3-7. Drowning, We Rise
The days once again formed a slow progression of waiting, reading about the Cetra, and industriously avoiding Hojo. When she could manage it, Lucrecia avoided the Mansion's laboratories altogether. The presence of her sullen supervisor shivered across the back of her neck now and then when she visited the greenhouse, but he did not approach her directly.
Hojo was the least of her problems, though, it seemed. Even though she had stopped the Jenova treatments, their strange side effects persisted; they seemed worst when she worked, but their presence was frighteningly consistent. Slowly the unnerving phenomena increased: the dizziness grew worse, the pains became sharper, and the nightmares advanced, slipping their claws ever deeper into her subconscious.
She dreamed of drowning almost every night for the next month. Drowning… and worse. Sometimes she would wake in a terror so complete that it obliterated the dream that unleashed it, and ironically, she was thankful for that. In addition to the headaches and phantom voices, she didn't relish being haunted by nightmares in daylight.
As the autumn slowly chilled the mountains, another note arrived at the inn—by the normal local post, in a plain envelope. Lucrecia sat by the window overlooking the town square and read by the grayish-white light of the waning day.
We hate to bother you, but we have no one else to ask. It's been over a year since my eldest son Shelan went to Midgar, and we haven't heard back from him yet. He never sent us a phone number there, and our letters were never answered. He can get wrapped up in school and work, but it's been too long, and we're very worried about him. If anyone knows how to reach him, please let us know as soon as possible. We live on East Lane, Nibelheim, number six.
Thank you.
Mrs. Koura Strife and Stratus Strife
Lucrecia stared at the paper for a blank stretch of time. When it passed she wrote a helpless reply and, that night, fell asleep near tears. Shelan's mother's painful optimism further entrenched the uneasiness that shadowed her mind. As far as she knew, Shelan was living in Midgar, working on the Reactor Project. But his new supervisor had reported him absent at first, and he hadn't written to his own mother and little brother—the ones he'd run to see immediately when he arrived home for the start of the JENOVA Project.
Somehow, the thought that something could have gone wrong did not surprise her.
That night, she dreamed again that she was drowning in a closed tank, pounding against the walls feebly as unconsciousness darkened her mind… but this time, she was not alone.
They could no longer hike or climb over the Mansion walls, but Vincent and Lucrecia spent their free time together, reading or walking in the square or simply talking to each other, as they once did. Vincent would not speak of the Project, however, and Lucrecia refused to elaborate on the continuing influence of the Jenova treaments. They cautiously enjoyed their time in peace, as if it were an exotic glass ornament that would shatter if jostled.
One evening as the autumn started to freeze into an early winter, Lucrecia sat at the table in her room at the inn. Behind her Vincent sprawled on the bed in street clothes, reading Wutaian history.
"I want a Cetra name," she said aloud, pushing aside the last sheet of paper with its lists of names. "Even if it has a modern first name and a Cetra middle, or something, I want it to be named in Cetra."
Vincent looked up. "What do you have so far?"
She shook her head. "I don't know. That's the thing… they weren't named until after they were born. 'Souls name themselves,' they said. They went by first impressions, or temperament, usually."
He nodded.. "I remember reading that."
"So… I think I'm going to wait." She sighed, fighting the evil stink of doubt that rose from the treatments' hallucinations. She would be clear-headed for this child's birth. She would move out of Nibelheim, or even swallow a dozen of those noxious tranquilizing medicines the shopkeepers stocked, if it would keep her lucid. After all of this hardship and everything she'd sacrificed, she was determined to finally meet its unwitting source and put a name to it.
Strange way to think about your own offspring… Lucrecia piled up the lists of modern names and slid them away.
"Have you thought about the other naming question?" Vincent had closed his book and sat up, though he did not cross the room toward her.
The other naming question… "I have… I think… I think it will be 'Gainsborough' for now, at least. It won't be long; when we move and…and everything—"
"When you marry me, finally," Vincent interjected with a small smile.
"Yes, then we'll both change… the baby probably won't even be old enough to know the difference by then. It's just…easier that way, with the paperwork and so on."
"I see." Vincent was quiet for a while; Lucrecia turned to watch him thoughtfully. Finally he spoke, looking toward the floor. "Speaking of paperwork… they'll ask for its parents. I…" He swallowed. "I would claim it, if that would make it easier for you. He never has to be connected with the baby at all." Vincent avoided the name of the other scientist, but she knew what he meant. Rightfully, she supposed, Hojo should be cited as the child's father… but she didn't want to brand her son or daughter with that name any more than Vincent did.
