Author's Note: This originally was just one long story, but for convenience
I've decided to split it into several parts, and post them within a few
days of each other. Thanks to darknightdestiny for the idea of splitting it
up, it IS more manageable this way. I'm not gonna lie, this is a very dark
demented fic. It has an 'R' rating due to its general twisted-ness, gore,
and Hojo's potty-mouth. You've been warned...
Part six is here. ugh, I'm horrible with descriptions as you can no doubt see. More JENOVA trippiness, and insanity ensues. I just want to say thanks to everyone that's still reading this. It's been a long, weird trip, and it's not going to be over anytime soon.
~ Rene (seasonofthepumpkin)
* * *
"No...no...*no*" he wept, tearing violently into his face with both hands. His left hand had regenerated up to the first knuckle, making it semi- effective at clawing flesh. JENOVA had clarified what he feared most. Lucrecia hated him.
With that, JENOVA left the haunted man alone with his grief and self hate to let her words sink in to have the most devastating effect possible. Some things took time. Sure, she could break him instantly, snap his mind with out a second thought, but it was so much more rewarding to wear him away little by little. She still felt the thrill of domination every time she pricked his heart with her cruel words, she doubted she would ever grow tired of hearing him cry. And if she did, oh well. She'd just crush him then and there. Either way she had fun.
"No..." Vincent whispered, hugging himself desperately, trying to recover from this latest blow. She hated him, what was there left to live for? Why prolong his misery, and live forever in the shadow of what could have been? Why remain here in the world and be a big red blotch on her pure memory? His living angel was no more, and her love for him had soured with her passing. Her human frailty had been lifted from her upon death, and she had finally seen him for the selfish, evil creature he was.
Vincent's sobs gave way to silence with that thought. He rocked himself evenly, pondering exactly what he had left to live for. It would be oh so easy to end it now, but what right did he have to relief from this? He had gotten what he deserved, at least he could take his punishment like a man. What good was it for him to continue living, when she was gone, and yet what good would it be for him to kill himself to be with her when she hated him? There was no way out.
Hojo stared at his wracked ward, not knowing what to say or do. The man was breaking, that was for sure. Perhaps he would go insane as well, and join Lucrecia in her 'Hell'. With that thought, he frowned deeply.
When JENOVA spoke of 'breaking' Valentine, she wasn't talking about crushing his spirit the way Hojo had wanted to do. He had only wanted to see the man utterly crushed and defeated. JENOVA wanted to strain him to the breaking point, to drive him insane bit by bit, to reduce him to a true animal unfettered by reason. Insanity would not be a good thing right now, especially with the hellish powers Valentine possessed now.
So Hojo had one of two options; let the man keep clutching himself and rocking into dangerous insanity, or going over there and trying to calm the guy down with the possibility of attack. The choice was obvious, as little as it appealed to him. Sure, comforting a hysterical shape-shifter was up on the top of his 'Fun Things to Do" list. Right up there with waking a grizzly bear from hibernation and stepping in a fire ant mound. But it had to be done.
He cautiously approached the pallid man, taking care not to make excessive noise and startle the man. Who knew, a sudden sound might be all it would take to drive him over the edge.
Vincent felt Hojo's presence before he drew within 10 feet of him; he could hear him breathe, and smell the apprehension on him. Vincent smiled wryly; he didn't want this man around to talk to him, he wanted to be alone with his hurt, to lick his wounds in solitude. Why did people always automatically assume someone who's been hurt wants their company and attentions? In most cases, those who took the cruel jabs fortune hurled their way simply wanted to be alone to reflect on what had happened; they had no want for sympathy. As Vincent had no want for Hojo.
"Valentine-"
"Go away. Just go away, and leave me be." He intoned darkly, wiping his face as he rose to his feet intent on fleeing to some dark corner as far away from Hojo as humanly possible. Hojo of course followed, albeit cautiously as was understandable. The way he was acting he could go off at any moment. Perhaps he could reason with him, it certainly wouldn't hurt to try. One could reason with almost anything, and if you couldn't persuade it you were right, at the least you probably wouldn't set it off.
