Day Two
6:23 a.m. Somewhere between the Eastern and Western continents.
The ocean sparkled, a warm breeze raising a light spray of sea mist. Cid puffed on a cigarette as he leaned on the railing of the transport. He watched the wake left by the ship, and wished he still had the Tiny Bronco. *I'd rather fly than swim,* he mused.
"Reminiscing?"
Cid jumped and swerved around so fast he nearly tumbled over the railing. Vincent was standing behind him, arms crossed and face as stony as ever. Cid placed a hand over his heart, which was pounding with such a fury he thought it would leap out of his chest. "Vince, you scared the shit outta me! I wish you'd make some noise when you move."
"Sorry," Vincent responded without emotion. He joined Cid at the rail and stared out at the horizon.
"Just wishing I had the Tiny Bronco," he answered his friend's question. He took a final drag on his cigarette, and flicked it into the water.
"You'll fly again."
"You think so?"
"It's hard to keep a man on the ground when his head is always in the clouds."
The pilot looked contemplative for a moment, then laughed suddenly and slapped Vincent on the back. "Ha! You really know how to make a guy feel better about himself." He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out another cigarette.
Out of the blue, Vincent said, "I thought the Turks were retired." He seemed to speak to no one in particular, but he turned around as if to face someone. Cid followed suit, and sure enough, Reno, Rude, and Elena were there.
"Good ears," Rude commented.
"Can we help you?" Vincent inquired.
"We're here for Cid," Reno explained. "President Rufus requires his assistance on a project."
"Rufus? I thought that &*^!ing kid got aced by Weapon."
"No, he's alive, and we have direct orders to bring you to Junon to meet with him."
Cid and Vincent exchanged silent glances, and then regarded the three Turks. "All right," Cid agreed. "I'll go, but Vince is coming with me."
"That seems reasonable enough. for now." Reno pulled a cellular from his jacket pocket and made a call. To the person on the other end, who Cid and Vincent assumed was Rufus, he said, "Yes, sir. We've found Cid, and he's agreed to come, but he insists that one of his friends tag along. Um hmm. Okay. Yes, sir. We're on the transport to Junon right now. We should be there in a few hours. Yes, sir." He hung up. He addressed Cid and Vincent. "When we dock at Junon, we're to take you to meet with the President immediately. That a problem?"
"Not at all," Vincent assured.
8:30 a.m. City of the Ancients.
Sephiroth cursed. Blood drooled from a large gash in his palm, the one he had just received from a jagged edge of rock. Climbing down this cliff face was a royal pain in the rear - and now his hand - but it was the only route to the City of the Ancients, and that was the quickest way to civilization. He dropped the last twelve feet to the ground. Having nothing to wrap his wound with, he made a fist to slow the bleeding. He continued walking, and within fifteen minutes was at the outskirts of the city.
It was the same old scenery that he'd seen nearly a month before: the oversized spiral shell houses, the shell walkways, the few stone buildings, scattered plant life, and open space. Not as if he was expecting a change, but the place *felt* different. Though he knew it had long been deserted, the soldier couldn't help but feel he wasn't alone. He stood perfectly still, allowing his senses to absorb information from his surroundings. He couldn't tell if someone else was there or not. Deciding that treating his injury was the immediate importance, he pressed further into the city.
Sephiroth made his way to the crossroads, a simple four-way intersection. The path to his left led to Water Valley, which eventually led to the Sleeping Forest, and then on to Bone Village. The path in front of him led to the remnants of a large stone building, whose backroom connected to a type of coliseum with a large crystal at its center; he still wasn't sure what it was for. The path to his right ran back to the north, cut through a thick grove, and came out at another shell building seated next to a large pool of water; a giant shell pavilion covered the entire area. That was the route he would take. He needed to clean his wound and that was the best place to do it.
Still clutching his bleeding appendage, he started up the path, the heels of his boots making hollow echoes on the shell walkway. The emptiness of the place seeped past his emotional barriers, instilling a twinge of loneliness in him. He tried not to focus on it, but the persistent feeling continued to plague him. He began to run, as though the emotion was some physical threat he could escape.
He broke through the grove and slid to a halt by the water's edge. Sunlight filtered through a crack in the shell tent; it struck the crystalline surface of the water, and was reflected and refracted into a dazzling aura. He carefully removed his bloodied glove, and knelt next to the water. Ripples rose to mar the perfect surface of the pond as Sephiroth dipped his hand in. Pain stabbed into his ravaged flesh, the icy cold of the water seeping into his veins. A crimson haze formed around his hand, his blood diffusing into the clearer liquid.
Though he was intent on his hand, Sephiroth saw movement at the edge of his vision. Not merely the rippling of the water's surface, but of something separate of his surroundings. He raised his eyes, their attention drawn to the other side of the pond.
There was the reflection of a young woman. She knelt at the water's edge, hands clasped. Her face was disturbingly familiar. Soft brown hair cascaded down her back, and her Mako-green eyes - not unlike his own - were intent and focused, yet at the same time gentle and understanding. Her plain pink dress hugged the curves of her body, the last five buttons left undone. Aeris.
Sephiroth looked up. He was alone, no one else at the pond. He looked back to the water; the reflection was still there. After a moment the figure rose to her feet, and turned away, heading off as though the actual person was going to the building just across the water. Curiosity seized his mind, and Sephiroth followed, his wound completely forgotten.
He entered the building with caution, taking in all its aspects. The only thing out of place was a glass staircase in the center of the room; it spiraled downward into the city below. He raised a superior eyebrow. *That isn't supposed to be here. It's in the middle of the day, and it should only appear at night.* He drew Masamune, and proceeded down the stairs.
Sephiroth reached the bottom. He walked out of the small receiving room, his sword poised in front of him. He didn't sense any danger, but his muscles tensed in anticipation. And went slack. Masamune fell from his hand to clatter on the ground. What he saw utterly stunned him. He was unable to move, his feet cemented in place. His throat tightened. Aeris.
She was there, at the altar. She knelt there, bathed in some ethereal light, her head bowed and hands clasped, just as she had the night he killed her. She radiated an air of tranquility. The sweet scent of flowers drifted through the air to tickle his nostrils. It was almost as if history was repeating itself.
Drawn by some unseen force, he took a step forward. Another. He soon found himself walking up the stairs of the altar, one slow step at a time. His breath caught in his throat. *Am I dreaming? Is this real? . It can't be. She's dead. I killed her myself. It's just my imagination. It has to be.* He placed a single boot on the altar. Just then, she looked up. He froze. Her eyes met his, and her face broke into a smile so warm he thought he would melt where he stood. There was no contempt there in her face, nor hate or condemnation of any sort. There was only forgiveness, understanding, and . something else. What it was he couldn't tell, but he could see it there, in her eyes.
"Sephiroth." Her voice was gentle, and full of compassion.
He couldn't speak.
She stood, and walked to him. She reached out to him.
He didn't move.
She touched his shoulder, then let her fingers trace down his arm; she took his hand in hers, and gave it a gentle squeeze. He winced as pain raced up his arm. It was his wounded hand. She looked down at his hand, and gasped when she saw the blood. She turned his hand over so that she could inspect the wound. It was still bleeding excessively, the blood banishing the flowery air and replacing it with its own metallic scent.
Every instinct in his body, every rational thought, told Sephiroth to pull his hand away, but he couldn't. His muscles refused to respond, despite the ranting of his mind. He couldn't stop staring at her. She was here, warm and alive. He could feel her hands caressing his own, their soothing touch penetrating the pain. *Move, idiot! Don't just stand there! There's no telling what she plans to do. Hellooooo! Wake up!* Sephiroth blinked as though he had woken from some spell. He drew his eyes from her face down to his hand. He tried to pull it away from her, but she held on. He tried again; this time she pulled back.
"What are you doing? I can't help if you keep pulling away." She gripped his wrist so not to hurt him further, and gave another tug. He stumbled over the final step, and nearly fell on her. He recovered, pulled his hand free, and took a step back. Unfortunately, he missed the step behind him, and stepped out into open space. He fell backwards down the stairs, and landed with an audible thud at the bottom.
Aeris ran down to him, and tried to help him up, but he pushed her away. "What's with you?" he asked coldly. "You're not supposed to treat the guy who killed you like your best friend." She sat on the ground next to him. She didn't try to make contact, but she wouldn't stop gazing at him. He found it rather unnerving. "Would you quit that?"
She gave him a questioning look.
He clarified. "Staring at me. Would you quit staring at me?"
She suddenly looked sad. "Sorry." She cast her eyes down at the ground. "Will you at least let me look at your hand?" He sighed in annoyance, but made no move to resist when she took up his wounded hand again. She inspected it carefully, and then muttered a quick spell. Tendrils of soft, green light formed around his hand; they wove around the gash, slowing the bleeding and knitting the flesh back together. Within seconds, the only remnants of the injury were the various pools and trails of blood tracing the stone floors. "There. All better." She smiled, and kissed his hand, which he drew away and instinctively massaged with the other.
Sephiroth sat there for a moment, not knowing what to say or think or do. *Why is she being this way? I killed her, tried to destroy the world, and caused her friends immeasurable misery. Still, she acts as if I'd done nothing wrong. No, more like I did her some great favor. I don't understand.* He finally decided to talk to her, as she was beginning to look lonely. "How is it that you're still alive, anyway?" he asked harshly.
She shook her head. "I don't know."
"You don't know?"
"No. Maybe it wasn't my time. I remember hearing the planet say I needed to help you, but that's all."
"Then maybe you can tell me why you're being so nice to me? Anyone else would probably have tried to kill me, had they been in your position."
She made herself more comfortable, making it obvious that this could take some time.
*Oh, great,* he griped to himself.
She cleared her throat and began. " After. the incident" - he knew she was referring to her murder at his hands - "my mind completely blacked out. When I came to everything was kind of blurry, but after a while it cleared up. I thought I was dreaming. Maybe I was. I saw you, but you were only a boy, probably around seven or eight. You were sitting under a tree at a playground. You were reading by yourself while the other children played, and had fun. Two boys came up to you. They started teasing you about how different you were from the rest of the children, and when you just ignored them, they tried to pick a fight. You tried to walk away, but they wouldn't leave you alone. No one tried to stop them. They ganged up on you, and forced you to fight. When the teacher asked what had happened, you were the one who got the blame.