More importantly, Vincent was willing to accept it… Slowly, made awkward by the weight she carried, Lucrecia rose from her seat and crossed the room. She lowered herself to the edge of bed next to Vincent and took his hand, still, as always, adorned with the twice-returned engagement ring.
He'd said would accept this misbegotten soul as his own child, and she believed he would—and more. He would care for it as if it were, because it was hers… and maybe… even if it couldn't be the perfect peace he dreamed of, maybe it was as close as they could get.
"You know I don't care," he said quietly, something he'd said many times before. "In every way that matters to me, that's more my child than Hojo's. If I have anything to do with it, he'll barely even see it… I'll protect both of you. I promise."
Lucrecia closed her eyes and folded both of her hands over his hand, shaken by his unequivocal determination. She began to speak, but Vincent interrupted. "If you say you don't deserve this one more time, I'll…"
She looked up into his eyes, lit with that odd spark of humor. The beginning of a smile slid across her face. "You'll what?"
"I'll… name it myself. Even if it's a girl: Vincentia."
Lucrecia chuckled quietly. "Not 'Valentine'?"
"No… because for the first few months it'd be 'Valentine Gainsborough', and that just sounds like a romance novelist."
She reached for the pillow he'd been leaning on and softly smacked the back of his head with it. Vincent caught her hand and pulled her closer to him, then kissed her gently. "I love you," he said, his lips brushing her cheek. "Even when you make no sense."
"Likewise."
He smiled. "I always make sense."
"No…you're too forgiving."
"You just don't understand it."
"Fair enough."
Vincent lay down again, leaning against the headboard, his arms crossed behind his head. A small smile still lingered on his face. At that moment he looked less like the Turk, the cold, mechanical, guilt-haunted assassin, than he ever had. Lucrecia smiled to herself. This…this was something worth struggling for. Whatever his reasons, Vincent would stay by her through all they'd been through and more… somehow, she believed that they could survive this, and anything else life threw at them.
Somehow, in its own way, that was an achievement in itself.
She reached for him, and he took her hand in his; her other hand still rested on the bulk of her stomach, where her—their—child grew.
"We're going to be all right," he said, half reassurance, half mantra.
Lucrecia nodded. "I hope so."
"We will. I'll make sure of it."
You can't stop this sickness, Vincent… but I believe you.
For the first time in a long while, she looked forward to the new year with more hope than fear.
One morning—the hallucinations were lightest in midmorning, for some reason, even in the laboratory—Lucrecia stood in the hallway connecting the main lab to Dr. Gast's office, flashlight in hand, scanning the rows and rows of references and notebooks. Virology… genetics… protein chemistry… accounts of Jenova's discovery, written by the Shinra, of course… once, this was everything they'd thought they needed to know.
Near the end of the hall she found the right section. The flashlight's beam jittered over texts on toxicology, radiation… Mako. She reached for Effects and Treatment of Makou (Mako) Toxicity.
"Ms. Gainsborough!"
Lucrecia startled, swinging the light toward the lab. Her pounding heart slowed to normal as she recognized, not the apparition she feared, but the much more reliable presence of Dr. Gast. She greeted him, touching her throat for a moment as her breath evened out. "Good morning."
Gast continued past her toward the office. "Still working? You're a trouper to the end, Ms. Gainsborough. Quite an honorable trait."
Well, it's not as if I can take a vacation from this… "Thank you, sir." She switched the light off and caught up to the Research chairman as he opened the office door. Gast set his empty satchel on the desk and began to scan the shelves and stacks of books that lined the office, methodically picking out a few of them.
"I have some news that you might like to hear," he began. "Would you close the door, please?"
"Yes." She closed the heavy wooden door, muffling the faint whirring of the machinery in the laboratory. The office now occupied a circle of close, calming quiet. Lucrecia found a chair, clearing it of notebooks before gratefully taking a seat. She piled the books on the floor with the other texts as Gast continued to pack his satchel. This room did not smell of chemicals and disinfectant, as the others in the Mansion basement did—only dust and old paper. The shelves stored a wealth of research and lore, almost everything modern scholars knew about the Cetra. Many of the books had been written by Gast himself, thought by many to be the preeminent researcher of Cetra history and culture.
If anyone could give me hope, it would be Dr. Gast… I have so much to ask him… but I can't tell him what I've done.
She felt a strong, unnerving stirring under her skin—stronger than it should have been, she knew, even at this late stage. Her unborn child probably possessed all the power of a two-year-old, and there were still two months to go.
