Expansion on some minor characters in this chapter, necessary for advancing the plot and tying things together, but their appearance does not signify a shift in focus on characters. Thanks. :)

They had been forged in the very fires of hell, and they reigned over their empire with an iron fist of fear. Rumors abounded of how they bathed in the blood of those stupid enough to challenge them for power, and they did nothing to dispel them. The older was a man of action, choosing to fight and glorying in the victory of standing over the dead body of his opponent. The younger was a thinker, conniving and wily, he was the brains behind the living predator that was called The Syndicate. Caught in the middle of two brothers as loyal to each other as they were mistrustful, and completely content to be so trapped, was the beautiful viper known as Rosso the Crimson. She was their Mouth, the deliverer of punishment, and gatherer of information. She was a siren who lured men to their deaths, and was Weiss and Nero's pride and joy. Sculpted from the tender age of four years old and on, she was the only one they allowed into their "circle". The only person they found worthy…until Vincent Valentine rocketed into power in just three short years.

Through Valentine, their empire grew, and they reaped the rewards and got drunk off the power. For years, Midgar had been a city of inferiors, lowlifes, too stupid to bring into business. They had learned a painful lesson with Genesis, the Red General, and as a result had been reluctant to enter into negotiations. But Valentine had shown them the possibilities, had worked with them with no gain for himself and at a massive financial cost, and Nero had quickly seen the potential for even more. When Valentine had suggested opening up relations with Wutai, Weiss and Nero both had nearly left the negotiation table, for the only thing lower than a Midgaran was the Wutainese. But Valentine again had proven himself invaluable, shrewd and business savvy and possessing a steel trap of a political mind. He had used his Wutainese heritage to his advantage, and Weiss and Nero once again found themselves sitting down at the table to hear him out. The man was lethal in a fight, which earned him Weiss's respect, and he found Nero's through making use of his impressive intelligence and dry wit, while Rosso had more than once openly admitted the man was easy on the eyes and expressed her desire to mate with the man, 'dirty' blood or no. Nero had been impressed by the half-breed's restraint.

Over the short years they had been allied, Vincent Valentine had repeatedly proven himself both loyal and honorable, doing what he said he would do and always delivering the product, and as a result Weiss and Nero had extended their "circle" to include the Wutainese half-breed. When Nero had called Valentine's office and been transferred to a common secretary, and through her learned of Shinra's betrayal, he had seethed. When he, in turn, had informed Weiss, his brother had become enraged, and when they broke the news to Rosso, she had calmly asked when they were leaving for Midgar. It had been that night. They had had every intention of killing Rufus Shinra, except the man was already dead –a fact that only served to irritate Weiss even further as the man wanted Shinra's head. The secretary had told Nero where Valentine had been taken and now all three of them strode down the busy hospital hallways, staff and patients alike parting to either side like water in front of the bow of a ship. They came with a purpose and would not be deterred. They could not avenge Valentine, but they could offer him the next best thing…

Cid smiled at Vincent and stroked his hand. Just as he'd suspected, then, no more and no less. "I love you too, Vincent. I hope y'hear me, wherever y'are, an' that y'come back to us. It ain't just me who needs ya, but I need ya most, because…I've never been loved like that b'fore, y'know. Like this. An' it's too goddamn soon t'give it up." He hoisted himself off the floor and into the chair, bandersnatch at Vincent's feet. He'd move it back to the chair when he left. He stood again and resituated the chair so it was where he wanted it, and took Vincent's hand again, this time kissing the palm before resting his cheek against it. "An' I hope yer goat eats all yer underwear."

It seemed easy enough to repeat the words he wanted to say; he had heard them three times now, but he was sure he still had the pronunciation a bit wrong as he told Vincent in shaky but determined Wutainese, "I love you." He remained in that position, sometimes silent, sometimes speaking or even laughing quietly, until he was interrupted some time later.

"So it seems you do remember," Sephiroth smirked, resting his head back against the unseen object he was resting against.

"I-" Vincent shook his head, then looked back into the darkness. "What do you mean, I 'do remember'?"

"Those left behind are often forgotten here. I've seen it too frequently." Sephiroth shrugged a shoulder dismissively. "It would appear you have not. But the question remains…" he winced again and resituated himself more upright, and Vincent noted that the man's legs up to the knee were completely gone. "Do you remember him enough?"