"That vision faded, and another appeared. You were older in that one. You were a teenager, and had just been drafted into the army. Your drill sergeant was a cruel man. Whenever anyone did something wrong, he would strike them. Of everyone, he hated you the most. He would find a fault in everything you did, no matter how trivial it was. The other soldiers blamed all their misfortunes on you. Despite these facts, you made First Class quickly, and were sent off to the war. You were placed under the General's command. He saw your talent as a soldier, and encouraged you to work harder. He talked with you, and helped you to hone your abilities. He thought of you as a son. He saw his soul in the tortured remains of yours. For the first time in your life you had someone who understood you, who cared about you. He was the one who gave you the trench coat you wear even now. It was his coat, which he passed on to you.
"Your battle prowess won you much fame, and you were soon made the General's second-in-command. You were placed in charge of your own regiment. During that time you met a young man, another First Class soldier. You grew close, and became best friends. He was a person you could share anything with, even things you couldn't share with the General. He was handsome, and the other soldiers didn't like the thought of a pretty- boy being in the army, but you didn't care and neither did he. You didn't see him as a pretty-boy. You simply saw a friend in whom you entrusted your deepest secrets and your life.
"Two years before the war ended, the General was mortally wounded. You found him, tried to get him to help, but he was too far-gone. He made his final good-byes, told you how proud he was of you, and how he wished you had been his son to raise and care for. Then he died, right there in your arms. It was the only time in your life you ever cried. When you returned to base camp, you received news that the regiment your friend was in had been completely wiped out. There were no survivors among those found, and there were a few that couldn't be accounted for. He was one of them.
"You returned home disillusioned, colder than you had been when you left. People admired you, respected you, wanted to be like you, but it didn't matter. None of them actually wanted to know you. None of them really *cared*, as the General and that boy had. You were alone again. You separated yourself from others. The simple warmth of a friendly smile was a foreign concept to you, nevertheless the actual love and companionship of another person.
"Your entire life was revealed to me. I experienced everything you experienced. I endured everything you endured. I felt everything you felt. All the rejection and hatred and pain. Everything."
Sephiroth scowled. "Pity. You're telling me that you're being kind to me because of pity."
"No." She tried to protest, but he cut her short with a wave of his hand.
He stood, suddenly angry. Rage donned the handsome features of his face. "Well you can keep it. The last thing I want, or *need*, is your *pity*." He turned and crossed the pillars back over to the main platform. He picked up his sword, and made his way to the stairs going to the surface.
"Sephiroth, wait!" She ran after him, grabbed his arm before he could make the first step. "Please, listen to me." He kept his back to her, but didn't move. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply that it was pity. It's not. I was shown the suffering you've had to endure. I *felt* your pain. I feel it now, and more. I can feel the loneliness in you, the self-loathing for what Jenova has turned you into. I can feel your sorrow for all that you've done. I can feel your despair. I can even feel your hatred, though I don't share it. I understand. I just want you to know that you're not alone. People can love you if you simply let them. People can forgive."
The tall man was silent. Her words stung, because he knew that they were true. He'd been denying himself any true happiness due to past experiences. He let his own self-inflicted misery allow Jenova to manipulate him to her own desires. He let her use him, trusting in the hollow belief that she truly cared for him. *I'm a fool,* he thought. *I should have known better than to take refuge in such preposterous hopes. Had I not been rendered so blind by my own unfulfilled desires for affection, I would undoubtedly be back with the ShinRa army surrounded by people who would have at least respected me. Instead, I permitted Jenova to mold my will to do her dirty work. Now all I am is feared and reviled.* He clenched his fists in an attempt to give his rage an outlet. His body began to tremble with the force of his emotions. He grew more disgusted with himself for being so weak. *I'm pathetic.*
He felt the gentle touch of a warm hand on his back, the soft caress of Aeris's hand in his own. "There's nothing pathetic about wanting to be loved." He looked at her then. Her eyes were brimmed with tears, the wave of his emotions touching her as well. So, she truly did know and understand what he felt. But how did she know what he was thinking? He was sure he hadn't said it out loud.
He felt a lump rise in his throat as his own tears struggled to break free. Steeling his heart, he fought them back. He wasn't about to break down in front of this woman, even if she did grasp his feelings. There was always a matter of pride; he'd spent too long mastering his emotions to lose it now. "I'll escort you back to your friends, but that's all. Don't expect any miraculous changes of personality in me simply because you happen to know what I'm feeling." He stressed the last word as though it were a concept so utterly revolting to him he could vomit. He didn't want to let on that she'd hit a nerve.
"Thank you," she said solemnly. *It's a start,* she told herself. *Work on it. Don't give up. He'll come around. There's hope for your humanity yet, Sephiroth.*
9:00 a.m. Elmyra's house in Kalm.
"Rufus is alive?!" Barret screamed in disbelief. "How do you know?"
"Cait Sith told us," Cloud answered heavily. "In fact, he had a conversation with him. Rufus gave him a message for us. He told us not to interfere with what ShinRa does."
"And that moron thinks we're actually going to listen to him? Yeah, right. We need to take him out, and this time we make sure he doesn't come back. That damn cat gonna help us, or he still playing both sides?"
"Sith says he's with us," Tifa joined in, "but that means he's likely to get fired, and so they'll be expecting us. That'll make things a lot more difficult."
"Papa!" Barret turned at the sound of Marlene's little voice. "Does this mean you're leaving again?"
The large man picked her up, and set her on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, sweetie, but it seems Daddy's work's not done yet. I'll be back real soon," he promised. He turned to Elmyra. "Would you mind."
She didn't give him a chance to finish. "Of course. Be careful. Come back soon."
"Hey, don't you worry 'bout a thing," he assured her. He put Marlene down, and kissed her forehead. "Daddy will be back real soon!" He then turned to Cloud and Tifa. "Don't just stand there. Let's go!"
10:15 a.m. Rufus's office in Junon.
Rufus kept his back turned as he spoke, staring out the window that comprised an entire wall of the office. "All right, Highwind, I'll dish it out, straight and simple. I need you to help the other scientists come up with a new reactor, one that won't suck up all the Mako energy, but still as efficient - or more so - than the current ones. Do you understand, or do I need to elaborate?"
"Why do you need my help?" Cid asked.
"I would prefer to have the best engineers possible working on the project. It'll assure less mistakes." He faced the pilot, drawing his eyes away from the ocean scenery; he ignored Vincent, who was standing next to the pilot. "So, are you going to accept the job, or not?"
"What's the catch?"
"You'd be a ShinRa employee again. That's the only 'catch' I can give you."
Cid thought it over. He rubbed his chin, felt the stubble grate against his hand. *Damn! I need a shave. Well, I don't like the idea of working for ShinRa, but it would be for a good reason. I could always quit afterwards.* He leaned toward Vincent. "What do you think?" he whispered. "You think he's flying straight? Can we trust him?"
"He went through the trouble of sending the Turks to find you just so he could ask if you would accept an assignment of reasonable importance. I believe it is worth careful consideration. As for whether he's trustworthy, I see no reason for him to try to deceive us," Vincent responded. "Then again, I've never been the best judge of people," he added with dry humor.
Ignoring Vincent's final comment, he asked, "So, should I do it?"
"Do what you wish."
Cid snorted, a rather unbecoming gesture but not surprising. "You're a lot of help." A shrug was the only response to his sarcasm.
"Well?" It was Rufus. "I haven't the time to wait all day."
"All right, I'll do it. You better not be trying to pull something, or you'll regret it, kid."
Rufus absently waved a hand. "Whatever." He checked his watch, and sighed. "Hmm. Well, since I'm passing that way anyway, I'll show you to your new office; it's right next door. My secretary can handle the paper work." He walked past them, and out the door. He made a left and proceeded down the hall, never uttering another word to the two men following him. It made for a rather uneventful trip. They entered an elevator, and went down two floors to the street below. He made another left and continued walking.
Cid looked up and down the street, noticing they were the only ones there. He thought it odd that the President would wander around in the open without so much as a single soldier to guard him. "Hey, Rufus. Where's your bodyguard?"
"Off doing other work," the young man responded. "The Turks are recruiting more soldiers, who are training to become the new police force. As for hiring an independent, do you actually think anyone would want *that* job?"
"You're not worried about someone trying to off you?"
"I have more important things on my mind."
Cid flinched as though he'd been struck in the face with a sledgehammer. He'd never expected to hear something like that from a ShinRa executive. "What if someone does try something, and there's no one there to protect you?"
"I guess I can only hope that doesn't -" His sentence was interrupted when Vincent's arm shot out and pulled Rufus back just as a bullet struck the ground where he had been. Shards of hot concrete flew into the air. The vampire pulled Rufus around him, away from the buildings. A second bullet sank into his arm, only inches from hitting the President's heart.
"&%%^#$#@^*$&! Where the hell's that coming from?" Cid instinctively ducked low to the ground.
Vincent ignored the hole in his left arm. His keen eyes scanned the buildings; they found their target in a third story window of the building directly in front of them. In a fluid motion, coupled with lightning speed, he drew the Peacemaker, chambered a bullet, and fired. A scream of pain told that the bullet had hit its mark. The sniper rifle used by the would- be assassin fell to the ground, the scope shattering with the impact.
Vincent didn't lower his gun, but instead nodded his chin at the window, a silent message for Cid to check on the person. The foul-mouthed pilot scrambled to his feet, dusting himself off as he entered the building. There was a moment of silence. Vincent was intent on the window, waiting for some signal from Cid. Rufus merely gawked at the man that had just saved his life. There was no commitment for him that would rationalize his actions; he'd simply done it. The young President quickly regained his composure, and settled his gaze on Vincent's wound. He drew a handkerchief from his breast pocket, and used it to bandage the wound.
There was a whistle from up above. Cid was leaning out the window, waving his hand around. "Hey, Vince, nice shooting. He's alive, but he'll bleed to death if we don't get him help."
"You need medical attention, too," Rufus stated. "We'll stop at the hospital first."