"Now you know I can't do that. I have to keep an eye-"
"Damn your eyes!" he shouted, whirling around to face the scientist fangs bared, "And damn my arm for that matter! It doesn't matter now, she hates me, she's gone, you won!" Vincent's eyes blazed unholy crimson as he spat these words out like fiery coals. Hojo winced, this did not look good at all, JENOVA might have her way sooner than she thought. In the heat of his outburst Vincent pushed roughly past Hojo to seek shelter under the desk. He was so fucking tired of all of this, everything hurt, and he just wanted to be left alone. He needed to think, even though thinking hurt.
Because he would be thinking of her. Even if she declared her hatred a thousand times he would never do the same even once. He would never hate Lucrecia. He could never renounce his love for her; no more than a bird could renounce the air or the beautiful siren could renounce the water from which she came. Lucrecia was a part of him, a part he needed, a part he could never give up. Even if she hated him.
Would he go to her? A part of him ached to lie with her in death, to go on to angel's feathers or to acrid flames. As long as he could be with her it didn't matter. He would follow her to the depths of despair, or to gardens of red, eternal red, redder than his eyes or the innocent blood that stained his hands. Redder than the raw wound she left on his soul when she left him, redder than a thousand autumn leaves.
Love was red, he reasoned as he absentmindedly chewed on his right hand's index finger, a nervous habit since childhood. Love was very red indeed, like the wine colored rose that pricked the lover's fingers and spilt the ruby red blood. Love was beautiful yet it hurt sometimes. Love was roses and blood. Red.
Wasn't that why distraught lovers killed themselves in their beloved's passing? So they could go to be with them in that crimson garden? He supposed so; why shouldn't he? Maybe if he shuffled of this mortal coil she would see how much he cared, how sorry he was. Maybe she would forgive him. And if she could forgive him, maybe, just maybe...
They could go on to the crimson gardens as well.
* * *
Valentine seemed to have calmed down since his latest outburst leaving the room in uneasy silence. The glowering light in his hellish red eyes had turned to a soft shimmer of quiet contemplation. A definite nostalgic air hung thickly about him, cutting him off from the present world.
Hojo frowned for the umpteenth time that evening.
Rapid mood swings. That could be bad, or good, depending on the circumstance and his present state of mind. It couldn't be good for him to sit there totally absorbed in his little world, yet it was far better than hysterically screaming about 'Crecia mindless as to his words and actions.
He was still debating whether he should let him be, or to rouse him from this dreamy state when an almost impossibly low utterance on Vincent's part shattered the silence.
"I think madness...it must be red as well," he blinked his sleepy red eyes tiredly, his tranquil gaze almost hypnotic. "She wants me to go insane so I will do her work for her. JENOVA." He smiled weakly on his first utterance of the thrice-damned name. "I don't want to...even though I have to..." The sad smile still hung heavy on his face as he sighed, and hugged himself tighter.
It was all very disturbing in its own way, that one could say such things so calmly, with nary a shred of emotion in the voice. Or rather with such a defeated, accepting demeanor, as if he had finally been beaten down to the status of a loyal but dumb beast. And to smile as he acknowledged JENOVA's plans. That had been the bitterest blow of all. He wasn't the idiot that he and JENOVA had made him out to be after all. He had heard everything, and understood it at that. Worst of all, he seemed to have accepted it.
"I have to go to her...though hell should bar the way." His voice grew stronger with that statement, then dropped again as he continued. He looked up at Hojo who stood by passively, listening to the man's seemingly irrelevant mumbling.
For a long, uncomfortable moment the roles of specimen and scientist were reversed. Vincent turned to Hojo, studying him with a searching eye. Not knowing what to do, Hojo simply stood there and bore the scrutiny quietly. After what seemed like an eternity to the nervous doctor, Vincent sighed and cast his eyes down again, breaking the contact. With that strange, bitter-sweet smile Vincent drew his knees up closer to his chest and sat quietly, reflecting on all that had flitted through his mind the last few minutes.
Hojo still made no movement or speech, thoughtfully gazing down at the Turk silently. He looked so tired, so utterly beaten. Something in that melancholic smile revealed an almost unbearable hopelessness that Hojo didn't want to face.
Valentine had aged 20 years overnight; a new wisdom shone through the bloody red irises, and with that wisdom came an infinite sadness he could never understand. Nor did he want to. His eyes were so old now, the eyes of an old man who had seen everything the world had to offer and somehow understood it all. That understanding brought a sick little smile to his face, a smile that revealed but a fraction of it.