"Enough?" Vincent breathed distractedly, his attention now drawn to the dancing shadows just beyond the illuminated portal.

"To go back," Sephiroth answered wryly.

"Vincent?" the woman's voice queried. "Are you there? I-I thought I heard your voice…won't you come and see your son? And me?" There was the sound of a baby's bright, gurgling laughter.

Vincent felt his heart stop in anticipation of holding his son again. He took a hesitant step toward the light, then another, and another, his heart growing lighter with each step. He was so close! Suddenly there was a warmth wrapping around his wrist, stopping him instantly. Curiously, he looked down as that warmth spread to his hand, and he cocked his head as he thought he heard something, but he wasn't sure and there was nothing touching his skin. He raised his hand and looked at it in confusion, then over at Sephiroth. "Did you…?"

"Did I what?" Sephiroth asked, his tone bored.

Vincent shook his head, saying, "Never mind," and continued walking toward Lucrecia.

"I love you." It was so clear it was as though he had run face-first into a very sturdy wall. He stopped again and shook his head, trying to clear it.

"We've waited so long, Vincent. Please, hurry!" Lucrecia pleaded, her voice as sweet as the cherry blossoms she was so fond of.

"Lucrecia!" he called back, even as he fought the warm restraint around his wrist.

"I love you." It was quieter this time, but more earnest, and very nearly heartbreaking.

"Come darling, your mother is here…"

"Come back…I love you…"

"Stop it!" Vincent cried, clutching his head as he was pulled in two directions at once.

From his position on the ground, Sephiroth began to chuckle. "Poor Vincent. Decisions, decisions…" The silver-haired man watched him unblinkingly. "So what will you choose, Vincent? The dark or the light? Such a classic question, don't you think?" Sephiroth cocked his head. "So which is it? It's time to choose. If you go back, you'll lose everything, but you'll experience a joy unlike anything else. If you go forward, you'll be reunited with your lovely wife and your little son, but you'll leave behind something more precious than both. Such a weighty choice, I wonder what it will be…"

Desperately, Vincent looked into the light, then back the way he had come. "Cid," he breathed. "I-"

Cid was smiling at Vincent and attempting to hum to him a few bars of the song he had played, the one written for his mother. Unfortunately, such a complicated piece of music was skewed on such a simple instrument, and he could not remember a vast majority of the notes anyway. Just as he gave up and laughed to Vincent over his failure to successfully recreate the song, the door opened without warning. Cid looked up and was genuinely frightened by what he saw. Three people he had never seen, two men and one woman, were making their way to Vincent's bedside briskly, and he did not doubt that they would run over him if he stayed where he was. He stayed anyway. "Whaddaya want with 'im?" he asked wearily, and he would have been surprised at his own boldness had he not been so exhausted. "Can't you all just let 'im rest one day in 'is life?"

Such a waste, Rosso thought briefly, sadly as she took in the man lying in the hospital bed. Very few men had ever affected her like Vincent Valentine did. And she respected even fewer. Vincent quickened her blood and was not afraid of her. The only other ones to be able to claim that were Weiss and Nero, but they were more like her older brothers. A part of her, a deep down, secret part of her had always hoped that Vincent would take her as a mate, remove her from the life that she lived…and the fear that was ever present. But he had never made a move, and somehow, strangely that had made her respect him even more. Vincent was of the old country, with elegant, cultured manners, and while she had never gotten used to them, she was a true woman at heart, and they had made an impact and melted the ice a little in her chest. She had seen the way he had looked at her, hungrily, appreciatively, undressing her with his red eyes, and she had contented herself with that, kept it a precious, treasured secret and recalled that look many times when she had been alone in her Spartan apartment, late at night.

Now he was, for all appearances, dying. Her Vincent. And the man responsible was out of her reach. Her rage had been difficult to contain, and what she could not subdue, she took out on the pathetic man hovering over Vincent's bed now. "Out of de vey, little man!" she snarled softly and bodily lifted the hunched blond out of the chair and pinned him in the corner with hands and a stare. "Stay, or I vill break your neck." She turned back to the bed and hastily removed the chair the man had been occupying so that Nero could take up a position on one side of Vincent's body while Weiss went around the bed to stand in the same place as Nero did. She took a step back, keeping a wary eye on the nervous man in the corner while keeping the other on what the brothers were doing. This was an ancient tradition in her country, stemming back to the days when the country of Modeoheim was just scattered, nomadic tribes. A sacred tradition that to this day was still upheld by blood and respected by all. Vincent was being honored. Weiss and Nero did not do this lightly. Rosso looked down briefly at the scar on her own hand and felt pride.

