Spent some time this week touching up chapters 9, 19, 23 and 24 of KH1. They needed some help, and I'm rather more satisfied with their repaintings!
Happy KH3, y'all!
Chapter XII: A Garden Party: Tertia Pars
The great tree
attracts the gale.
~Chinese Proverb
It had been said by many, though Xehanort was not himself convinced, that the real power of the Horned King had lain in an enchanted artifact, the Black Cauldron, into which the terrible sorcerer had mixed dark and arcane magicks.
No matter what came to be of his battlements and army, so long as the Cauldron remained—like the stubborn root of a weed—his power would be secure. No matter how many times his monstrous armies were crushed within the canyons, the Cauldron would continually birth their reconstitution.
In this way, despite the ever-changing contingencies of the world, despite every unexpected disturbance, despite every loss, the Horned King endured.
In times such as these, it was as the steadfastness of the Cauldron that Xehanort understood himself: an immovable rock; an unstoppable object; an irreversible course.
Of this he reminded himself, as his consciousness unwillingly relented to hearing again Even's unending rants.
"How could we 'lose' a subject, I ask? How in the name of Kingdom Hearts is that possible?!" Even fumed, "How did he get out? How did he escape the castle?!"
"Has Braig anything to say for himself?" Dilan asked, appearing calm from his seat across the desk from Xehanort—but he knew that was but an act. His terror was given away in the little twitches of his eyebrows and the imprecise tic of his fingers.
"The drunkard is still unconscious." Ienzo replied, matter of a factly; a slight waver to his voice as he looked between Even and Xehanort for some assurance.
"And now, Shinra says another one of his scientists has vanished—directly under his nose! Left, with Eraqus' gorilla of a pupil!" Even paced the office, alit in the earliest rays of the morning sun breaking through the darkness, "Eraqus is holding all the cards now! We're ruined!" turning his sneering face to Xehanort, he mocked, "Don't you care? Everything we've built, tumbling down in a single night?"
Xehanort didn't respond. He already knew how this had to go.
"Eraqus hasn't yet contacted the Lord Protector; he still doesn't know who to trust." Dilan spoke up in Xehanort's stead; another sure sign of his fright.
Ienzo nodded, latching onto the evidence, "Certainly—Eraqus' paranoia is a great boon to us."
"You idiots!" Even seethed, "It isn't paranoia if he has evidence! There was fighting in the Bastion's very halls! He has one of Hojo's assistants, and our test subject is lost somewhere in the Garden with two nobodies!" quivering, his ire turned to Dilan, "Speaking of—"
"The status of my report hasn't changed in an hour's time, Even," Dilan bit back, "A shadowy description and military dress leaves much to be desired. My people are still looking into it."
With a long, hissing sigh, Even finally collapsed into the seat across from Dilan, his face pure scorn, "Not in any infirmary, not on the move—where could he be kept in such a condition?"
The question fell on a mute room, as Xehanort's gaze shifted to his windows and out over the Garden. He could not deny that a fear coursed through him, too. Some aspect of their work had suddenly escaped their control—he had not felt like this since one of the Heartless had claimed the erstwhile maid.
That constant, low-grade anxiety mixed itself around the burning embarrassment in Xehanort's sloshing heart, still acutely felt after Ansem's rejection—which had been tantamount not just to a rejection of his ideas, but to a rejection of himself. Though Ansem would deny it, Xehanort knew the truth—the father had rejected the son on that staircase; finally and completely.
He had been dis-adopted. It was over. This new terror was simply the outworking of that; the physical manifestation of the changing tides.
"Once Dilan's report is returned, we will know the identity of our thief." Xehanort finally spoke, perhaps more to himself than to his brothers, "And that problem will be easily resolved."
"What? With another assassination?" Even mumbled, arms crossed. Xehanort raised his hands, at the end of his wits.
"Have you a better way?"
"I'm simply warning that, at some point, this will go far beyond what any of us intend."
"Will you moralize now, Even?" Dilan scoffed, "When did deontology entrance you? Everything we've done has been for the greater good."
Even sighed, "We can only afford so much public activity."
"When everything is at stake," Ienzo said quietly, "Everything must be on the table. The future of our work is the future of the Garden."
Even, unable to resist, chuckled darkly, "Right; like this isn't all about special-little-Xehanort!"
Xehanort, quite used to Even's jealousy, only shrugged, "I am merely the medium, Even. I am the question, not the answer."
"So you've said." Even frowned, turning away to mindlessly read over his shelves. "And what about the missing scientist?"
Nodding slowly, Xehanort rose from his chair. Marching alongside the broad desk, he came to the large armchair in which Braig lay slumped, snoring and drooling slightly. Giving in for a brief moment to the shame and fear—perhaps, even, was it jealousy at the carefree nature of this brother?—Xehanort's broad hand flashed out and backhanded Braig across the cheek.
Coming to with a start, Braig swore and rubbed his face, eying Xehanort with confusion and rising anger, "Hey, what the hell, man?"
"Braig, you have another problem to solve."
"Daughter, Aqua, how could you be so thoroughly blind?" Father sighed again, rubbing his temples, as he marched back and forth before her, "Perhaps from Ven I would expect such short-sightedness; or from Terra such confrontation—but from you?"