"I wonder," he murmured so softly Hojo had to lean forward to hear the mumbled words. "If I will ever enter that garden." As he uttered those mysterious words he still wore the perpetual smile that expressed his sorrow more aptly than an ocean of tears ever could. It was a world-weary, tired, patient smile that bore into Hojo's soul so deeply he couldn't bear to look at it any longer.
What did he mean? What garden? Had he finally snapped? Hojo didn't consciously understand, but a deeper part of him did somewhat. Looking back years from now he never would know what possessed him to answer as he did that night. He had answered the question without ever understanding it fully.
"...perhaps you will one day." He answered quietly, staring into the darkness morosely.
* * *
He had decided. He would go to Lucrecia, and join her on the other side. He refused to be divided by this cold wall of death. How could he ever hope to live without her? In her passing she had taken the best of him with her, and he could never be the same again. His life was over, and it had ended the moment hers had. His world had finally come down. And most ironically, he had been the one to bring it down.
How had he ever gotten along before he had met her? He didn't know, and he didn't want to. All he knew was that once he had loved her, his life had never been the same. He didn't want to go back to a life without her.
Thoughts of 'Crecia, both good and bad had been the only thing that had kept him going this long. Remembering the way the sunlight had danced playfully on her long auburn hair, the way her eyes had sparkled, her smile, her laugh, and most of all, her love. In essence, thoughts of her gave him the strength to go on, living only for the next snatch of memories to temporarily ease the pain in his heart. Her memories would sustain him to his death, until he could meet her again.
He had built a wall around the fear of her hatred, denying the possibility she no longer loved but loathed him. He would still go to her even if she spat in his face. Maybe if she saw how he suffered for her she would forgive him at least, let this curse of guilt leave him once and for all.
But did he really want it to leave? The intense guilt he suffered seemed at times to be the only sign that he had truly loved her. Why else why would it pain him so? Did he want to drop that perennial token of his love for her?
Perhaps in his own way he was as sick as Hojo.
* * *
Hojo approached Vincent with the wary caution of one attempting to slip past a lightly dozing pit bull. He hadn't moved at all from his spot under the desk. He must have found the snugness and darkness of the small niche appealing, or even comforting.
Personally, Hojo couldn't see himself staying curled up into a tight little ball in such a small place for more than five minutes, when Valentine had remained undisturbed like that for at least four hours, and it looked as though he could take another four easily.
He was still chewing on that finger, he noted tiredly. At this rate Valentine might need a new finger as well. He would either gnaw it off or it would disintegrate from being in his mouth so much. Anyway, it was almost as bad as thumb-sucking and nail-biting in his book, a disgusting habit no doubt held over from Valentine's pre-school days.
Hojo's mum had always scolded him for chewing his nails as a child. "If you keep that up, you'll gnaw off the ends of your fingertips, and rot will set in. Don't come crying to me when your hand turns green and falls off." She had rolled black electric tape around the ends of his fingers so tightly it had cut off the circulation and sunk into the grotesquely puffed up flesh. His father had removed the tape just in time to avoid permanent damage to the hand. He had stopped biting them after that.
Hojo stretched languidly, twisting his weary bones back into place making satisfying cracks as they did so. He was tired, about now he would have iced his own mother for a few minutes of shut eye.
Actually, he'd had plenty of opportunities to get some rest today as Valentine had been virtually motionless all morning locked away in some dream world of his own creation as he lay quietly under that damned desk. He almost wished it would collapse on him, just to see if he would come out then.
Valentine was withdrawing. Hojo supposed he had been doing so ever since the beginning , but it had become more blatantly obvious lately. He obviously appreciated the security of his enclosure, a substitute womb of sorts shielding him from the world he did not want to face.
Was he sleeping? Hojo hoped he was, at least that would provide a temporary respite from his misery and any more attacks by JENOVA on his sanity. He slowly, carefully knelt down to observe Valentine at his own level. Yes, he did seem to be sleeping. His breaths were measured and even, his body relaxed, and his face blank with the veil of slumber.
He wasn't nearly as much trouble now, no fears of monsters leaping out at him, no hours of crying to disturb him, and no needs to tend to. If only it could be like this all the time...
Where had that come from? Hojo sat down on the floor weakly, shaking his head in confusion. He had created Valentine, now he was responsible for him. He couldn't just dump him off in a bed somewhere and leave him to his own devices. That would be, however relieving on his part, unthinkable.
