Penance

©®™ Lt. Commander Richie

((Disclaimer: The ranking... Issue has been resolved.))

Chapter 19

"Tuesti; make it quick." Reeve stood outside Nibelheim's small corner grocery store, his PHS firmly held to his ear as he attempted to block out the noise of shoppers around him. Cait Sith had perched himself on the man's shoulder, smoothing out cowlick after cowlick that the plush toy's constant fussing inadvertently caused.

Private Ediths reporting back. Sir, I called up the file you asked for. The woman on the other end of the connection was sure of herself, speaking in clipped tones that belied that she was reading from a script of some sort.

"Thank you, Private Ediths. Anything important in the file?" Only one part of the WRO's leader watched as the doll on his shoulder jumped to the ground, dancing circles around his feet to amuse a little girl in a green dress that hung quietly to her mother's apron strings.

Major Ariana May Leirbach, Third Class ShinRa SOLDIER, three accounts of misdemeanor and one account of assaulting a superior officer during inspection. She was a Wutai War veteran; dishonorable discharge seven years ago, leading to the premature termination of the FemSOLDIER program of which she was the test subject after her bi-annual physical unveiled an apparently unplanned pregnancy. Shall I continue, sir? The Private broke off, and Reeve nodded. He then remembered that the woman couldn't see him, and grunted affirmation through the large smile he had on his face; Cait Sith was practically having the stuffing hugged from his body by the little girl in the green dress, she was smiling widely and exposing her two missing front teeth.

There was a formal inquiry and impending court-marshaling for the father, but Major Leirbach kept her mouth sealed tighter than ShinRa's basements. About that, sir? The Private paused again.

"Yes? What?" Reeve snapped back to the conversation, covering his free ear with his hand.

All of Major Leirbach's records stop after that until an official statement of death three years ago. Mira Leirbach's birth isn't even recorded. No hospital record, no birth certificate, it's as though she was just kind of dropped here. You don't suppose...?

"You suppose too much, Private Ediths. She is a six-year-old girl, not-"

Seven, sir. The Private interjected suddenly.

"Seven what?" Reeve asked, confused. Offhandedly, he could feel the plush robot he had designed and built clawing its way up his back to rest once again on his shoulder.

Given the stage of Ariana Leirbach's pregnancy at the time of her discharge, and the time elapsed since then, Mira is probably just a skootch past her seventh birthday.

"Alright, have the entire document, everything included, sent to my PHS. Tuesti ou- Cait! Stop that!" Reeve clicked his PHS off, swatting at the plush cat on his shoulder.

"Och, nae! Ye think ah cannae have jus' a wee bit'o fun?" Cait Sith asked in his odd accent, patting at Reeve's scratched ear with one mittened hand. The WRO's leader took the plush by the cape, pulling it from his shoulder and setting it on the concrete.

"Wait right here, I'm going to go see what's taking Barret so long." He said, looking down at the plush with a stern and reprimanding gaze. "If you're gone when I come back, you'll be sorry."

"Mr. Vins'nt!" Mira perked up at the methodical sound of the gunman's metal boots, pulling herself away from Nanaki and running around the tents. Vincent sank to one knee, letting the six-year-old hug him for all she was worth. "You woked up!" She smiled up at the gunman, her ribbon falling from her hair on one side and flopping over her eye.

"Yes, yes I did." He nodded, the smallest of smiles creeping across his features. With his one gloved hand Vincent pulled Mira's ribbon from her face, placing it back on the top of her head. Mira clasped her arms around his neck, jumping up and down happily. Vincent stood, pulling the six-year-old with him as she laughed wildly.

"I missed you." She said simply, snuggling into his chest and grabbing hold of one of the buckles on the cloak he wore. The gunman held the little girl tightly, clutching her to him like she would blow away on the wind.

"I'm sorry." He whispered, eliciting a smile from both the charge in his arms and the Ninja now standing in front of him. "I'm sorry that I left." Mira nodded sharply in agreement, looking up at Vincent with a smile.

"You smell like Grumma's old dresses. 'Cept this," Mira paused, shaking the clasp she held in one hand so as to indicate the cloak. "This smells like Yuffie 'cause she wouldn't take it off."

"Really?" Vincent murmured, looking at the Kunoichi with the slightest hint of a smile on his face.

"Yeah." Mira nodded, still smiling. Her ribbon once again fell to her forehead, and she reached up and rectified it. A low growling noise sounded, and the six-year-old made a face.

