Disclaimer: Hell, I wish I owned FFVII. Unfortunately, I don't.

Summary: For Darkling, I create this oneshot. Vincent says good-bye to his father with a memory.

Queen's Quornor: Well Darkling, I sorta delivered what you requested. This isn't exactly an assignment; more like Vincent reminiscing on why he joined the Turks in the first place, his first gun, and his father. I hope this delivers, because while I admire Vincent and like the guy (and find him damn sexy!), I really can't see pre-game Vincent doing any actual Turk assignments apart from guarding Lucrecia. So, I hope this works for you! Also, Saela is mine. She's a scientist I was originally planning on using in "Evidence..." but somehow she just fits better here baby-sitting Vincent. And I really think that Vincent was raised in Nibelheim because of the fact that he spent so much time there. Yeah, I know it was also because Lucrecia was there, but it's just a theory I have. In fact... Cloud's house is his childhood home, as far as I'm concerned.

Requests from the Queen: Hey Darkling! Do me a favor and PLEASE log in when you leave a review for my fics! It's pretty damn difficult to get into contact with somebody if they never leave an accessable calling card! Do you know how many Darklings there are on here? I have no idea which one you are! Also, you mentioned before that you did some pics that were inspired by "Evidence of Sephiroth's Humanity." Well, the link you gave me didn't work. And I have no idea which fanart site to look for, because the only one I frequent is Deviantart. Can you send me a PM so we can discuss how I can possible take a gander at these?

Just Like You

He had always wanted to be like his father.

Vincent had grown up with no mother and no siblings. His father, Grimoire, was the only family he had ever known. He had only been there for about half of his memories, but Vincent easily forgave him. He was, after all, one of Shinra's most brilliant scientists as well as a tireless explorer of the unknown. Shinra needed him, and Vincent could take care of himself.

Looking at the photograph in his hands, Vincent was acutely reminded of that fact now. Today he had learned from Lucrecia that one of her experiments had been responsible for his father's death, before he had entered the Turks. All his time spent searching for his father after his disappearance had been in vain; the entire time he had been searching, trying to find out what had happened to him, Grimoire had been dead.

Three years...

Did he blame her? No. Grimoire had always been involved with dangerous things. Whether it was potentially-lethal scientific experimentation or possible geological/water-based/temperature/atmospheric complications at whatever location he was exploring, he had never been afraid of death. And Vincent had long ago accepted the fact that his father's work would eventually kill him.

So why was he sitting here staring at his father's picture?

Because allowing memory to envelop him, for however brief a time, was a fitting farewell to him. After all, those who were dead remain alive and well within our memories, do they not?

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

He had sat up the entire night, just waiting for his father to come home. Grimoire had called that afternoon to say that he'd be home late, and Vincent had adamantly refused to go to bed until his father was back. Saela, knowing how stubborn her fellow scientist's son could be, finally switched on the tv and sat down to wait with him.

Vincent looked out over the village of Nibelheim, his blood-red eyes resting briefly on the forbidding mansion squatting on the hill just outside town. He had never been inside, but his father had. He wished he could go inside, to see if the rumors were true about Shinra Manor being haunted.

Sighing deeply, he rested his head atop his folded arms. Where was his father? It was nearly two in the morning. He promised he'd be here!

Grimoire sometimes took Vincent with him on his trips. He'd tag along after his father, searching for scientific abnormalities, ancient Cetra artifacts, or whatever they were looking for and soaking up the knowledge of such things like a sponge. He loved puzzles, loved figuring out things scientists had wracked their brains over for years; he sometimes amazed his father with the accurate conclusions he could draw from the tiniest of clues.

But Grimoire couldn't take his son with him on this trip. Something about the location being too remote and unstable for him to risk it. But he had promised that he'd bring him back a present from the nearest town instead.

The anticipation of seeing his father again and hearing about his trip, combined with the glee of an impending gift, was more than enough to keep Vincent up past his regular bedtime.

But it could only go so far. As the minutes clicked by, Vincent felt his eyelids grow heavier and heavier, and he repeatedly caught himself drifting off. At last, his exhausted body overpowered his stubborn mind, and sleep rolled over him like a warm, soft blanket.

He was awakened briefly by a smooth, rocking motion, almost as if someone was carrying him, but he was just too groggy to do anything more than fall back to sleep.

The next morning he found himself in his bed, the covers tucked in around him so he was warm and snug. Saela never did that. So who had...

Vincent was out of his bed like a shot a second later.

Racind downstairs, he smelled bacon and eggs, along with freshly-brewed coffee. Saela never drank coffee. With a huge smile on his face and a whoop of joy, he jumped down the remainder of the stairs and raced into the kitchen.

Sure enough, his father was standing over the stove fixing breakfast. Vincent ended his little sprint by slamming into his father and wrapping his arms around his waist in a welcoming hug. Grimoire almost lost his balance and fell from the collision, but caught himself and looked upon his son with a smile.

"Good morning, son."

"Morning, Father." Vincent buried his head against his father's hip. "Missed you."

"And I've missed you." Grimoire ruffled his son's silky black hair fondly. "Go sit down. I've got to get breakfast on a plate before it burns up!"

Vincent nodded and went to the table, waiting patiently until his father brought two heaping plates and two mugs of coffee (Grimoire drank the bean-juice, and Vincent had picked up the habit because he wanted to be exactly like his father when he grew up). Breakfast was spent in questions, with Vincent asking about the trip and Grimoire answering as best he could. "Father, what exactly was so important about that area?"

"There's an enormous mako fountain behind the waterfalls, son. And it is so large that I'm wondering if there's a greater purpose than being mako in its purest natural state."

"Such as?"

Grimoire didn't answer. The end of the world according to the Cetra was not something he wanted to discuss over the breakfast table.

Once the dishes were cleared away, he presented Vincent with the promised gift: a water-gun made to resemble a real one down to the last tiny detail. Grimoire had shown him how to shoot it on a tree out back, and Vincent had proceeded to amaze his father by raising the gun, shooting a stream of water, and lowering it in the blink of an eye, on smooth motion.

Bull's eye.

Grimoire had turned to his son then, a sure twinkle in his eyes, so similar to Vincent's. "Son, you don't belong in the Scientific Department. You belong with the Turks."

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

From that day on, he had trained for the Turk exams. He had still gone on expeditions with his father, but the majority of his waking hours were spent with his gun (and later, when he turned ten, a paintball gun) or learning hand-to-hand from Saela. And every night, when Grimoire had tucked him in, he had asked him if he was proud of him.

Grimoire's answer had always been to the affirmative.

Now Vincent lay back on his small bed, his father's picture resting atop his chest, staring up at the ceiling. "Father, I'm a Turk now. One of the best. Are you still proud of me?"

Yes.