Vincent Valentine

The PHS was ringing, but exhaustion kept him from moving to answer it. His skin had been peeled off, stripped to the bone, and then fitted back on like a glove. He knew it had. There was blood to prove it.

And then it had gone quiet. Jenova was gone, and Vincent Valentine didn't need two guesses to figure out where her concentration had gone. Cid was coming to get him. He was going to bring him to where Cloud Strife was. Clearly, Jenova was going to bring the others, as well. She had some rounding up to do, and not a lot of time in which to do it.

For himself, he had been ready to face her for years. Cloud had always said no, no, not yet, we don't have what it takes to fight her. She had gotten stronger, and all the while, Vincent had wondered what made Cloud think that something was going to come along to make their fight against her any easier.

Over the years, Vincent had gained great respect and fondness for Tifa Lockheart. But when she had told him, in a tight, controlled voice, that Sephiroth had returned, he'd immediately thought that she'd spent too much time with Cloud Strife and had finally lost her mind.

He had seen Lucrecia's son die, and his death had been a mercy. Sephiroth had been an unhappy, dangerous animal that needed to be put down. Helping to accomplish this had been part of Vincent's penance.

He could recall Lucrecia's words to him: "I wanted to die... But the Jenova inside me wouldn't let me die."

Jenova wouldn't let any of them die so easily, just as she wouldn't let them live. But Vincent was certain that Sephiroth had died. He had never, ever questioned it.

However, Tifa hadn't told him that Sephiroth had been alive this entire time. She'd said that he had returned.

Cloning...

Vincent was filled with disgusted anger. Why couldn't anyone ever leave well enough alone? As much as he had hated Hojo's mad son, he had pitied Lucrecia's lost child. Her voice came to him again:

My dear, dear child. Ever since he was born I never got to hold him, even once...

Likely she'd never even touched him. Vincent had, though, and in the murky haze that was his memory of Hojo's lab, the young boy still stood out; a bright, terrible secret.


Vincent had awoken with his skin prickling, which was nothing unusual in itself. The difference was that this time he felt that way because someone was staring at him. He could feel the other person's heavy gaze.

Before opening his eyes, he very carefully tested the metal bands over his wrists. Neither budged, and he was startled by the clink of the left one. The memory of what Hojo had done to him came flooding back, accompanied by the usual sick desperation. It wasn't just the claw that was different; his entire body was different. He no longer needed to eat, for one thing, and sleep was more of a self-induced trance.

"They won't break," came a quiet voice from across the room. "That's alloy. It's too strong."

The voice was unfamiliar. Vincent was halfway convinced that he was hallucinating, because the voice also sounded young.

"He's nothing if not thorough, Hojo is."

Finally, curiosity won out over apprehension, and Vincent opened his eyes slightly. The light was directly over him, and he instinctively tried to throw his arm over his eyes. He was met with resistance and another clink of metal as the claw came in contact with the metal loop again. He shut his eyes tight.

"That's instinctual behavior," the voice said. "You know you can't move your arms, but you tried to anyway. It's because you can't help it."

The light had given him a blinding headache, and Vincent was still almost certain that he was dreaming.

"Thank you for that keen observation, my precocious youngster," he tried to say, but his sarcasm was as tapped out as he was, and anyway, all that came out was a raspy whisper.

"Your throat is dry from lack of use, not dehydration. You have an I.V. drip." Vincent felt a slight, stinging pull in the crook of his right arm, and he guessed that his visitor had touched the I.V. lineor at least he had dreamed that he or she had. "There's fluid in there and it goes into your blood. That's where it goes after a while when you drink water anyway. I.V. just skips the drinking part."

There was something eerie about this childish voice, something in the way it droned these facts like a machine, that unnerved him. This was starting to feel more like a nightmare than a dream. Vincent wasn't ready to open his eyes yet.

"You have a scar on your arm."

He froze when he felt the child's finger run down the length of his human arm.

"Scarring is the body's way of healing itself. First the blood clots. But not if you have a sickness." He heard the child take a step back. "I saw it happen with monkeys. If you have a blood sickness, the blood doesn't clot, and you bleed to death."