"Geez, Vinnie, was that you?" Yuffie asked, a grin breaking onto her face. "You haven't eaten in what, three days? No wonder." Vincent sat Mira down on the ground lightly, but she refused to release her hold on his red cloak.

"You're not gonna go to sleep again, Mr. Vins'nt." She asserted, pulling his face down to her small level.

"Why is that?" The gunman asked.

"'Cause I said so, that's why." Her logic was, while childish, infallible. Vincent nodded shortly, kindness showing in his eyes.

"I'm very sorry you had to see me like that, Mira. It is my hope that you will not seem me like that again." He said, tousling the six-year-old's hair with his clawed hand. A few severed hairs fell onto Mira's cheeks and she laughed, letting go of Vincent's cloak to brush them off.

"Yeah, because then I'll have to go get you." Yuffie smiled, kicking open the small cooler that housed all the food. But the cooler was empty, and with a sigh she knocked it closed and sat down on top of it. "But we'll all have to survive raging hunger and famine first. Barret and Reeve aren't back with the food."

Cloud looked up from his shingles to pull another nail from the coffee can in front of him, but his hand met an empty can. A quick check confirmed that he had no nails left in the can, and with a sigh he picked it up and jumped to his feet. His vision went black for a moment and he swayed on the roof's slant, before gathering his wits and making his way to the ladder. A single drop of rain fell into the can, making a hollow plink that faded into the slowly worsening winds.

"Hey, Cid!" The swordsman called, turning to the higher point of the roof where the pilot was re-attaching the weather vane. "Get down! Storm's coming!"

"Eh, I'mma be fine! Ain't nothin' that'll kill me that I ain't already workin' with!" Cid called, waving with one hand as he held onto the weather vane with the other. The rain began to pour harder as the clouds whipped in quickly, the light pitter-patter of water on the roof turning to the roar of a gale in just a few seconds. There was a ferocious cracking sound to Cloud's left, and he whipped around in time to see the gutters he and Cid had spent so much time putting back fall off the roof once more.

"Get down!" He yelled to the pilot, throwing the coffee can over the edge of the roof and gesturing wildly. Cid nodded and got to his feet, nearly slipping on the mossy old shingles of the Mansion's roof. With a grunt he pulled his Venus Gospel from the nearly-rotted wooden siding and jumped to the second-story roof below, landing in a crouch with the spear held to the side.

"D'yah think all the work we did'll stand up'ta all'a this?" The pilot asked, slicking his dirty blond and barely-graying hair back to get the water out. As soon as he did so, his hair was all one big flat mess of wet and sloppy blond locks.

"It had better; c'mon. We need to get off the roof and ground all the metal weapons." Cloud nodded, jumping the two story drop to the muddy ground and making a splash of dirty water fly up onto the length of Kevlar-canvas he had strapped to one side of his belt. Cid followed, more mud flying in every direction as the rain began to turn to hail. Their gasps of breath misting into the air in front of them, the two rounded the side of the ShinRa Mansion with their arms over their heads. A sudden gust of wind nearly blinded the two as they made for the tree cover, Cloud sliding into the thick forest much like a Blitzball runner and Cid nearly diving head-first under the tree his meager tent was erected next to.

"You guys alright?" Yuffie asked, opening one of the tent flaps and holding it above her head to keep the rapidly-growing hail from doing her bodily harm. Cloud pulled himself from the underbrush of the forest, kicking a Blackberry bramble out of its snagged spot on his pants leg and ducking inside the largest tent. Cid slammed the point of his Venus Gospel into the ground, hooking his tarp over the end and remaking his tent before ducking inside.

"Fine, fine. Jus' hopin' tha' th' damn rain won't wash away all tha' stuff we did." The pilot nodded, pulling a cigarette from the pack tucked underneath the strap of his flight goggles and sticking it in his mouth.

"The Mansion has survived without shingles for a long time, Highwind. There would be nothing wrong if a few blew away in a storm." The nonchalant voice of Vincent Valentine barely filtered through the storm's whistling winds, coming from the mid-sized tent Yuffie was peering out from. The second tent flap was pushed aside and Mira peered out, waving wildly at the pilot several feet from her with both hands. Hailstones bounced from her skin like sand being poured, only the largest of them making small, pinhead-sized bruises on the six-year-old's lightly-tanning skin. Through the open flaps Cid could see the scarlet-clad gunman sitting at the very back of the tent, his head tucked down low into his large collar much like a turtle; as though he wished not to be seen.

