Cherished Rival
Epilogue
* * *
Years had slipped by like sand pouring through an hourglass. They had flashed and faded with a horrific quickness. Days had come and gone, and with them months and years.
And now he was old. Lines had begun to crease his face, his hair had begun to show strips of silver here and there, and arthritis had begun to rear its ugly head.
So many years.
And yet it only seemed like yesterday. He could still smell her hair, sticky sweet with tangerines and promises, laced with hints of mako and mildew. He could hear her bell-like laugh tinkling in his ears like so much shattered glass, and he could feel her silky-soft skin.
He could remember all of those things perfectly. And sometimes if he really cleared his mind and just ::concentrated:: he could remember her smile.
God that was so long ago.
He'd buried many things in his past. Time and age were the best killers of memories, and together they had managed to rid him of many over the years. Things better forgotten and things he wished he hadn't let slip away.
But two things stood apart forever imprinted in his mind. There were some things that could never be eroded by times ceaseless waves. One was the memory of her. It was fainter now sadly, but he'd managed to hold on to that.
The other had been the Turk.
It seemed ironic that they shared the same spot in his head. But when he really thought about it, it didn't seem so mystifying at all.
He'd never returned to that cellar after that night.
Afterwards he had dropped the key into the safe and left nothing to indicate there had ever been a Vincent Valentine. It would be as if he'd never existed. It would be for the best.
But he hadn't been able to leave. It gnawed at him and he despised himself for it. But he had never been one to leave well enough alone; that went entirely against the grain for him.
It might have also had a bit to do with JENOVA, now that he thought about it. She had seemed content to have him locked away, but she didn't seem to agree that he never have a time to shine again.
Hence the letter.
He felt like a fool for writing it at first, the sensible part of his brain begging him to leave it be. But all the same he had written it and left it for anyone foolish enough to carry out the instructions detailed within.
After all it was only fair that he be given a chance, as slim as it might be. In truth he felt sorry for anyone who was brash enough to open that coffin. Who knew what Vincent would do upon awakening? And who really wanted to find out for that matter?
JENOVA seemed satisfied with this shred of hope, and strangely, he had as well.
That had been over thirty years ago. Thirty years was a long time, but to some things time had no meaning. Valentine would be one of those things, had he managed to survive this long. Somehow Hojo had no doubt that he had. He had no certain way of knowing, but he could feel it in his guts.
Thirty years.
He vaguely wondered what Valentine would have done with those thirty years had none of this ever happened. He wondered if Valentine would have even survived to see those thirty years. Turks died, that was an undeniable fact that everyone knew. Even the most exceptional met their end eventually. There had been no questions regarding Vincent.
He should have been grateful for that, but he wasn't. All these years he'd thought about his little time capsule lying in the basement, and it had itched at him like a scab that one longs to pick at but mustn't.
He'd left well enough alone long enough.
He could borrow a company car, no problem at all. He'd worked here long enough that no one would deny him that, especially if it meant not seeing his face about the building for a few days. That had always been the reaction to his vacations that had taken anyway. He had no reason to believe that this time would be otherwise.
JENOVA swirled and hazed, she seemed to be quite pleased at the prospect of a trip to Nibleheim.
"Yes." he murmured. "I didn't think you would object to that, eh? You must like picking at scabs the way I do."
He pulled a pen from his coat pocket and began to write a memo saying that he would be out of town for the next few days. Few days. Heh. If Valentine was indeed still there and everything had gone the way he'd intended it to all those years ago it would be more like a one-way trip.
But that didn't matter.
He had scabs to pick.
* *
*
Authors Notes Well, that's how it ends. It feels kind of funny to have this finished, it's been with me for such a long time now. But unlike Hojo, I am not going to pick at scabs. Thanks to everyone who read this, and everyone who took time to review it. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it. 2001-2003
Epilogue
* * *
Years had slipped by like sand pouring through an hourglass. They had flashed and faded with a horrific quickness. Days had come and gone, and with them months and years.
And now he was old. Lines had begun to crease his face, his hair had begun to show strips of silver here and there, and arthritis had begun to rear its ugly head.
So many years.
And yet it only seemed like yesterday. He could still smell her hair, sticky sweet with tangerines and promises, laced with hints of mako and mildew. He could hear her bell-like laugh tinkling in his ears like so much shattered glass, and he could feel her silky-soft skin.
He could remember all of those things perfectly. And sometimes if he really cleared his mind and just ::concentrated:: he could remember her smile.
God that was so long ago.
He'd buried many things in his past. Time and age were the best killers of memories, and together they had managed to rid him of many over the years. Things better forgotten and things he wished he hadn't let slip away.
But two things stood apart forever imprinted in his mind. There were some things that could never be eroded by times ceaseless waves. One was the memory of her. It was fainter now sadly, but he'd managed to hold on to that.
The other had been the Turk.
It seemed ironic that they shared the same spot in his head. But when he really thought about it, it didn't seem so mystifying at all.
He'd never returned to that cellar after that night.
Afterwards he had dropped the key into the safe and left nothing to indicate there had ever been a Vincent Valentine. It would be as if he'd never existed. It would be for the best.
But he hadn't been able to leave. It gnawed at him and he despised himself for it. But he had never been one to leave well enough alone; that went entirely against the grain for him.
It might have also had a bit to do with JENOVA, now that he thought about it. She had seemed content to have him locked away, but she didn't seem to agree that he never have a time to shine again.
Hence the letter.
He felt like a fool for writing it at first, the sensible part of his brain begging him to leave it be. But all the same he had written it and left it for anyone foolish enough to carry out the instructions detailed within.
After all it was only fair that he be given a chance, as slim as it might be. In truth he felt sorry for anyone who was brash enough to open that coffin. Who knew what Vincent would do upon awakening? And who really wanted to find out for that matter?
JENOVA seemed satisfied with this shred of hope, and strangely, he had as well.
That had been over thirty years ago. Thirty years was a long time, but to some things time had no meaning. Valentine would be one of those things, had he managed to survive this long. Somehow Hojo had no doubt that he had. He had no certain way of knowing, but he could feel it in his guts.
Thirty years.
He vaguely wondered what Valentine would have done with those thirty years had none of this ever happened. He wondered if Valentine would have even survived to see those thirty years. Turks died, that was an undeniable fact that everyone knew. Even the most exceptional met their end eventually. There had been no questions regarding Vincent.
He should have been grateful for that, but he wasn't. All these years he'd thought about his little time capsule lying in the basement, and it had itched at him like a scab that one longs to pick at but mustn't.
He'd left well enough alone long enough.
He could borrow a company car, no problem at all. He'd worked here long enough that no one would deny him that, especially if it meant not seeing his face about the building for a few days. That had always been the reaction to his vacations that had taken anyway. He had no reason to believe that this time would be otherwise.
JENOVA swirled and hazed, she seemed to be quite pleased at the prospect of a trip to Nibleheim.
"Yes." he murmured. "I didn't think you would object to that, eh? You must like picking at scabs the way I do."
He pulled a pen from his coat pocket and began to write a memo saying that he would be out of town for the next few days. Few days. Heh. If Valentine was indeed still there and everything had gone the way he'd intended it to all those years ago it would be more like a one-way trip.
But that didn't matter.
He had scabs to pick.
* *
*
Authors Notes Well, that's how it ends. It feels kind of funny to have this finished, it's been with me for such a long time now. But unlike Hojo, I am not going to pick at scabs. Thanks to everyone who read this, and everyone who took time to review it. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it. 2001-2003