"Hemophilia," Vincent rasped.

"I know what it's called," the voice answered coldly.

The change in tone made Vincent to decide to finally open his eyes again. He eased them open very slowly, letting them adjust a little at a time to the light. They watered and stung anyway, but he could make out a shape to his right.

"Pupils dilate in the dark to let more light in, and they contract in the light to block it out, like a camera lens. When the light of an image hits your retina, it's upside down. The optic nerve puts it back the right way and sends it to your brain."

The figure moved towards light switch by the door. "The cornea is full of nerves. It hurts when you peel it back. But it regenerates. The vitreos is in the middle of your eyes. It's like egg whites when you cut it open. I can turn the light down if you want to look around."

Vincent did want to look around, but more than that, he now wanted to get away from this child. There was something wrong with that voice; no child should be able to talk so detachedly about cutting someone's eye open.

The lights went down, and Vincent found he could make out shapes in the lab. The shapes and all the noises were familiar. Hojo had been away for days. Vincent had stopped caring years ago. But the child...this was different. This made him nervous.

He heard more soft footsteps, and then the child was at his side again. Vincent could now see him clearly, and the first thing that struck him was how disproportionately adult the boy was. It wasn't just that his proportions were slightly strange (though they were: he had the unnerving dimensions and balance of an adult,) it was his eyes. They were green, cool, and clinical. He couldn't have been more than seven years old.

Vincent guessed that this child would turn heads if he walked down the street, but he had the creeping suspicion that the boy had never walked down a public street before. He wore white scrubs like everyone else, and his hair was as black as onyx. His eyes cast a very slight glow.

"Mako," Vincent said.

"Mako is the energy of the Planet. When it is condensed it becomes materia, and if you are lucky enough to have it injected into..."

"You should read more books," Vincent said suddenly. Listening to this child was like listening to a college lecture.

The boy frowned and looked indignant. "I read every day."

Vincent had a sudden intuition. "You should read books other than what Hojo tells you to read," he said. He had suddenly realized that this was Hojo's student, and probably his successor. "If you want to be strong..." he began.

"I am strong," the boy said, and there was an edge of anger in his voice.

Vincent looked at him, still chilled by his detachment, but unimpressed by his anger. He doubted that this young boy could do anything to him that would even come close to Hojo's "experiments." He decided to venture another intuition.

"If you did more of what interested you and less of what you were ordered to do...that would be real strength."

The boy looked at him quizzically.

Take that, Hojo, Vincent thought. And he only hoped that it wouldn't cause trouble for the child.

The boy stared at him for a moment with a searching look. "I'm Sephiroth," he said suddenly.

"Vincent."

"Vincent Valentine, I know. I looked at your chart."

"Tree of Life," Vincent said.

The boy blinked. Something had caught him off guard. He tilted his head to the side and asked, "What does that mean?"

Vincent raised his eyebrows and tried to smile, and although he was sure he looked quite sinister, he didn't think this boy would be intimidated in the least. "You mean to say that there's something you don't know?"

To his surprise, the child smiled back, though only slightly. "You made a reference I didn't understand. Does it have to do with me?"

Something about the question sounded hopeful, though the boy tried to hide it. Now Vincent felt he wanted to give him this information, but when he searched his brain, he found that he wasn't sure exactly what the name meant. But he suddenly didn't want to let the boy down, so he decided he would tell him what little he did know.

"The Sephiroth are the ten spheres that make up the Tree of Life," he said. "A map of creation, all the numbers and letters that make up the universe."

Sephiroth looked somewhat intrigued and somewhat suspicious. "I've never heard of this."

"Then you should look it up and read about it," Vincent said. "I know there's a library..."

"Hojo doesn't allow me!" Sephiroth said, and he drove his fist into his palm in frustration. "And...he knows I love to read."

Vincent smiled. "One day you'll be more powerful than Hojo is," he said. "Then you can overrule his laws."

Sephiroth turned his eyes back to Vincent, and for the first time, Vincent noticed that the pupils were strange, almost catlike. Another surge of anger threatened the tight seal he had placed over the well of it years ago. Hojo was putting mutating cells into children now.

