A/N: So, was planning on finishing another chapter of DoG before I wrote this, but my muse was stuck on this story, which made any attempt to write anything for DoG very sluggish and forced, so I just ended up giving in to my muse and her herd of rabid plot bunnies and worked on this instead.
So here's a very angst-muffiny Vincent. Enjoy!
He jumped out of the overturned Shadowfox, looking back only once at the prone form of Yuffie lying still at the bottom.
She'd be fine. She had always been able to handle herself.
Besides, he had never deserved her company.
He arrived at the WRO headquarters, grimly ignoring the carnage around him. He ran forward, intent on helping two WRO soldiers who were firing small handguns at something out of his line of sight.
Before he could reach them, a third soldier, limp and ragdoll like, flew through the air, slamming into the two soldiers. A moment later, the soldiers were quickly ended by a gigantic beast, glowing with blue light and a metallic sheen.
The beast looked toward him. Vincent might have imagined it, but it seemed the creature was grinning.
"What the hell?" he breathed, having never seen anything like it. And he'd seen a lot.
"Azul."
He spun around to see Shalua standing with the girl Tsviet – Shelke, the one who had identified the beast in front of him as the hulking warrior he thought he had already defeated.
A roar sounded behind him. He spun, bringing Cerberus to draw, firing off a quick set of shots, all hitting their mark.
Azul seemed not to feel them as he barrelled towards them, swiping at Vincent. He dodged, but out of the corner of his eye saw a valiant Shalua knocked effortlessly aside.
"Shalua!" he cried, moving for her, but Azul backhanded him away.
The blow hurt – he felt ribs crack, and his vision started to tunnel. Gasping, he registered dimly that Azul was turning on Shelke. He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling his chest burn as the ribs attempted to straighten themselves, his regeneration already setting in.
He opened his eyes again to see Shelke with her arm outstretched, holding a glowing materia in hand. Azul froze as her magic took effect.
Shalua was yelling, apparently not too badly harmed. "Vincent! Shelke! Let's get out of here!"
Vincent sprang to his feet, ignoring the pangs of pain in his chest, running with the two sisters towards a set of solid, reinforced steel doors. Shalua slammed a button, allowing the doors to slide open. Vincent darted inside, eyes casting around as he checked to make sure there were no immediate threats inside the room.
A scuffle behind him caused him to turn. Shelke was resisting Shalua's efforts to force her after Vincent.
With a sudden feeling of dread, he watched the doors begin to close.
"Shalua!" he called a second time, desperate to get her to safety. He sprinted for the door, but he was too slow, he knew – the door would close in a manner of seconds.
With a screech of protesting machinery, the doors progress was halted. Shalua had stuck her prosthetic between them, halting their progress before forcing Shelke bodily into the room.
With a crackle, Shalua's arm started buckling. Alarmed, Vincent clawed at the doors, trying to force them open with his own unnatural strength, but he knew it was futile.
She was saying goodbye to Shelke, saying goodbye to her reason for living. Vincent looked up, seeing an acceptance in Shalua's eyes as Azul stalked towards her, Shelke's freezing spell having worn off.
Shalua began to retract her arm, causing a new surge of desperation to surge through him.
"Wait!" he called to her desperately, straining against the doors.
She doesn't even look at him, eyes only for her little sister.
"And remember, I'll always love you."
Shalua wrenched free her arm. The doors slammed shut.
Screaming inside at the futility of it all, he rammed his fists into the door, while Chaos laughed, mocking him and his efforts, his weakness.
As he watched the beige fluid from her life supporting prosthetic seep under the door, Chaos's laughter increased, gleefully pointing out what Vincent already knew, already hated himself for.
Another one he couldn't save.
He walked into the infirmary, feeling exhausted. Who was he to counsel Reeve on cowardice?
His eyes fell on Shalua's body, lying unmoving in a tube of mako. The infirmary felt strangely empty to him.
It took him a moment to realize that he hadn't seen Yuffie since he'd left her unconscious in the Shadowfox. He frowned; he had informed Reeve of where they had crashed, and Reeve had promised to send out a team to fetch her and the driver.
He sensed more than heard Shelke enter behind him. He watched her silently as she approached the tube that held her sister. They stood in silence for a moment, before Shelke broke it, sounding more like the child she truly was more than ever.
"She was a fool."
He stared at her, debating whether or not to tell her what Shalua had told him. After a moment, he decided to enlighten her.
