Author Notes: Look... I know that Vincent PROBABLY wasn't head of the Turks..and I know that much of what happens in this story never did in the game, or it didn't happen in the way that the game described. But I wrote this a long time ago when I was bored and sadly, needed a little Vincent yaoi in my life. So basically this is what came out of it... and here it is for you to read.

----------------

It was very warm and cosy on this strange couch. I heard the sound of someone's singing, dreadfully off-key, and the scent of cologne lingered on me from the night's activities. It was warm, and I felt safe, not alone, and I opened my eyes, smiling. Then--

Pain drummed in my head. I tasted alcohol and man on my tongue, the aftertaste of blind drunken lust. The sensations mingled uncertainly, like atoms of a confused molecule, unsure where to go, where to connect.

"Get outta here, kid, before my old lady comes home. Come on, get up!" The voice dispersed the atoms, casting them to the four winds.

* * *

It really did feel rather cosy on this couch. But I kept my eyes closed, ignored the scent of coffee that came from the kitchen. I waited, waited to here the voice, crude and cold and uncaring. I felt hot tears, quite unexpected, burning in my eyes. But then, I felt a touch that I certainly did not expect. It was kind this time, not brutal and full of lust without meaning. There was a cool wash cloth pressed to my face, and I turned over.

Finally, I opened my eyes.

Valentine looked down at me and - dare I hope? - a bit of concern drawing lines in his handsome face. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," I answered softly, sitting up, and blinking in confusion as I found myself nearly stripped naked. I looked at him accusingly. "What happened to my clothes!?"

"They were filthy, so I took them off and threw them out. That was all."

"That was all!?" I imitated, laughing hysterically. "Well, what the hell am I supposed to wear when they question me? A pink tutu and a little bunny hat?"

Vincent was not amused. "I have some clothes for you. They might not fit you, but you ought to be thankful after all I've done with you. I could have shot you then and there."

I blanched. Suddenly, I remembered his cold eyes. I took the cloth from my face and twisted it in my hands. "Th..that was you?"

A nod.

"Well...yeah...I guess I'm pretty thankful..after all, I DID bust my ass for months to get my part down right, to earn myself some decent cash so I could get out of that damn hellhole. But, seems my luck only goes so far." I felt myself get angry again, though I knew it was futile. If I went back to the theatre, I'd have to go back to *that* life... to find that the show was canceled, that all the time I had spent slaving away, acting in the privacy of my rundown little shanty near the outskirts of Midgar--

"You won't have to worry about that," Vincent interrupted. "The company will assure you considerable amount of funding for your time."

"Bull."

"It's true. If they don't, I'll give you my paycheck for this month."

I laughed, sharp and clear in the room. "No way! If you only knew what I used to do--" I cut myself off, laughing, and shaking my head.

"You don't believe me? You don't think I'm that generous?" Vincent countered, leaning forward. I noticed suddenly he had changed his clothes. Very casual, but with a flare that commanded respect and dignity. "Regardless of what you have done in the past, you don't think I haven't been generous? I let you live... I even let you stay in my apartment.. I'm even willing to give you my clothes. I'm quite sure you're very hungry at this point, though now I doubt if I should bother to feed you. You're an ungrateful bastard, with no respect for his elders."

His words cut me to the quick, and I found myself bowing my head in burning, coal-red shame. I said nothing.

"Now," he leaned forward. "I don't want to have an argument so early in the morning. You want to tell me what your name is, so I can present your case before the questioners?"

"Luke," I whispered, then added after a moment's pause. "Luciel." A weird name... so I figured Luke sounded a lot better than a name a lot of people would have laughed at. Though Luke also sounded a bit drab... a name for some retard street kid who made a living off of shining old pervert's shoes.

"Vincent Valentine," the man answered softly, standing up. He offered his hand to shake mine, and his sudden politeness caught my quite off-guard. Then, gingerly, I reached out, shook his hand. His grasp was quite firm, but he relented once he noticed how delicate my hands seemed to appear. I must have seemed so stupid to him, so incredibly frail. I didn't really blame him.

"You shouldn't bother with protecting me," I said, pulling my hand free, and tugging the blanket up well over my stomach. "I'm not worth your trouble."

"Why don't you let me decide that?" Vincent replied smoothly, and he left again, disappearing into his bedroom and came out again with clothes. He tossed them at me. "Go down the hall, over there, to the right and change in the bathroom."

I stood up, covering myself with the bundle of donated apparel, and I fled to the bathroom. I had no need to be ashamed, though, because Vincent had turned away and gazed out the window into the smoggy morning, past the rooftops. I could have sworn his face carried some sort of hidden pain, buried deep beneath layers of cold murderlust and lasting sin.

Then again... with his line of work, he would have been plenty used to it by then.

I picked nervously at the hem of the black turtle-neck, wearing naught but the sneakers last I could afford a pair for myself. I also wore a pair of Vincent's pants. I had managed to attempt to comb my unruly chocolate brown, blonde highlighted hair. Now, I thought, I seemed a bit more like a human being than a colorful freak being dragged around by this dark, frightening man named Vincent.

Buckled neatly in Vincent's leathery car, I once again lavished in the comfort of the vehicle. I laughed, looking over at him. "Boy, I guess they do take care of their employees, though. Tell me, do your tax cuts go to the people or to the numerous useless projects your company starts up?"