At least he could get a little sleep of his own now, and ease the dull lethargic weight dragging at his brain, Even JENOVA had shut up. Perhaps she was tired too. He knew that this wasn't probable, but he was too exhausted to correct himself. Surely Valentine wouldn't get into any trouble; he'd probably sleep the whole time. He could rest, at least for a little while.
Heading up the rickety circular stairs to the first floor, he took a last glance back at the library before continuing on his way.
Valentine would eventually give into the pressure JENOVA was applying to him and become her mindless destroyer, perhaps a bit prematurely, but he would. He couldn't afford to have a psychopathic monster scampering about the building, god knew there were already enough of those here. In the event he did go insane, Hojo would have to be prepared. He would need some way to keep Valentine safely in check. As well equipped as the lab was there were no strait-jackets or manacles or anything of the sort. He slowly scanned the room for anything that might give him an idea. Then it came to him.
A cell. Valentine needed to be placed in a holding cell of some sort, perhaps an unused room somewhere out of the way that would have no unwanted visitors prowling about at all hours. He could install a lock if there wasn't already one and he would be good to go. As long as Valentine stayed relatively quiet, and Hojo took care not to approach the room so often it would draw suspicion no one would ever know. He beamed, weariness lifted for the moment. Finally he had a solution to his present problem.
Of course there would be a few technicalities, some bugs to work out, and it was a temporary fix at best, but he'd worry about that later. He was feeling pretty good now, and damned if he'd spoil it with petty details.
There was one 'petty detail' he'd have to work out right now. Where the hell would this room be? Most of the rooms, if not already occupied by a full time tenant were at least ventured into several times a day. That wouldn't do. He needed an empty, purposeless (and preferably well insulated) room that he could lock up and no one would be the wiser.
He could use an old storage closet he supposed, but even that would eventually be disturbed. Some moron looking for a note book or something would stumble onto his dirty little secret snoozing in there. Even if he locked it up, the question of exactly why the closet was locked would no doubt rear it's ugly head.
It needed to be somewhere out of the way, somewhere there would be no reason at all to enter. Then, if Valentine stayed quiet, and he was nonchalant about the whole thing it should be smooth sailing from there out.
Then, he stopped.
The answer was not to be found upstairs. it had been right under his nose the entire time.
* * * (end part six)
Part six is here. ugh, I'm horrible with descriptions as you can no doubt see. More JENOVA trippiness, and insanity ensues. I just want to say thanks to everyone that's still reading this. It's been a long, weird trip, and it's not going to be over anytime soon.
~ Rene (seasonofthepumpkin)
* * *
"No...no...*no*" he wept, tearing violently into his face with both hands. His left hand had regenerated up to the first knuckle, making it semi- effective at clawing flesh. JENOVA had clarified what he feared most. Lucrecia hated him.
With that, JENOVA left the haunted man alone with his grief and self hate to let her words sink in to have the most devastating effect possible. Some things took time. Sure, she could break him instantly, snap his mind with out a second thought, but it was so much more rewarding to wear him away little by little. She still felt the thrill of domination every time she pricked his heart with her cruel words, she doubted she would ever grow tired of hearing him cry. And if she did, oh well. She'd just crush him then and there. Either way she had fun.
"No..." Vincent whispered, hugging himself desperately, trying to recover from this latest blow. She hated him, what was there left to live for? Why prolong his misery, and live forever in the shadow of what could have been? Why remain here in the world and be a big red blotch on her pure memory? His living angel was no more, and her love for him had soured with her passing. Her human frailty had been lifted from her upon death, and she had finally seen him for the selfish, evil creature he was.
Vincent's sobs gave way to silence with that thought. He rocked himself evenly, pondering exactly what he had left to live for. It would be oh so easy to end it now, but what right did he have to relief from this? He had gotten what he deserved, at least he could take his punishment like a man. What good was it for him to continue living, when she was gone, and yet what good would it be for him to kill himself to be with her when she hated him? There was no way out.
Hojo stared at his wracked ward, not knowing what to say or do. The man was breaking, that was for sure. Perhaps he would go insane as well, and join Lucrecia in her 'Hell'. With that thought, he frowned deeply.
