Memoir

"Now here I am, half a man/ standing alone"
– Breakin' Me, Jonny Lang

Cloud slammed open the front entrance to the current headquarters of Shin–Ra. The slender brunette serving as the front office's secretary jumped, almost stumbling out of her chair to ward off the blond warrior. He ignored her as she slammed down the phone in her hand, the voice on the other end still squawking, and began to round the desk. "Sir, you can't bring that sword in there–" She got no further as Cloud pushed through the double–doors into the flat office space, the secretary a breath behind him, and he promptly ran into the taller, broader chest of Rude. Mr. Incognito, Cloud mused to himself as he glared up into his reflection in the bald man's sunglasses.

He began to push past him. "I need to talk to Shin–Ra, and you're not stopping me."

A strong hand fell onto his shoulder with a dangerously firm squeeze. There was no thrill of fear or misgiving as Cloud turned to face him, hand up to grasp the hilt of the sword strapped to his back, but his grip relaxed at the Turk's words. "His office is this way." Rude turned abruptly to move down a hallway. Cloud followed, full of suspicion.

Rude pushed open a door, holding it open for Cloud to pass through, and Cloud gave him a sidelong glare as he passed him, suspicion confirmed when the door swung shut without Rude following.

The young, blonder president of the world's most destructive company glanced up idly from the paperwork he was rewarding with his signature. "Cloud. Good to see you. How have you been?" Another quick scrawl across the bottom of a page.

Cloud slammed a hand down on the solid oak desk, a faint splintering sound making Rufus lay his pen down next to the paperwork and lean back, appraising Cloud with a cynical gaze. "We both know why I'm here, Shin–Ra. We haven't heard from Vincent in over a week, and the last anyone heard was a cryptic message he left me to check up on your shady ass." Cloud lowered his face, unperturbed by Rufus's cool expression. "What did you do to him?"

Cloud pulled back, surprised, when Rufus gave a slight chuckle. "Valentine?" He pushed away from his desk, standing and motioning Cloud to the door. "I don't think it's a matter of what we did to him, Cloud," he said as he led the way, "But a matter of what he did to us."

Vincent slammed the door behind him, turning in a swirl of cloak, the diary clutched tightly in his hand. This needs to end, here and now, one way or another. He gave the room a short glance, undisturbed by the broken coffins and human bones littering the close quarters. Sitting on the ground in front of the door, he leaned against it, the key on the floor beside him. He stared down at the diary, its plain cover giving away none of its secrets. She is good as dead, by her own will. I cannot disturb the privacy of a person who no longer exists. And yet, his heart began to pound as he unwound the leather strap that bound it closed, vaguely reminded of the time his father caught him mixing chemicals together in his lab at home to create a makeshift bomb. This is not what science is for, Grimoire had snarled. Science exists to help others. Vincent's mouth curved into a sardonic smudge of a smile. In the end, father, science existed to help the company.

He cracked open the book, binding creaking once again as if to say hello, and Lucrecia's loopy cursive sprang out at him. He marveled at her handwriting without reading the words, its smooth precision and friendly appearance, completely unlike the quick, shortened scrawlings of Hojo or the bold, spaced letters of his father's. She was not a scientist, in so many ways. He let his eyes lose focus, his visions blurring the ink into a sea of black and white. But in the end, she was a scientist, wasn't she? Using humans as test subjects, completely disregarding the fact I had died to protest that very thing. In keeping me alive, she rejected any chance at martyrdom I may have had.

And he began to flip through the pages, looking for the date he would never forget, the day that had branded him for this excuse of a life, ignoring the faint echo he heard in the back of his mind.

A man of walking contradictions…

Ah, there it was. Her headings were simple, plain, but her entries would speak volumes. He bent his head and began to read.

February 10th:

I've finally met the new Turk that's been assigned here to oversee security of the mansion. I don't think I've ever been so shocked in my life.

His name is Vincent Valentine. Dr. Valentine's son. Grimoire…

He doesn't know, he can't know, because he looks at me like anyone else does. But he is a Turk, after all, and from what Grimoire told me they weren't close.

But… what am I supposed to do? How can I work around him, continue the research that ultimately killed his father? I guess I'll just have to ignore it, but…

He has his father's eyes, those beautiful scarlet eyes. How can ignore those?