"Before...when I asked Shalua what she was searching for, she answered 'her reason to live'." He eyed the young girl before him thoughtfully. "It was you, Shelke. You were her reason to live."
Shelke stared at him, the incomprehension clear on her face. "So? I don't understand how someone could give her own life for that of another. Do you understand, Vincent Valentine?"
Doncha get it, Vinnie? Huh, doncha?
He gave an inaudible sigh. "I can't answer for your sister, but..." He trailed off, the conversation evoking a number of emotions and thoughts he had no wish to dwell on. Memories of Lucrecia flashed through his mind. Memories of his failure to save her.
"But?" Shelke prompted him.
Slowly, he continued. "When a person has someone they care about that much, giving their life is sometimes the least they can do." He hesitated for a moment, looking away from her.
"And maybe that's what makes us human."
Except for him. Because he'd been too much of a coward and hadn't acted until it was already too late. So he lost his humanity.
"Someone they care about..." he heard Shelke murmur pensively.
He thought of his friends. Of the people he had grown to care about.
His worst sin was letting them care about him in return. He was weak, allowing it.
Where was Yuffie?
He dwelled on the ninja for a moment, frowning in thought as he remembered all the things she'd done in the years he'd known her.
"Although," he started abruptly, somewhat startling Shelke, "It seems there are a lot of people around me who don't need a reason to risk their lives for that of another."
A sudden movement brought his eyes back to Shelke. She was stumbling somewhat, and he reached towards her to help steady her.
"And are you-" Shelke started to say, before her legs suddenly gave out from under her and she began to fall towards the floor.
Lunging, Vincent caught her, staring at her in concern. As his eyes met hers, his head suddenly erupted in pain and blackness overtook his vision.
"Vincent," he heard Lucrecia call.
He kept his eyes closed. He didn't want to see this memory, not again.
"Vincent," she called insistently, her voice rising slightly in pitch and volume.
He kept his eyes steadfastly shut.
"Vinnie! Wake up you goddamn sleepy-head, we gotta get moving!"
His eyes snapped open in surprise, and he looked up into the face of-
Yuffie.
He frowned, sitting up. It was the same place he and Lucrecia had had that picnic all those decades ago. Even the breeze seemed the same, warmly tugging at his hair.
He looked down at himself. Rather than being dressed in his Turk clothes, as he had been with Lucrecia, he was dressed in his present wardrobe of black and red.
Vincent found his viewpoint of the memory suddenly change so that he was an observer, viewing both his memory-self and Yuffie from a few feet away. Watching as Yuffie chattered away, ignoring the silence of her companion, he realized when this had all happened.
It was the morning after they had originally found him sealed away in his coffin deep in the basement of the ShinRa mansion.
They had, upon having his agreement to help them, immediately thrown him together with Yuffie, who had apparently been tagging along mostly by herself, tailing the other groups.
Cloud had apologized quietly for pairing him with the 'annoying, kleptomaniac, immature brat'. He took it with his usual stoic silence, not really caring who they stuck him with, concerned only with seeking out Hojo.
As he watched the memory from slightly over three years ago, he was struck with the same impression now as he had been then.
She poked him, heedless of the sharp metal of his gauntlet and boots, talking endlessly to him about whatever thought happened to pass through her head. And seeing her, all but bouncing along, next to him, sitting still as death, he was strongly struck by just how alive she was.
That had been his first real impression of her. Not annoying, or immature, or brattish, but of simply being very much alive.
Regarding Yuffie again now, with his new outside perspective, he suddenly realized something he had missed before, on that first morning when they truly made their first introductions.
She was nervous. Very nervous, in fact, but covering it up well with a ceaseless tirade of chatter and a lot of hand-talking. Oh, he'd picked up on the nervousness then as well, but had immediately dismissed it as a reaction caused simply by his proximity.
Now, he thought it was different. This wasn't the nervousness of someone who was faced with something scary. It was, he thought, narrowing his eyes, the nervousness of one who was doing her utmost to impress a new acquaintance and who felt she was failing miserably.
Why she cared about impressing him was beyond his comprehension.
He woke up abruptly, eyes wide as the vision of that morning faded away.
He heaved himself up from where he'd collapsed on the floor. Shelke was still unconscious. He left her where she was, heading off urgently to find Reeve.
He found him within minutes, and noted with a faint sense of satisfaction that Reeve seemed to be in full control again, his face set with determination.
"Reeve," he called. The president, hearing his name, turned.
