Nightblindness
"This can't be saved/ you can't be found/ hung up and left me for dead on the ground/ you didn't even say goodbye"
– Shoulda, Hinder
The full moon had just risen, round and fat as the tropical fruit that hung from the jungle trees surrounding Mideel, every crag and crater almost close enough to touch. Its cold light reflected against the colorless expanse of undisturbed snow, a blank, bright canvas that stretched all the way to the horizon. So bright, in fact, if not for the presence of the moon and the faint sparkling of stars, the night was indistinguishable from the day that had preceded it. Vincent, standing on the edge of the crater looking down on the icy landscape, held up one hand, examining the lines on his palms and across the joints of his fingers, detail undisturbed by shadows. The moon was tinged blue, around the edge that teetered on the wavy mountains, and the wind ruffled the few trees he could see stretched against them.
Vincent had been born under a full moon, a fact significant only to his superstitious mother, something she learned to keep to herself. Grimoire used to scold her whenever she let it show, telling her that the numbers of ravens she saw perched on a wire or how many roses bloomed in the garden could not possibly influence the way life unfolded itself. But Vincent, having spent far more time with her than his father did, still saw it in her: she never hung the laundry on Fridays, always bought fruit in even numbers, crossed her fingers when passing over a bridge. It was a habit he never understood, and yet it stuck with him throughout his years far better than the science his father had taught him.
Vincent lowered his hand, reaching into his cloak. He pulled out his cell phone, frustrated to see that the screen remained blank. He resisted the urge to toss it off the edge of the cliff and watch it clatter down the icy banks, since he knew he'd need it. He wanted to call Cloud and tell him to look into what might be occurring behind Shin–Ra's closed doors, he wanted to call Cid and tell him to bring the Highwind, so he didn't have to climb down the glacier. When I actually need the damned thing… the screen remained stubbornly black.
So he began the long climb down the cliffs of the glacier, grateful for his resistance to cold and for the light and smoke coming from Holzoff's tiny house as guidance. He moved swiftly yet carefully, knowing even his enhanced body would have a hard time recovering from a fall from the height. The moon was smaller, high in the sky by the time he reached the base, and his fingers ached from being constantly curled and crammed into cracks, the pack on his back much heavier from the dense crystals. He paused near the mountaineer's small cabin, remembering his kindness and advice, and decided not to bother him at this time of night. Besides, he didn't have any time to spare. He'd reach Icicle Inn just past dawn, giving the Turks a few days lead in whatever their plans may be. Vincent continued across the snow, trudging through snow banks so similar he kept one eye on the stars to make sure he wasn't getting turned around. If he ended up wandering, he could be lost for days.
If she exerts that influence over you… Elena had not gone into great detail, but what could she mean? That Lucrecia would manipulate him into ill ends? Rufus was obviously afraid that the enhanced ex–Turk and the ex–Shin–Ra scientist would plot his, if not his company's, demise. Rufus Shin–Ra must have known about Deepground. Officially, he was kept in the dark, but Scarlet was known for her pillow talk. Odin knew, she was never quiet about anything else. And Lucrecia was the last scientist involved in the Jenova Project, the other black mark on Shin–Ra's record. Surely, she was also aware of the experiments used to create the project only known as "G", the precursor to Deepground. In disposing of Lucrecia and himself, they would be rid of any traces of human experimentation, rid of anyone with dangerous knowledge of their terrible projects. Using death to bring about a clean slate.
If only he could wish that for himself.
If she exerts that influence over you… The question in Vincent's mind was not about whether she would, but rather if she could. And he knew it was all too possible. It had taken so little from her to get him wandering across the world, just like he was wandering across these snow plains now, all to find a way to bring her back, leaving behind all he had come to cherish on his own. She was his weakness.
And she had not shown herself to him in weeks. Vincent felt an unexpected surge of resentment fill him, for her and himself as well. She cast me on a scent, and like the hound I am, I blindly follow it because she commands it. This could lead me off a cliff, and I wouldn't care. He pushed his face further into the collar of his cloak, eyes losing focus on the path in front of him as he turned them on himself. Do this all for a woman whose intentions are unclear? Lucrecia hadn't told him she loved him, not once, despite how many times he had repeated it. None of the holograms or files or memories she had left behind had expressed anything other than kindness and regret.
Vincent gritted his teeth. He'd suspected he had been nothing more than simple indulgence on her part, that afternoon on the hilltop, and even in his desperate infatuation he'd been able to read the confliction in her eyes. She had been holding back while he tried to give her everything he could.