Vincent calmly sat on the cold slab of metal that was the hospital table. He hadn't even flinched when the doctor pulled the bullet from his arm; he now waited patiently as his wound was bandaged. The man he had shot had been taken into emergency, and was now in intensive care. He would survive to be questioned.
Rufus pointed to the vampire's arm. "I'll have the hospital charge the bill to me, so don't worry about paying for the expenses. It's the least I can do." He made to leave, but stopped and turned back. "By the way. When the doctor's done with you, come by my office again. I'd like to talk with you."
"About what?"
"It has to do with what happened back there."
*Old habits die hard,* Vincent thought to himself.
Rufus left the room. As he made his way to the hospital's exit, he contemplated his savior. *He looks so familiar. Where have I seen that face before?* He shuffled through the information in his mind, trying to connect thought and memory. *Could he have been an employee? I'll have to check on that when I get to my office. There's something more to this man than being one of Cloud's companions, and I intend to find out what it is.*
Later.
"You wished to speak with me?" Vincent stood in front of Rufus's desk. His façade was one of clam and apathy, but inside he was confused and more than a little apprehensive. What was it Rufus said he wanted to talk about? The shooting? Or was it something else? The President had never specified. Vincent found the lack of knowledge rather discomforting.
Rufus tapped a few buttons on his keyboard. At first, he didn't seem to acknowledge Vincent's presence, but after a moment he spoke. "Between the change in clothes and hair, you look much different now than when your file was made."
Vincent blinked, more confused than before. "Pardon?"
Rufus pointed a finger at the vampire. "I thought you looked familiar when I saw you. I thought you might be an employee so I decided to check out the personnel files. I didn't find anything at first, but then I remembered where I'd seen you. A copy of your file was with the Jenova files." He typed a few more commands, and then began to read snippets from the file displayed on the screen. "Vincent Valentine. Six feet tall. One hundred forty-seven pounds. Black hair. Brown eyes - that's changed. Birthday: October 16. Unmarried. No children. One of the original Turks. Sharp shooter. Trained in numerous projectile weapons and fighting styles. Adept at taking orders with little to no questioning or complaint. Punctual. Effective. Minimum technical knowledge, but more than capable of handling any of ShinRa's equipment with relative efficiency. Assigned to oversee the Jenova Project. Reported missing shortly after Sephiroth's birth. Presumed dead." He faced Vincent, and motioned for him to sit down. "You don't look dead to me. Perhaps you could explain."
"The story is slightly complicated."
"I'd be more than happy to hear it," Rufus urged.
Vincent eased himself into a chair, and crossed his legs. "Very well. As you already know, I was assigned by your father to oversee the Jenova project. Everything went smoothly for the first four months, or so. The project moved along rapidly, and there were few problems within the team. Well, until Professor Ghast's assistant, Lucrecia, revealed that she was pregnant with Hojo's child, and that it was to be injected with Jenova cells as part of the experiment. I argued against it. However, they refused to be dissuaded, and Professor Ghast even encouraged it. Little less than eight months later, Sephiroth was born. Lucrecia died shortly after his birth, and her body disappeared. It was then I decided to leave the project. I received a message from Hojo, asking me to meet him in the basement lab. I went down there, and told him of my plans. That was when he began to rant on how Lucrecia had his child but had always been in love with me. He shot me out of rage, and perhaps madness. He then genetically altered my body, and put me to sleep in the mansion basement. That is where I stayed for nearly thirty years, until Cloud and his companions woke me."
"Anything you're not telling me?" It was meant more as an accusatory remark than a question.
Vincent hesitated a moment, unsure as to what Rufus actually wanted to hear and what he should be told. "What else is there you believe you need to know?"
"Well, your story raises a few questions. Like: Why did Lucrecia die? What happened to her body? And: Why were you going to quit the project? Or maybe: Did Hojo have good reason to believe Lucrecia loved you and not him? Why did he alter your body? Better yet: *How* did he alter your body?"
Vincent nodded. They were good questions, and deserved answering, having been asked. He answered the questions as best he could, his voice slightly trembling from the pain of the memories. "There were complications during Sephiroth's birth. They took their toll on Lucrecia, and we found her collapsed in her room that evening. Professor Ghast informed us that she was dead. Her body disappeared the next day, no one knowing how or where it had gone.
"As for why I was going to quit. I knew Hojo would never give Sephiroth the care he needed. With his mother gone, he had no one to raise him. I decided that I would take Sephiroth in as my own. But I couldn't do that and remain a part of the project that had spawned him, not without further subjecting him to its tortures. So I decided to quit the project. Let someone else handle it."
"So you were going to leave for Sephiroth's sake."
"Yes. However, I didn't tell Hojo my reasons for leaving. Perhaps he thought it was over Lucrecia's death. I don't know."
"Ah. Hojo *did* have reason to believe Lucrecia loved you."
"Yes. Before" - he held up a hand, and corrected himself - "*While* he was seeing Lucrecia, she had been seeing me as well, unbeknownst to the two of us at the time. Obviously, she left me completely for him in the end."
"You didn't fight for her?"
"No. I loved her, and told myself that her happiness was all that mattered, even if it was at the expense of my own. He believed that she loved me, despite the fact that she chose him. I think his experiments on me may have been meant as a form of torture for that very reason. If they were, they succeeded. I find my humanity slowly slipping away from me. I'm becoming less human with each ability that surfaces as a result of his alterations, and I don't know what it is I'm becoming." He looked at his clawed hand contemplatively.
Rufus nodded toward it. "Is that part of it?"
"In a way." He removed it; it slid off his arm to reveal flesh so horribly scarred it might have been taken from a monster's hide. "A beast now lurks within my frame. *This* is the result from when it was first unleashed. This is the mark of what Hojo has done to me." He replaced the metallic claw, once again hiding his deformed arm. "And *this* is my reminder of what form my beast will take." He shook his head sadly. "I'm sorry. I can tell you no more."
Rufus nodded his head slowly; his eyes were deep and focused. He was silent for a long while, assessing the information that had been revealed to him. When he finally spoke, his voice was unconcerned and cold as always. "The Turks are short one member, and as there are no others who are qualified for the position, so it's yours if you want it." He again scanned the company file displayed before him. "You're more than capable of handling the position, seeing as you've held it once before. Obviously, you would have to be updated on numerous aspects of company policy and mechanisms, but that shouldn't be a problem for you." He ran his right hand through his hair, and then leaned back in his chair. "Well?"
It took the Vincent a moment to adjust to the sudden subject change, but he thought about it, juggling his choices and the possible outcomes of each. *Become a Turk again? The thought had never crossed my mind. Is that a life I want to go back to, especially when so many things have changed?* He recalled his human years, his time spent in ShinRa's employment. He had enjoyed his work. It was never truly boring, although the paperwork was always a nuisance. He'd had many friends within the company, all of whom were now either retired or dead; that particular loss had gone unnoticed by him until that moment, and he suddenly felt an empty space carve its way into his heart. With a little research he might be able to find them again, a task that would be much easier with the information held in ShinRa's database. *Hmm, the offer is highly appealing. Besides, it is not as though I'm looking forward to retirement. Relaxation is nice, but not when you have an unknown amount of lifetime left to spend. That would simply instill boredom.* The recollection of how energetic and outgoing he had been forced its way into his mind. He remembered the time he had spent with other employees and his fellow Turks off-duty. But all those people, those dear friends, were no longer there, and there were only a precious few current company employees he knew. There was no telling whether or not he would get along with them, but there was always the chance. He made his decision. "Very well. I accept your offer."
"Great." He called his secretary. "Cara, would you be so kind as to call up Rude, and have him come to my office. Thanks." He hung up, and returned his attention to Vincent. "He'll be a few minutes, so we might as well start on your file corrections." He faced his computer, and began typing. "Let's start with the obvious stuff, shall we. First, we move it from the 'Missing/Deceased' back over to 'Active Duty.' Then we update the file with a report as to why you disappeared." At this he motioned for Vincent to join him on his side of the desk. "You remember how to do these things, right? It's all still the same old stuff, it's just on computer now." He gave a casual shrug, and moved aside so Vincent could file the report. Within four minutes he was finished. Rufus scanned the report before nodding his approval. He moved back to his original position, and continued. "Now we make the trivial corrections. Let's see here. Eyes: red, not brown. Age: fifty-seven?"
"Fifty-seven," he confirmed. He shook his head with disbelief. He hadn't thought about his time in hibernation in perspective to his age. *Am I really that old?* A wry smile crossed his lips. *At least I can safely say I turned out nothing like my father.* The smile was subdued, his attention returned to the work at hand.
Rufus had already finished. "All right. Is everything there correct?"
The vampire examined the file, and then nodded. At that moment, Rude walked through the door. He seemed a little alarmed at Vincent's presence, but he quickly regained his composure. Rufus welcomed the Turk with an informal wave hello. "Rude, I'm sure you've met Vincent. He's just been reestablished as a Turk. I need you to clue him in on to how things work now. Tell him what he needs to know."
"Yes, sir," Rude said. He looked at Vincent. "Come with me."
11:11 a.m. Water Valley.
The rain was light, and there wasn't any wind, but Aeris was cold all the same. She hugged herself and shivered. Trying to keep up with Sephiroth's energetic pace through the rocky bottom of Water Valley did nothing to warm her; if anything, it made her more cold by sapping all her energy. Her strength finally gave out, and she dropped to her hands and knees in exhaustion. "Wait!" she cried, panting. "I can't go on. Can't we rest a while?" She looked at him, her eyes pleading.
Sephiroth stopped, and turned around. He hadn't noticed that Aeris had fallen behind. He simply watched her for a moment, kneeling in the rain and shivering from the cold. The unfamiliar sensation of protectiveness enveloped him, and, with a quiet sigh, he walked over to her. He removed his coat. After wrapping her in its folds, he picked her up. He quickly found an outcropping of rock that would supply suitable protection from the rain. He set her down under the driest portion of it and sat next to her. A rest *would* be welcome.
Aeris curled up next to him, using his shoulder as a pillow, and immediately fell asleep. Sephiroth watched her for a moment in quiet contemplation. Her face was calm and content; her breathing was slow and steady, her warm breath brushing his arm. He leaned his head against the stone, closed his eyes, and let the sound of the rain carry him to sleep.