Vincent knew immediately something was wrong.
"Where's Yuffie?" he asked, more sharply than he'd intended.
Reeve hesitated, a look of lost hope crossing his face at the question.
"Where is she?" Vincent inquired again, this time more forcefully.
"I was hoping you knew," Reeve said, sighing. "We sent out a team to the Shadowfox, Vincent. It was still there, where you said it was, but..." he trailed off, looking extremely reluctant to continue, as if admitting what came next would make it real.
"But what?" he growled, but he already knew, though he possessed some faint hope that he was mistaken, despite his gut feeling, a feeling that had yet to be wrong. Chaos of course attempted to stomp out the hope immediately, but he ignored the demon as best he could, fighting the gloating voice in his head that was getting harder and harder to control.
"We found the driver. He had died on impact. We didn't see any sign of Yuffie, except that hideous poncho -" He gave a weak smile, but it came out as more of a grimace – "of hers lying discarded in the back."
"She could have run off by herself. You know how she is; she wouldn't back down from DeepGround just because she was alone," Vincent argued, grasping at the straws of hope that were quickly fading away to leave him with nothing but despair.
Even as he said it, he saw a terrible look in Reeve's eyes that let him know Reeve hadn't finished.
"...They found tracks. It...it looked like DeepGround." It was obvious Reeve was doing his best to hold himself together. "We found her shuriken discarded some yards from the vehicle as well," he finished quietly.
Vincent's chest felt constricted. Not her too, not Yuffie-
Chaos was laughing. He screamed at the demon to shut up, his rage finally allowing him enough control to temporarily silence the demon completely.
"I'll find her," he hissed, turning to leave immediately, but Reeve caught his arm, spinning him back around. It took all of Vincent's self-restraint not to snap his wrist.
"Vincent, I know you want to find her, but we need you. You're the only one who can handle the Tsviets, and Chaos is our only hope against Omega."
It was true, he knew. He stayed silent, battling his emotions, trying to think rationally.
He knew what must be done. He would continue fighting DeepGround because he was the only who could. He knew Reeve would not rest until Yuffie was found, that he would search high and low for her.
Of course, she wouldn't need to be found if he hadn't left her there, alone and unconscious in the first place. She would be with him, talking nonstop, trying to engage him in a contest about how many DeepGround soldiers they'd each defeated.
It was his fault. He couldn't save Lucrecia, the woman he had loved. He couldn't save Aerith, the most innocent and caring woman he had ever met. He couldn't save Shalua, his colleague who was so full of determination and courage.
So why would he even dare to think he could save Yuffie, who, though she was mortal and he would never die, would live a life infinitely longer than he ever could.
He would let Reeve handle it, he decided. A man who wasn't a screw up. A man who was just a man.
Not some demon-riddled monstrosity.
She was having nightmares again.
She tried to hide them from him, but when she was asleep she could no longer wear that carefully constructed mask of bright cheerfulness.
She would writhe, sometimes for nearly an hour, trapped in endless nightmares that he could only guess at. Their frequency had increased since Aerith's death.
But she had always had them, though he pretended to never notice.
This time, however, he was finding it particularly hard to ignore her. She was thrashing about, occasionally crying out, and tears were flowing freely down her cheeks.
He abruptly got up, moving towards her, concerned she might roll into the fire, she was moving so much.
Or so he told himself. It was not out of any concern for her emotional wellbeing; she was his fighting partner, and therefore had to be in top physical shape at all times.
Or so he told himself.
He would never let himself care for her. He must not.
It was already too late, of course. She'd taken him by surprise, slipped by his various emotional defences and somehow latched herself with a deathgrip onto the very edge of his heart.
Then she had betrayed him, and the pain was immense. But he had forgiven her, eventually. She had done it out of love for her country, was completed dedicated to her homeland and doing whatever it took to help make it better.
He understood the sentiment. His devotion to ShinRa as a Turk had been the same way. And that was just working for a corrupt company, let alone working for the betterment of one's home.
He had grown to care for her, whether he denied it or not.
Worst of all, he had allowed her to grow to care for him as well. She counted him a friend, one of her best.
And for that he hated himself. Hated his weakness at being unable to push her away hard enough so that she'd stop coming back.
He stepped away from her, self-loathing writhing in him as if mimicking the actions of the girl – young woman – in front of him. He retreated back another step, but she suddenly woke up.