So much to ask… and so little time.
"Are you all right?" Gast paused, a heavy text in one hand.
"I'm fine… just… being pummeled by my own offspring. I don't think I'll ever get used to that."
He smiled. "It won't be much longer, at least. Do you have a definite due date yet?"
"The second week of January."
Gast nodded thoughtfully. "I see. Are you sure you aren't going to have twins? Or triplets, at this rate."
The thought made her only a little queasy nowadays, its horror muted by endless repetition. So many well-meaning villagers had asked her this over the last seven months that it had almost lost all meaning. "The town's doctor didn't think so; they only heard one heartbeat. But they don't have sonogram equipment out here, so we can't be sure."
I don't think so either… somehow… I just know.
—Of course you know; it hears you… if it knew the language it'd be answering by now.—
Lucrecia froze for a moment at the intruding voice, but held her composure and focused on the book Dr. Gast held. Cetra tragedists, late period. How appropriate.
Focus! "You said you had some news?…" She swallowed and hoped he would go with the change of subject.
"Ah, yes! Good news, at that." He closed the satchel, buckling the strap over it as Lucrecia tried not to be too eagerly impatient. Good news was too rare… "I've decided on my next project."
The student frowned slightly. "After the JENOVA Project? I haven't heard of that."
Gast smiled, a little sourly. "Shinra doesn't know about it yet—if they ever will." Lucrecia sat up a little straighter, though in some way she wasn't surprised. What is it with this project and breaking with protocol?!
"You're not leaving the company…?"
The elder scientist shrugged. "Perhaps. I intend to carry out my studies on my own power and my own time, but if Shinra doesn't like that…"
"No!" Lucrecia gasped, realizing she'd said it out loud, and swallowed hard. "No… but… they can't…" She shook her head, trying to recover her senses. If Shinra got a hold of Dr. Gast… as they did to the burnt-out Turks and traitorous spies… the world skewed, cast over with dread. If Shinra struck down Gast…
—the powers of darkness will win.—
Exactly… She caught herself answering the voice in her head and almost let out a nervous laugh.
"They can't…" Lucrecia took a deep breath and looked up to the concerned face of her mentor. "Be careful… I don't want them to…" To win.
"I know," Gast said calmly. His kind voice seemed to carry the last remnants of nobility in their cause. "I'm aware of the risk. I've bought a house in Icicle Inn, and I pray that the distance will be enough of a cover."
Icicle Inn… she recalled the name from what seemed like long ago. Dr. Gast had planned to move north for a long time. Now, it seemed, his someday had arrived. "You'll be studying Cetra?"
Gast nodded. "I've heard rumors of a few surviving Cetra in the area, near the Knowlespole. I hope to find them, and learn whatever they can teach me."
"I see… Good luck." After a moment she struggled to recall an incantation she'd heard, a warding prayer for those who had set out for distant lands. Her Cetra pronunciation was terrible; the translation would have to do. Her voice was quiet and sincere amid the stillness. "The land shall be easy under your feet, the sky calm above you. The heart of the world shall protect you from the forces of darkness, and you shall find, in the end…"
His voice joined hers in the last words: "…your home."
Theophilus Gast, preeminent Cetra scholar of their time, nominal leader of the JENOVA Project, smiled. "And the same to you, Ms. Gainsborough. To you and your sister, as well. I feel I've been blessed by meeting both of you."
No… you've blessed us. I can't explain it…
He chuckled, turning away toward the desk. "Listen to me! Excuse my sentimentality, Ms. Gainsborough. After all, I will see the two of you again someday. You're both welcome to my cabin if you ever have the time to travel to Icicle Inn—all of you, Mr. Valentine and Mr. Logan as well. It has been a pleasure working with all of you. And I want to see that baby of yours when it's born."
Lucrecia nodded, trying not to let the inexplicable tears of grief fall. "The pleasure is mine," she replied. "I'll come whenever we can."
Dr. Gast shouldered his satchel and waved, smiling a little. "Good day."
"Goodbye," Lucrecia murmured, and could not move as he left.
Thus, faced with madness…
Lucrecia stood at last and walked into the corridor, slipping a book on poisoning from the shelf. Its real meaning slid off the trepidatious hope that filled her heart.
Thank you, Dr. Gast.
Notes: This is not the end. Chapter 3-8 is being written now (Sept. 2001), and there is one more chapter after that (3-9) before the end. Thanks for reading!