Aqua kept her eyes down. They had been at this ever since he sent off Ven and Terra, keeping her back out of disappointment. She, retelling the story; him, critiquing it. She explaining; him rejecting.
"Father, with all due respect, we could not leave those children and that poor man to be taken by Shinra-"
"When a greater good, a brighter light, is on the line, that is quite debatable." Father interrupted, "Even supposing you were right, was a sword fight in the heart of the Castle simply your best option?"
"It seemed like our only option, at the time. Besides, there is no "greater good" with the light; you yourself said—"
"I specifically said to be discreet!" Eraqus ran a hand through his dark hair, "And the boy—the one dripping with darkness—you let him go? How could you release him like that?"
"Shall I have imprisoned a child?" Aqua retorted, sharper than she had intended.
"You know very well what I mean." Father responded.
"I cannot apologize, Father. I believe we did the right thing. The boy may have been troubled, but he was trying to follow the light, then and there—" Aqua nodded, affirming herself, "And that's what matters."
"Aqua, I cannot comprehend—"
"Uh, ah, ahem?" came Ven's quiet, unsure voice. "I'm sorry to interrupt, dad, Aqua—" he nodded, "But besides some drunk guy, there was no one at Zack's girlfriend's home."
"Do you have any idea where he or his apprentice might be, then?" Father questioned, collapsing in the nearest wooden chair.
"I...I don't." Ven responded, "I've never been to Zack's apartment—all he ever talks about is Aerith's. Besides, it's just some hole-in-the-wall somewhere. You couldn't keep someone there in as bad shape as that guy was."
"Finding your friend is of the utmost importance now, Ven. We need that poor soul," glancing intentionally to Aqua, Father continued, "But you must be discreet. Light is patient. Shinra is like a cornered animal now. They know that we have seen their darkness."
Ven nodded and opened his mouth to respond, only for the sound of a door nearly being kicked down, then slammed shut, to interrupt him. Ven moved out of his way just in time, as Terra rushed into the room, stumbling to draw the curtains, as in behind him followed a young woman, dressed in a white labcoat, with long brown hair piled atop her head and a fearful look in her eye.
"Terra—what is this?!" Father exclaimed, eyes wide.
"Master, President Shinra played dumb—even as I watched the Turks behind him cover the bruises I gave them." Terra closed the final blind and, with a swipe, lit the room with Fira, "But I have recovered one of their scientists—this is Lucretia. I took her from Shinra, to present to you."
Swallowing nervously, the woman, Lucretia, gave a small bow to Father, who's head turned in interest. Aqua herself was shocked, but proud—Terra had brought back someone from inside Shinra!
"I take it you came voluntarily, Miss?" Father inquired, eying her. The woman responded with a furious nod.
Voluntarily, Aqua marveled! This was good, great, news, indeed!
A small piece of her murmured in jealousy, that her Father now approved of Terra and was disappointed in her, but that piece she ordered quiet and exiled. A win for her brother in the eyes of their Father, so desperately necessary, was not a loss for her.
"Tell us about yourself!" Ven encouraged, coming to stand beside her.
"Well, I'm Lucretia Crescent, as you now know." The woman started, glancing oddly to Terra, "I work under Professor Hojo on Shinra's confidential projects. But after what happened recently, I just…I can't. Not anymore."
"What happened?" Father prodded, pulling up another chair and inviting her to sit down. For her part, Aqua remained kneeling across from them.
"More and more…human experiments. I had been trying to ignore it; just do my job, you know? But…" she sighed, biting her lip as her eyes began to moisten, "What they're doing is horrific. Then there are the ones we ship off to the Bastion—"
"Who do you ship them to?" Terra asked, coming to stand behind her, eclipsing her slight frame.
"I..." Lucretia began, before breaking down entirely, "Please, could I just—is he here? Could I see Vincent?"
Confusion flashed between Eraqus, Aqua, and Ven.
"The President's Turk?" Ven wondered aloud.
"Y-yes, we...he…" Lucretia couldn't finish, "Terra said that you had found—"
Her voice trailed off, as her eyes—along with the eyes of the everyone else—turned to look at Terra. He frowned slightly. "We'll have him soon enough, right, Aqua?"
"W-wait! You mean he's not here?!" Lucretia cried aloud, as she sank back weakly in her chairs, arms falling heavily to her sides.
Aqua's eyes narrowed slightly—had Terra lied to get her here? And was this implying that the man she had seen in the Bastion—that broken, bloodied, pulp of man—had actually been the Turk Vincent Valentine?
"Lucretia…" Terra murmured, crouching down to see her face-to-face, "We will find Vincent; I promise. But for now, please tell my friends what you know. It will help."
"I—I won't. No more!" Lucretia sniffed, calming herself, even as her breath still came in hiccups, "Not until you have Vincent. I-I r-refuse to give away my leverage! I-I know how these games are played."
Terra frowned and stared at her for a moment before standing to his full height again.
Aqua watched the both of them carefully, as Father sighed, "I suppose that settles it, then. We must find the two who have him. Ven?"
Ven nodded, becoming unintentionally more excited, "Alright, here's my new plan—I'll bet you anything that Zack is looking for me, too, after yesterday."
