The Effect of Gravity

"I wake up, it's a bad dream/ no one on my side/ I was fighting but I just feel too tired to be fighting/ guess I'm not the fighting kind/ wouldn't mind it if you were by my side/ but you're long gone now"
– A Bad Dream, Keane

Cloud sped through the streets of Edge, circling block after block despite the fact Shin–Ra was a few minutes away from his and Tifa's home. The whole scene had reeked of deception. Reno had not been as incapacitated as he seemed; in fact, Cloud expected him to be seething with rage at what had been done to him, but instead, he was resigned to it. Like it had been his fault. Elena, as well, was too quiet, as if she'd been instructed not to open her mouth. And Vincent, attacking them without cause? Yeah, right.

Something was fishy at Shin–Ra, and Cloud knew whatever it was, Reno and Elena weren't all right with it, either.

If only I can figure out what drove him out of Cid's house in the middle of the night… And something dawned on him, someone who'd be able to help.

Cloud pulled Fenrir in a tight circle, ignoring the honks from cars at his illegal u–turn as he pushed the motorcycle toward Seventh Heaven.

Vincent scanned the entry, and the one after it, vaguely shocked by disbelief, before shutting the cover and sitting back heavily against the door. He'd remembered her cries as he'd collapsed to the floor, fresh like it had been the previous day, always clinging to his memory. What have you done? But Vincent had always believed Hojo had convinced her to turn him into an experiment, just as he'd done with their baby. It seemed like the only explanation, especially after Shalua's reaction to his shock at learning he'd been a "product" of her experiments. What other rationalization could there be?

A conflicted one, he now knew.

I never told him what his father said when he'd died. His last words… "Tell my son I'm sorry." Sorry for what? I always wondered, and now I know. Sorry he had saved me instead of himself. I destroyed both their lives, men who loved me and only wanted what's best, put my well–being before their own. Oh, god, Hojo is not to blame for this. I am. If I'd never become interested in Omega and Chaos, if I'd never let Hojo coerce me into using the baby as an experiment, if I hadn't submitted to my hormones on that hilltop…

No. Don't regret that, Lucrecia, no matter what. It's the only beautiful moment you still have.

I never told him what his father said…

Hojo's been called to Midgar, probably to officially become head of the Jenova Project. I managed to get Vincent out of his lab and into a support tube in my own, but…

He's still dying. And there's only one way to save him…

Damn you, Lucrecia! Oh, god, I never told him his father was sorry. How can I tell him I am?

He'd known she'd exposed him to the Chaos factor to save him. He'd been glad of it, in the end, after Deepground. It'd been part of the reason he had followed her lead and set off to free her. She's been right, in a way. Hadn't they both deserved some happiness, by now?

She was fragmenting, by that point. And despite what she professed, she still seethed with hatred for Hojo. The entries had become sporadic, not longer the consistent, daily musings, but short, conflicted expressions of desperation. The entry after his death was well over a month later, as if between the pregnancy, the pain, and the Jenova cells infecting her body she couldn't write coherently.

November 25th:

I have to get out of here. Hojo's becoming more and more mad by the day, threatening me and forcing me to endure far more injections that we'd previously planned.

I have to get out, but I can't leave Vincent.

His transformation was… terrifying. But with the Protomateria, he'd retained his normal form. And he's not just another experiment, Hojo! He's… much more.

But if I leave, I leave him to Hojo's mercy. With the strength his body now holds… But my baby. I have to save my baby… I feel him churn inside of me, his kicking tearing my stomach apart, and I can fill the lining of my intestinal cavity give way, ripping. It's excruciating.

I'm sorry, Vincent, I have to get away from here… I'm so sorry…

When he'd read that, he choked back a shout. If only she'd left him for dead, escaped before she'd had too many injections. Why had she stayed behind for his sake, trying to save him when it'd been as much his fault as hers? Save yourself! Save Sephiroth! He wanted to scream across time, as if it would change her mind. I'm dead… I always have been. He gritted his teeth, swallowing the swollen lump of his throat, forcing himself to read the last entry, a faint scribble followed by half a book of blank, white pages.

