3-9. Heaven's Silver
The ceiling seemed distant, out of focus—but that was because they'd taken her glasses. Or was it really far away? Sometimes she saw a domed ceiling, sometimes it spiraled above her into an inverted well of shadows. Sometimes she woke with her eyes burning and saw the timbered plaster of the Nibelheim inn. It all depended on what happened to be stampeding through her mind at the moment…
When the timbered ceiling appeared, oftentimes the village doctor would bend over her and give her something to drink. She swallowed it without question, though it tasted bitter and syrupy; it would send her back into sleep, away from the dull pains that racked her body, and at the moment that was all she cared to know. Usually Vincent would be there, sitting by her bedside, sometimes kneeling by her bed with her fevered hand folded in his. Sometimes he would speak, though his words sank, uncomprehended, into the rising darkness of sleep.
And between these interludes raged a thousand years of confusion and pain.
She saw the streets of the ancient capital emptying, the few that remained running furtively from one building to the next, avoiding the neighbors with whom they'd once spoken. She saw the noble philosophers and dreamers dying in shrieking fits. She saw the few left writing as fast as they could in their records, half camera, half music-box, in a language none would comprehend only fifty years after their deaths. They wrote without purpose, filled with dread and hope…
She saw glowing metal, a sealed shell full of light and energy, far, far too much energy. Her body caught aflame with it, in her dreams, every nerve and cell flooded to bursting with the torrent of green fire that ran through her, head to toe, as if she were nothing but a conduit between earth and hell. She tried to scream, but the sound only echoed back into her own ears; no one could hear her now, or ever again. And around her, muted by the sealed metal egg that encased her, hummed a throbbing pulse of machinery that was strangely familiar…
And Lucrecia startled awake time after time with fear flooding her veins, shouting for everyone to run, dreaming that Nibelheim was in flames…
The dreams rose and subsided, interspersed with long stretches of featureless darkness. It was for those that her frayed soul prayed, for only those gave her rest both from the pain of waking and from the fear of dreaming. She wished only to sleep, without dreams, forever… but invariably the darkness would wear away, and she would wake to the small timbered-ceilinged room of the Nibelheim inn, sheets damp with terrified sweat, body aching, teeth chattering, wishing to return to nothingness again.
Though in those brief moments of daylight and lamplight, she did see Vincent—in person, not in the disturbing flashes of a dream-Vincent, torn by his own nightmares. Vincent, patient as always, but wearing a bit himself, over time. One day she asked him, after he had fetched her enough water to loosen her tongue.
"Vincent," she said, reassuring himself of his existence, more than anything.
Vincent bent closer to her and kissed her warm cheek. "What is it?"
"How long have I… been here?"
Vincent narrowed his eyes slightly. "Nibelheim?"
"This room. Here."
Oh. Three weeks, love."
"Three weeks…" Sighing, she looked down to the enormous bulge in the covers of the bed—she seemed grotesquely huge now, and it was probably a small comfort to know that she didn't have to walk under that weight. "When is the baby due?"
"Soon," Vincent answered quietly. "A week or two."
"Soon…" she echoed, "soon, soon, soon…" And she slid back into sleep again, and dreamed frantic dreams that the child would never be born, that it would grow larger and larger until it burst her apart and clawed its way out, fully grown. She woke whimpering in fear, and clung to Vincent's hand until they brought her another bitter tranquilizing draught.
For another fifteen days she swam through nightmares, burning with an unholy fire, ripped to pieces as the full force of Lifestream was forced through her body, weeping with the sorrow of a fallen realm.
For another fifteen days the child grew, feeding on the last strength of her battered body.
And then it began.
At first she thought it was another nightmare, that the seizing pains would be stilled by yet another drink of medicine, once she plunged into daylight. But soon the room wavered into view before her eyes, and the pain continued. She clutched the bedcovers and closed her eyes, waiting for it to pass, her throat too tense to scream. Vincent leaped to his feet. "Lucrecia! Are you all right?"
She managed to jerk her head sideways—no—and Vincent ran to the telephone. He dialed with shaking hands, but his voice was short and almost confident as he summoned the village doctor. The man arrived a few minutes later, as the spasm subsided. She was breathing easily again as he listened to her heart with a stethoscope and carefully prodded her abdomen. "It seems to have dropped into position. It won't be long now," he stated, and Lucrecia heard a trace of nervousness in his voice. Her mind was clearing now, into a state of lucidity she'd felt only rarely since the month-long vigil began. The doctor reached into his bag for another vial of tranquilizer, but Lucrecia waved it away.
"No… I don't want to miss it."