"So why wouldn't he just come here?" Terra inquired, keeping himself near to Lucretia, as his eyes flickered occasionally to the closed windows.
"Duh, because he's not looking for you or dad." Ven shook his head, "I'm his friend. So, here's the deal: I always have lunch at the Seventh Heaven—and he meets me there a lot."
Aqua noted the time; eleven thirty. She saw Ven's plan coming together. Father, evidentially did as well, because he answered Ven's unfinished words:
"That is a good a start as any, my son." Father nodded, "Aqua and I will follow at a distance. At best, he'll answer your questions. At worst, we shall follow him."
"Exactly!" Ven affirmed, proudly.
"Sir, what about me? Why am I not to go?" Terra asked.
Eraqus looked to Aqua, sadly, "Because I do not trust your sister to watch our guest and keep her safe. Remain here with Lucretia, Terra." Turning to the woman herself, Father bowed slightly himself, "Miss, with the blessing of the light, we shall return with Vincent Valentine."
"Please do. I promise I will tell you everything I know." Lucretia replied, settling herself and her breathing. Behind her, Terra frowned, but took up his role with the same silent acceptance with which he received everything.
Aqua watched the interaction with the acute pain of her father's criticism stinging like a slap. Somewhere deep inside, she felt her own tears beginning to pool. But she would not release them.
As she stood to follow her Father and Ven, bowing to their guest on the way, Aqua told herself that her Father criticized from his ignorance, rather than his earnesty.
That was, however, a small comfort.
No one else spoke as they exited, until they started on the winding path down into the Garden, slowing down to allow Ven—with such life and purpose in each step—to dash ahead. It was then that her father whispered the only words he spoke the whole way down:
"Aqua, this time, if we find that boy and secure Valentine, the former must be quenched entirely. His darkness is a threat to the light."
Aqua didn't respond, nor did she nod. She only stared straight ahead and wondered how they had to come to this path.
"Aerith…Aerith…" came a gentle voice that stirred the young flower girl from her restless sleep.
Opening her aching eyes, Aerith found herself looking into the compassionate chocolate orbs of Rinoa, leaning over her with a small, sympathetic smile.
Lifting herself onto her elbows, Aerith realized that she had awoken in Squall and Rinoa's apartment. Maroon walls, covered with various paintings by Rinoa herself, warmed the atmosphere and helped Aerith to relax. A small bookshelf, mostly empty, two oaken bureaus, and the bed itself—taking up most of the room's space—filled out their bedroom.
The only sign of Squall was the collection of belts—some of which Aerith could only marvel at having never seen before—which hung on the back of the door, leading out into the kitchen and living areas.
"Where's Squall?" she asked.
Rinoa vanished into a small closet to the right, emerging with a simple white dress that she offered to Aerith. Realizing she was still wearing her party dress, now rumpled from sleep, Aerith welcomed the gift and swiftly started changing.
"I made him and Zack fight over the couch. You and I got the bed, of course." Rinoa grinned as she took to making the bed, after Aerith stood to examine herself in the mirror, "You might not remember, but we all crashed back here after…everything."
As Aerith carefully laid the party dress aside for later retrieval and slipped on Rinoa's offer—suspiciously noting it seemed oddly similar to one she was still missing—she couldn't help but wonder at the woman who currently hummed as she placed her pillows just so and adjusted the sheets: no hangover? Nothing at all? Rinoa had drunk more than all of them combined!
"Where's Zack?" Aerith asked, turning about in the mirror.
"He left about the same time as Squall. He said he was sorry and that he loved you, but he didn't want to wake you up."
Aerith shook her head—Zack had already gone to hit the pavement, and she loved him for it, but she missed him. It would've been nice to wake up near him, at least. Maybe have breakfast together…
"He was headed straight for Shinra, apparently." Rinoa said carefully, "And Squall went to get Merlin from the Bastion."
Oh.
Right.
In that moment, the calming cloudiness of the morning evaporated in an instant and Aerith remembered, with terrible clarity, how the evening's glory had darkened when some Shinra scientist started talking about her mother.
She had told Zack right away, and he left her just as soon to chase him down. Only a few moments later he returned, angry at finding nothing, but quickly became apologetic—as he found her an embarrassingly blubbering mess on the floor of the balcony as the last of Merlin's fireworks lit the sky.
Merlin…her father, really, her dad. He raised her, cared for her, fed her, schooled her, protected her—he did everything a father was supposed to do. But had he told her the truth? How was it possible that a few silly words could suddenly call to the witness stand almost two decades of love from him? Why did she feel this horrible distance; this terrible urge to hide from him, her own father, when she knew he was coming? Why did this new hunger ache so?
"You have to talk to him, Aerith." Rinoa said quietly, coming to stand in the mirror's reflection beside her, "Something like this will eat you alive." She shook her head, draping herself encouragingly around her neck, "Damn creepy guys saying creepy stuff…look, I'm sure Merlin will help clear this up. We'll figure it out, I promise."
Aerith nodded slowly,
"Would you like breakfast?" Rinoa suddenly asked, "Squall made eggs before he left."
Though not at all hungry—in fact, she felt fairly queasy—Aerith nodded.
