Nope...still don't own anything except Rynn and a few plot devices. I decided to throw this out there as well.

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Must get to her NOW! His mind screamed at him in tatters and ruin. It was the quiet after an earthquake, and he was feeling the aftermath of it all. Rynn...no. He couldn't allow himself to even say it. I'm giving up. But he didn't know what up was.

It was an easy matter to find Nibelheim. It was at the foot of the Nibel Mountains; Vincent had been there before, and chocobos flew fast even at nighttime. He left the chocobo to fend for itself, trusting it to return home. He would find some other way of getting back. He strode in through the village, ignoring the quaint houses that nestled in the space between the vast mountain range.

The old mansion perched off to the side, like a distrusted foreigner intruding in a circle of friends. It was much too unwieldy for the lovely town, its architecture dismally masculine in the midst of the comforting mother-houses around it. Apple pie and warmth exuded from those homes. He shivered. The mansion made him cold.

And what's inside is worse...

The gate was unlocked, as was the door. No one would ever go in uninvited, unless they were certain of their immunity. The townsfolk abhorred the mansion and Shinra's presence, but they were uneasy about the uncanny house, and stayed away from it.

It was of a mechanical structure; the wrought iron gates were reflected inside by cold sconces that never held torches. A dim chandelier flickered overhead in the foyer. Vincent removed his cloak, grew chill and replaced it. He would need its red cherry cheerfulness before the night was gone. This place should be so beautiful, but it isn't. He rubbed his fingers together, hoping friction would warm them; it didn't help. The warmest thing in the room was his own heart. And that, at this point, is pretty damn cold.

So, where are they? It seemed that there was no one afoot, though he never trusted appearances. Do they heat the house? At all? The interior seemed colder than the exterior, and it had been snowing lightly to welcome him.

"Hello?" he stammered. His emotions had exhausted him and he no longer cared about whatever might jump out at him from the dark corners of this ugly house that should have been lovely.

The old stairs creaked like ghosts when he ascended them, but he kept his resolve and tenebrous shadows could not shake him this time. I me we Rynn Lucrecia I what am I doing here I should not have come. There is nothing for me here, and the echoes seemed to whisper back 'nothing for you here,' even though he hadn't spoken, only thought.

I hope Rynn understands. He turned to the left, hoping it was the way that would lead him to find another living being and triply hoping said being would not be Hojo. If he even qualifies.

But it was not Hojo that he stumbled over then.

She gasped, glasses spilling to the floor while her hair tumbled from its customary clip. He was used to the dazzling looks of Rynn by now, her wonderful smile, and Lucrecia's efficient prettiness was quick and precise like a surgical knife compared to that particular ocean. "V-
Vincent?" and he saw that he was not the only person for whom this derelict place had adverse effects.

"It's me," he said. His swirling thoughts were suddenly silent, like the eye of a storm. "I came to see you. Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine," she said.

He noticed her then. She was in her nightgown; it had been how many months since he had seen her? Three? It was worn and cotton, sensible like the rest of her never was. Something about her appearance snapped at him, but he was too tired to assimilate it. "I missed you," he declared, picking her glasses up from the floor and replacing the clip in her hair. "I couldn't wait to see you, so I took a vacation."

It was dark but she yawned wide and her eyes reflected what little light there was. "It's late, Vincent," she frowned. "Almost one o'clock."

"Yeah, well, you know me."

"Did you mean to travel so late?"

"I made good time," he said, but offered nothing else.

"Well, if I was at all practical, I would tell you to go to bed. There's a spare bedroom up here that you can have."

"And where are you?"

Lucrecia avoided the question by answering, "But I'm not practical," and pulling him into a kiss. It just flooded his quiet mind with more energy to release at some later date.

"Let me make you some tea," she said. "This house isn't very hospitable and you must be cold."

"I was," he responded, but he was still cold inside, where it counted, numb and frozen.

They sat at an uncomfortable table in the tiny kitchen. Vincent thought the best thing about the flight from Midgar, the best thing all night, was the tea. She would only drink the most organic of blends. I guess it's because she is a scientist and environmentally conscious, though I wonder how someone as fluttery as her ever became one.