She hugged her knees to her chest, trying to stop her sobs. Trying to not wake him up, he knew. And suddenly, he found himself beside her. Why he had moved there he didn't know. He thought of retreating, but it was too late, for she had thrown herself on him, sobbing into his chest.
And he, in his weakness, could not push her away.
So instead, he very gently wrapped his left arm around her, very conscious of the sharp fingers of his golden gauntlet.
How she could find any comfort in such a monstrosity as him was beyond his understanding.
Systematically, he tore his way through the DeepGround defences, slaughtering dozens of the enemy soldiers.
He was slowly becoming one with Chaos, and he didn't even care anymore.
Lucrecia. Yuffie. He had never learned from past mistakes. He should have ended his life long ago. Being immortal didn't make you immune to headshots.
Emerging from a stairway, he could see he was very near the top of the building now.
He could also see Rosso, standing in a relaxed pose, waiting for him. He walked towards her, Cerberus raised.
"Still alive, I see," she called, looking very unperturbed by his approach. "Not zhat I am surprised." She slowly rose her weapon, circling to his left. He followed her with Cerberus, unblinking.
"But vhat does surprise me," she continued, "Is zhat you are here fighting me, instead of searching fruitlessly for your little Wutai flee."
Vincent froze, eyes blazing as he regarded the maliciously grinning Rosso.
"Where is she?" he snarled.
"Oh ho, vouldn't you like to know? She's hidden." Rosso gave him a searching look. "She vas very intent on protecting you, I must say."
Was. "What did you do to her?" he hissed, struggling to control his emotions and his demons.
"Are you sure you vould like to know?" Rosso asked. "Are you sure you vould like to know what she endured for refusing to tell us of you?"
"What did you do to her!?" he yelled. His ears were filled with the sounds of his own pulse pounding, and his demons shared his agitation; Galian was snarlring, Gigas was bellowing, a chainsaw was revving and over it all came Chaos' laughter, mocking and cruel.
"She vas a brave one, I'll give her that much. All futile, of course, as here you are, and I vill be killing you shortly." Rosso gave him an almost seductive look. "You know vhat?" she purred, stroking one blade on her weapon with one long, index finger.
"I zhink I vill not tell you. I vill let you vonder vhat became of her. You vill never know." She stared him down, taunting him, mocking his efforts to control his rage.
"You vill never find her."
Snarling inarticulately, he fired off a three-round burst at her head, but she was already moving.
It was over in a manner of minutes. Cerberus barked, and a chunk of Rosso's thigh blew away in a meaty mess. Gasping, bleeding from other wounds, Rosso backed away from him.
"Where is she!?" he yelled, though he knew it was useless. Rosso, limping, knowing she had lost, still smiled.
And threw herself from the building.
He hadn't been this angry in years.
She stood there, looking slightly nervous in the face of his obvious anger but stubbornly holding her ground.
"You had no right," he snarled. How dare she, how dare she assume she could just waltz in and interfere in his life.
"I had every right," she replied defiantly, her granite eyes stormy as she met his glare. "As your friend, I'm not letting you do this to yourself."
"It was my choice to make!" he yelled. His anger at her mixed with his own disgust for being her friend in the first place.
"You're such a hypocrite, you know that?" she snarled. He snarled back.
"How does wanting to live my 'life'-" He couldn't help but put the emphasis on the word, mocking it - "the way I want to make me a hypocrite?"
"It's in the past."
He blinked, recognizing immediately the words as his own from when he had forgiven her for betraying him. Still, it did not give her the right to interfere, but he could think of nothing to say to her in rebuttal.
Yuffie apparently had no problem filling in the blanks for him.
"So explain to me, Valentine, why it's okay for others to move on and not for you?"
He inwardly winced at the callous use of his last name, then berated himself for even caring what she called him.
"It's different," he hissed, the words coming out at a dangerously quiet level.
"Oh, really?" Yuffie asked, her tone taking on a scornful edge. "Explain it to me, please, I'm very curious how the fuck you've convinced yourself of that."
She put her hands on her hips, waiting for his answer. Dimly, Vincent noticed the anger in her eyes nearly matched his own.
"You would not understand," he said, his voice flat and monotone.
Her look turned incredulous, before a bitter smile crossed her face.
"Not understand? Not understand what, exactly? That you loved her, but she loved someone else, loved something else, and you just couldn't accept it? Or that you don't seem to realize she was grown woman who made her own choices fully aware of the consequences?"
He could not believe her. She knew nothing. She never knew Lucrecia.