Arm around her shoulder, Rinoa guided her out of the bedroom and through the living area—small and simple; a couch, a table, and desk with some hangers about it, all filled with the morning light streaming through the window, which caused Aerith to squint—and into the kitchenette; matching oaken cabinetry, a pot-bellied stove for Fira, and a cooler for Blizzara.
In its center was a round table, only four seats—two of which were already set with egg-filled plates and tall glasses of orange juice. A vase with a bouquet of roses sat in the center, bringing a small smile to Aerith's face—Squall was nothing if not polite.
"Where are Cloud and Tifa?" Aerith asked, as she sat down in the chair Rinoa offered.
"We got separated and couldn't find them." Rinoa answered, taking her own seat and a bite of eggs simultaneously, "We all agreed they were old enough to find their way back. Who knows—hopefully they're…" Rinoa trailed off with a suggestive wiggle of her eyebrows.
"Rinoa!" Aerith exclaimed, unable to keep back the snort which Rinoa forced out of her. Perhaps, she hoped, their evening had ended better than hers. That, at least, would make her happy.
As it was, Aerith desperately needed something to have gone well. Those few, stupid words were tearing at her—tempting her, cajoling her, parading every possibility across her mind's eye.
Her mother, alive?
Her mother alive, in the hands of Shinra somehow?
Her mother alive, never having reached out for her?
Her mother alive, and Merlin having lied about it this whole time?
Perhaps most disturbing, though, was the briefly considered possibility that the man was simply lying and Aerith "only" had a creepy stalker who somehow knew the perfect words to get in under her skin and implode her whole world.
Aerith took a long sip of her juice before returning to stare at her eggs. Rinoa didn't prod; nor inquire further. She simply sat in the silence (something she, unlike Zack, was good at), living in that moment with her—just the two of them, the kitchenette, the flowers, and the eggs.
And Aerith was so grateful for that.
It gave her something to hold onto; some normalcy, familiarity. Some patient silence that helped her to hope the best. That same patient kindness that had lulled her to sleep the night before, combing out her hair from how its tight braids, as she hummed over the muffled, fervent discussion between Squall and Zack out beyond the bedroom.
Zack had been hopping angry, she vaguely remembered, ready to fight until he got some answers for who had accosted her and what they knew. He had eventually settled for carrying her, tired feet and wounded heart, all the way back to Squall and Rinoa's from the Bastion.
Squall, before letting Rinoa take over, had only said a few words to her. As Zack was pacing the living space, throwing worried glances her way and muttering to himself, but before Rinoa escorted her tired and cried-out form to the bedroom, Squall had placed his hand on her shoulder and stooped his great height to meet her eye-to-eye.
"We will figure this out, Aerith." He had said solemnly, voice filled with all the confident comfort that Squall's firm exterior could inspire.
Aerith, taking another drink, was quietly grateful for these people who kept her suddenly careening world moored to some rock. The sudden mystery; the hunger to know—it could be worse; as of then, it only ached.
"Aerith—I love you." Rinoa said suddenly, with a serious look across the table.
Before Aerith could respond, though, the front door opened and Squall strode in followed by Merlin, with that light skip in his step that defied his age and beardly appearance. As his heavy eyes fell across the space, Aerith's breath caught in her throat.
Looking back to Rinoa didn't help; she just looked at her expectantly, with sympathy in her eyes. Squall, after closing the door behind them, marched across the room without a word and sat on the couch, one leg crossed over the other.
Merlin, far from oblivious, immediately took to the situation and read Aerith's face like an open book. Confusion clouded his eyes as he moved to stand closer to her.
"Do tell—what is the problem, my dear child?" he asked.
Normally, he would also have patted her hair, or touched her shoulder, or at least stooped closer. Aerith noticed he did none of these things. Had Squall told him anything? She guessed not, knowing Squall. He could've walked in silence all the way there and back and thought nothing of it.
Trying to swallow again, Aerith reached for her juice and took a long sip, trying to think of what to say, as Merlin, in his patience, simply waited. Finally, she opened her mouth,
"Is my mother alive?"
The silence in the room was deafening; like the solitude atop a precipice. Merlin swayed for a moment, his face still knotted in between concern and uncertainty, before his hand reached involuntarily for his beard.
"Why—who told you that?"
Aerith's voice spoke softly, eyes downturned, "Someone…at the party. Someone from Shinra."
A sharp, whistling exhale came through Merlin's old lips, as his face turned deadly pale. Rinoa quickly stood and pulled out a chair, gathering up the dishes in the process.
Aerith's heart broke with his reaction—it was the more confirmation than she had ever wanted. There is was. It was true; or at least, true enough.
And so, the tears began to fall, as Aerith only stared at her lap and folded hands.
"Oh, Aerith…my child…" Merlin murmured, somewhat rocking as he took a slumping seat, "I'm so…so sorry…I can't…please…"
Aerith's blood was running cold now and she could feel the symptoms of panic encroaching upon her. Swallowing, she tried to do what she told her patients: rhythmic breathing through the building tears. In and out. In and out. Deep. Slow. In and out.
"Oh, save us—" Merlin exclaimed, almost to himself, "I knew I should've told you not to go—now he knows, oh, no, no, no…"
"Please." Aerith choked out, "Just tell me what's going on!"