"Yes, but in the meantime, there are things that are kept from me," Sephiroth said. His eyes narrowed and he looked critically at Vincent. "You knew something I didn't know," he said. "It's possible that you know more things that I don't know."

Vincent hadn't felt anything other than half-formed, primitive emotions in so long that he was surprised at the pang of wistful nostalgia he now felt. Children were so innocently confident that they knew everything, until they learned something new, and then they went back to thinking that they knew everything again. This child, who had grown up in a laboratory under Hojo's rule, with little or no exposure to the outside world, was no exception.

"I could come back when Hojo is away again," Sephiroth said.

There was an eager quality to his voice, and he sounded slightly unsure. Vincent had been trained to detect vulnerability in order to exploit it. He didn't want to exploit it now, but he knew he'd heard something rare: a hint of humanity in this child. The boy wasn't used to being told "no," but Vincent was a stranger, and strangers were unpredictable. There was probably more humanity somewhere in him, buried under a layer of frost. Vincent wondered if he could find it.

"I don't know much," Vincent said, "but I'm willing to tell you things that I do know. But I would hate for you to get into trouble with Hojo."

Sephiroth glared at him. "Hojo thwarts me," he said. "He doesn't scare me."

He should, Vincent thought, but gave no voice to this. Sephiroth wouldn't believe him anyway.

"I think I will come back when I can," Sephiroth said. "I'm sure you don't know as much as I do, but you must know some things."

Vincent nodded wearily; this bright, strong child made him feel as used up as he knew he was. "Some things," he agreed.

He wanted to ask more about Hojo, but he refrained. Sephiroth might suspect him if he did. But he was curious as to how this child had come to be Hojo's student, living in his lab.

"Where are your parents?" he asked.

Sephiroth shrugged. "My mother is Jenova. She died right after she gave birth to me. My father left her before I was born." He said these things with a practiced (scripted, Vincent guessed) calm.

Unaware of how much the name of Jenova would come to mean to him in the future, Vincent merely filed it away in the back of his mind. Because he had never known how much time had passed between Hojo's capture of him and Sephiroth's first visit, it had taken him years to realize that Sephiroth was not the son of Jenova, who was believed at the time to be the last Ancient. And it would be many years before he realized that Sephiroth was Lucrecia's son.

"Pretty name, Jenova," Vincent commented.

Sephiroth shrugged. "I don't know anything else about her. I asked Hojo once and he said I had more important things to think about."

So, Hojo had most likely killed the boy's parents and taken him to the lab. He was brainwashing the child that his parents no longer mattered. The whole thing was disgusting.

"Hojo is an ass-licker," Vincent murmured. "A psychotic, dickless ass-licker."

Sephiroth tilted his head, and the corners of his lips drew up in a surprisingly pretty smirk. "Ass-licker," he repeated. "That's funny. What's dickless?"

Caught swearing in front of a child, at first Vincent was shocked at himself. Ah, what the hell? he figured. This boy needed something to laugh about. He needed to laugh at Hojo. "You know what men have that women don't?"

Sephiroth frowned. "The Y chromosome?"

Vincent fought the urge to laugh at this boy. "Aside from that."

"Male reproductive organs?"

Vincent smirked and looked away. This clever child would figure it out.

"Oh," Sephiroth said, after a moment. "The suffix, '-less', without." A pause, then: "Oh! Dickless! Hojo is dickless! That's funny. That's very funny!"

There was a dry, hitching sound, and Vincent looked at the boy. He was grinning, showing perfectly straight, white teeth. Vincent realized that the child was starting to laugh.

"Haha!" Sephiroth said. He thought about it again. "Ha! That's funny!" And broke down into honest, childish giggles.

Sephiroth had come to him only a few more times after the initial visit. Vincent had never had a chance to tell him much, but Sephiroth was eager and interesting. Hojo had eventually found out about their visits, and though he never said so, Vincent knew that this was the reason he'd needed to finally lock him away.

Vincent could still remember the sound of the child's laughter; he had heard it on a few more, though rare, occasions. It was the only thing about him that was still seven years old.