Aeris woke at early sunset. Sephiroth was already awake; his head was turned to the west, watching the sun drop below the horizon. He apparently wasn't paying any attention to her. She let her eyes wander; they eventually settled on the closest and most obvious subject: Sephiroth. She studied his torso: firm muscle under smooth, pale skin. She traced the lines of his muscles with her eyes, and before long she found herself musing as to what the rest of him looked like.
"What?" Sephiroth's voice pulled her from her reverie. She hadn't seen him look at her.
"Huh?"
"You're doing it again."
"Doing what?"
"Staring. So, what is it?"
She smiled. "Nothing. Just thinking."
He frowned. "Do you have to stare at me when you do it? It's rather annoying."
"Maybe that's the whole point." She brushed aside a bang and winked. Not bothering to give him his coat, she got up and started walking.
7:30 p.m. O'Malley's Bar in Junon.
Rude found Reno in O'Malley's bar. "Reno, man, have I got something to tell you."
Reno put down his glass of beer. "Really? And what's that?" He looked and sounded sober, but Rude could tell he was plastered.
"You remember that guy traveling with Cloud? The one with the red cape and the gun?"
Reno nodded; he looked entirely uninterested.
"Well, he's been made a Turk."
"What? He's a Turk now?"
"Yeah, and he's real adept at the work."
"How do you mean?"
"He knew a good portion of the rules and regulations already. He knew the Turk motto and salute. He knew the hierarchy of the company. Not to mention he had detailed knowledge of the company. I don't think he's new at this."
Reno stared at his glass of lukewarm beer, chugged it down, wiped his mouth, and then stood up. "Well, there's always ways to find out. Shall we?"
Rude gave a single, definite nod.
Elena sat in front of the computer, Reno and Rude leaning over either shoulder. "So what exactly are we looking for?" she asked.
"Look up any files containing the name. What was his name again?" Reno turned to Rude.
"Vincent Valentine," he responded dryly.
Elena typed in the name, allowed the computer to do its work. When the search was finished, the three were surprised to find numerous files that mentioned his name. All were thirty years or older. Many of them were restricted files pertaining to the Jenova Project. She used the mouse to click on the first selection. A lengthy dossier appeared before them. "Wow!" she exclaimed. "This guy was one of the original Turks."
"That explains a lot," Reno commented. He scanned the file. "Hmm. Seems he had a history of trouble with Heideger and Palmer." His eyes widened. "Hey, Heideger's front teeth are fake!"
"Huh?"
The redheaded Turk pointed to a specific section of the file. "Look. Apparently Heideger sent the Turks on a mission without all the necessary information. The situation got nasty, and one of them died. When they got back, the first thing Valentine did was punch Heideger in the face. The fat- ass lost five of his teeth. Serves him right."
Rude continued on in the document, and stopped at another section. "It says here he kicked the crap out of the first general."
"Really?'
"The two were arguing over what to do in a hostage situation. The general said to let the bad guy get away. Valentine said to shoot the hostage. A fight broke out when the general punched Valentine. The general was taken to the hospital with a broken jaw, fractured ribs, a ruptured spleen, and a dislocated knee. Valentine walked away with a bloody nose, and a ruffled uniform."
"Damn, this guy's a riot. So why didn't he stick around? Why'd he leave the Turks in the first place?"
Elena looked through all the available files, but none revealed any information. "I don't know. None of the files say anything about it. It's like he took a thirty-year vacation. I suppose we could always ask him."
Reno nodded, and then smiled. "Yeah, but after we finish reading his dossier. This is great stuff."
8:12 p.m. Highwind.
Barret pounded his fist against the wall. "Damn! Damn! Damn!"
"What's wrong?" Tifa questioned. She sat at the Highwind's conference table, a worried expression on her face.
"The guy we hired to off Rufus got caught."
"What? How?"
"Our lookout said some guy was there protecting him. He said he didn't look like a Turk or a soldier, more like a civilian. He didn't know who he was."
Tifa looked confused. "What did he look like? That way, we can watch out for him next time." Barret gritted his teeth, unparalleled rage painted on every aspect of his features, and Tifa knew something was seriously wrong. It was someone they knew. "Who was it?" There was an edge of fear in her voice now.
Barret threw another punch at the wall; his knuckles cracked.
"Barret, who was it?" she pleaded.
Barret's body shook with rage. He gritted his teeth and managed to mutter, "He said it was a tall man in a red cloak, who had a pale complexion and long black hair. He also said he was real good with a gun. The best he'd ever seen."
It took a moment before Tifa could match the description with a name; she gasped when she realized who it was. "No. It couldn't be."
"Our boy Vincent's with the enemy."
Later.
Cloud tried to stem his hysteria, but Barret's news greatly disturbed him. "It's not true," he told himself. "There's just some misunderstanding. Vincent wouldn't do that, not after all we've been through." He felt Tifa's arms wrap around him, her head on the back of his shoulder. "Maybe it wasn't him. Maybe it was someone else who just looked like him."
"And dressed like him, and could shoot like him." Barret's rage was obvious; he felt the blood boiling in his veins.
Tifa felt her tears trying to break free; she held them back. She was just as upset about the situation as anyone else. "Be strong, Cloud. I'm sure there's an explanation. Maybe we should talk to him."
"Yeah," Barret agreed. "Let's find him, and ask him what's up." He started rubbing his gun-arm.
"Barret, we should handle this calmly."
Cait Sith burst into the room. There was a panicked look on his furry little face. "Hey, everyone! I've got baaaad news."
"Worse than what we've already been told?" Barret scoffed. "I don't think so."
"Cid was just hired as the head engineer for a project Rufus is working on. He's building more reactors."
"What?!" Cloud exclaimed.
"Why that little bastard." Barret ground his teeth together; he shook his fist at no one in particular.
"There's more," Sith continued. "It's about Vincent. He's a Turk again. Rude was dishing him the basics." He scratched his ears.
"Oh, that does it!" Barret flew into a berserker rage, his ranting echoing throughout the Highwind. "I'm gonna hunt those two traitors down and send them to the hurt locker! They're not gonna get away with backstabbing us like this!"
"Barret, calm down, please," Tifa begged him. She tugged on his arm, trying to get his attention. "I'm sure they've got their reasons. Maybe they're trying to bring ShinRa down from the inside." She knew just how stupid her reasoning must have sounded, but she needed to calm him down. "Let's talk to them. Barret, please."
His ranting subsided, but he seemed on the verge of flying off the handle again. "All right, Tifa. We'll talk to 'em, but they better have a damn good reason for working with ShinRa."
10:23 p.m. Somewhere between the Northern continent and Junon.
Sephiroth stood at the stern of the small transport ship. He could feel Aeris's eyes on his back, but after fourteen hours it had ceased to bother him. He simply told himself that he wouldn't have to deal with it for much longer. Now, if only she would be quiet. She insisted on trying to make casual conversation, despite that he wasn't participating.
"Sephiroth, are you even listening to me?"
He turned around to face her. "Of course." He dragged the words out almost lazily. "You're drowning out everything else."
She patted the bench next to her. "Come sit with me." She smiled sweetly. He complied with her request, trying to look more annoyed and reluctant than he actually was. He sat and crouched forward, his elbows on his knees, and continued to stare off into the distance. "You could at least look at me when I'm talking to you."
"Just because I'm not looking at you doesn't mean I'm not paying attention."
"True," she agreed. "But still, I want to see your face, and that's hard to do when you're turned away from me." When he didn't look at her, or even say anything, her manner became one of hurt and rejection. "Do you hate yourself so much that you don't even want people to look at you?" There was no answer. "Or is it me? Is my presence so vile? Are my attempts to reach out to you just annoyances? If you really don't want me around, I'll leave. I don't want to stay if I'm only a burden to you."
Sephiroth said nothing, nor did he show any outward signs that he had even heard her. But inside he was writhing, her words cutting through him and piercing his soul. He felt like a world-class heel. He could tell he was hurting her. Here Aeris was trying to make him feel better about himself, and all he did was make her feel worse. The problem was he didn't know how to respond. It'd been so long since he'd last been shown affection of any sort; he didn't know how to express himself to her. What should he say? What *could* he say? He had no idea what words he could use, or even if there were any. He didn't know what he was supposed to do, how he was supposed to act. He was completely lost. He felt like a small child alone in some dark unknown territory; now there's this angel trying to help him find his way, and he's refusing to take her hand. Worse: he's practically ripping off her wings.
There was a sniffle next to him. Aeris was crying. He felt his heart wrench. *Idiot. Now look what you've done,* he scorned himself. *You've made her cry. Now how're you going to fix that?* Completely ignorant of the proper thing to do, he gave in to human instinct. He scooted closer to her. Reaching up with a gloved hand, he wiped away her tears. "I'm sorry," he whispered, doing nothing to hide the shame in his voice. "I didn't mean to make you cry."
Though the tears still came, she laughed. "How ironic. I'm supposed to be comforting you about your inadequacies, and here you are comforting me on mine." She looked up into his eyes. "See? You can show compassion. There's hope for your humanity yet, Sephiroth."
He cast his eyes down at the ship's planks.
"Why won't you talk to me?"
"I. I can't."
"Why?"
"I wouldn't know what to say."
She turned his head to face her. She caught his eyes, and held them with her own. "It doesn't matter what you say. You can tell me anything. I'll always be here to listen."
She took his hand in hers, and he suddenly knew that words weren't necessary. Looking into the sea of Mako-green that were her eyes, an unfamiliar sensation swelled in his heart, banishing all his uncertainty and apprehension, all the awkward feelings dwelling in the back of his mind. He felt as though he were drowning in it. He welcomed its warm, gentle caress, felt the emotion stroke every fiber in his soul and ease the pain that had so long been a part of it. All traces of loneliness were driven from him, and he knew he would never feel them again. The feeling surged through him, and he could see his own emotions reflected in her eyes.
He felt the feathery touch of her fingers under his chin; they guided his face closer to her own. The words came to him. He finally knew what he would say to her. He made to speak, to give a verbal outlet to what he was feeling, but she silenced him. "Shhhhh," she soothed. Her voice was a whisper, barely a breath. "I know." She closed the final inches between them, and pressed her lips to his.