Merlin ceased his murmuring and took a deep sigh, "I…your father was a doctor, just as I told you. But…" Merlin seemed to consciously force himself to overcome years of trained responses, "…he worked for Shinra. I did not tell you that."
Aerith sobbed lightly, just once, as she tried to continue breathing. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. She took note of her pulse and tried to slow it. Suddenly, Rinoa was behind her, hands rubbing her shoulders; a force of peace and rhythm.
"When you were…" Merlin murmured, "…when you were just a toddler, Shinra sent men looking for you father." he frowned, his own chin quivering with the years of a story he had never told to anyone, "I…I tried to stop them. But I…but I…I couldn't…" his old voice broke, as his own tears wet his wrinkled face, "That's how I lost your father. Your mother, Ilfana, she...she moved to protect you…"
Merlin was crying openly now, matching the large droplets that fell to Aerith's own lap. Behind her, she could hear Rinoa sniffling, but her hands kept kneading; keeping her from shaking.
"She…she gave you to me—you were…you were so small…she told me to run and…burn it all as I left…" Merlin whispered, his eyes becoming distant, "And I did…I thought for certain Shinra had…" he trailed off, as he placed his whole face into his bony hands.
Aerith was quiet. Inhale, exhale, breathe. Why did Zack had to leave?
"Why didn't you tell her?" Rinoa asked, her own voice thin and breaking.
"I never heard anything of Ilfana, nor Shinra, ever again." Merlin wept quietly into his hands, "They didn't know who I was; that I had been there. I just wanted to…keep Aerith safe."
"So this could all be true, then?" Squall asked, having come to lean over the half-wall that separated the kitchen and living space. Aerith couldn't tell through her own tears, but she could almost swear Squall's eyes had a slight glisten to them, too.
"I…I don't know." Merlin answered.
Aerith wished, so badly, that he could've just said yes or no. She'd have believed him. Even after keeping all of this secret, she'd have believed him if he just said it! But Merlin giving in, Merlin feeding the unknown—that loosened her ropes all the more. Everything was now possible.
Her mother—her mother!—could be out there. With Shinra? The same people who murdered her father? Why? How? Where? What could she do? Where could she go? Why was it all so terrifyingly open—it felt like she was back on her first date with Zack, wandering through the dense maze of trees in the arboretums—except Zack wasn't there and all the daylight had turned to dark.
And if her mother was really alive, if there was such a past that she had now gotten just a taste of, was she really who she thought she was? If she wasn't Aerith the flower-girl, daughter of Merlin the Wizard, then who was she? Where did she belong?
"I'm so sorry, Aerith, my child…" Merlin spoke quietly, covering his eyes, "I should've done…so much better…"
Suddenly, Aerith needed fresh air more than anything. She felt like she couldn't respire; Rinoa's massage wasn't working anymore and she had lost track of her breathing.
Choking, she jumped to her feet, knocking the chair over, and stumbled out through the living area. Throwing up the nearest window, one of only two small ones, Aerith took in a deep gasp of morning air and sobbed, out over the open streets. She didn't notice if anyone saw her, nor did she care.
As great breaths heaved out of her, Aerith opened her eyes to a Radiant Garden she did not recognize. Certainly, they were the same thatched rooftops and winding streets; the same marbled homes and climbing gardens; the same bubbling streams and Hollow Bastion—but they were utterly unfamiliar to her. All sights and sounds and smells were as if alien—every place strange and uninviting, each one a victim of the great collapse of her wholeness and satisfaction.
Only one place bolstered itself above the rest. Only one place called to her with even a hint of familiarity; the tall, square building that jutted out like a dark wound on the skyline, coiled about in gold letters:
Shinra Defense Corporation.
Tifa stirred slightly in her sleep, back aching. Twisting over, she wondered why her bed was so hard all of the sudden, and why her pillow was moving. On the edges of her consciousness, some weird tapping (squeaking?) sound came regularly. Had a mouse gotten in somewhere?
Taking a deep breath, she tried to curl back up into sleep, reaching for the blankets she assumed she had kicked off—but her hands found nothing. Wondering idly, half dreaming, Tifa reached up, maybe she had twisted herself upside down, but her hands found themselves touching something that definitely didn't fit.
Slowly blinking, greeted by the late-morning light breaking in around her closed curtains, Tifa realized she wasn't in her bed at all and wondered why—a question which was answered as soon as she looked up to see Cloud, eyes closed and breathing quietly, slouched over her. It was then that she realized her 'pillow' was actually his lap.
Warmth rushed to her cheeks as Tifa reacted quickly, nearly jumping up into the air, as she patted down her wrinkled dress. Cloud startled awake, too, his hand quickly reaching for a sword that was not there; his blue-eyes darting around the room and taking in Tifa with a brief flash of confusion.
But then, Tifa wasn't paying attention to Cloud (or how cute his sleeping face had been), because she remembered the reason why they had been so exhausted as to nearly collapse onto each other:
There, on her small bed across the room by the window, Vincent Valentine lay, his irregular breathing the squeaking she had heard. One arm, twisted unnaturally and burned, lay hanging off the bed, almost as if he was reaching for them. One single eye was open, blood-red, staring at her with a horrible, piercing clarity. The rest of him lay covered, but his patched, dark hair, and his swollen, broken face, was a haunting enough sight to awaken to.