When JENOVA spoke of 'breaking' Valentine, she wasn't talking about crushing his spirit the way Hojo had wanted to do. He had only wanted to see the man utterly crushed and defeated. JENOVA wanted to strain him to the breaking point, to drive him insane bit by bit, to reduce him to a true animal unfettered by reason. Insanity would not be a good thing right now, especially with the hellish powers Valentine possessed now.
So Hojo had one of two options; let the man keep clutching himself and rocking into dangerous insanity, or going over there and trying to calm the guy down with the possibility of attack. The choice was obvious, as little as it appealed to him. Sure, comforting a hysterical shape-shifter was up on the top of his 'Fun Things to Do" list. Right up there with waking a grizzly bear from hibernation and stepping in a fire ant mound. But it had to be done.
He cautiously approached the pallid man, taking care not to make excessive noise and startle the man. Who knew, a sudden sound might be all it would take to drive him over the edge.
Vincent felt Hojo's presence before he drew within 10 feet of him; he could hear him breathe, and smell the apprehension on him. Vincent smiled wryly; he didn't want this man around to talk to him, he wanted to be alone with his hurt, to lick his wounds in solitude. Why did people always automatically assume someone who's been hurt wants their company and attentions? In most cases, those who took the cruel jabs fortune hurled their way simply wanted to be alone to reflect on what had happened; they had no want for sympathy. As Vincent had no want for Hojo.
"Valentine-"
"Go away. Just go away, and leave me be." He intoned darkly, wiping his face as he rose to his feet intent on fleeing to some dark corner as far away from Hojo as humanly possible. Hojo of course followed, albeit cautiously as was understandable. The way he was acting he could go off at any moment. Perhaps he could reason with him, it certainly wouldn't hurt to try. One could reason with almost anything, and if you couldn't persuade it you were right, at the least you probably wouldn't set it off.
"Now you know I can't do that. I have to keep an eye-"
"Damn your eyes!" he shouted, whirling around to face the scientist fangs bared, "And damn my arm for that matter! It doesn't matter now, she hates me, she's gone, you won!" Vincent's eyes blazed unholy crimson as he spat these words out like fiery coals. Hojo winced, this did not look good at all, JENOVA might have her way sooner than she thought. In the heat of his outburst Vincent pushed roughly past Hojo to seek shelter under the desk. He was so fucking tired of all of this, everything hurt, and he just wanted to be left alone. He needed to think, even though thinking hurt.
Because he would be thinking of her. Even if she declared her hatred a thousand times he would never do the same even once. He would never hate Lucrecia. He could never renounce his love for her; no more than a bird could renounce the air or the beautiful siren could renounce the water from which she came. Lucrecia was a part of him, a part he needed, a part he could never give up. Even if she hated him.
Would he go to her? A part of him ached to lie with her in death, to go on to angel's feathers or to acrid flames. As long as he could be with her it didn't matter. He would follow her to the depths of despair, or to gardens of red, eternal red, redder than his eyes or the innocent blood that stained his hands. Redder than the raw wound she left on his soul when she left him, redder than a thousand autumn leaves.
Love was red, he reasoned as he absentmindedly chewed on his right hand's index finger, a nervous habit since childhood. Love was very red indeed, like the wine colored rose that pricked the lover's fingers and spilt the ruby red blood. Love was beautiful yet it hurt sometimes. Love was roses and blood. Red.
Wasn't that why distraught lovers killed themselves in their beloved's passing? So they could go to be with them in that crimson garden? He supposed so; why shouldn't he? Maybe if he shuffled of this mortal coil she would see how much he cared, how sorry he was. Maybe she would forgive him. And if she could forgive him, maybe, just maybe...
They could go on to the crimson gardens as well.
* * *
Valentine seemed to have calmed down since his latest outburst leaving the room in uneasy silence. The glowering light in his hellish red eyes had turned to a soft shimmer of quiet contemplation. A definite nostalgic air hung thickly about him, cutting him off from the present world.
Hojo frowned for the umpteenth time that evening.
Rapid mood swings. That could be bad, or good, depending on the circumstance and his present state of mind. It couldn't be good for him to sit there totally absorbed in his little world, yet it was far better than hysterically screaming about 'Crecia mindless as to his words and actions.
He was still debating whether he should let him be, or to rouse him from this dreamy state when an almost impossibly low utterance on Vincent's part shattered the silence.