December 1st:

He drugged me… and… induced my labor.

Goddamn you, Hojo! I will… not let you live with this…

I've uploaded my memories into the computer network. I alerted Shin–Ra to his deranged madness. Please, take my son away from here…

He took my baby, my son… I didn't get to hold him, not once… My son… he didn't let me see my son!

Please, please… save him, Vincent. Save him from the monstrosity he'll become.

I've got to… stop Hojo, now.

Oh, by the power of Holy, what had she done? Is that how he'd woken up to a deserted lab, no one in sight? Vincent sucked in a breath far heavier than it should have been, his chest heaving upward like a man taking his last breath. Lucrecia… what did you do? That parental desperation, something he'd seen shine in Barret's eyes when Sephiroth had nearly obliterated them, that fierce gleam in Cid's solid blue gaze as he laughed at Colin's baby antics. It was the most powerful force in the world, drove men to pick up cars and women to become rabid beasts. And Lucrecia, with Jenova cells…

Oh, gods, what did she do?

He had no way of knowing, not with all the blank pages and his next memory one of waking up on an operating table to an empty mansion.

Such a twisted, warped circle it made, three people trying to enhance the world and destroying it instead, power–sick and love–blind and guilt–driven, and his dark despair rushed up on him, no longer the welcome force he'd believed it to be, and he felt that spark of hope within him begin to fade and die, and he panicked. Her laugh, those golden–rimmed eyes as she looked up at him, the way she rubbed her stomach absently while he watched her, not speaking, the yellow ribbon and the crushed daffodil, dark–red wine staining his knees, her grimace of pain as she collapsed on the floor of the lab, the smile on her face as she held the picnic baskets out to him in his surprise, all of it began to ebb from his mind and he scrambled for it, suddenly desperate not to let it leave, needing it to thrive. Can't lose what you haven't gained…

…I have so much to lose.

It slammed into him, the conflicted wave of hope, despair, desperation… Overwhelming love can consume you, in the end… Vincent slumped forward, breath forced and hurried, claw screeching against the stone of the floor. I'm so sorry… He slammed his head back against the door, pleading with the sharp piercing pain to jar him from this, let the air fill his lungs. We'd never be the same. Oh, gods, breath, he needed air… Please, save him, Vincent…

His vision blurred, the room becoming a swirl of brown and grey and the violet plush of his coffin, and Vincent opened his mouth only to let out a small moan as it all smacked back into him with the force of a tsunami and he noticed the blood running from his knuckles, forming a dark red smear across the dirty floor. And then his vision focused, too quickly, leaving him dizzy and making his eyes scream from the effort.

The dark red smear of his blood became a stained blanket then became a puddle on a lab floor, vision obscured by the curve of glass…

He watched blankly as Hojo stood in front of him, hand on his chin thoughtfully, and Vincent knew he was contemplating very, very bad things from the gleam in his eyes. "Yes… She's done well. You'll be able to withstand the changes I failed on you before…" He gave a small, sinister chuckle. "Now that's she's out of the way…" His expression hardened, and he reached for the latch on the support tube, fingers a mere breath away as the door slammed open behind him.

And Hojo pulled back, a snarl on his face from being disrupted, and his surprise was almost as great as Vincent's at the sight before him.

Lucrecia stood behind him, a waif–like figure compared to her previous shining one, dressed in a non–descript surgery gown, her feet bare and her hair loose and flowing over her shoulders, grown–out bangs brushing into her wild eyes, lips bruised and bloodied from her teeth grinding against them. Vincent's gaze focused on the dribble of blood that ran down the inside of one leg, her knees trembling from the effort to stand, flicking dark–red spots across the ground beneath her, the stream running over the bones of her ankle and pooling on the floor, seeping between her toes, the nails no longer tipped with pink nail polish. "Hojo," she breathed, "This needs to stop here."

Hojo laughed. Vincent shivered, as did Lucrecia. "And how, my dear, are you going to accomplish that?"