6:23 a.m. Somewhere between the Eastern and Western continents.
The ocean sparkled, a warm breeze raising a light spray of sea mist. Cid puffed on a cigarette as he leaned on the railing of the transport. He watched the wake left by the ship, and wished he still had the Tiny Bronco. *I'd rather fly than swim,* he mused.
"Reminiscing?"
Cid jumped and swerved around so fast he nearly tumbled over the railing. Vincent was standing behind him, arms crossed and face as stony as ever. Cid placed a hand over his heart, which was pounding with such a fury he thought it would leap out of his chest. "Vince, you scared the shit outta me! I wish you'd make some noise when you move."
"Sorry," Vincent responded without emotion. He joined Cid at the rail and stared out at the horizon.
"Just wishing I had the Tiny Bronco," he answered his friend's question. He took a final drag on his cigarette, and flicked it into the water.
"You'll fly again."
"You think so?"
"It's hard to keep a man on the ground when his head is always in the clouds."
The pilot looked contemplative for a moment, then laughed suddenly and slapped Vincent on the back. "Ha! You really know how to make a guy feel better about himself." He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out another cigarette.
Out of the blue, Vincent said, "I thought the Turks were retired." He seemed to speak to no one in particular, but he turned around as if to face someone. Cid followed suit, and sure enough, Reno, Rude, and Elena were there.
"Good ears," Rude commented.
"Can we help you?" Vincent inquired.
"We're here for Cid," Reno explained. "President Rufus requires his assistance on a project."
"Rufus? I thought that &*^!ing kid got aced by Weapon."
"No, he's alive, and we have direct orders to bring you to Junon to meet with him."
Cid and Vincent exchanged silent glances, and then regarded the three Turks. "All right," Cid agreed. "I'll go, but Vince is coming with me."
"That seems reasonable enough. for now." Reno pulled a cellular from his jacket pocket and made a call. To the person on the other end, who Cid and Vincent assumed was Rufus, he said, "Yes, sir. We've found Cid, and he's agreed to come, but he insists that one of his friends tag along. Um hmm. Okay. Yes, sir. We're on the transport to Junon right now. We should be there in a few hours. Yes, sir." He hung up. He addressed Cid and Vincent. "When we dock at Junon, we're to take you to meet with the President immediately. That a problem?"
"Not at all," Vincent assured.
8:30 a.m. City of the Ancients.
Sephiroth cursed. Blood drooled from a large gash in his palm, the one he had just received from a jagged edge of rock. Climbing down this cliff face was a royal pain in the rear - and now his hand - but it was the only route to the City of the Ancients, and that was the quickest way to civilization. He dropped the last twelve feet to the ground. Having nothing to wrap his wound with, he made a fist to slow the bleeding. He continued walking, and within fifteen minutes was at the outskirts of the city.
It was the same old scenery that he'd seen nearly a month before: the oversized spiral shell houses, the shell walkways, the few stone buildings, scattered plant life, and open space. Not as if he was expecting a change, but the place *felt* different. Though he knew it had long been deserted, the soldier couldn't help but feel he wasn't alone. He stood perfectly still, allowing his senses to absorb information from his surroundings. He couldn't tell if someone else was there or not. Deciding that treating his injury was the immediate importance, he pressed further into the city.
Sephiroth made his way to the crossroads, a simple four-way intersection. The path to his left led to Water Valley, which eventually led to the Sleeping Forest, and then on to Bone Village. The path in front of him led to the remnants of a large stone building, whose backroom connected to a type of coliseum with a large crystal at its center; he still wasn't sure what it was for. The path to his right ran back to the north, cut through a thick grove, and came out at another shell building seated next to a large pool of water; a giant shell pavilion covered the entire area. That was the route he would take. He needed to clean his wound and that was the best place to do it.
Still clutching his bleeding appendage, he started up the path, the heels of his boots making hollow echoes on the shell walkway. The emptiness of the place seeped past his emotional barriers, instilling a twinge of loneliness in him. He tried not to focus on it, but the persistent feeling continued to plague him. He began to run, as though the emotion was some physical threat he could escape.
He broke through the grove and slid to a halt by the water's edge. Sunlight filtered through a crack in the shell tent; it struck the crystalline surface of the water, and was reflected and refracted into a dazzling aura. He carefully removed his bloodied glove, and knelt next to the water. Ripples rose to mar the perfect surface of the pond as Sephiroth dipped his hand in. Pain stabbed into his ravaged flesh, the icy cold of the water seeping into his veins. A crimson haze formed around his hand, his blood diffusing into the clearer liquid.
Though he was intent on his hand, Sephiroth saw movement at the edge of his vision. Not merely the rippling of the water's surface, but of something separate of his surroundings. He raised his eyes, their attention drawn to the other side of the pond.
There was the reflection of a young woman. She knelt at the water's edge, hands clasped. Her face was disturbingly familiar. Soft brown hair cascaded down her back, and her Mako-green eyes - not unlike his own - were intent and focused, yet at the same time gentle and understanding. Her plain pink dress hugged the curves of her body, the last five buttons left undone. Aeris.
Sephiroth looked up. He was alone, no one else at the pond. He looked back to the water; the reflection was still there. After a moment the figure rose to her feet, and turned away, heading off as though the actual person was going to the building just across the water. Curiosity seized his mind, and Sephiroth followed, his wound completely forgotten.
He entered the building with caution, taking in all its aspects. The only thing out of place was a glass staircase in the center of the room; it spiraled downward into the city below. He raised a superior eyebrow. *That isn't supposed to be here. It's in the middle of the day, and it should only appear at night.* He drew Masamune, and proceeded down the stairs.
Sephiroth reached the bottom. He walked out of the small receiving room, his sword poised in front of him. He didn't sense any danger, but his muscles tensed in anticipation. And went slack. Masamune fell from his hand to clatter on the ground. What he saw utterly stunned him. He was unable to move, his feet cemented in place. His throat tightened. Aeris.
She was there, at the altar. She knelt there, bathed in some ethereal light, her head bowed and hands clasped, just as she had the night he killed her. She radiated an air of tranquility. The sweet scent of flowers drifted through the air to tickle his nostrils. It was almost as if history was repeating itself.
Drawn by some unseen force, he took a step forward. Another. He soon found himself walking up the stairs of the altar, one slow step at a time. His breath caught in his throat. *Am I dreaming? Is this real? . It can't be. She's dead. I killed her myself. It's just my imagination. It has to be.* He placed a single boot on the altar. Just then, she looked up. He froze. Her eyes met his, and her face broke into a smile so warm he thought he would melt where he stood. There was no contempt there in her face, nor hate or condemnation of any sort. There was only forgiveness, understanding, and . something else. What it was he couldn't tell, but he could see it there, in her eyes.
"Sephiroth." Her voice was gentle, and full of compassion.
He couldn't speak.
She stood, and walked to him. She reached out to him.
He didn't move.
She touched his shoulder, then let her fingers trace down his arm; she took his hand in hers, and gave it a gentle squeeze. He winced as pain raced up his arm. It was his wounded hand. She looked down at his hand, and gasped when she saw the blood. She turned his hand over so that she could inspect the wound. It was still bleeding excessively, the blood banishing the flowery air and replacing it with its own metallic scent.
Every instinct in his body, every rational thought, told Sephiroth to pull his hand away, but he couldn't. His muscles refused to respond, despite the ranting of his mind. He couldn't stop staring at her. She was here, warm and alive. He could feel her hands caressing his own, their soothing touch penetrating the pain. *Move, idiot! Don't just stand there! There's no telling what she plans to do. Hellooooo! Wake up!* Sephiroth blinked as though he had woken from some spell. He drew his eyes from her face down to his hand. He tried to pull it away from her, but she held on. He tried again; this time she pulled back.
"What are you doing? I can't help if you keep pulling away." She gripped his wrist so not to hurt him further, and gave another tug. He stumbled over the final step, and nearly fell on her. He recovered, pulled his hand free, and took a step back. Unfortunately, he missed the step behind him, and stepped out into open space. He fell backwards down the stairs, and landed with an audible thud at the bottom.
Aeris ran down to him, and tried to help him up, but he pushed her away. "What's with you?" he asked coldly. "You're not supposed to treat the guy who killed you like your best friend." She sat on the ground next to him. She didn't try to make contact, but she wouldn't stop gazing at him. He found it rather unnerving. "Would you quit that?"
She gave him a questioning look.
He clarified. "Staring at me. Would you quit staring at me?"
She suddenly looked sad. "Sorry." She cast her eyes down at the ground. "Will you at least let me look at your hand?" He sighed in annoyance, but made no move to resist when she took up his wounded hand again. She inspected it carefully, and then muttered a quick spell. Tendrils of soft, green light formed around his hand; they wove around the gash, slowing the bleeding and knitting the flesh back together. Within seconds, the only remnants of the injury were the various pools and trails of blood tracing the stone floors. "There. All better." She smiled, and kissed his hand, which he drew away and instinctively massaged with the other.
Sephiroth sat there for a moment, not knowing what to say or think or do. *Why is she being this way? I killed her, tried to destroy the world, and caused her friends immeasurable misery. Still, she acts as if I'd done nothing wrong. No, more like I did her some great favor. I don't understand.* He finally decided to talk to her, as she was beginning to look lonely. "How is it that you're still alive, anyway?" he asked harshly.
She shook her head. "I don't know."
"You don't know?"
"No. Maybe it wasn't my time. I remember hearing the planet say I needed to help you, but that's all."
"Then maybe you can tell me why you're being so nice to me? Anyone else would probably have tried to kill me, had they been in your position."
She made herself more comfortable, making it obvious that this could take some time.
*Oh, great,* he griped to himself.
She cleared her throat and began. " After. the incident" - he knew she was referring to her murder at his hands - "my mind completely blacked out. When I came to everything was kind of blurry, but after a while it cleared up. I thought I was dreaming. Maybe I was. I saw you, but you were only a boy, probably around seven or eight. You were sitting under a tree at a playground. You were reading by yourself while the other children played, and had fun. Two boys came up to you. They started teasing you about how different you were from the rest of the children, and when you just ignored them, they tried to pick a fight. You tried to walk away, but they wouldn't leave you alone. No one tried to stop them. They ganged up on you, and forced you to fight. When the teacher asked what had happened, you were the one who got the blame.