"I think madness...it must be red as well," he blinked his sleepy red eyes tiredly, his tranquil gaze almost hypnotic. "She wants me to go insane so I will do her work for her. JENOVA." He smiled weakly on his first utterance of the thrice-damned name. "I don't want to...even though I have to..." The sad smile still hung heavy on his face as he sighed, and hugged himself tighter.
It was all very disturbing in its own way, that one could say such things so calmly, with nary a shred of emotion in the voice. Or rather with such a defeated, accepting demeanor, as if he had finally been beaten down to the status of a loyal but dumb beast. And to smile as he acknowledged JENOVA's plans. That had been the bitterest blow of all. He wasn't the idiot that he and JENOVA had made him out to be after all. He had heard everything, and understood it at that. Worst of all, he seemed to have accepted it.
"I have to go to her...though hell should bar the way." His voice grew stronger with that statement, then dropped again as he continued. He looked up at Hojo who stood by passively, listening to the man's seemingly irrelevant mumbling.
For a long, uncomfortable moment the roles of specimen and scientist were reversed. Vincent turned to Hojo, studying him with a searching eye. Not knowing what to do, Hojo simply stood there and bore the scrutiny quietly. After what seemed like an eternity to the nervous doctor, Vincent sighed and cast his eyes down again, breaking the contact. With that strange, bitter-sweet smile Vincent drew his knees up closer to his chest and sat quietly, reflecting on all that had flitted through his mind the last few minutes.
Hojo still made no movement or speech, thoughtfully gazing down at the Turk silently. He looked so tired, so utterly beaten. Something in that melancholic smile revealed an almost unbearable hopelessness that Hojo didn't want to face.
Valentine had aged 20 years overnight; a new wisdom shone through the bloody red irises, and with that wisdom came an infinite sadness he could never understand. Nor did he want to. His eyes were so old now, the eyes of an old man who had seen everything the world had to offer and somehow understood it all. That understanding brought a sick little smile to his face, a smile that revealed but a fraction of it.
"I wonder," he murmured so softly Hojo had to lean forward to hear the mumbled words. "If I will ever enter that garden." As he uttered those mysterious words he still wore the perpetual smile that expressed his sorrow more aptly than an ocean of tears ever could. It was a world-weary, tired, patient smile that bore into Hojo's soul so deeply he couldn't bear to look at it any longer.
What did he mean? What garden? Had he finally snapped? Hojo didn't consciously understand, but a deeper part of him did somewhat. Looking back years from now he never would know what possessed him to answer as he did that night. He had answered the question without ever understanding it fully.
"...perhaps you will one day." He answered quietly, staring into the darkness morosely.
* * *
He had decided. He would go to Lucrecia, and join her on the other side. He refused to be divided by this cold wall of death. How could he ever hope to live without her? In her passing she had taken the best of him with her, and he could never be the same again. His life was over, and it had ended the moment hers had. His world had finally come down. And most ironically, he had been the one to bring it down.
How had he ever gotten along before he had met her? He didn't know, and he didn't want to. All he knew was that once he had loved her, his life had never been the same. He didn't want to go back to a life without her.
Thoughts of 'Crecia, both good and bad had been the only thing that had kept him going this long. Remembering the way the sunlight had danced playfully on her long auburn hair, the way her eyes had sparkled, her smile, her laugh, and most of all, her love. In essence, thoughts of her gave him the strength to go on, living only for the next snatch of memories to temporarily ease the pain in his heart. Her memories would sustain him to his death, until he could meet her again.
He had built a wall around the fear of her hatred, denying the possibility she no longer loved but loathed him. He would still go to her even if she spat in his face. Maybe if she saw how he suffered for her she would forgive him at least, let this curse of guilt leave him once and for all.
But did he really want it to leave? The intense guilt he suffered seemed at times to be the only sign that he had truly loved her. Why else why would it pain him so? Did he want to drop that perennial token of his love for her?
Perhaps in his own way he was as sick as Hojo.
* * *
Hojo approached Vincent with the wary caution of one attempting to slip past a lightly dozing pit bull. He hadn't moved at all from his spot under the desk. He must have found the snugness and darkness of the small niche appealing, or even comforting.
Personally, Hojo couldn't see himself staying curled up into a tight little ball in such a small place for more than five minutes, when Valentine had remained undisturbed like that for at least four hours, and it looked as though he could take another four easily.