Vincent and Hojo both noticed the faint sheen at her side as she raised one hand in the air. The tip of the Hermes WR wavered slightly as she pointed it at Hojo. Oh, Lu, Vincent thought, Keep it steady. Use your other hand to support the base. Suddenly he regretted never showing her how to use the gun.

Hojo laughed again. Vincent tried to raise a hand and could not. Lucrecia's eyes zeroed in on Hojo, never glancing at Vincent in the tube behind him. "Shoot me? And never know where your precious son has been taken to?"

She clicked back the hammer. Her knees still trembled, the blood expanding across the floor. "You don't know, either. I was the one that had them take him away."

Although Vincent couldn't see his face, he could hear the rage that flooded Hojo's voice. "Oh? And you will shoot me to avenge him? Dare I remind you it was as much your choice as mine?"

She wavered at that. Hojo pounced, sensing the weakness. "And what will you do with your little experiment, then? Use him to retrieve Sephiroth so the three of you can live in a happy–ever–after?" Hojo's face went from amused to ugly. "They're built for battle, Dr. Crescent. They will tear you apart as soon as they get the chance."

Her hand strayed to her now–flat stomach, and she curled her toes into the blood between them. No doubt, she'd only survived the labor due to the Jenova cells inside her. She raised the gun again, shaking her head wildly from side to side, and if Vincent had a breath to catch, he would have. "No! No! I will not let you manipulate me any further!"

Hojo held one hand out to her, as if to beckon her closer to him. "But you enjoyed it so thoroughly before."

She sucked in a breath, taking a step backward as if he'd slapped her, and one foot slipped in the puddle of blood as her finger twitched against the trigger, a shot ringing out. Hojo's body slammed back into the support tube, a crack webbing across Vincent's immobile vision as the bullet ricocheted against the glass. She crashed to her knees and Hojo moaned from his spot on the floor, and her face split into a sunrise of surprise as she scrambled to her feet, fleeing for the door.

But she paused before making her final escape, switching her grip on the gun to slip something off a finger. Vincent saw a flash of gold as he heard a ping of metal against metal, and she stopped, her body half–turned toward the debilitated pair of them, sending Vincent a look so full of grief and despair it broke him all over again, her cracked lips parting in the phrase that summed up the entirety of the months they'd spent in the mansion. So sorry…

And she was gone.

He couldn't tell how many minutes passed before Hojo stirred, stumbling to his feet, a bubble of laughter spilling from his lips and becoming louder and louder as he staggered to a desk, throwing open a drawer and snatching out a stack of sealed gauze pads, ripping them open savagely. His right shoulder was a smudge of bright red, the nape of muscle that connected his neck to his shoulder a garishly raw wound. Vincent could see the smear of blood it had left on the glass that surrounded him, knee level, and when he focused his attention again Hojo was standing in front of him, holding the small, shining ring of gold, still laughing as he pressed the gauze to the wound, stanching the flow of blood. Hojo slipped the ring over the tip of one finger, removing his glasses to examine the lens it had shattered, a nick from the glass oozing a trail of blood down one gaunt cheek.

Hojo's laughter cut off abruptly as he raised his gaze to Vincent's inert form, burning with loathing. "If you had never meddled, boy," he snarled, turning to pace in front of the tube, "If she had never fallen in love with you or your forsaken father, everything would have gone smoothly." His eyes flashed as he came to a stop in front of Vincent again. "And there would be no dead Turks or missing scientists and my precious, silver–haired experiment would never have been taken away." Oh, gods, those eyes burned into him, and Vincent could already feel the pain it would bring before Hojo spoke his next words. "You… you will reap the benefits from this, boy."

Hojo began to laugh again.

Vincent jerked out of his memory, unable to grasp its meaning because of the growl from behind him, at level of his head, on the other side of the door. He swam back up into cognitive consciousness just as the growl developed into a familiar husky voice.

"Vincent, if you don't open this door, I will burn it down with my tail."

Nanaki had come to visit.