"That vision faded, and another appeared. You were older in that one. You were a teenager, and had just been drafted into the army. Your drill sergeant was a cruel man. Whenever anyone did something wrong, he would strike them. Of everyone, he hated you the most. He would find a fault in everything you did, no matter how trivial it was. The other soldiers blamed all their misfortunes on you. Despite these facts, you made First Class quickly, and were sent off to the war. You were placed under the General's command. He saw your talent as a soldier, and encouraged you to work harder. He talked with you, and helped you to hone your abilities. He thought of you as a son. He saw his soul in the tortured remains of yours. For the first time in your life you had someone who understood you, who cared about you. He was the one who gave you the trench coat you wear even now. It was his coat, which he passed on to you.
"Your battle prowess won you much fame, and you were soon made the General's second-in-command. You were placed in charge of your own regiment. During that time you met a young man, another First Class soldier. You grew close, and became best friends. He was a person you could share anything with, even things you couldn't share with the General. He was handsome, and the other soldiers didn't like the thought of a pretty- boy being in the army, but you didn't care and neither did he. You didn't see him as a pretty-boy. You simply saw a friend in whom you entrusted your deepest secrets and your life.
"Two years before the war ended, the General was mortally wounded. You found him, tried to get him to help, but he was too far-gone. He made his final good-byes, told you how proud he was of you, and how he wished you had been his son to raise and care for. Then he died, right there in your arms. It was the only time in your life you ever cried. When you returned to base camp, you received news that the regiment your friend was in had been completely wiped out. There were no survivors among those found, and there were a few that couldn't be accounted for. He was one of them.
"You returned home disillusioned, colder than you had been when you left. People admired you, respected you, wanted to be like you, but it didn't matter. None of them actually wanted to know you. None of them really *cared*, as the General and that boy had. You were alone again. You separated yourself from others. The simple warmth of a friendly smile was a foreign concept to you, nevertheless the actual love and companionship of another person.
"Your entire life was revealed to me. I experienced everything you experienced. I endured everything you endured. I felt everything you felt. All the rejection and hatred and pain. Everything."
Sephiroth scowled. "Pity. You're telling me that you're being kind to me because of pity."
"No." She tried to protest, but he cut her short with a wave of his hand.
He stood, suddenly angry. Rage donned the handsome features of his face. "Well you can keep it. The last thing I want, or *need*, is your *pity*." He turned and crossed the pillars back over to the main platform. He picked up his sword, and made his way to the stairs going to the surface.
"Sephiroth, wait!" She ran after him, grabbed his arm before he could make the first step. "Please, listen to me." He kept his back to her, but didn't move. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply that it was pity. It's not. I was shown the suffering you've had to endure. I *felt* your pain. I feel it now, and more. I can feel the loneliness in you, the self-loathing for what Jenova has turned you into. I can feel your sorrow for all that you've done. I can feel your despair. I can even feel your hatred, though I don't share it. I understand. I just want you to know that you're not alone. People can love you if you simply let them. People can forgive."
The tall man was silent. Her words stung, because he knew that they were true. He'd been denying himself any true happiness due to past experiences. He let his own self-inflicted misery allow Jenova to manipulate him to her own desires. He let her use him, trusting in the hollow belief that she truly cared for him. *I'm a fool,* he thought. *I should have known better than to take refuge in such preposterous hopes. Had I not been rendered so blind by my own unfulfilled desires for affection, I would undoubtedly be back with the ShinRa army surrounded by people who would have at least respected me. Instead, I permitted Jenova to mold my will to do her dirty work. Now all I am is feared and reviled.* He clenched his fists in an attempt to give his rage an outlet. His body began to tremble with the force of his emotions. He grew more disgusted with himself for being so weak. *I'm pathetic.*
He felt the gentle touch of a warm hand on his back, the soft caress of Aeris's hand in his own. "There's nothing pathetic about wanting to be loved." He looked at her then. Her eyes were brimmed with tears, the wave of his emotions touching her as well. So, she truly did know and understand what he felt. But how did she know what he was thinking? He was sure he hadn't said it out loud.
He felt a lump rise in his throat as his own tears struggled to break free. Steeling his heart, he fought them back. He wasn't about to break down in front of this woman, even if she did grasp his feelings. There was always a matter of pride; he'd spent too long mastering his emotions to lose it now. "I'll escort you back to your friends, but that's all. Don't expect any miraculous changes of personality in me simply because you happen to know what I'm feeling." He stressed the last word as though it were a concept so utterly revolting to him he could vomit. He didn't want to let on that she'd hit a nerve.
"Thank you," she said solemnly. *It's a start,* she told herself. *Work on it. Don't give up. He'll come around. There's hope for your humanity yet, Sephiroth.*
9:00 a.m. Elmyra's house in Kalm.
"Rufus is alive?!" Barret screamed in disbelief. "How do you know?"
"Cait Sith told us," Cloud answered heavily. "In fact, he had a conversation with him. Rufus gave him a message for us. He told us not to interfere with what ShinRa does."
"And that moron thinks we're actually going to listen to him? Yeah, right. We need to take him out, and this time we make sure he doesn't come back. That damn cat gonna help us, or he still playing both sides?"
"Sith says he's with us," Tifa joined in, "but that means he's likely to get fired, and so they'll be expecting us. That'll make things a lot more difficult."
"Papa!" Barret turned at the sound of Marlene's little voice. "Does this mean you're leaving again?"
The large man picked her up, and set her on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, sweetie, but it seems Daddy's work's not done yet. I'll be back real soon," he promised. He turned to Elmyra. "Would you mind."
She didn't give him a chance to finish. "Of course. Be careful. Come back soon."
"Hey, don't you worry 'bout a thing," he assured her. He put Marlene down, and kissed her forehead. "Daddy will be back real soon!" He then turned to Cloud and Tifa. "Don't just stand there. Let's go!"
10:15 a.m. Rufus's office in Junon.
Rufus kept his back turned as he spoke, staring out the window that comprised an entire wall of the office. "All right, Highwind, I'll dish it out, straight and simple. I need you to help the other scientists come up with a new reactor, one that won't suck up all the Mako energy, but still as efficient - or more so - than the current ones. Do you understand, or do I need to elaborate?"
"Why do you need my help?" Cid asked.
"I would prefer to have the best engineers possible working on the project. It'll assure less mistakes." He faced the pilot, drawing his eyes away from the ocean scenery; he ignored Vincent, who was standing next to the pilot. "So, are you going to accept the job, or not?"
"What's the catch?"
"You'd be a ShinRa employee again. That's the only 'catch' I can give you."
Cid thought it over. He rubbed his chin, felt the stubble grate against his hand. *Damn! I need a shave. Well, I don't like the idea of working for ShinRa, but it would be for a good reason. I could always quit afterwards.* He leaned toward Vincent. "What do you think?" he whispered. "You think he's flying straight? Can we trust him?"
"He went through the trouble of sending the Turks to find you just so he could ask if you would accept an assignment of reasonable importance. I believe it is worth careful consideration. As for whether he's trustworthy, I see no reason for him to try to deceive us," Vincent responded. "Then again, I've never been the best judge of people," he added with dry humor.
Ignoring Vincent's final comment, he asked, "So, should I do it?"
"Do what you wish."
Cid snorted, a rather unbecoming gesture but not surprising. "You're a lot of help." A shrug was the only response to his sarcasm.
"Well?" It was Rufus. "I haven't the time to wait all day."
"All right, I'll do it. You better not be trying to pull something, or you'll regret it, kid."
Rufus absently waved a hand. "Whatever." He checked his watch, and sighed. "Hmm. Well, since I'm passing that way anyway, I'll show you to your new office; it's right next door. My secretary can handle the paper work." He walked past them, and out the door. He made a left and proceeded down the hall, never uttering another word to the two men following him. It made for a rather uneventful trip. They entered an elevator, and went down two floors to the street below. He made another left and continued walking.
Cid looked up and down the street, noticing they were the only ones there. He thought it odd that the President would wander around in the open without so much as a single soldier to guard him. "Hey, Rufus. Where's your bodyguard?"
"Off doing other work," the young man responded. "The Turks are recruiting more soldiers, who are training to become the new police force. As for hiring an independent, do you actually think anyone would want *that* job?"
"You're not worried about someone trying to off you?"
"I have more important things on my mind."
Cid flinched as though he'd been struck in the face with a sledgehammer. He'd never expected to hear something like that from a ShinRa executive. "What if someone does try something, and there's no one there to protect you?"
"I guess I can only hope that doesn't -" His sentence was interrupted when Vincent's arm shot out and pulled Rufus back just as a bullet struck the ground where he had been. Shards of hot concrete flew into the air. The vampire pulled Rufus around him, away from the buildings. A second bullet sank into his arm, only inches from hitting the President's heart.
"&%%^#$#@^*$&! Where the hell's that coming from?" Cid instinctively ducked low to the ground.
Vincent ignored the hole in his left arm. His keen eyes scanned the buildings; they found their target in a third story window of the building directly in front of them. In a fluid motion, coupled with lightning speed, he drew the Peacemaker, chambered a bullet, and fired. A scream of pain told that the bullet had hit its mark. The sniper rifle used by the would- be assassin fell to the ground, the scope shattering with the impact.
Vincent didn't lower his gun, but instead nodded his chin at the window, a silent message for Cid to check on the person. The foul-mouthed pilot scrambled to his feet, dusting himself off as he entered the building. There was a moment of silence. Vincent was intent on the window, waiting for some signal from Cid. Rufus merely gawked at the man that had just saved his life. There was no commitment for him that would rationalize his actions; he'd simply done it. The young President quickly regained his composure, and settled his gaze on Vincent's wound. He drew a handkerchief from his breast pocket, and used it to bandage the wound.
There was a whistle from up above. Cid was leaning out the window, waving his hand around. "Hey, Vince, nice shooting. He's alive, but he'll bleed to death if we don't get him help."
"You need medical attention, too," Rufus stated. "We'll stop at the hospital first."
