Dying is Harder
a post-FFVII: Dirge of Cerberus fanfiction by Tripleguess
Second in the Radiance collection
Possible mild spoilers for DoC
Genre: Drama/Character
Rated PG+ for atmosphere
September 7, 2006

Summary: It wasn't your typical bouquet.

He stared morosely at the mansion looming over him. Here, in this place, the bright spring weather annoyed him. Shinra Mansion should always be clothed in shadows and clouds. The sunlight had no business here.

It's just an assignment, he rationalized as he pushed the courtyard gates open. Reeve wants to know if old Shinra hid anything about DeepGround in the lab's databases, that's all.

He could have asked for another assignment, traded jobs with someone else. In fact, he knew one WRO agent who would've jumped at the chance, if only to spare him.

He put the thought aside, as it discomfited him, and made his way to the lab. No one now living knew it as well as he did.

It was dimly lit. Cobwebs wreathed the ceiling and shrouded the weeping ghosts in every corner.

He felt right at home.

He brushed webbing from a keyboard and plugged in Reeve's new toy, a geodesic spheroid. The gadget beeped cooperatively and began downloading data.

The air was cold... cold and clammy. The chill seemed to seep into his very bones. He could almost feel his heart slowing.

The spheroid's insistent beeping broke his reverie. It was done. He plugged it into the next computer, straightened... and sensed a presence behind him. He whirled, coming face to face with a reflection. His own image stared warily at him from the surface of an inactive projection screen.

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was getting paranoid.

He switched the spheroid several more times. Dark thoughts still beckoned, but the sensation of an unseen presence remained so strong that he couldn't heed them. He spent the next two hours fighting the urge to look behind -- a battle he often lost only to be greeted by cobwebs and shadows. By the time the data gathering was over, he was glad to leave.

He could have gone back the way he came, but something drew him to the sewer exit.

It's been months. There might be monsters. I can clear some on the way out, make the mansion safer for other agents.

Right.

He felt eyes following him every step of the way, from the moment he left the elevator until water splashed over his boots. Maybe the place really was haunted. He refused to whirl around any more, but he did sneak a glance or two over his shoulder, hiding the looks behind his unkempt hair.

Nothing.

He shook himself mentally. A very familiar little cul-de-sac was drawing nearer with every step.

Might be... monsters... in there...

There'd been one thirty years ago, after all.

A black box, half awash in sewage, red cross gleaming dully in the subterranean chamber. He approached the object as though hypnotized. One hand reached out of its own accord... hesitated...

...raised the lid.

His eyes widened; the lid slipped into the water with a splash.

Someone had evidently thought it worthwhile to uproot every thistle on the mansion grounds and cram it into the coffin. And not just any thistles, but prime specimens of the Bahamut variety -- so named for their flame-colored blooms and rapier spines.

Nestled amongst the fearsome plants was a scrap of paper. Intrigued, he fished it out with his bronze-sheathed left hand. He had to squint to make out the scrawled writing, but the effort proved worthwhile.

"Don't even think about it."

It wasn't signed, but it might as well have been. He stared at it, then at the thistles. It was all so ludicrous -- the box, the spines, the flowers, the terse injunction -- that he could only laugh. The sewers themselves seemed shocked by the sound, quiet and reluctant as it was. Perhaps it also broke some spell he hadn't known he was under, for his heart lightened and the shadows retreated a little.

He really hadn't intended to, well, do what he'd done twice before. Still, it was oddly reassuring to know that any actual attempt at a third encore would be opposed.

He emerged into sunlight still shaking his head. He hadn't run across a single monster.

X X X

Reeve met him at the door of the WRO office, worry creasing his brow. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Vincent assured him. He looked over Reeve's shoulder. Another WRO agent was sprawled across two armless office chairs, feet kicking in time to her Walkman music. The undignified position rather clashed with her spotless uniform. Her eyes were closed.

He gave the spheroid to Reeve. "I downloaded everything. There should be no need to go back."

"You're sure you didn't miss any hidden databanks?" Reeve cradled the spheroid anxiously, like a mother with her newborn. "We need every scrap of information we can get if we're to rehabilitate the remaining DeepGround soldiers. Shelke's not the only one, you know."

"Hmph." Vincent tilted his head at the spheroid. His tone was sour. "Don't forget who I used to work for."

He stepped past Reeve and headed for the coffee pot. He hoped it was at least strong and black. Anything resembling flavor was too much to ask of office brew.

He paused beside the WRO agent and grabbed her wrist.

"Hey!" She bolted upright as he deftly pushed her uniform sleeve elbow high, baring her forearm.

Not a scratch.

"It's mine!" she protested, yanking free to clutch her Walkman possessively. "Bought and paid for with hard-earned WRO wages! Get your own portable!"

Puzzled, he caught her other wrist, earning a second yelp.

"Vincent Valentine, if you don't unhand me right now, I'll --"

He scrutinized her other arm. Nothing.

"Sorry, Yuffie." He let her snatch her wrist back and went to the cupboard to scrounge up a cup. He could feel her glare heating the back of his neck. "My mistake."

The proverbial cupboard was bare, but the sink was piled high with dirty cocoa mugs. And the perpetrator was probably 5'2" and Wutaian. He settled for a styrofoam cup and helped himself to the coffee.

"Did you have any problems?" Reeve called. He was already at his computer, hands flying over the keyboard as he began the long process of evaluating the spheroid's contents.

"None worth mentioning." The coffee, to Vincent's surprise, was good. Someone must have brought their own instead of using the long-expired office grind. He glanced at Yuffie. She was lost to the world again, one arm flung over her face as she hummed along with the Walkman.

"Good, good." Reeve nodded distractedly, already absorbed in his work.

Vincent finished his coffee leisurely, listening to the quiet sounds of Reeve typing and Yuffie drumming her heels against a chair leg. Reeve had added new paintings to the office, he noted. Most were peaceful nature scenes or warm sunrise landscapes. Fitting. The WRO and its founder were all about new beginnings, after all.

He threw his cup away, then did a double take.

"Yuffie, did you really eat three cans of whipped cream?" he asked, looking from her to the trash can.

She grimaced, forearm still firmly over her eyes. "Don't remind me."

That explained why she wasn't bouncing off the office walls as usual. "I don't think I need to," he said dryly. He whisked something out of the trash and slipped it under a fold of his cloak, then crossed to Reeve.

"I think all your cocoa is gone," he said quietly.

Reeve smiled tiredly. "And the bear claws. And the cream puffs. And the jelly beans. She's a high-upkeep employee." He threw a fond glance at the dozing kunoichi. "Worth it, though."

"Oh, never a dull moment," Vincent agreed, and turned to go. "So long, Reeve."

"Keep in touch," Reeve admonished. Vincent lifted a hand in acknowledgement and left.

Not until he was safely outside did he reach under his cloak to examine the item he'd retrieved from the trash.

Just as he'd thought... a small, tattered gardening glove full of Bahamut spines.

-The End

No flames, please. Don't like, don't read. That aside, I do appreciate hearing reader reactions. Many thanks to everyone who reviewed the last one!

Disclaimer: This story not created, acknowledged or endorsed by Square-Enix, to whom all relevant characters and trademarks belong. Dying is Harder itself is fan domain and may be freely recopied and archived.