The next time Vincent looked into those cool, green eyes, it was over the blade of the Masamune as Aerith slumped over and fell into Cloud Strife's arms.


Outside of his one small room, Vincent heard the distant rumble of the Highwind. The familiar sound made his stomach clench with nerves. He had spent many long, dark days on that airship, waiting for the day to come when he would have to face down Sephiroth with the rest of Avalanche. Although it wasn't Sephiroth he was afraid he'd have to face this time, he knew that he was going to another battle, likely for the Planet again. And chances were good that at least part of the war would be fought in his own body.

It was no use lying around on the floor and waiting. With great effort, Vincent pulled himself up to his knees and looked around the room. There was blood everywhere. He would meet the others outside rather than have them come in and see this mess.

The Highwind was coming in fast, and Vincent got up to change his clothes.

Jenova remained silent.


Cloud Strife

"The crowd roars

It's deep and so unhealthy

The rest you know

I feel the hands that felt me

Cold hands

Your hands

Cover my mouth

While I'm staring into bright lights..."

Malpractice - Faith No More


There was no sun, there was no moon, there were no stars, and nothing to tell day from night. There was only Mako green and fluorescent white. The clink of metal and the whisper of white cotton starched with dried blood. Latex on his arm and the sting of the needle, and sometimes, but only rarely, the gloves would come off and the doctor would touch with clinically appreciative hands.

He would ask no questions, but he would touch. There were no words to say to this, and just one thought: one of these days, when the hands came down on him again, he would be ready.

And there was the scientist's hand (doctor, he calls himself doctor...) dry and pale under the white light; old, dark blood lining the cracks in his skin, and under his fingernails...

He couldn't scream ("I'm tired of your noise, it keeps me from concentrating...") and

At least remember my name! It's...

...metal loops had clinked into place over his wrists, but someday the doctor would forget...

Do you remember your name? Do you know who you are...?")

...and he would be ready...

You are no one...And now you belong to her...")

...and there would a scalpel or scissors or any of the many sharp things the doctor kept by his table and...

You don't have a name...you are forfeit...to Jenova...")

...This time, he would be ready. He would slither one hand out from under the metal loop, and when the doctor leaned over him and his throat was exposed he would...he had to...

My name...It's...

Maybe he didn't have a name after all, but the doctor did. The doctor called himself...


Sephiroth

The Tempest was cutting through the night sky, and the Lockheart girl had finally dropped off to sleep. Her bloodshot, angry eyes had closed even as she'd stared at him, vowing, he knew, to stay awake and keep watch. She slumped in her seat against the window as the lights from outside of the airship blinked across her features. Her fist was still clenched, and the Masamune was at her side.

Her hatred for him was tiring her out. Sephiroth could see it. It took energy to hate, more energy than it did to just fight. Her fear had kept her alert, but her passion had worn her down. Her hands were calloused and her arms and legs were firm: this girl was a fighter, and her technique was probably good, but her emotions were her undoing.

Strife had fallen asleep with very little struggle, and was now sprawled on the floor, on his back, arms thrown out to the sides. This struck Sephiroth as a very unlikely position and he was surprised that, even asleep, he left himself so vulnerable. That certainly wasn't SOLDIER training.

Keeping watch on Sephiroth nowas laughable as it waswas Reeve. Barret Wallace, Nanaki and Cid had gone on in the Highwind. And so Reeve sat on the floor of the airship with his knees drawn up to his chest, resting his chin on them. Tifa Lockheart would have been better served to have let the Turks guard him, if she thought it was necessary. But the Turks were in the cockpit, and anyway, Sephiroth hadn't missed the glances between Elena and Tifa. Clearly, the blond Turk resented Cloud Strife. And clearly, Tifa Lockheart couldn't trust her because of that.

These people couldn't even call themselves a fighting team, and they expected to win against Jenova. They would be a dismal mess on the battlefield, and Sephiroth knew that Lockheart would be the first one to die after Jenova got rid of Cloud Strife. By the Planet, he could see perfectly how Jenova would do it. Strife first, and she would use his body. Then Lockheart, because she would be the closest to him and would be too stupidly emotional to run. This would anger Barret Wallace, and he would be next. Reeve would get in the way by trying to help, and he wouldn't last a moment.