"Miss Gainsborough, it's perfectly safe, I assure you. It's simply to dull the pain…"
Do you have ether? Chloroform? Use it, I don't want to be there…
It's not that painful a procedure, my dear, my dear…
"No. I'm sure. I…I have to be here."
"Excuse me?"
"I— never mind…"
And it began again.
The pain clamped down again, and for a few terrified minutes she wondered feverishly if her nightmare were coming true, if this…thing inside her would rip her apart after all… but then, finally, it faded again. She breathed heavily and waited. She tried to smile encouragingly at Vincent, who hovered, white-faced with fear, between her bed and the door as if he weren't sure whether he should stay or go. He returned her smile faintly and slowly came to sit by her bedside, taking her outstretched hand. He held on for the duration, never once leaving her side as the spasms came and left, came and left. For the next eighteen hours he stayed, holding up the water glass so she could drink, wiping her face with cool cloths, murmuring encouraging words, as the village doctor took catnaps and paced nervously, twisting the tubes of his stethoscope in his hands.
The night wore on and morning came again, eighteen hours after the first pain had come, and though her body was thoroughly exhausted—in the increasingly brief respites she found herself falling asleep almost instantly, only to wake in pain again—Lucrecia held on determinedly. Now, finally, all of this would be over. Now, she would see the cause of all of this. Now, the final product and redemption of the JENOVA Project would be born. Soon now, so soon, and all she had to do was persevere.
Eighteen hours of vigil, with only three people: herself and Vincent and the doctor. Dr. Gast had come once, whispering what she understood to be a Cetra blessing, but when she emerged from the next bout of pain, he was gone. Hojo had not appeared. A small part of her was almost sorry for that; it would have felt good to strangle someone in the throes of the contractions…
Not long after dawn, the pain became almost continuous. The doctor left his pacing and called a midwife, though she barely noticed it; it was all she could do to clench Vincent's hand and avoid blacking out with exhaustion. The woman arrived immediately, her arms loaded with clean cloths, barking orders. She thanked Vincent for staying with Lucrecia, though both of them exchanged a guilty look; neither was about to correct her assumption that he was the baby's father. Though at this moment, such matters seemed less important than ever… Soothed somewhat by the midwife's confidence, Lucrecia did her best to keep breathing and bore down when instructed, though she could no longer keep down the cries that tore from her throat.
Two more hours of hell. Vincent remained grimly silent. The doctor hovered increasingly closer, muttering about surgery, but the midwife brushed him off. She could tell, she said; this mother was strong, she could make it on her own.
This mother… Lucrecia thought, but the thought was almost lost in the red haze of pain.
Two more hours, and Lucrecia thought, distracting herself from the unbearable ordeal, that it was somehow better than the nightmares, at least. This pain was real; it had a purpose…
And then, finally, the midwife announced that the baby was coming, and before the thought could finish forming in Lucrecia's mind that she wasn't ready—not quite yet, she wasn't ready to see it, not like this, it was too much—it was over.
For a few dazed minutes she wondered whether it were dead; it made no sound, and the doctor and the midwife rushed around with tasks she couldn't see clearly. She was about to ask Vincent to find her glasses when the midwife came over to her with a large, blanket-wrapped parcel…
Lucrecia stared, dumbstruck. She'd half expected some sort of monster, but this child, paradoxically, was perfect. Its hands were perfectly formed, its skin was pale but whole and unmarked, and its face… was…
Beautiful… so strange… but beautiful… she thought, but could not speak. Its face was unearthly, for a newborn child, the kind of entrancing alienness that made her think of angels and Ancients… And yet, the mark of the Project was evident: the child looked back at her with clear eyes that glowed Mako-green, and the wisps of hair on its head were undoubtedly a strange shade of silver.
Silver… so beautiful, like an angel's. Silver… 'silver' in Cetra is 'rossa'… I'll name it that if it's a girl… Angel of silver, no, heaven's silver… Sephirossa…
She frowned slightly, blushing a little as she asked the midwife, "I hate to ask this, but boy or girl?"
"It's a boy," the midwife replied. "Sorry, I must've forgotten in all the… Yes, a healthy boy."
"Hm." She looked back at the child, this being who had been sleeping all this time, while she agonized and wondered and equivocated, waiting for her to be ready for its arrival.
It hears you; if it knew the language it'd be answering by now…
Slowly Lucrecia lifted her free hand and reached out toward the unearthly infant. He watched her, his Mako-green eyes carefully focusing on her own Mako-amber eyes, as she reached out across that small space between them and brushed his smooth cheek with her fingers. For a moment she felt a circuit form between them, herself and the baby and Vincent, and she could have sworn that she saw the infant smile, faintly. He reached out toward her with one tiny hand…
"What are you going to name him, Miss Gainsborough?" the midwife broke in.