But her words still had a ring of truth to them, and that hurt far more than any physical wound she could have inflicted.
"Get out," he breathed, shaking with barely suppressed rage.
Yuffie ignored him, continuing on instead.
"Or maybe it's you who doesn't understand that if she really did love you, if she cared for you at all, she wouldn't want you to spend the rest of your days sleeping in a coffin?"
"GET OUT!" he shouted, feeling nearly overwhelmed with anger and the ever present self-loathing. His demons were howling; he was afraid he might lose control, and in his present state of mind hurt her.
"Fine," he heard her reply, sounding suddenly exhausted. He looked up in time to see her turn on her heel and plod out of the mansion. He started to turn away, but her voice stopped him.
"Have fun finding a new place to sleep, you fucking coward," she called to him. "And here I was, thinking you were my friend."
She slammed the door shut, rattling a rotting picture frame on the wall.
The parting comment echoed in his mind. It hurt him, hurt him deeply, but he felt a grim sense of satisfaction.
He could stand the pain. Better than her getting hurt because of him.
He continued doggedly on, impaling Azul on his own weapon, beating Nero in the midst of the Sable's own darkness.
He met with Weiss, and as they engaged, all he could think of was how even if he won here, he had forever lost her.
He was so weak.
Tifa had written him first – he had no phone at the time. Then Reeve. Cid. And most surprising was Reno, dropping in for a surprise visit.
All of them – though they told him in varying styles – demanded he apologize to Yuffie, whom, they explained, was very torn up over their fight.
He had ignored all of them, and slammed the door in Reno's face, but they all managed to say what they wanted to say.
Once again, he had acted too late. He had finally managed to push her away, but she had already become too attached, so instead he just ended up hurting her, the very thing he had been trying to prevent ever since he met her.
He agonized over what to do for several months. He was torn, indecisive, her words echoing in his head.
Eventually, though it was incredibly hard to do so, he resigned himself to acknowledging that Yuffie was probably right about one thing at least; Lucrecia would not want him spending eternity in a coffin.
Not that that was an option now, anyways.
Maybe he should take that job Reeve had offered him with the WRO. At least try to do something useful. Something in her memory.
Lucrecia had been dedicated to her job, to her study of the Lifestream and the Planet. It would be appropriate, he thought, to dedicate himself to a similar job.
He almost lamented the thirty years he'd spent in that coffin, realizing now that he should have been focusing on trying to live enough for two lifetimes. But eternity minus thirty years was still an eternity, so he didn't dwell on the lost time.
The fact still remained that he had hurt Yuffie. And while he may have decided that locking himself in a coffin was not the way to repent, he would never, ever risk hurting another human being the way he had hurt Lucrecia.
Finally he settled upon apologizing to her, just enough to repair the damage he caused, and then he would make sure to always keep her at arm's length. He'd watch over her from afar.
So he found himself waiting for her, blending in with the shadows of the Shera, finally having an excuse to talk to her.
She came into view, jogging eagerly through the steel hallways, not seeing him.
"Yuffie," he called. The sound of his voice made her freeze instantly, her expression of eager determination changing into one of barely controlled anger.
She turned towards him, not even meeting his eyes.
"What do you want, Valentine," she asked. Her voice, which he always remembered as so emotion-filled, was a carefully controlled monotone, and he inwardly flinched at the change.
Eyeing her, he was struck suddenly that there was very little girl in her anymore. Before him stood a woman. She had changed.
They all had.
He braced himself, reminding to apologize just enough to take away her hurt, and no more.
Instead, her words echoed in his head once more, and when he opened his mouth the apology did not come out as planned.
"...To thank you," he said quietly. Her eyes shot to his, wide with surprise.
As he said it, he realized how sincere he was. She had made him think, speaking to him so bluntly that day. Made him question, for the first time in decades, if he was following the right course in his search for repentance.
He looked away from her, unable to hold her gaze any longer as he carefully reorganized his thoughts, focusing on the original task he'd set out to complete. He was unsure how to proceed, however; now that he was here, facing her again, he felt confused.
He let out a small sigh, disappointed with his own lack of conviction. He looked back at her, forcing himself to stop thinking so much and to just apologize already.
"I'm so sorry," he murmured. He watched her face soften into some foreign emotion, and was afraid for a moment, afraid that Yuffie, being Yuffie, had forgiven him much more easily than he wanted her too.
And afraid because he almost hoped that she had.
