an even lovelier song, "All I Want Is You" by U2.