Overcoming her shock, Tifa dashed across the room, nearly tripping over Cloud's legs, to tuck back in his arm and lean in close to his swollen, split lips:
"Waaa…aatttterrrr…" a barely human sound, more exhale than voice, slipped from him.
"Cloud! Get some water!" Tifa said quickly over her shoulder. Cloud nodded, eyes wide at Vincent, as he moved cautiously out of the single room and downstairs to the bar.
"It's okay—it's gonna be okay." Tifa promised, wiping back Vincent's hair from his clammy forehead. When they had made it to the Seventh Heaven—because it was closest to the castle and, in her own words, "no one knows me!"—Cloud had done what little he could with the small Cure magic he was capable of, as Tifa repeated to herself, over and over again, "Think like Aerith, think like Aerith."
She had done her best—scrounging together enough towels and clothes to staunch bleeding, to bandage open wounds, and to clean Vincent as much as possible. She felt like she was failing the whole way, as Vincent hissed and muttered and alternated between conscious states. Soon after he had lapsed out for the third time, in the earliest dark hours, she told Cloud he needed to run to Aerith's and try to find the others.
After his work with Cure, all Cloud had done was check and re-check the perimeters of the Seventh Heaven over and over. Glad to have some mission, he had returned about an hour later with very little luck—besides some of Aerith's medical supplies and his sword, he had only found a drunken Cid, railing about how Shinra had stolen everything from him.
Apparently, Shina had screwed a lot of people over.
Cloud had gone back to Aerith's several times that evening, gathering more supplies, but never found any of the others. At one point, he had almost gotten caught by Zack's Keyblading friend, Ven, who had come anxiously knocking on the door but was answered only with a remarkable string of curses by Cid. Tifa had agreed with Cloud—it had been the right move not to approach him.
They had no idea who they could trust now, and so they passed the night in fearful anxiety, trying to care for Vincent as best they could, until they all gave in to sleep.
Cloud slipped back into the room, quiet as a ghost, and handed her a pitcher of water from the bar. Filling a cup, Tifa brought it to Vincent's dark lips and helped him sip through the groans. After that exertion, he had fallen back to the pillow, unconscious yet again. Biting her lip, Tifa moved to check over his wounds.
"What do you think happened to him?" She shook her head, as she unwrapped a long gash that had been opened down the outside of his arm, letting the muscles bulge and bleed forth.
"Surgical." Cloud noted, face ashen, "They weren't trying to kill him."
"You mean torture?" Tifa gasped.
Cloud nodded, "Or…"
"What?" Tifa prodded, cleaning as best she could. She didn't even want to think about all the other terrible things she had found.
"Experiments." Cloud said simply, with no further explanation.
Tifa nearly threw up in her mouth then and there—experiments?! What the hell kind of world was this?
"Let me try." Cloud said quietly, gently pulling Tifa's hand back and resting his own over the wound. Closing his eyes, he furrowed his brow and focused his energy—Tifa watched a glowing green energy, thin little threads, leak from his fingers and lace around the long split—but it only lasted for a few seconds.
Cloud pulled his hand back, gasping. Perhaps, Tifa thought, the damage looked, maybe, slightly better?
Aw, sh*t. What the hell were they supposed to do? How could they take care of this? Where was everyone? (THIS was why they needed to make the PHS standard issue!). There was a dying man in her bedroom and she couldn't help him!
"Maybe we should try Squall and Rinoa's?" Tifa suggested anxiously, "They should be there, right?"
Cloud responded with something halfway between a nod and a shrug.
"Oh wait, crap, what time is it?" Tifa asked pensively, the light shining around the curtain reminding her that today was a workday—because of course it was.
"Eleven-thirty six." Cloud somehow knew. She wouldn't be surprised if he counted every second of the day.
"Sh*t!" Tifa exclaimed, wrapping a bandage around the first wound, "I have to be downstairs working! If I'm missing, they'll send someone up here or something, then they'll call the PKF and that'll be it—"
"You go. I'll stay." Cloud interrupted, reaching out to take the med-kit from her.
"Okay, okay, right." Tifa swallowed, handing it over. She had no idea how she could just go downstairs and work, though. She was still wearing her party clothes!
"Close your eyes!" She demanded of Cloud, walking past him to the other side of the single room to her only chest. Cloud went from wide-eyed to immediate acquiescence, "and don't turn around, either!"
Cloud nodded, face firmly away from hers. As she changed, Tifa couldn't help but talk—maybe half to him, half to herself.
"Zack freaking lives here, right? He'll have to be back at some point?"
"Right." Cloud nodded, a slight blush to his pale face.
"And you can go check Squall and Rinoa's when I'm on my first break. They've got to be over there."
"Right."
"Meanwhile, I'm just gonna go downstairs and breathe and serve people coffee and sandwiches and pretend like Vincent Valentine isn't dying in my bedroom."
"Right."
"Cloud…" Tifa said quietly, as she buttoned up her shirt, "—hey, you can look now—it's gonna be fine, right?"
Cloud, turning to look at her over his shoulder, could only shake his head, "I don't know."