Dancing there in the kitchen, she asked him in a combination of steps why he was so pensive. "I was just wondering how someone like you ever became a scientist. I would never imagine you in a laboratory setting, all serious. The strictest thing about you is those silly glasses that you usually don't wear and when you do they just fall off your head."

"Well," she bristled, "one could say the same about you. The way you look, talk, dress, act...I would label you a poet for sure, or an actor or something...but never an assassin, a spy, a thief, a Turk."

"I suppose," he apologized, for it was true, "that we must save a part of ourselves, hold it away from our occupations. This part is the truest part of us, but it is preserved and hidden. Sometimes we don't even know it is there." Just like my feelings for Rynn. Is that truer, then, than my love for Lucrecia?

"Perhaps you are right." She sipped her tea, yawning, and said, "I'm off to bed. I have to wake up in two hours, you know. Some sleep could be beneficial."

"I'll stay here for now," he said. She's beautiful Vincent and why did you ever put her off, or whatever? Rynn, memories, sunflowers bending to the sunrise, light streaming in through windows, Midgar at moonrise. Scattered images appealed to him one by one, pleading with him to return. No I can't, and he thought, Lucrecia, glass bottles, typed love letters so she could read my handwriting, out here in cold Nibelheim, a wheel in the Shinra automobile. But before he could process this the hard icy grip of Sleep caught him in its machinery.

He awoke to the comfort of a wooden tabletop and an icy mug of chilled tea. He shivered out the crick in his neck and wrapped himself in a hug.

"Well, well. I see our young Turk has had a nap?" Any semblance of comfort dissipated.

Hojo. The man presided over him in his sneering lab coat finery. What a fine morning. I didn't wake up on the wrong side of the bed because there was no bed to wake up on. "Yurch bleah," he muttered as an alternative to the swears he was thinking at the surrogate-man. A yawn split his face apart as Hojo laughed thick with derision.

"So, Vincent, it appears you are here to be informed of my progress and report back to Shinra. Would you like to see my project, or would you like to stew here in a pile of your own drool?"

"Trif gheat hurrp," he replied, nearly conversationally. Fuck you, you half-cocked rifle. I'd love to blow your brains all over this kitchen...for the sake of science.

"I will ready the lab for an inspection. You may come down at your leisure as long as you do not inflict your clumsiness upon any of my valuable equipment."

Your valuable equipment? Compensating for something? Vincent was far from clumsy, but Hojo delighted in slighting his intellect and charm whenever he could.

Cackling, Hojo left the room while Vincent hauled himself out of bed and designed an experiment (without a control group) to prove his theory that ridding the world of a certain breed of insect would cause everything in his life to be better. He was mentally drawing up a Shinra funding proposal sheet while washing his face when Lucrecia flounced in, looking far too perky for someone benefitting from two hours' worth of sleep.

"Good morning sunshine!" she cried, though there was no sunshine anywhere near the Turk. "I prepared some breakfast for you. I hope it's the right temperature." Vincent knew that the temperature, as far as Lucrecia's cooking was involved, was the last priority on his list of things to be unsure about. After all, he had once killed a man with one of her brownies- bricks to be more exact. Actually, did I build a house for someone with those? I could have.

He gingerly tested the food on his plate. If it looks like food, it could still be the germ mold bacteria slime that was probably Hojo's ancestors- or worse, descendants. He thought then of Rynn, for some heart mystery reason, and cringed. He would rather eat Lucrecia's food for the rest of his life and put up with a scum crud like Hojo than face Rynn again, even if it was only in his mind.

"Lucrecia!" Hojo actually ran in, much to Vincent's amusement. "Quit socializing! I need you in the lab. Emergency! You! Don't come into my domain until later. Get some sleep or something, in a bed this time. Unless you prefer the table?"

"Blaff prets dase," mumbled Vincent, even though he was hardly half-asleep anymore. It was better than saying what he really thought to the good doctor, if said doctor, even just in an expression, could ever be classified as good.

"Oh, Vincent!" said Lucrecia. "I'm sorry to leave you at such a time, but we'll soon be reunited..."