Stop it! Just stop it! Vincent came to a dead stop as her voice echoed in his mind, boots scraping brutally against the icy ground. If this is just about me, then yes, I'm sure! And he respected her decision, unable to protect the last bit of purity in the whole warped scenario. Sephiroth… We've failed you, so many times. And then when Lucrecia collapsed, and Hojo refused to let anyone near "his project", and Vincent's anger had swelled like a tidal wave, and he spent months afterward drugged and groggy, nothing more than another experiment to the both of them.
By the power of Holy, I am nothing but a fool. Vincent clenched his fist, leather glove creaking from the cold. A love–struck fool. She never loved me. I am but a means to an end for her, now and before. He thought of her laugh, that mischievous glint in her eyes that he loved, the way she clasped her hands behind her back and rocked on her heels. She knows I love her, and now that she is getting a final task from me, she has no need for me. So I hear nothing, and I still sniff out the trail for her. She left me again, and just like before, I pine and sift through the ashes, searching for something to salvage. Vincent stared up at the cold, hard moon, unable to tell what was clear in its stolen light. If you are truly sorry, then what compels you to inflict this on me once more?
And if I am so weak I've let my hope blind me, that I've passed over what I've discovered in your absence, do I deserve any of what I hold dear?
A scratch of ice and a low growl from his left, and he broke from his thoughts, hand dropping to the butt of his revolver, turning to face a trio of bandersnatches. Crouched and ready to spring on their prey, their grey pelts blended perfectly into the landscape, nothing but shadows. Vincent slowly began to draw Cerberus, pivoted in a defensive stance, and the wolf in front let out a vicious snarl and leapt at his throat, managing to get close enough he could feel its hot, damp breath pass over his face before he dodged the snapping jaws, drawing Cerberus fully and sending the contents of the wolf–creature's skull splattering across the pristine snow, splotches a dark contrast. Fragments of bone exploded backwards, their sharp edges raining slivers of cuts across Vincent's exposed forehead and cheekbones, and he faced the two remaining fiends, who were completely unperturbed by the loss of their comrade.
Another snarl and they bounded simultaneously, one bounding high after Vincent' s throat, the other dropping low to snap at his legs. Vincent rounded out a kick, knocking the lower wolf aside with a yelp, but the other one had anticipated Vincent's deflection and dodged the swipe from his claws, bounding up again to clamp its jagged teeth into his right shoulder. Vincent let out a growl with the pain, sharp and stabbing all the way down to his fingertips, and the bandersnatch dragged him down to the snow, its companion licking its chops and darting in for the final bite at his throat, but between the smell of blood and the gore covering him from the point–blank shot, the pain and the moon and the tension that had already built inside of him, Galian Beast won the inner scramble and pushed up from his cage deep within him, and he let out a true howl as his skin boiled and his joints cracked, the transformation painful as it always had been.
He knocked both bandersnatches away from him with one sweep of his bulky arms, one whimpering, recognizing the smell of an alpha beast, and the other snarling again, angered by loss of prey. Vincent's hazy mind tried to grasp for control and lost as the Beast cast out its arms, howling and frying both lesser creatures with a blast of lavender lightning. Vincent gasped as his body shrank back into itself, enemy no more, thirst for carnage satiated, enveloped by the crackling aura that signified transformation, the corpses of the bandersnatches bleeding and sizzling a few feet away. He gagged from where he crouched, clawed arm plunged into the snow to steady him, the stench from the burning bodies overwhelming. He pushed to stand himself up, his balance wavering and the flood of exhaustion that always followed an unwelcome change preventing him from reaching his feet, and he staggered to one side, almost falling into the smoking carrion that surrounded him. He managed to stumble a few steps away, falling hard on his knees, leaning his forehead into the snow bank he faced. I cannot even control the monsters that churn within me, and I hoped to attain a content existence? He thought of that first morning with Marlene, when he'd woken with her curled next to him, and how his first panicked thought had been a coherent image of her dismembered figure on the bedroom floor. And I'd wake like that, every morning, except wondering if it would be Lucrecia. Is that what she wants? To question each night if she'd awaken in the morning to a man or a beast? If only she'd known she had destroyed one when she created the other. We are both fools, Lucrecia, to assume we'd ever live anything other than tainted lies. He pulled his wet face from the snow, sure now that everything he'd accomplished in the past few weeks had been in vain. The memory of her back to him, moving away, as he reached out toward her and knowing she was nothing more than a hologram. All I'll ever have. And it came again, tearing out his throat, breath melting the snow bank and dribbling freezing water down his forehead, dripping off the end of his nose and onto his lips. "Lucrecia!"