It might be easier to kill Cloud Strife before Jenova made her move. In fact, he knew it would be easier, if only he could do it right here, right now, while Strife was asleep and unaware. None of them would have a prayer of stopping him. Reeve Skye, to stop him if he tried? Reeve Skye had some valor, but was powerless. Sephiroth could break Strife's neck before Reeve would even think to get up off the floor.

And then there was Strife himself. Certainly it would be easy to kill him while he slept, but if he should wake up and fight back? Sephiroth knew he'd be safer in overestimating him than underestimating him. Something in Strifewhether it had been Jenova cells, Mako or simple righteous angerhad allowed him to throw Sephiroth into the Lifestream. Strife, a sixteen year old SOLDIER reject, had managed to kill him once, with no outside help.

And Sephiroth had a good idea that Strife's well of will and strength actually had little to do with Jenova, anyway. As odd as it seemed to him, Cloud Strife was a force, a bizarre creation of power and pathos. It was nearly unthinkable that this confused, unpredictable man sleeping sprawled out on the floor was a leader; but it was so. If the people around him didn't like him, they at least gave him grudging respect. It was unlikely that, even if he could kill Cloud Strife later on, he could do so without having to fight off the rest of them.

And more problematic was the fact that if he did that, he would be depriving Tifa Lockheart of the one thing he knew he owed her: a choice.

So there would have to be another way.

He closed his eyes in order to think better, to plan a possible course of action for when Jenova chose to act. He felt he knew her better than anyone, and had a chance of predicting her. If he could get the others out of the way, or even just use them peripherally, he could handle her more easily.

Sephiroth was distracted by a light scratching sound, and he opened his eyes to see Strife clenching and unclenching his hand against the floor. Reeve had noticed, too, and was watching the sleeping man a bit nervously.

Strife made some half-formed sound of distress, and Tifa Lockheart's eyes flew open. Immediately after looking at Strife, her eyes were on Sephiroth, accusing. It was almost as if she was daring him to try something, or to even say something. Sephiroth stared back coldly. If she wanted to waste her time on him instead of taking care of the problem, that was also her choice.

It was Reeve who finally pulled himself up to his knees and made as if to reach for Strife, to shake him awake.

"Don't," Tifa whispered.

Reeve looked up at her questioningly.

"He'll kill you," she said. "He's..." She stopped to glare at Sephiroth again, hating him for being there to hear this. "He's somewhere else."

Sephiroth took another look at Strife, ignoring Lockheart's hateful gaze. The outstretched arms, rigid stillness, and overall attitude suddenly made sense, and he knew exactly where Cloud Strife was just then. He knew better than Tifa Lockheart, and he also had a pretty good idea of what might come next. Sephiroth didn't know how often the two had shared a bed and what she might have seen, and he didn't care to know. She was about to make a big mistake. Sephiroth saw it the moment before she did.

"Hojo!" Strife gasped, and before Tifa or Reeve even knew where to look, he had sat up, eyes vacant but still searching, and scrambled backwards. He saw the Masamune and grabbed it.

Sephiroth felt slower than he ever remembered feeling, but he was still faster than anyone in the room, and he darted across the room and swiped the Masamune away with his forearm, batting it out of Strife's hands before it could do any damage.

Strife dove at him like a cornered animal. Sephiroth held his hand up and pushed him back down to the floor, keeping his hand flat on the other man's chest.

"Your name is Cloud Strife," he said. "Hojo is dead." As he made this last statement, he hoped it was true.

Strife's eyes met Sephiroth's briefly, and then darted away. Then they turned back to him, and Sephiroth saw the dawning of horror in them. It was a different sort of horror than how the others looked at him. This was more familiar to him. He knew exactly what to do with this brand.

"Cadet," he said in a cool voice, "settle down."

"General," Strife said. He sat up, disoriented, and made as if to flatten his hair self-consciously. "General, sir..."

"Get away from him."

Tifa Lockheart was glaring at him again, running her finger over the armor under her sleeve, where she kept materia. Sephiroth shrugged coolly. Perhaps she could handle the situation at this point, and if not, then it would be her problem. He backed off and stood up.