This last was stated so slyly that Hojo glared bright with dark envy at Vincent. Jealously he replied, drily, "Yes, we will give you a welcome that will make you forget the slovenliness of Midgar!" This did not seem like a promise but rather a threat to Vincent, who only responded in thought. Raspberries and pears bursting in my mouth with flavor, Rynn and her laughter, us kissing fearlessly in the streets. Will I forget that, ever?

"Is there a phone around here I can use to call the office?" he asked.

"There is one in the living room," said Lucrecia. "Down the hall and to the left, if you're lost." Vincent knew he was lost anyway, but didn't bother to mention it. She'd never understand.

They went their separate ways, Hojo still chuckling about his hearty greeting; he was the type of man who was obliged to laugh at his own jokes because no one else would, Vincent still mostly unreflective, like a mirror too shattered to hold an image. But he had to keep on, and press he did, buttons on a phone calling home too soon.

"Yeah," spoke the comforts of home as it picked up. Ungracious, perhaps, but still better than the cold warmth of Nibelheim's mansion.

"Tseng?" Thank Holy it's him and not some well-meant idiot- or worse, Rynn. "It's me. I'm in Nibelheim. Can you do me a favor?"

"Sure, boss, what?" He sounds so...removed. Not even agitated, just strange and here Tseng saw again the image flashing in his mind of Vincent leaving with his arm around Rynn. She's not here yet. Is she coming in today?

Vincent replied, "I need to send a message from here to...to Rynn..." and Tseng could tell he was heart-hurt, wounded and demoralized and bewildered.

I'm feeling confused myself; how the hell did he get to Nibelheim so fast? "To Rynn? Why?"

"Amber apples and elegant writing, she told me she loved it..."

Nah, my boss can't be nuts. Uhh, um, well- "Who are you and what have you done with the levelheaded Vincent Valentine?"

"That's my secret, Tseng," his levelheaded boss laughed. "I'm not really at all, never have been. It's me, now, more than it has ever been."

"Boss, you're a great Turk. Don't throw that away. Take your vacation and come back like you always were."

"Like I never was? Trapped in someone else's personality until I wanted to scream the injustice of it?" His oblique message tugged at some heinous thought in the back of Tseng's mind that he refused to acknowledge.

"So what are you saying?" Cautious, Tseng. This is Danger you're meeting, very nearly face to face.

Vincent said, "Moonrising flowers of the sun and finally opened its buds," and Tseng knew the story, that they had gone off and had a grand time, only to scare Vincent away to Nibelheim and the arms of something safer and more familiar, even if it was harder, harsher and less worthy of soft love. For as much as Lucrecia appeared like a creature startled out of fantasy, she was still a practical scientist, still had that exterior glaze of ice that glared like something fiercely chilled at whatever threatened it; Tseng knew that look all too well, and, if he is really what he says he is, which now makes more sense (for he had seen it in him, under him, that passion and deep wording manipulation, while over him was that adamantine armour of spikes and bullets and a certain blue uniform) he is being frozen to death right now by Lucrecia's unbecoming flightiness that was once a fetish of his, and wishing for Rynn very badly. Even if my own heart wants to kill me for aiding and abetting his.

Tseng pitied Vincent and the position he was in, stuck between two lovely women though he was. For the first time in his life he actually felt close to him as a person, as if he was talking to Vincent Valentine, who was not just the Turk whom everyone tried (and usually failed) to emulate.

"I don't know, Tseng," Vincent finally concluded. "I guess I'll just have to figure it out for myself. Thanks for listening. I won't take up any more of your time; after all, one of us has to run the Turks, and right now, it's not me..."

But Tseng couldn't let go and resume his duties until he knew. It will hurt if it's the answer I think it is. Is he coming back? This sounds more like a long farewell than anything. Ave atque vale? "Do you love her, Vincent?" It was the first time he'd addressed Vincent as himself, as if they were equals or something equally silly.

Right before the phone ended its plummet downwards to its cradle, he heard the softest of whispers as a reply. There was a click, and the line went dead. Tseng sighed as he thought of all the comforting he would have to do when Rynn heard, because he wouldn't lie to her. All their phone calls were recorded, and he would let her listen, whenever she felt ready. Or whenever she asked.

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I hope you liked it! It's getting there...two more chapters to go...