He was still chewing on that finger, he noted tiredly. At this rate Valentine might need a new finger as well. He would either gnaw it off or it would disintegrate from being in his mouth so much. Anyway, it was almost as bad as thumb-sucking and nail-biting in his book, a disgusting habit no doubt held over from Valentine's pre-school days.
Hojo's mum had always scolded him for chewing his nails as a child. "If you keep that up, you'll gnaw off the ends of your fingertips, and rot will set in. Don't come crying to me when your hand turns green and falls off." She had rolled black electric tape around the ends of his fingers so tightly it had cut off the circulation and sunk into the grotesquely puffed up flesh. His father had removed the tape just in time to avoid permanent damage to the hand. He had stopped biting them after that.
Hojo stretched languidly, twisting his weary bones back into place making satisfying cracks as they did so. He was tired, about now he would have iced his own mother for a few minutes of shut eye.
Actually, he'd had plenty of opportunities to get some rest today as Valentine had been virtually motionless all morning locked away in some dream world of his own creation as he lay quietly under that damned desk. He almost wished it would collapse on him, just to see if he would come out then.
Valentine was withdrawing. Hojo supposed he had been doing so ever since the beginning , but it had become more blatantly obvious lately. He obviously appreciated the security of his enclosure, a substitute womb of sorts shielding him from the world he did not want to face.
Was he sleeping? Hojo hoped he was, at least that would provide a temporary respite from his misery and any more attacks by JENOVA on his sanity. He slowly, carefully knelt down to observe Valentine at his own level. Yes, he did seem to be sleeping. His breaths were measured and even, his body relaxed, and his face blank with the veil of slumber.
He wasn't nearly as much trouble now, no fears of monsters leaping out at him, no hours of crying to disturb him, and no needs to tend to. If only it could be like this all the time...
Where had that come from? Hojo sat down on the floor weakly, shaking his head in confusion. He had created Valentine, now he was responsible for him. He couldn't just dump him off in a bed somewhere and leave him to his own devices. That would be, however relieving on his part, unthinkable.
At least he could get a little sleep of his own now, and ease the dull lethargic weight dragging at his brain, Even JENOVA had shut up. Perhaps she was tired too. He knew that this wasn't probable, but he was too exhausted to correct himself. Surely Valentine wouldn't get into any trouble; he'd probably sleep the whole time. He could rest, at least for a little while.
Heading up the rickety circular stairs to the first floor, he took a last glance back at the library before continuing on his way.
Valentine would eventually give into the pressure JENOVA was applying to him and become her mindless destroyer, perhaps a bit prematurely, but he would. He couldn't afford to have a psychopathic monster scampering about the building, god knew there were already enough of those here. In the event he did go insane, Hojo would have to be prepared. He would need some way to keep Valentine safely in check. As well equipped as the lab was there were no strait-jackets or manacles or anything of the sort. He slowly scanned the room for anything that might give him an idea. Then it came to him.
A cell. Valentine needed to be placed in a holding cell of some sort, perhaps an unused room somewhere out of the way that would have no unwanted visitors prowling about at all hours. He could install a lock if there wasn't already one and he would be good to go. As long as Valentine stayed relatively quiet, and Hojo took care not to approach the room so often it would draw suspicion no one would ever know. He beamed, weariness lifted for the moment. Finally he had a solution to his present problem.
Of course there would be a few technicalities, some bugs to work out, and it was a temporary fix at best, but he'd worry about that later. He was feeling pretty good now, and damned if he'd spoil it with petty details.
There was one 'petty detail' he'd have to work out right now. Where the hell would this room be? Most of the rooms, if not already occupied by a full time tenant were at least ventured into several times a day. That wouldn't do. He needed an empty, purposeless (and preferably well insulated) room that he could lock up and no one would be the wiser.
He could use an old storage closet he supposed, but even that would eventually be disturbed. Some moron looking for a note book or something would stumble onto his dirty little secret snoozing in there. Even if he locked it up, the question of exactly why the closet was locked would no doubt rear it's ugly head.
It needed to be somewhere out of the way, somewhere there would be no reason at all to enter. Then, if Valentine stayed quiet, and he was nonchalant about the whole thing it should be smooth sailing from there out.
Then, he stopped.
The answer was not to be found upstairs. it had been right under his nose the entire time.
* * * (end part six)