Her attention was drawn back up as both Weiss and Nero, without looking away from Vincent's slack face, each drew an ornate dagger, razor sharp and decorated with their family crest, from identical shoulder sheaths. Her brow rose. Honored indeed. Vincent would bear two marks to her one. Nero had placed his mark upon her palm, but Weiss had not. Weiss had never bound himself to anyone. Today that would change.

Together the brothers began to speak in the slow, determined cadence of their native tongue:

"Before time began, and the gods made man,

From the fire of the sun came the Bond.

A mark is made, a fate is sealed

By blood an oath is born.

My fight is yours, as yours is mine

To answer the call is duty's form.

To you I bind a life and mind

And from you I take all back.

Brother to brother, our blood holds true

From now until the end of time."

At the end, Weiss and Nero reached down and picked up Vincent's hands, palms up and each made careful, meticulous incisions, drawing forth the ruby red of blood. Next they gently replaced Vincent's hand and raised their own. Without a change of expression, they both gripped the blades and savagely jerked down, opening their palms. They then picked Vincent's hands up once again and placed the wounds together and repeated: "Brother to brother, our blood holds true/ From now until the end of time," and ended with a solemn, "I am so bound." Finally, they each withdrew a square of gauze and a length of red silk and lovingly bound up the marks they had made on Vincent's palms, leaving their own to bleed freely.

Leaning down they each kissed Vincent's forehead. First came the youngest, Nero, and the dark-haired brother murmured, "Be well, Vincent. We still have much to discuss, brother." Next came Weiss, who leaned down and brushed his lips against Vincent's brow, lingering a moment as he pressed his lips more firmly. He took this ritual extremely seriously, and unbeknownst to Nero, cared very deeply for Vincent. "Heal, brother," was all he said before he straightened, and together he and Nero left Vincent's hospital room, without so much as a glance at the man in the corner, who had seen it all.

Rosso was deeply moved by Weiss' open display of affection. She honestly had never thought the man was capable of it. Giving Vincent a last, long look that spoke far more than a little cut, she walked over to the wide-eyed blond, and looked down at him severely. "Remember vhat you saw today, little man. And tell all you see: Vhen you fuck vith Vincent, you fuck vith ze Syndicate." She patted the man's cheek and smirked at his glare before sweeping out of the room, and for now…out of their lives.

Cid had watched, trapped and mesmerized by whatever it was that was going on. The unfamiliar people brought an unfamiliar language with them, and he found that where Vincent's language sounded graceful and eloquent to him, the language these two had spoken sounded fierce, harsh, and generally unpleasant. Perhaps, though, it had been due to the fact that they had barged in and proceeded to slice open his Vincent. "Damn freaks. Can't even give ya a fuckin' day off…" Even so, Cid had the distinct feeling that what had occurred among the four of them – three, really, because the woman had just stood there glaring death at him- was not something of malicious existence. He returned to Vincent and, for a moment, mourned the fact that he could not hold Vincent's hand again until the cuts healed.

Then he just sat down again and looked at Vincent sadly, wishing he understood more about the life Vincent had chosen to lead. Like Weiss and Nero, Cid bent to kiss Vincent's forehead, and then nuzzled against his ear again. He whispered, "I'm gonna go sit over by th'wall now, Vincent, all right? I'll be back, but you oughta rest some. We ain't left ya alone since ya been here. I ain't leavin' th'room, in case-" In case what, stupid? In case he needs help, so he can call ya? Not likely. "-in case anybody else tries t'come in. They'll hafta deal with me bein' in here too. But I'll lay off touchin' ya a while an' I won't talk s'much." That said, he raised the chair and returned it to its old position near the wall. Taking the bandersnatch back, Cid sat down and watched Vincent's stillness, wondering morbidly how many odd things could happen in one day.