It was nearly an hour before the exhaustion subsided enough for Vincent to rise to his feet, and he began to follow the stars again, feet trudging forward despite the fact his heart wanted to lay in the snow and let the beasts of the glacier and the beasts of his turmoil consume him.
Vincent reached Icicle Inn a few hours past dawn, the town still sleepy and unwilling to awaken in the uncannily early sunrise. He didn't even bother to stop in the town, hiking past it and pulling out his phone to call Cid, hoping the preoccupation with the baby had died down, long enough to catch a lift, anyway.
He was vaguely surprised when his phone lit up and the message light didn't start its frantic blink. He punched in Cid's number, unsurprised when he answered after several rings with a snarled, "What the fuck do you want?"
"Cid. Vincent. I need someone to pick me up from Icicle Inn."
A heavy sigh. "Goddamn, Vince. Do you know how long it takes to get a baby to go to sleep?"
Shera mumbled in the background, "And how would you know, Cid? You were out long before he was."
A slight smile crossed Vincent's mouth as Cid spoke again. "I'll be there with the Highwind in half an hour. You gotta meet my kid, though." Warmth spread through his voice. "You oughtta see it. 'Bout bent my finger in half, boy's so strong." A cough to cover up the sentimentality Cid refused to show. "Northmost green patch, huh? If you're not there, I'm leavin' again." Before Vincent could reply an affirmative, the line went dead. Cid's got more than he can handle, looks like.
It took Vincent fifteen minutes to reach the slender jag of land, the northern–most place an airship could land. He took out his phone, leaving a brief message on Cloud's voicemail. The Highwind, Lady Luck (with the recent addition of a pair of horn–rimmed glasses) painted on the side, crossed into his vision a few seconds later. Cid threw the ladder from the deck, ember from his cigarette glowing faintly, motioning with one hand for Vincent to hurry up. He scaled the rope rungs deftly, slightly nostalgic, and swung his long legs over the railing. Cid was already half–way below deck, undoubtedly striding toward the cockpit, anxious to return to Rocket Town. Vincent followed at a more sedate pace after replacing the ladder, reaching the familiar room as the airship began to lift off again.
Unconsciously, Vincent crossed to his once–accustomed position, down three steps and to the side, up on the small platform. He leaned against the low wall, bracing himself for the swerve south, before he raised his voice against the engine noise. "Thank you, Cid."
Cid grunted from where he swung the wheel, pausing to punch a few buttons. "No problem." He grinned. "I was itching for someone to show the kid off too, anyway."
They landed in the field where the rocket once had been, Cid out and almost to the back door before the engines stopped whirring. While once he would have flung open the back door, instead he cracked it, swinging it open gently and without noise. Vincent followed him down the hall to the living room where Shera sat curled in the couch, robe over her pajamas, T.V. babbling softly, cooing down at the bundle in her arms. She glanced up, warmth lighting up her eyes as she saw her husband, and she smiled at Vincent. "Oh, good." She rose, careful not to disturb the baby as she passed him over to Cid. "I just fed him. I suspected he'd start fussing for you soon." She opened her mouth to say something further, but Cid interrupted her, turning toward Vincent, the baby cradled in the crook of his elbow.
"Kid, this is Vince." He glanced up at Vincent's wary eyes, unperturbed by his lack of enthusiasm. "Vince, this is the next great pilot to ever cross Gaia, 'cause I'm teaching him to fly before he learns to talk." He adjusted his grip, sliding his hands under the yawning baby's arms, holding him gently out so Vincent could see him, blanket dropping to the floor. "Colin Demetrius Highwind."
Colin, a dusty swath of sandy blonde hair gracing his forehead and luminous, unfocused eyes as blue as his father's, pulled a slobbery hand from his mouth and smacked Cid on the nose. Cid grunted. "Don't be mad at me, boy, your momma's the one that gave you the weird middle name."
As Shera started to protest, Vincent was startled into a chuckle, but as he observed the adoration in the stare–down between blue eyes, all he could remember was the pair as crimson as his own, cold and unyielding. Shera headed into the kitchen to make breakfast as Cid settled onto the couch, Colin propped up on his lap, blindly swiping at Cid's fluttering fingers. Vincent lowered himself into one of the Highwinds' worn armchairs. A new addition to AVALANCHE, as feisty as one could expect from Cid, but instead of feeling mirth, sorrow crept up on Vincent. Another life I will come to love and watch die.
Don't be a fool, boy, a memory echoed in his head. Of course you'll go into science. You can't play war games forever. The sun broke across the windows, lighting up the walls of the living room, dancing with the curtains. Vincent's face was grim. But I did, father, and I am still. Forever. He was afraid, he knew.
I'm a monster, now. This is what your science did it to me.