Strife glanced at Tifa, then back to Sephiroth. He shut his eyes and jerked back, and Sephiroth could clearly see him trying to flip the page from the past to the present. Another look to Tifa, and another involuntary twitch.

"Tifa?" he asked. Twitch. "Tifa?"

"Sleep," she answered, and hit him with mastered status materia. Strife went back down as if someone had knocked him on the head.

Sephiroth wondered if Strife would have been better served if left awake to deal with these issues, but again, it was not his place to offer suggestions. He would let them figure this out on their own. For that matter, he doubted that Strife would live long enough to deal with them, so maybe it was better if he just slept through the whole thing.

Sephiroth was suddenly aware of Reisei's approaching presence as she made her way down the passageway. She came into the room quietly, and Lockheart's eyes narrowed when she saw her, too.

"Hullo," the old woman said.

"What is it, Rei?" Tifa asked.

"I need to tell you a few things. Mostly I need to tell Sephiroth a few things." She looked warily, almost guiltily at Lockheart. "If I may?"

"Miss Lockheart can stay," Sephiroth said.

Lockheart looked at him with eyes full of defiance. "I don't need your permission," she hissed. Then she cast her eyes downward and looked at Strife, but Sephiroth could see clearly that her looking away was a stand-down. She was still afraid of him.

"Thanks," the old woman said, and she sat down on the floor. She looked at Reeve.

Sephiroth shrugged. "He can stay, too."

Reisei nodded. She wanted to speak, but she seemed unsure. The look of uncertainty was pathetic and strangely sad on her wrinkled face.

"Go on," Sephiroth said, and it came out sounding like an order, which he hadn't meant.

Reisei took a breath. "Sephiroth, do you know why your hair is white?"

Sephiroth raised an eyebrow in surprise. He recalled their last conversation, and how she had distracted him and thrown him off his train of thought by interrupting him, and he vowed to himself that he wouldn't allow her to do it again. Her way of talking in riddles and questions was annoying.

"It's been that way since I was a child," he said. "Because of the JenovaOh. I see."

Reisei smiled wistfully. "In your first body."

"Yes, I am aware of that." His voice sounded clipped and chilly, but he'd meant for it to that time.

"This time, it's white for the same reason that I have mostly white hair. It's aging." She cast her eyes downward. "You're aging. Just like me."

At that moment, Sephiroth wished with everything in him that Lockheart and Reeve had gone elsewhere. He was completely at a loss, and it annoyed him to no end that there were people there to witness it.

"I see," he said. "I...Well, I suppose I have no idea how old I am. Or rather, how old this body is. My memories are what they were when I was twenty five."

"Your chronological age doesn't matter," Reisei said. "You were dead and in the Lifestream for a long time. Your body is just trying to catch up with that."

He heard Tifa Lockheart's quick intake of breath, as if something had suddenly dawned on her. He glanced at her. Her eyes were wide as she stared at him, but she quickly looked away.

"Go on," Sephiroth said to Reisei.

"This is what's happening to me," she said. "I...I guess I don't know who or what I am. Tifa knows all about this. I have some memories from...I have some of someone else's memories, but different DNA. I was in the Lifestream, too, and I came back in this body. I don't even know how long ago, just that when I came to Cloud and Tifa and everyone, I was...or I mean, I looked a lot younger. But as for meI mean, as for where I amI mostly remember the Lifestream. Chronologically, that's where I am. So, since your body believes everything you tell it..."

"It's speeding up to catch up with you," Sephiroth finished.

He wondered how much longer he had. A moment after, he realized that he wasn't terribly concerned. But, he supposed, it would be good to be useful and finish this important task, and perhaps rid the world of Jenova. He guessed he owed it to the Planet. He was indebted to Cloud Strife, as well, but it might be better to just put him out of his misery. He wondered if he would be able to give Strife a choice. It could also be that Jenova would kill Strife first and solve Sephiroth's quandary. He would have to wait and see.

"Hmm," he said.

"Mm," Reisei agreed. "I just wanted to let you know."