Vincent calmly sat on the cold slab of metal that was the hospital table. He hadn't even flinched when the doctor pulled the bullet from his arm; he now waited patiently as his wound was bandaged. The man he had shot had been taken into emergency, and was now in intensive care. He would survive to be questioned.
Rufus pointed to the vampire's arm. "I'll have the hospital charge the bill to me, so don't worry about paying for the expenses. It's the least I can do." He made to leave, but stopped and turned back. "By the way. When the doctor's done with you, come by my office again. I'd like to talk with you."
"About what?"
"It has to do with what happened back there."
*Old habits die hard,* Vincent thought to himself.
Rufus left the room. As he made his way to the hospital's exit, he contemplated his savior. *He looks so familiar. Where have I seen that face before?* He shuffled through the information in his mind, trying to connect thought and memory. *Could he have been an employee? I'll have to check on that when I get to my office. There's something more to this man than being one of Cloud's companions, and I intend to find out what it is.*
Later.
"You wished to speak with me?" Vincent stood in front of Rufus's desk. His façade was one of clam and apathy, but inside he was confused and more than a little apprehensive. What was it Rufus said he wanted to talk about? The shooting? Or was it something else? The President had never specified. Vincent found the lack of knowledge rather discomforting.
Rufus tapped a few buttons on his keyboard. At first, he didn't seem to acknowledge Vincent's presence, but after a moment he spoke. "Between the change in clothes and hair, you look much different now than when your file was made."
Vincent blinked, more confused than before. "Pardon?"
Rufus pointed a finger at the vampire. "I thought you looked familiar when I saw you. I thought you might be an employee so I decided to check out the personnel files. I didn't find anything at first, but then I remembered where I'd seen you. A copy of your file was with the Jenova files." He typed a few more commands, and then began to read snippets from the file displayed on the screen. "Vincent Valentine. Six feet tall. One hundred forty-seven pounds. Black hair. Brown eyes - that's changed. Birthday: October 16. Unmarried. No children. One of the original Turks. Sharp shooter. Trained in numerous projectile weapons and fighting styles. Adept at taking orders with little to no questioning or complaint. Punctual. Effective. Minimum technical knowledge, but more than capable of handling any of ShinRa's equipment with relative efficiency. Assigned to oversee the Jenova Project. Reported missing shortly after Sephiroth's birth. Presumed dead." He faced Vincent, and motioned for him to sit down. "You don't look dead to me. Perhaps you could explain."
"The story is slightly complicated."
"I'd be more than happy to hear it," Rufus urged.
Vincent eased himself into a chair, and crossed his legs. "Very well. As you already know, I was assigned by your father to oversee the Jenova project. Everything went smoothly for the first four months, or so. The project moved along rapidly, and there were few problems within the team. Well, until Professor Ghast's assistant, Lucrecia, revealed that she was pregnant with Hojo's child, and that it was to be injected with Jenova cells as part of the experiment. I argued against it. However, they refused to be dissuaded, and Professor Ghast even encouraged it. Little less than eight months later, Sephiroth was born. Lucrecia died shortly after his birth, and her body disappeared. It was then I decided to leave the project. I received a message from Hojo, asking me to meet him in the basement lab. I went down there, and told him of my plans. That was when he began to rant on how Lucrecia had his child but had always been in love with me. He shot me out of rage, and perhaps madness. He then genetically altered my body, and put me to sleep in the mansion basement. That is where I stayed for nearly thirty years, until Cloud and his companions woke me."
"Anything you're not telling me?" It was meant more as an accusatory remark than a question.
Vincent hesitated a moment, unsure as to what Rufus actually wanted to hear and what he should be told. "What else is there you believe you need to know?"
"Well, your story raises a few questions. Like: Why did Lucrecia die? What happened to her body? And: Why were you going to quit the project? Or maybe: Did Hojo have good reason to believe Lucrecia loved you and not him? Why did he alter your body? Better yet: *How* did he alter your body?"
Vincent nodded. They were good questions, and deserved answering, having been asked. He answered the questions as best he could, his voice slightly trembling from the pain of the memories. "There were complications during Sephiroth's birth. They took their toll on Lucrecia, and we found her collapsed in her room that evening. Professor Ghast informed us that she was dead. Her body disappeared the next day, no one knowing how or where it had gone.
"As for why I was going to quit. I knew Hojo would never give Sephiroth the care he needed. With his mother gone, he had no one to raise him. I decided that I would take Sephiroth in as my own. But I couldn't do that and remain a part of the project that had spawned him, not without further subjecting him to its tortures. So I decided to quit the project. Let someone else handle it."
"So you were going to leave for Sephiroth's sake."
"Yes. However, I didn't tell Hojo my reasons for leaving. Perhaps he thought it was over Lucrecia's death. I don't know."
"Ah. Hojo *did* have reason to believe Lucrecia loved you."
"Yes. Before" - he held up a hand, and corrected himself - "*While* he was seeing Lucrecia, she had been seeing me as well, unbeknownst to the two of us at the time. Obviously, she left me completely for him in the end."
"You didn't fight for her?"
"No. I loved her, and told myself that her happiness was all that mattered, even if it was at the expense of my own. He believed that she loved me, despite the fact that she chose him. I think his experiments on me may have been meant as a form of torture for that very reason. If they were, they succeeded. I find my humanity slowly slipping away from me. I'm becoming less human with each ability that surfaces as a result of his alterations, and I don't know what it is I'm becoming." He looked at his clawed hand contemplatively.
Rufus nodded toward it. "Is that part of it?"
"In a way." He removed it; it slid off his arm to reveal flesh so horribly scarred it might have been taken from a monster's hide. "A beast now lurks within my frame. *This* is the result from when it was first unleashed. This is the mark of what Hojo has done to me." He replaced the metallic claw, once again hiding his deformed arm. "And *this* is my reminder of what form my beast will take." He shook his head sadly. "I'm sorry. I can tell you no more."
Rufus nodded his head slowly; his eyes were deep and focused. He was silent for a long while, assessing the information that had been revealed to him. When he finally spoke, his voice was unconcerned and cold as always. "The Turks are short one member, and as there are no others who are qualified for the position, so it's yours if you want it." He again scanned the company file displayed before him. "You're more than capable of handling the position, seeing as you've held it once before. Obviously, you would have to be updated on numerous aspects of company policy and mechanisms, but that shouldn't be a problem for you." He ran his right hand through his hair, and then leaned back in his chair. "Well?"
It took the Vincent a moment to adjust to the sudden subject change, but he thought about it, juggling his choices and the possible outcomes of each. *Become a Turk again? The thought had never crossed my mind. Is that a life I want to go back to, especially when so many things have changed?* He recalled his human years, his time spent in ShinRa's employment. He had enjoyed his work. It was never truly boring, although the paperwork was always a nuisance. He'd had many friends within the company, all of whom were now either retired or dead; that particular loss had gone unnoticed by him until that moment, and he suddenly felt an empty space carve its way into his heart. With a little research he might be able to find them again, a task that would be much easier with the information held in ShinRa's database. *Hmm, the offer is highly appealing. Besides, it is not as though I'm looking forward to retirement. Relaxation is nice, but not when you have an unknown amount of lifetime left to spend. That would simply instill boredom.* The recollection of how energetic and outgoing he had been forced its way into his mind. He remembered the time he had spent with other employees and his fellow Turks off-duty. But all those people, those dear friends, were no longer there, and there were only a precious few current company employees he knew. There was no telling whether or not he would get along with them, but there was always the chance. He made his decision. "Very well. I accept your offer."
"Great." He called his secretary. "Cara, would you be so kind as to call up Rude, and have him come to my office. Thanks." He hung up, and returned his attention to Vincent. "He'll be a few minutes, so we might as well start on your file corrections." He faced his computer, and began typing. "Let's start with the obvious stuff, shall we. First, we move it from the 'Missing/Deceased' back over to 'Active Duty.' Then we update the file with a report as to why you disappeared." At this he motioned for Vincent to join him on his side of the desk. "You remember how to do these things, right? It's all still the same old stuff, it's just on computer now." He gave a casual shrug, and moved aside so Vincent could file the report. Within four minutes he was finished. Rufus scanned the report before nodding his approval. He moved back to his original position, and continued. "Now we make the trivial corrections. Let's see here. Eyes: red, not brown. Age: fifty-seven?"
"Fifty-seven," he confirmed. He shook his head with disbelief. He hadn't thought about his time in hibernation in perspective to his age. *Am I really that old?* A wry smile crossed his lips. *At least I can safely say I turned out nothing like my father.* The smile was subdued, his attention returned to the work at hand.
Rufus had already finished. "All right. Is everything there correct?"
The vampire examined the file, and then nodded. At that moment, Rude walked through the door. He seemed a little alarmed at Vincent's presence, but he quickly regained his composure. Rufus welcomed the Turk with an informal wave hello. "Rude, I'm sure you've met Vincent. He's just been reestablished as a Turk. I need you to clue him in on to how things work now. Tell him what he needs to know."
"Yes, sir," Rude said. He looked at Vincent. "Come with me."
11:11 a.m. Water Valley.
The rain was light, and there wasn't any wind, but Aeris was cold all the same. She hugged herself and shivered. Trying to keep up with Sephiroth's energetic pace through the rocky bottom of Water Valley did nothing to warm her; if anything, it made her more cold by sapping all her energy. Her strength finally gave out, and she dropped to her hands and knees in exhaustion. "Wait!" she cried, panting. "I can't go on. Can't we rest a while?" She looked at him, her eyes pleading.
Sephiroth stopped, and turned around. He hadn't noticed that Aeris had fallen behind. He simply watched her for a moment, kneeling in the rain and shivering from the cold. The unfamiliar sensation of protectiveness enveloped him, and, with a quiet sigh, he walked over to her. He removed his coat. After wrapping her in its folds, he picked her up. He quickly found an outcropping of rock that would supply suitable protection from the rain. He set her down under the driest portion of it and sat next to her. A rest *would* be welcome.
Aeris curled up next to him, using his shoulder as a pillow, and immediately fell asleep. Sephiroth watched her for a moment in quiet contemplation. Her face was calm and content; her breathing was slow and steady, her warm breath brushing his arm. He leaned his head against the stone, closed his eyes, and let the sound of the rain carry him to sleep.