"Hmm? Oh… Sephirossa… no… Sephiroth."
"Sephiroth?" Vincent asked quietly.
"'Heaven's silver,'" she murmured, not taking her eyes off the bright green gaze of the baby… Sephiroth, her son.
Their hands touched for just a moment, the warm, faintly moist hand of the newborn and the trembling hand of the new mother. Then the midwife holding him hastily turned away, muttering apologies about warmth, the mother's strength, how they should both get some sleep.
Sleep came soon enough, claiming her before they'd even taken Sephiroth from the room, and in her mind she saw only her son's green eyes…
She woke in darkness. Vincent slept next to her, his arm curled around her protectively. For a few heartbeats she wondered whether it were a dream, whether she'd first dreamt of the Ancients only last night, and find the door lock still broken… but she felt a residual dull pain and the familiar dizziness and knew that it was all true.
Vincent stirred and opened his eyes. "Are you all right?" he asked softly.
Lucrecia nodded. "As well as could be expected. How is Sephiroth?"
"Sleeping, I think. They're keeping him in my room so that you aren't disturbed. The midwife is watching over him for now."
"I see." She sighed, feeling the strange lightness in her body despite the ache—it had been a long time since she'd felt at home in her own skin. Now… it had all changed, and there was nothing more to do but carry on.
And yet…
"Vincent?"
"Yes, love."
She fought to keep her voice calm. "Remember what we said… no matter what happens to me, try to get Sephiroth away from here. Any way you can… just get him away from Shinra."
"Nothing will happen to you, Lucrecia," he said hurriedly.
"It doesn't matter. Just take care of him… and if you can't, then watch over him. Make sure…" Her eyes were filling with tears, and she hoped that Vincent could not see it. "Make sure they treat him well, and tell him… tell him I love him."
"You can tell him yourself…"
"Promise me, Vincent."
"I will." He was holding on to her tightly now, shaking a little himself. "You'll be all right. As soon as you've recovered, we'll leave. We'll get away from Shinra and all of this…"
She let him talk, because she knew that he probably understood despite his litany of hopes. It was his way of pushing away the fear, but he knew, as well as she did, that she would not last much longer.
"I love you, Vincent. I have to tell you that again."
"I know." He kissed her lips carefully; his breath trembled. "I love you more than anything I've ever known. You're all I have in the world."
"You have Sephy now," she reminded him.
"Yes…the two of you," he replied, as if his mind could not grasp the thought of her leaving him. "I'll take both of you away, where we can all be safe…"
"Vincent."
"Yes?"
"It doesn't matter now."
She woke in the growing light of morning. Vincent was gone, and a note lay on the chair next to her bed. Lucrecia picked it up and read it, squinting a bit, and fumbling for her glasses on the end-table with her other hand.
Lucrecia,
Went to change and visit Sephiroth. Will be back soon. I love you.
Vincent
She smiled to herself and set the note back on the chair. Having found her glasses, she slipped them on and tentatively sat up on the edge of the bed. She felt drained but optimistic, and above all, calm. She could visit her child on her own, surely… it was only down the hall. It sounded promising; she yearned to move under her own power again, although the continuing dizziness troubled her, and she would have to move slowly.
Keeping one hand on the bed, she stood and slowly walked to the wardrobe, picking out some of her old clothes—the ones she hadn't worn in months, not since her body had swollen far out of proportion. Now they fit again; she dressed carefully, pausing now and then to sit down on the polished wooden floor and take a few deep breaths. She was looking forward to seeing Sephiroth and Vincent; they'd make a strange picture, the three of them, but she wanted to see the two of them again before…
Time to get up again. She gritted her teeth and struggled to her feet, her limbs shaking with the effort. All the strength in her body seemed to have drained away, and the spinning in her head was interminable. She took two steps before falling, striking her knees on the floor, and she clutched them in pain for a moment. Maybe it was best to get some help after all… Once more she fought to regain her feet, clutching the bedpost for support, and shuffled toward the telephone. Undignified or not, at least she could see her son that way.
She made it only halfway before falling again, and this time she did not have the strength to hold herself up; she sprawled on the floor, her cheek against the wood, and for the first time she started to seriously wonder whether she would see her son again. Her head was beginning to hurt, a sharp pain that stabbed in from all directions, and she could barely see.
You knew this would happen. It had to happen eventually…
Yes… I just wish I could see him again. Just once. I wish I could hold him…
Vincent, tell him I love him. Tell him I loved him… and run, both of you, from Hojo and all of this. I love you both…
Maybe someday we'll meet in Lifestream, or the next life… I'll remember you, Vincent. I could never forget you…
Sephiroth, my son, I'm sorry… I love you. That's all that matters now.
Please forgive me…