Zack kicked dejectedly at a discarded metal cylinder—some kind of pole, perhaps, or a container for some novelty gift purchased in honor of the Princess' birthday. Given a few more hours, all such leftover litter would be efficiently cleared from the streets; the Garden must be kept pristine, after all—even the morning after one of its greatest celebrations.
But for Zack, the party was a distant memory as he wandered his way through the stirring streets, still covered with streamers and balloons and burnt-out firecrackers. It was almost noon, but the streets more resembled early morning. Most everyone, it seemed, had a late night, and he was sure plenty were nursing a hangover.
A combination of these two things ensured that his PKF warrant to return to the Shinra building wasn't coming any time soon—and without that warrant, there was almost no place to start answering his questions; questions that had, as of last night, become staggeringly personal.
Now it was about Aerith.
And then he wanted to kick himself.
Why had he walked away? Why had he left her, even for a moment? How could he have let some creep sneak up on her and shatter their whole world?
Kicking over another stray party leftover, Zack collapsed on a bench, shifting the Tsurugi strapped to his back, as the sun's rays glanced off its sleek surface. He probably should've stayed instead of trying to rush off and save everything. He should be with her right now. But how could he go back with nothing?
Where else was there to go, though? There was no one at Ven's pseudo-monastery, or at least, no one answered. The Castle wasn't welcoming visitors anymore. Shinra might as well be a brick wall.
A distant bell toll reminded Zack that morning's end was at hand—and that there was still a place he could check. Ven was far too much of a straight-edge to have gotten out of control last night and was just predictable enough that Zack knew where'd he be: a couple blocks away at the Seventh Heaven for lunch.
Zack sighed as he picked himself up. And if Ven wasn't there, he could at least bring something delicious back for Aerith as comfort.
Shinra and Aerith…what could they have to do with each other? She was only a nurse—a stunning, beautiful and excellent nurse, but just a civilian! And what did it have to do with her mother? What hadn't Merlin told her? Zack should've figured the old man was hiding something this whole time.
Walking along, Zack tried to imagine what Aerith was probably feeling right now. Confusion. Insecurity. Anxiety. Ugh! He only succeeded in hating himself more! What had he been thinking!? He just always had to get up and go! Why couldn't he just wait with her? If something like this had happened to him, Aerith would've just sat with him, in her peaceful and anchoring way; breathing for him with that steady calmness—
Ten minutes, Zack decided. He'd wait ten minutes to see if Ven would show. If he did, get right to point and see what he knows—but carefully. If it's another dead end, back to Aerith. In and out. No more than a half-hour.
Nodding affirmatively to himself, Zack passed out from the side street and into the main square the connected the highly residential fifth district and the mom-and-pop shops of the fourth. The square was more like a plaza, set in the shape of a great circle, as if to mimic the entirety of the Garden itself. Its edges were lined with shops, some with vendors only just getting started at this late hour, as the apartments hanging above them were still dark and quiet
As it was across the Garden, a magnificent marble fountain bubbled in its center, watering the great bushes and flowers—Zack twisted his mind in thought, were those lobelias or something?
All were fed by the magnificent underground system of pipes and pumps that moved so much water across the Garden. In the glow of the late morning sunlight, the purple shade of the flowers were pretty catching, reminding him of Aerith as they brought out of the bluer shades of the white marble upon which the city was built.
Always bringing out the best in others.
Ten minutes, Zack reminded himself, as he marched across the plaza, waving his "hello's" to the familiar shopkeepers he saw every morning. Thankfully, Brandt—owner and operator of the small metalwork shop—didn't bring up the tab Zack still owed him. Repairs on the Tsurugi hadn't come cheap!
Reaching about 2-o'clock on the plaza's circle, Zack smirked at the swinging wooden door of the Seventh Heaven. Built into the surrounding shops and apartments, the Seventh Heaven towered just slightly over the rest, with somewhat sloppy additions having been made atop to accommodate more space—now, it resembled more the several layers of one of those fancy tower-looking cakes.
Smoke from the stoves and kitchen within poured steadily from the top, as the smell of breakfast shifting to lunch wafted from the imperfectly-sized door. A somewhat crooked sign hung above the door—"Seventh Heaven" in fanciful scrawl—but Zack was just relieved to see those shoddily-built upper floors, which he sort-of called "home", still standing. That was one good thing about today!
Putting on his best airs, Zack pushed his way through doors, reminding himself to act natural—which wasn't terribly hard, as Zack felt immediately at home with the welcoming tempo of the old-timey music playing from the small bandstand in the corner, with all the regular customers littered at the bar—some having clearly spent the night sleeping there after the evening's festivities.
Zack shared a welcoming nod of understanding with the bartender, Fabul, who shrugged with a knowing sigh as he washed out cups—he'd at least definitely have some good stories to fill up Zack's promised ten-minutes. Maybe Tifa was even working, though he hoped not—that girl needed some time off.
"Hey! Hey, Zack!" came the voice that made Zack realize he had guessed right and wouldn't even be waiting ten seconds.
Looking over across the seedy alcove seating and precious window-views, Zack landed sights on Ven, waving his arms and yelling across the tavern like the kid he still was. Returning the wave, while shrugging apologetically at the perturbed other regulars, Zack slid over to the small, reddish booth that Ven had taken up.