"An' jus' how'd yeh know tha'? Yer never anywhere 'round this place, 'specially when people need yeh." Cid shot, taking the cigarette from his mouth for a bit more coherency. Vincent tilted his head up, so that his chin came free of his collar.

"I had something I needed to think about." He said; his voice was soft, but still easily heard above the winds and the constant sound of hailstones against SOLDIER grade field tents. The cigarette was tossed away as the pilot stood up and out of his tent; the hail was beginning to lessen in size, but it was still large enough to sting quite badly. The ground was cold enough that the hailstones lay piled like snow in the grass, turning the mud from dark brown to light brown speckled with white. Cid's boots crunched through the hail as he walked out from under his tree and into the storm.

"Git out 'ere." He commanded, pointing to the steadily-whitening ground in front of his boots. Vincent complied, his golden claw glinting dully in the barely-there light filtering through the gray clouds. Metallic pings rang through the air as the balls of hail impacted his shoes and claw, bouncing off harmlessly. Behind him, Mira watched with growing interest through the now partially-closed tent flaps. "What'n th' blue blazes were yeh thinkin' when yeh left?"

"Too many things." Vincent, who had at one point been dry, was now sopping wet. The tattered edge of his cloak dripped onto the hail-crusted ground, the once-bright red stained a darker and more rusted shade.

"Damn straight, vamp. I swear, if'n yeh hadn't already been slapped 'round the face by Yufs I would'a done it m'self. If it ain't physical, then it sure's hell was verbal." Cid said. His hair was slicked down, the hail having calmed to only heavy rain. His voice was gruff, angry at the man in front of him for doing what he had done. "But if'n I did, then I'd have a Ninja whuppin' my ass from here t' the Promised Land'n back."

"This has nothing to do with you." Vincent insisted. The heavy rain ran in rivulets from his sodden black hair and maroon headband, falling into his eyes and clumping his eyelashes together much like bad mascara would do.

"Yeah, jus' like Sephiroth wanted t' go frolickin' through a field'o daisies. Face th' damn facts, Vincent, Avalanche's a Planet-damned family an' yeh best get used'ter it!" For a moment it seemed as though Cid was only a bit nicer, a little less rough around the edges and a bit more fatherly. But then it all closed in on itself. "Yuffie's like my kid. If'n yeh hurt'er by doin' anythin'... Stupid? There ain't gonna be a place on th' whole damned Planet that yeh can run from me. Act, fer once. Yeh weren't here fer her big ole mope she had 'erself; took t' wearin' yer cloak t' th' point tha' we all thought tha' yeh'd come back."

Vincent was mercifully silent, unblinkingly watching as Cid outstretched one hand in a simple gesture. "Well, yeh gonna take it? Or'm I gonna hafta beat th' sense inta' yer thick skull with m'Venus Gospel?" The pilot asked. Silently Vincent took the proffered hand, shaking it once, twice, three times for good measure.

"I regret causing so much grief." The gunman finally said, water dripping out of his bandanna and getting soaked into his already-sodden shirt and cloak. "But I realize now that Yuffie was right, and in effect I was as well. I have no need to sleep any longer, especially when I am needed." The rain had quieted down, now only a normally-falling drizzle. "And I am sorry."

"Git back in th' damn tent a'fore yeh catch the Stigma or somethin'. I don' need'ter cart yer ass all the way back to Midgar jus' 'cause yeh couldn't come t' yer senses." The pilot smiled and slicked his hair back with one hand, wiping a bit of water off the bottom of his nose with his thumb. Vincent nodded once, his cloak fluttering soppingly as he turned and ducked down into the dry tent. Cid returned to his own, pulling his boots from his feet and pouring water from the rubber insoles. Next he pulled off his socks and wrung them out, placing them back on his feet afterwards. He sat for a moment, listening to the howling wind and the steady patter of the rain. Then he opened his sleeping bag and zipped it around himself, using his soggy leather jacket as a pillow. Silence abounded until a scream of laughter came from the smallest tent where Marlene and Denzel were staying.

"Yeh ain't half bad, vampire." The pilot sighed and rolled over, hitting his coat a few times until it wasn't as lumpy as before. "Yeh ain't half bad."

Wow. This took me a while to update. Well, write. Either way Banpresto should totally make Cid plushies if they don't already. He's just kinda squishy and huggable like that. I've decided that I'm a Cid fangirl, and you will never stop me!

Until next week,

Lt. Commander Richie