Vincent shrugged. "I work. I get my pay. That's how it is."

"Yeah, it's so simple for you people, up top. No, we get to live the shitty life. Why don't you try it for awhile?"

"I have," Vincent said curtly. "But I worked on my own steam, and I got it all the way up here. Hard to believe, isn't it?"

I said nothing, looking away, out the window. His words made me feel inadequate, like now I could never work back up to where I'd gotten before the terrorist attack.

"Any place in particular where you'd like to eat?"

"I don't know. Don't think I've ever been in this part of town."

Vincent nodded, and pulled in finally at one of those cheap little places, y'know, that you'd find all over the world because it was so popular, and it was so stupid because nobody really LIKES the food, but people went there anyway because it was good to represent and support a strong ecomony like Midgar's. But Vincent did not go there. Directly across the street there was another restaurant, a nice Italian one, and Vincent led me there and inside.

We sat at a table in the back, away from the windows. And Vincent ordered us some spaghetti.

I never realized how starved I really was until I looked around. The smell of food, spaghetti sauce... it enveloped me and I gazed, licking my lips, at the plate of a man several tables over. He was eating some sort of jumbo shrimp cazone.

And then I had my own plate. Without even a word of thanks, I merely just dug in, while Vincent delicately began to take his time with his own meal.

"You shouldn't eat so fast," he said.

"Whatever," I told him.

As we walked out back to the car, I blinked, and patted my belly. "God, that was good," I swooned. I sank into the leather seat again, when suddenly a thought hit me. This all seemed very, very wrong, and I felt like a little kid who walked into a witch's house in the middle of the woods and the witch was fattening me up for the pot.

"You're not going to let them kill me, are you?"

"No," Vincent said. "I already told you. I won't let them kill you."

Yeah, I thought. I'm sure. But then again... Finally, I asked, "Why did those terrorists attack the theatre last night?" I climbed back into the door, which Vincent had opened for me and I climbed in. I felt his chilling gaze as he walked around the front of the car, and got in himself. He rested his hands against the steering wheel, and he didn't start the car.

"I'm not at liberty to tell you. But I can tell you this: you can expect a trial within the month, but between then and now, you can be assured that you will not so much as leave my sight."

I had no problems with that. As I looked at him again, I took full notice of his face, the shadows, and the deep mystery that surrounded him. He didn't seem so much as scary now, but downright sexy. As I noticed the deep shadows of his face, the mystery that pervaded in his presence, as though he had some deep secret to hide, I found myself... more or less intrigued.

"It's almost like we're dating," I grinned lustily. "That we have to be stuck together, non-stop... like we're deeply, madly in love." What a retarded thing to say.

"But, of course, we're not," Vincent said evenly. And I knew he really couldn't take a joke. But, I tried to pretend that a saw a small smile on his face. It could have been real, you know? What's the matter with hoping?

"I was only joking," I answered him. "But...yeah.. I guess I didn't tell you... I'm gay."

"I noticed."

"You don't care?"

"People must be what they have to be. I don't feel at all uncomfortable. I'm just going to tell you, straight out, that I don't swing that way. Besides... I'm not allowed to get attached to... To..."

"People?"

"People."

"Your job forbid it or you're just as anti-social as you make yourself out to be?" I couldn't help ask him these questions. I wanted to get to know him... even if he claimed to be straight, I still couldn't help but try to get him to like me, even remotely. I think I felt that he was nice to me because he was a natural gentleman, and by his own beliefs was obligated to be kind. Back then, in my world, I did not believe people were nice just for the sake of being nice. They were nice because one, they wanted something, or two, someone bribed them to. I know, that's a pretty sad way to view life, but that's how I was.

Whatever the case was, Vincent turned his alluring gaze to me, with some amusement. "You ask a lot of questions... now, I don't know who I am worried about more: you, or the other Turks."

"Turks..? Ah..Uh..Turks? Are questioning me?"

"Some of them aren't as bad as I am, believe me."

"No! It's not that... I've met a Turk before. He was drunk off his ass and was bragging about murdering something or other. He and his friends were. They were monsters!" I spluttered, leaning forward, turning to look at him fearfully. I noticed that he'd flinched as though injured from the word 'monster.' "And THEY'RE the ones to question me!?"

"Yes... And the 2nd Lieutenant of the Shinra Army... and the head of the Turks."

"And...that would be...?"

"Me."

"Oh." I felt a little dumb now, but my brow furrowed as I swept my shoulder-length hair out of my face. "But you can't be leader. That's almost laughable. You're too.. too.... ahh... Too much of a gentleman." I changed subjects abrubtly. "You mean to tell me you don't even have a girlfriend?"

"No, I don't have a girlfriend."

"Ever *had* a girlfriend?"

"No."

Luciel, I thought. I think we'd better stop asking the poor man questions. I closed my eyes, leaned my head back, and sighed. I felt disappointed, though determined. This would be a perfect challenge... I'd try every wile I could to get him into my bed, if I could, because he was irresistible. Make no mistake; Vincent Valentine was the most gorgeous man with black hair and deep, deep eyes I'd ever seen. Despite all the shit that went down in the past 48 hours, I was willing to throw in one last adventure before I died.

I had nothing to lose, right?