Alright, Zack. Normal.
"Got any food yet?"
Ven shook his head, taking a sip of his drink through a straw.
Zack snorted as he looked it over; definitely a kid, "Right, hello, weirdo chocolate milk-drinker—hey, hey, waiter!" Zack called out to the passing figure—the new kid, Wedge, he thought—"Could I get a cold ale over here?"
Accepted with a nod and the pensive look of vague familiarity, Zack leaned back satisfied. He'd have from now until he finished his ale to find out what Ven knew. Be smooth.
"So how's the promotion?" Ven asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Y'know, being an Investigator is pretty good. Way better than a footsoldier." Zack replied, curious that Ven seemed to be acting like everything was normal; as if their bizzaro conversation about Cloud last night hadn't even happened.
"And we need them, too." Ven affirmed, "Maybe you'll get to the bottom of all this."
"Right-o!" Zack flashed a thumbs-up, trying to figure out if Ven really meant it or didn't seem to realize that he and his old man were a big reason why he currently -wasn't- getting to the bottom of it, "I'll get on it ASAP."
"And how's Aerith?" Ven asked, taking another sip of his milk.
"She's great, as always!" Zack smiled to cover his lie. Why'd Ven seem so mechanical? Something was definitely up. "I'm running out of space to keep all the flowers, though…and before you ask," he added for good measure, "Merlin is as grumpy about me as ever."
Ven chuckled, "Have Squall and Rinoa announced a date yet?"
Now Zack was getting weird vibes. These were, like, pre-planned questions. Like Ven had been expecting to see him here. What was going on?
"You think he'd tell me?" Zack shrugged, "Nah, I'll probably be the last to know. Unless Rinoa tells Aerith."
"And what about Cloud and Tifa?" Ven asked, over another long sip.
"What's with the interrogation, Ven?" Zack faked a chuckle, trying to cover the discomfort and figure out how to get this back to -him- being the investigator. Why'd he feel like he was being put on the run by such innocuous questions? Was Ven now referencing their last conversation? "Y'know, we're still worried about him. He has his good and bad days. Tifa's taking care of him, though…" Zack paused, trying to walk the line between defending Cloud and not giving up too much to whatever Ven was trying to get at, "I wish he'd talk more—but he's only a kid, really, so we'll see."
Ven nodded, his gaze turning down to his drink, "Aren't we all just kids, too?"
Zack snorted, covering a confused frown. What was taking that new server so long to get an ale? "Hey, yeah, I guess. Squall's the only man around here."
"What about Merlin?" Ven looked up with a slight smirk, a moment of familiar normalcy returning to their banter.
"It'd be unfair to count him; he's old as dirt, he'd throw off all the averages." Zack responded, falling into the old jokes they'd make when he and Aerith were just starting out and Merlin would still chase him out of the house with Fire spells.
"And how's Vincent's work?" Ven asked, as their laughter subsided.
Zack, still in the old mode, almost responded instinctually—before catching himself. Ven had returned to that mechanical questioning. Why? Was this what this was about? Had Ven been actually waiting here to interrogate him? Had they really been planning to scoop each other?
Well, Ven old friend, Zack thought, you'd have to be smoother than that.
"Hey! Did you think you could just slip that in with all those other questions and I wouldn't notice?" he asked, trying to keep the tone light; best to confront it directly, "I'm smarter than that. I know you're looking in Shinra—I've told you everything I know!"
Ven sighed and leaned back with a grin, allowing his straw to spin about freely in his almost-empty cup, "What can I say? I'm bad at espionage. You got me."
"Well, try harder next time, eh?" A slight wave of relief flooded through Zack as some of the tension was defused. Ven was still acting weird, but at least he knew something of the reason why. The new waiter had also dropped off his ale—Zack de-tensed. Now his countdown could begin—since Ven had opened the issue, time to push back. "Besides, enough about me—what's with all your secret stuff? What's the Master got Aqua and Terra up to?"
"Exchange secrets?" Ven offered.
"Fine, fine…" Zack waved his agreement—time to test.
"Well, dad put Terra on Shinra instead of me and he's making some plans with the Lord Protector about something I don't even know about." Ven shrugged, "Not that I mind—I'm pretty sure Aqua knows about it, though."
"Of course." Zack nodded—that seemed like the kind of person his older sister was.
"Yup!" Ven responded, slurping down the rest of his drink, "And if she knows, then I know I don't have to worry."
"Mhmmm…" Zack answered, taking a long swig of his cold brew, giving him a second to think. That was a whole list of ambiguity, and now Ven would expect—
"Your turn." Ven gestured.
"Eh?" Zack replied, still gulping down his drink. Maybe it would be better just to get back to Aerith ASAP.
"Secrets, remember?" Ven prodded, with a smile that made Zack wonder if his mechanical investigation had really passed. What was Ven looking for?
"Oh, right, yeah…" Zack slowly put his mug down, considering some things Squall had mentioned, "Well, I've heard whispers from the higher-ups that we might be making some big move against Wutai—"
It was then that the first explosions went off—a roaring quake, like being too close to Merlin's fireworks—and everything was dust and flying stone; knives of wood and a long, brain-numbing ringing that welcomed oblivion.