Dr. Paul Bugenhagen knew how to talk to people. He had been doing it for years now with the families of each and every one of his patients. He had extensively studied psychology while attending the Academy prior to medical school, and it had stood him in good stead all these years. All that, though, was sorely tested by the crew he faced in the waiting room now.

"Look, I'm sorry, but he needs his rest…" Dr. Bugenhagen tried, and sighed when he was interrupted yet again.

"But you said he could have visitors, yo!" a scrappy, thin redhead said, standing up and glaring much hate at him.

"Yes, I did, but…"

"Then why are you keeping us from him?" a tall, mean-looking man with a nasty scar on his face demanded, stepping toward him menacingly. "What will it take for us to go and see him?"

"Look, I don't think that…"

"Do you normally go back on your word, doctor?" questioned a stern-faced, dark-skinned man in shades. He crossed his arms and scowled at the doctor.

"No, but you're all tired and I think-"

"You'll have to do better than 'I think'-"

"Enough," a quiet, solemn-looking man with black hair and even blacker eyes said as he came forward. It was the man with whom he had spoken after the patient's surgery. There was a pretty wisp of a woman hand in hand with him at his side; she had the greenest eyes he had ever seen. She smiled sweetly at him, and Dr. Bugenhagen found himself smiling back. "I think we all need to go home and rest. Vincent is in good hands here, and I don't believe that he would want you all to see him like that." The poor man looked exhausted- they all did. "Let us respect him enough to do that." He turned to face Dr. Bugenhagen. "You'll call us if there is any change?"

"Of course," Dr. Bugenhagen said feelingly. "He's being monitored around the clock, and if something should change, you'll all be notified. I give you my word."

"Your word don't mean a whole lot, doctor," the man with the scar hissed, but fell back as the black-eyed man held up his hand.

"I'll hold you to your word, doctor. Do you have our numbers?"

"Yes," Dr. Bugenhagen said, holding up the slip of paper containing their information, gathered by the receptionist. Judging by the expressions he saw around him, he had no doubt that there would be severe repercussions if he did not uphold his word. Repercussions that involved midnight visits and sharp objects inserted into soft places. He swallowed.

"Then I'll bid you good day," the black-eyed man said, holding out his arm. He then brought up the rear as the others finally left his waiting room, and the good doctor found himself wishing they would not return any time soon.

With a sigh and a rub over his face with his free hand, Dr. Bugenhagen turned and walked back to his patient's room…and encountered one last, reluctant-to-leave visitor. Wilting, he hoped that this man would not give him as much trouble as the men he had come in with had. He knocked quietly on the room's door. "Excuse me," he said, and when the blond-haired man looked at him, he hesitated. This man had a different look about him, a kind of quiet, hopeful desperation. "I need to ask you to leave now; visitation is over, but you can come back tomorrow if you like," he said gently.

"All right," Cid responded quietly. "Let me just…say g'dbye real quick." He left his place in the chair and leaned over Vincent's bed to kiss his cheek and mutter, "I wouldn't leave so easy if I didn't know it w's better for ya. I'll be back soon's they let me in t'morra, sugar, so hang on for me." And then, because it felt good to be able to say it that way, he repeated, "I love you," the way he'd learned to earlier, in Wutainese and for Vincent's ears only. He ran his fingers down Vincent's arm tenderly, then turned to the doctor. "You'll keep an eye on 'im th'whole time, right? Or someone will? If y'can't keep someone on 'im, I'll stay. Sleep right over in th'corner an' stay outta th'way. Or even outside th'door, if that's better. I-" He stopped short, seeing the sad shake of the doctor's head. "Can't stay, huh? All right. What time c'n I come t'morra? I wanna be here first thing. I promised 'im I would."

Dr. Bugenhagen was sorely tempted to let the man stay, given just how reluctant he was to leave, but rules were rules. "Eight o'clock. Visitation doesn't usually start until nine, but I'll make an exception for you." He put his hand on the man's shoulder. "He'll be checked on regularly by nurses and I'll stop in myself every free chance I get. Now, go home and try and get some rest. I'll tell you the same thing I told the others: if anything changes, I'll call you." The poor man nodded and with one last, heartbreaking look toward the man in the bed, slipped out the door and Bugenhagen followed them. Neither man saw Vincent's hand twitch.