If only she'd known he'd long figured out what had happened. His father had been a thorough, methodical man, well suited to his field. He had not been prone to mistakes. It only served to reason that he had not been the cause of the accident. In fact, his mother had written to tell him that Grimoire had received a posthumous medal for the fact her had saved a young assistant's life in that accident. It had not been a detail he'd remembered until he came into her lab to see his father's face on that screen, and as she stormed out, all of it came back to him, clicking into place, lighting up her strange behavior and the murmurs he'd heard like someone had flicked a switch. He'd cursed himself afterward, for not seeing it sooner. The comment she made upon first meeting him. Every dry joke he made, that bittersweet look on her face, and he should've known she was remembering his father, their eyes and sense of humor the only things they shared. For the love of Holy, he'd been so blinded by her. Grimly, he skimmed past the scientific notations and everyday exclamations to the next day that meant anything to him.

April 29th:

I… can't believe what I just did. I've been building a friendship with Vincent these past few months, and it's helped with the grief, but what I just did…

I just wanted to bring him lunch. He'd been out behind the mansion, practicing his marksmanship, all afternoon, so I packed up a lunch to bring out to him, and found him asleep under that wonderful blooming tree I like so much.

We had too much wine, because we… oh, god…

… I've never experienced anything like that before. And he loves me; I can see it in his eyes. But if he ever found out that I caused his father's death? I don't think I'd survive losing him, too.

I'm so confused right now.

Just like he'd suspected, he'd been nothing but indulgence to her. But his mind curled around her words: I've never experienced anything like that before. That stain on the blanket. Had it just been the spilt wine? His mind swam at the implications.

All the same, she regretted her actions, and that's all he needed to know. She had never loved him. They were friends, and she had cared for him out of guilt for his father's death. His lip curled upward in disgust at himself and it was all he could do not to snarl at his next thought. I was nothing but a pity fuck.

Vincent threw the diary at the other side of the room, leaning into his hand and listening to it clatter among the broken coffins. Is that why you made me recall that day in your cavern, hardly a week ago? To remind me what you had been to me, but what I hadn't been to you?

If there were tears slipping between the fingers pressed to his eyes, Vincent would never admit it.

Reno woke with a low, loud groan; he was in pain, a lot of it, and he wanted everyone around him to know about it. It was only fair; in Reno's opinion, anyway.

Elena hovered by his bedside as he split open eyes that rather would not have. She put on her brave face, the face that tried to reassure him that, despite the hordes of doctors that have been trooping through Shin–Ra's sickbay, he was going to be fine. But the way she clutched at his good hand gave her away. Nice try, 'Lena.

But when the door to his private room opened and Rufus strolled through, Reno was unsurprised. The president came to visit him often when he was awake, to quiz him and make sure he was retaining memory despite of the painkillers being pumped into his bloodstream. I may be doped up, I may have lost the use of my left arm permanently, but I am still not dumb, boss. He gazed up at Elena's hopeful brown eyes, giving her a waning smile before he noticed the spikes of blonde that normally did not grace his presence. At first, he thought it was a morphine–induced hallucination, but he pulled his head up, blurry eyes taking in the unyielding but concerned look on Cloud's face. He let his head flop back against the mountain of pillows Elena frequently fluffed for him despite its lack of necessity. Great, Strife really is here.

"Wadda want?" Reno slurred, playing up the injured act. He had perfectly level conversations with Elena multiple times, but that was not how he wanted this to pan out.

Rufus's blue eyes narrowed at his incapacitated charge. "Cloud would like to know what happened to his friend Valentine." Though his tone conveyed friendliness, those eyes that bore into Reno belayed any real trace of it.

Reno glanced at Cloud's crossed arms. Ah, yes, Vampy. He let his eyes rest on the whitewashed ceiling as he felt Elena, still holding his right hand, go still beside him. I know what to say, boss. "He… attacked Elena and I, while we were investigating a disturbance at the Northern Crater." Except for the heightened eyebrows, Cloud gave away no expression. "Shot my magrod. It exploded. Hence the…" He tried to raise his left arm, failing with a sharp intake of breath, Elena springing up to lay a cool hand on his exposed, uninjured shoulder. Sweet Shiva, that hurts. Reno ground his teeth together, as much from the pain as the conflicted look in Elena's eyes, her face turned away from Rufus. Don't much like it either, baby.