Cid – and he had never been more thankful to see the blonde – chose that moment to interrupt, yelling something and grabbing Yuffie to bodily move her away.
They didn't have a chance to talk after that. He made sure of it.
He padded down the hallway. He felt exhausted. Weiss and Omega were defeated. Chaos was gone.
And he didn't give a damn.
He searched fruitlessly for Yuffie. Reeve had phoned him, letting him quietly know that he had been unable to locate her. He had checked everywhere, but he couldn't find any sign of her.
He found a DeepGround soldier, still alive. He attempted to question him, but the soldier spat at him and took his own life instead of answering his questions.
He kicked the corpse, letting loose a scream of frustration and despair.
Let me help you, Galian growled in his mind. I can sniff her out, if you let me.
And for the first time ever, Vincent encouraged the demon to come forth. He didn't question its motives. There was no time for that.
Galian immediately shot off in one direction. Vincent observed from within the beast's mind, his consciousness sitting impatiently with Gigas and Hellmasker, both looking oddly lonely without Chaos. He watched through Galian's eyes as they sighted upon a series of bloody bootprints.
Galian sniffed at the blood, then licked it.
It's Rosso's, the demon informed Vincent. He heard Hellmasker give a low hiss. Gigas made no reaction.
She survived, Vincent thought, disbelieving but not questioning it. She had been uninjured before he had fought her atop the ShinRa building.
Follow her, he ordered, but it was unnecessary, Galian already loping off, nose to the ground.
Vincent waited impatiently, hardly daring to hope. Suddenly, Hellmasker drew in a breath, sounding excited.
Someone's in pain, he whispered, with the voice of a child. Someone close.
Vincent forced Galian back into his mind, pain blurring his senses for a moment as he retook control of his body. He set off at a trot, Cerberus in hand.
Guide me, he ordered. Hellmasker whispered directions, guided by the nearby presence of pain.
A door loomed in front of Vincent. He ran for it, prepared to summon Gigas to smash it down, but it was unlocked and swung open.
Vincent ran into the room, dimly registering a surprised Rosso, but focused on one thing only.
He froze. Looking down on her, naked, covered in cuts and bruises, he felt something snap inside of him.
Screaming in rage, he shot Rosso point blank in the face, not even looking at her as he did so.
His eyes were on Yuffie. She was conscious, staring at Rosso's headless body with a detached fascination.
"Yuffie!" He stepped towards her, taking in the damage she had sustained.
Her left hand had had every digit in it snapped. Cuts, placed with a purposeful precision dotted her body.
And she'd been raped. Multiple times, most likely.
He tore at the bindings of his cloak, ripping it off and draping it over her, as if covering her nakedness would somehow replace the innocence she'd lost.
Lost because of him.
He rolled her gently onto her back, overwhelmed by the need to see her face again. As he did so, she closed her eyes, looking resigned to more tortures. Her face was cut as well, and a massive bruise covered one cheekbone.
"Yuffie..." he whispered.
What have I done? What have I done? What have I done to you?
No one answered. His remaining demons had withdrawn into his subconscious.
New demons, a thousand times worse than those that could actually walk and talk, danced in their stead.
All your fault, they chanted to him. All your fault, because you were weak. All your fault...
Yuffie opened her eyes slowly, the simple action looking as if it took an incredible amount of strength.
Her eyes met his, and he could see such relief in her eyes it was painful.
"Vincent..." she murmured, her voice raspy, the motion of talking causing her split lip to reopen, oozing dark blood.
"Shh, Yuffie, don't try to talk," he whispered. He watched as she opened her mouth, attempting to say more, but her eyes fluttered shut, and her head lolled to the side as unconsciousness rolled over her.
He stood, picking her up gently, afraid that any abrupt movement would break her even further.
As he strode down the lifeless corridors back towards the surface, carrying her, he found the silence overwhelming. He found himself longing to hear her voice again, to hear that cackle of hers, hear her call 'Vinnie!'.
Echoes of her voice mingled with the mocking chants of his fleshless demons and with the whispers of memories long past.
An hour later, he barged into a WRO medical tent, shouting for aid.
He stayed with her just long enough to know she'd make a full physical recovery. The pain he felt, watching her, living off of tubes and IVs and careful application of Curative magic, was incredible. The same pain he felt when he saw her, clutching at her stomach, Hojo laughing quietly from the shadows.
So he fled.
But no matter where he ran, he couldn't escape his demons.