Aeris woke at early sunset. Sephiroth was already awake; his head was turned to the west, watching the sun drop below the horizon. He apparently wasn't paying any attention to her. She let her eyes wander; they eventually settled on the closest and most obvious subject: Sephiroth. She studied his torso: firm muscle under smooth, pale skin. She traced the lines of his muscles with her eyes, and before long she found herself musing as to what the rest of him looked like.
"What?" Sephiroth's voice pulled her from her reverie. She hadn't seen him look at her.
"Huh?"
"You're doing it again."
"Doing what?"
"Staring. So, what is it?"
She smiled. "Nothing. Just thinking."
He frowned. "Do you have to stare at me when you do it? It's rather annoying."
"Maybe that's the whole point." She brushed aside a bang and winked. Not bothering to give him his coat, she got up and started walking.
7:30 p.m. O'Malley's Bar in Junon.
Rude found Reno in O'Malley's bar. "Reno, man, have I got something to tell you."
Reno put down his glass of beer. "Really? And what's that?" He looked and sounded sober, but Rude could tell he was plastered.
"You remember that guy traveling with Cloud? The one with the red cape and the gun?"
Reno nodded; he looked entirely uninterested.
"Well, he's been made a Turk."
"What? He's a Turk now?"
"Yeah, and he's real adept at the work."
"How do you mean?"
"He knew a good portion of the rules and regulations already. He knew the Turk motto and salute. He knew the hierarchy of the company. Not to mention he had detailed knowledge of the company. I don't think he's new at this."
Reno stared at his glass of lukewarm beer, chugged it down, wiped his mouth, and then stood up. "Well, there's always ways to find out. Shall we?"
Rude gave a single, definite nod.
Elena sat in front of the computer, Reno and Rude leaning over either shoulder. "So what exactly are we looking for?" she asked.
"Look up any files containing the name. What was his name again?" Reno turned to Rude.
"Vincent Valentine," he responded dryly.
Elena typed in the name, allowed the computer to do its work. When the search was finished, the three were surprised to find numerous files that mentioned his name. All were thirty years or older. Many of them were restricted files pertaining to the Jenova Project. She used the mouse to click on the first selection. A lengthy dossier appeared before them. "Wow!" she exclaimed. "This guy was one of the original Turks."
"That explains a lot," Reno commented. He scanned the file. "Hmm. Seems he had a history of trouble with Heideger and Palmer." His eyes widened. "Hey, Heideger's front teeth are fake!"
"Huh?"
The redheaded Turk pointed to a specific section of the file. "Look. Apparently Heideger sent the Turks on a mission without all the necessary information. The situation got nasty, and one of them died. When they got back, the first thing Valentine did was punch Heideger in the face. The fat- ass lost five of his teeth. Serves him right."
Rude continued on in the document, and stopped at another section. "It says here he kicked the crap out of the first general."
"Really?'
"The two were arguing over what to do in a hostage situation. The general said to let the bad guy get away. Valentine said to shoot the hostage. A fight broke out when the general punched Valentine. The general was taken to the hospital with a broken jaw, fractured ribs, a ruptured spleen, and a dislocated knee. Valentine walked away with a bloody nose, and a ruffled uniform."
"Damn, this guy's a riot. So why didn't he stick around? Why'd he leave the Turks in the first place?"
Elena looked through all the available files, but none revealed any information. "I don't know. None of the files say anything about it. It's like he took a thirty-year vacation. I suppose we could always ask him."
Reno nodded, and then smiled. "Yeah, but after we finish reading his dossier. This is great stuff."
8:12 p.m. Highwind.
Barret pounded his fist against the wall. "Damn! Damn! Damn!"
"What's wrong?" Tifa questioned. She sat at the Highwind's conference table, a worried expression on her face.
"The guy we hired to off Rufus got caught."
"What? How?"
"Our lookout said some guy was there protecting him. He said he didn't look like a Turk or a soldier, more like a civilian. He didn't know who he was."
Tifa looked confused. "What did he look like? That way, we can watch out for him next time." Barret gritted his teeth, unparalleled rage painted on every aspect of his features, and Tifa knew something was seriously wrong. It was someone they knew. "Who was it?" There was an edge of fear in her voice now.
Barret threw another punch at the wall; his knuckles cracked.
"Barret, who was it?" she pleaded.
Barret's body shook with rage. He gritted his teeth and managed to mutter, "He said it was a tall man in a red cloak, who had a pale complexion and long black hair. He also said he was real good with a gun. The best he'd ever seen."
It took a moment before Tifa could match the description with a name; she gasped when she realized who it was. "No. It couldn't be."
"Our boy Vincent's with the enemy."
Later.
Cloud tried to stem his hysteria, but Barret's news greatly disturbed him. "It's not true," he told himself. "There's just some misunderstanding. Vincent wouldn't do that, not after all we've been through." He felt Tifa's arms wrap around him, her head on the back of his shoulder. "Maybe it wasn't him. Maybe it was someone else who just looked like him."
"And dressed like him, and could shoot like him." Barret's rage was obvious; he felt the blood boiling in his veins.
Tifa felt her tears trying to break free; she held them back. She was just as upset about the situation as anyone else. "Be strong, Cloud. I'm sure there's an explanation. Maybe we should talk to him."
"Yeah," Barret agreed. "Let's find him, and ask him what's up." He started rubbing his gun-arm.
"Barret, we should handle this calmly."
Cait Sith burst into the room. There was a panicked look on his furry little face. "Hey, everyone! I've got baaaad news."
"Worse than what we've already been told?" Barret scoffed. "I don't think so."
"Cid was just hired as the head engineer for a project Rufus is working on. He's building more reactors."
"What?!" Cloud exclaimed.
"Why that little bastard." Barret ground his teeth together; he shook his fist at no one in particular.
"There's more," Sith continued. "It's about Vincent. He's a Turk again. Rude was dishing him the basics." He scratched his ears.
"Oh, that does it!" Barret flew into a berserker rage, his ranting echoing throughout the Highwind. "I'm gonna hunt those two traitors down and send them to the hurt locker! They're not gonna get away with backstabbing us like this!"
"Barret, calm down, please," Tifa begged him. She tugged on his arm, trying to get his attention. "I'm sure they've got their reasons. Maybe they're trying to bring ShinRa down from the inside." She knew just how stupid her reasoning must have sounded, but she needed to calm him down. "Let's talk to them. Barret, please."
His ranting subsided, but he seemed on the verge of flying off the handle again. "All right, Tifa. We'll talk to 'em, but they better have a damn good reason for working with ShinRa."
10:23 p.m. Somewhere between the Northern continent and Junon.
Sephiroth stood at the stern of the small transport ship. He could feel Aeris's eyes on his back, but after fourteen hours it had ceased to bother him. He simply told himself that he wouldn't have to deal with it for much longer. Now, if only she would be quiet. She insisted on trying to make casual conversation, despite that he wasn't participating.
"Sephiroth, are you even listening to me?"
He turned around to face her. "Of course." He dragged the words out almost lazily. "You're drowning out everything else."
She patted the bench next to her. "Come sit with me." She smiled sweetly. He complied with her request, trying to look more annoyed and reluctant than he actually was. He sat and crouched forward, his elbows on his knees, and continued to stare off into the distance. "You could at least look at me when I'm talking to you."
"Just because I'm not looking at you doesn't mean I'm not paying attention."
"True," she agreed. "But still, I want to see your face, and that's hard to do when you're turned away from me." When he didn't look at her, or even say anything, her manner became one of hurt and rejection. "Do you hate yourself so much that you don't even want people to look at you?" There was no answer. "Or is it me? Is my presence so vile? Are my attempts to reach out to you just annoyances? If you really don't want me around, I'll leave. I don't want to stay if I'm only a burden to you."
Sephiroth said nothing, nor did he show any outward signs that he had even heard her. But inside he was writhing, her words cutting through him and piercing his soul. He felt like a world-class heel. He could tell he was hurting her. Here Aeris was trying to make him feel better about himself, and all he did was make her feel worse. The problem was he didn't know how to respond. It'd been so long since he'd last been shown affection of any sort; he didn't know how to express himself to her. What should he say? What *could* he say? He had no idea what words he could use, or even if there were any. He didn't know what he was supposed to do, how he was supposed to act. He was completely lost. He felt like a small child alone in some dark unknown territory; now there's this angel trying to help him find his way, and he's refusing to take her hand. Worse: he's practically ripping off her wings.
There was a sniffle next to him. Aeris was crying. He felt his heart wrench. *Idiot. Now look what you've done,* he scorned himself. *You've made her cry. Now how're you going to fix that?* Completely ignorant of the proper thing to do, he gave in to human instinct. He scooted closer to her. Reaching up with a gloved hand, he wiped away her tears. "I'm sorry," he whispered, doing nothing to hide the shame in his voice. "I didn't mean to make you cry."
Though the tears still came, she laughed. "How ironic. I'm supposed to be comforting you about your inadequacies, and here you are comforting me on mine." She looked up into his eyes. "See? You can show compassion. There's hope for your humanity yet, Sephiroth."
He cast his eyes down at the ship's planks.
"Why won't you talk to me?"
"I. I can't."
"Why?"
"I wouldn't know what to say."
She turned his head to face her. She caught his eyes, and held them with her own. "It doesn't matter what you say. You can tell me anything. I'll always be here to listen."
She took his hand in hers, and he suddenly knew that words weren't necessary. Looking into the sea of Mako-green that were her eyes, an unfamiliar sensation swelled in his heart, banishing all his uncertainty and apprehension, all the awkward feelings dwelling in the back of his mind. He felt as though he were drowning in it. He welcomed its warm, gentle caress, felt the emotion stroke every fiber in his soul and ease the pain that had so long been a part of it. All traces of loneliness were driven from him, and he knew he would never feel them again. The feeling surged through him, and he could see his own emotions reflected in her eyes.
He felt the feathery touch of her fingers under his chin; they guided his face closer to her own. The words came to him. He finally knew what he would say to her. He made to speak, to give a verbal outlet to what he was feeling, but she silenced him. "Shhhhh," she soothed. Her voice was a whisper, barely a breath. "I know." She closed the final inches between them, and pressed her lips to his.