Rufus gave a hmph. "Least he could have done was make it a nice, clean bullet wound." Cloud's disbelieving eyes strayed to Rufus. "Instead, Reno has weeks of recovering and therapy, and still no clear prognosis of the use he'll retain of his arm."

Reno pushed the breath out through his teeth, feigning ache. Elena still stared down at him while Rufus gave them that calculating glare. Cloud bore into Reno, and Elena turned to Rufus, distracting him with a pointless question as Reno raised his head and gave Cloud one clear, unfazed glance. Cloud's eyes widened almost imperceptibly, and Reno dropped his head back again. Don't tell me you've lost those warrior instincts, Strife. The door clanged shut, and Reno glanced up to see Rufus with suspicion in his eyes as he turned to follow Cloud out of the room and presumably, out of the building. Elena patted Reno's good hand, and he gave it a prolonged squeeze, shutting his eyes against the dim light. She sighed and laid her cheek against his bare shoulder, and he savored the warmth of her breath for a moment as she huffed out her nose. Yeah, yeah, He wanted to tell her, I'll be fine, and hopefully Vincent will be, too.

A few hours later, Vincent raised his head. Something was bothering him, wouldn't leave his mind no matter how much he pushed it aside to wallow in the unadulterated pain that came with the confirmation of her lack of emotion. Reluctantly, he rose, crossing the room to shuffle through the debris to find the discarded journal.

If she never cared, then why did she save me?

The irony was not lost on Vincent. He'd deserved to die at that moment, as much as she should've died long before giving birth, their deaths the only thing that could save the world from that dark plunge that spiraled down from there. But she'd tried to give him life, tried desperately to recover from the situation. What Vincent wanted to know was why.

I'm so sorry…

Elena and Tseng had been grateful to be alive. Tifa barely contained her ecstatic relief when Cloud was revived. Shelke was learning to live again and savoring each new moment. Now Cid and Shera, rejoicing in the birth of their son, another blessing from the Lifestream. Life was a gift, and the world was reveling in it. But…

I survived, because of you, but… driven by nothing but our own faults… Life became our punishment, Lucrecia. Why did you retain the hope that it might become fruitful, for me? Because it was the only way you could assure your return?

No, that didn't make sense. She'd never have sealed herself off in the first place, if that had been the case. So what has changed? He spotted the journal wedged between the wall and a corner of a coffin, retrieving it before retreating back to his spot in front of the door. And since you're gone, there's only one way to find out. He opened it back up again, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he breathed a sigh of relief.

May 16th:

I'm pregnant, and Hojo and I are getting married next week. Everything's moved so fast. I've been desperately trying to convince myself that I've done the right thing. Hojo needs my love so badly, he craves it like a baby cries for its mother after a nightmare. Vincent… I could never live my life with Vincent. He's too complex. I just hope this way, I can protect them both.

And this baby I'm going to have… I guess, in the end, I'll just have to wait and see.

I've hardly seen Vincent since that day in my lab. I want to apologize but I just don't know how to. His eyes have gone cold and distant, and every time I see him…

It's just like killing Grimoire all over again.

He'd spent almost two months in a drunken stupor trying to ignore the heartache. Whenever he wasn't at the mansion, nursing a hangover and building that wall of ice inside him, he was in Nibelheim proper getting smashed.

Vincent had known she'd gone to Hojo to protect him, failing miserably, but it had never crossed his mind that she'd done it to protect him, as well. From Hojo, perhaps? But all her regret and concern was focused on the death of his father. From her then? He squeezed his eyes shut. If only she'd known I'd never blame her… At least my father had died protecting something I loved, even if I didn't know it yet. It was truly the last gift he left me, unwittingly. He took in a deep breath as the realization hit him. If I had been able to tell her that… her grief consumed her, but if she had known that… Maybe she would've recovered. Odin knew, Vincent had learned from Aerith that each life and each death had a purpose.

And as for Sephiroth… those mako–green eyes and silvered hair had disguised all hint of his natural parentage. No doubt, Jenova had been as much his mother as he'd spent his whole life imagining.

Curiosity not satiated, he skipped to September 13th, a month before his twenty–eighth birthday. To the last day he'd ever known.

The day he'd died.