Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy VII. I depend on my daughter, Angeal Valentine (the author formerly known as xXxValentinexXx), and on Bjanik for all my information on the subject.

A/N—Most of this chapter is the gift of Angeal Valentine—the lady who understands Vincent Valentine so well. Chronologically it runs simultaneously with the previous chapter. It's 6:00 am in Midgar, the third day of Tessa's confinement in a tube.

Vincent stood at the door for a moment, his gloved fingers silently tracing the woodwork. It was an all too familiar door, though its frame had changed, for some reason this door had stayed. This was the same door that had once separated him from the commander when he had first joined the Turks—the same door behind which his life had changed for what had seemed like the better. Everything had happened behind this door. Back then, Commander Elizabeth's demeanor had kept everyone working in top form while making sure no one became disturbed. He snorted slightly—had he ever not been disturbed? His therapists would disagree, though Lucrecia and his brothers would probably beg to differ. "I'm sorry… I still don't know what you want me to do… "

Sentimental again, Vinny? Chaos asked from the back of his mind. Once a sentimental romantic—always a sentimental romantic, but I suppose that's part of your charm.

Vincent hoped Sephiroth wasn't listening in on this conversation, I'm surprised you're awake. What are you up to?

Ah, nothing that should concern you. I just felt like a friendly little chat with my Vinny, Chaos casually commented. Now I believe you were about to go inside?

Vincent sighed. Derek, the forever Turk secretary, wasn't in yet. Vincent pulled open the door, silently slipping in, his metal boots ghosting over the floor, not creating even the slightest sound. Since when am I your Vinny?

"Valentine, you do realize you don't have to sneak around my office to get my attention," Tseng calmly addressed him from where his chair was pivoted to gaze out the window.

Vincent stopped for a minute contemplating this—he'd always been quiet. Even as a child, he had possessed the ability to be completely silent, but he found it mildly irritating that Tseng had called it 'sneaking.' 'Sneaking' implied ill intentions. He much preferred the phrase, 'moving without the intention of being noticed in a conspicuous manner.' He walked over to Tseng's desk before replying, "I was not sneaking."

"You were sneaking. It is Turk instinct to sneak," Tseng contrasted casually. Vincent sighed sitting down, watching Tseng push some papers into a file. Tseng raised an eyebrow at Vincent's observation of him. "Is something the matter?"

"Nothing…" Vincent replied quietly shifting his gaze to the window.

"Would you like some tea?" Tseng offered as he walked over to a small pot of hot water.

Vincent pondered the offer. He was a bit thirsty, and Tseng wouldn't poison him, at least not during this visit. "Sounds good."

Tseng poured a pair of cups, and returned to the desk. He set one ceramic cup in front of Vincent, and the other he kept in his hand. Vincent examined the cup for a moment—no sign of poison from what he could detect. He gingerly picked up the cup. He took a sip. The tea was light with a pleasantly sweet after taste. "What flavor is this?" He asked the Turk.

"Licorice root," Tseng replied before taking another sip. "You seem troubled, Valentine."

"I am not," Vincent muttered after he finished swallowing his mouthful of tea.

Tseng smiled slightly, "you should know lying to a Turk doesn't work." Vincent glared silently at Tseng, "well since you don't seem to be in a talkative mood, how about a game first?" He sat down across from Vincent. Bending down he retrieved a box and soon unfolded a large 19 by 19 grid board. Tseng set a bowl by his tea then set a matching bowl by Vincent's cup. "Have you ever played Go?"

Vincent nodded slowly. He'd had the game beaten into him when he was young. "Yes… It was a long time ago…"

"So then, handicap or no?"

"I think I will adjust to it," Vincent nodded removing the lid and breathed slightly. Tseng had given him white.

"Well then," Tseng removed the lid from his own bowl. The men bowed to each other. Vincent finished his tea and set the cup down as Tseng put one of his black stones on one of the large black dots near the right corner on his side. Vincent studied this move and placed his white stone on the next large black dot over. These were the star points, and as a general strategy rule they were good places to have under control.

To both men the play felt more like a sword fight than a game. Every time Tseng would make a move, Vincent would counter or block. When one side of the board became impassable, Tseng moved to the other side, and they continued on and on dueling in silence until, "How is Verdot?" Vincent asked spontaneously as he played a stone in the left corner nearest himself.

"Well, that was a surprise. I thought it would take me at least three games to get you to talk," Tseng commented as he played another black stone next to Vincent's white one. "As to Verdot…"

Vincent sighed quietly. He should be the last to forget the mortality of humans. Verdot had been the same age as Vincent. "I see… then… where may I find his grave?"

Tseng glanced up at Vincent for a moment, surprised. "He's not dead, you know, though everyone believes I killed him."

"Oh…" Vincent felt a wave of relief wash over him as he placed another white stone on the board.

Tseng quirked an eyebrow. "What brought this on?"

"Well…" Vincent wondered how to explain it. He sat in pensive thought for a moment. "He was a friend… No, he was a brother."

"A brother," Tseng pondered this for a minute. Maybe it was time to open that door too. "What was he like when you knew him?"

Vincent let out a soft snort of laughter, "impulsive, reckless, stubborn, but just the person you trust with your back no matter what." Tseng felt a pang of some strange emotion—a combination of wanting to be terribly insulted that Vincent could ever call his mentor any of those things, but also wanting to laugh his head off at the thought of the most cool and collected man he had ever known being all of those things. "So then, I take it he matured?"

"It would seem so," Tseng replied shrugging slightly. Even though he knew Verdot was calm and composed, Verdot did have moments when he seemed completely immature. Not on the level of Reno, but enough to warrant Tseng's annoyance with his superior. "I remember when I was promoted, he put me in a-"

"Pink tulip tutu with a yellow daffodil bonnet and white knee-high stockings. He had you push a stroller around containing a doll," Vincent distinctly remembered that from his own brief time as the field commander of the Turks.

Tseng nodded, "yes, that was it exactly."

Vincent smirked slightly. It was an initiation that went back to the Turks' origins in organized crime. The lieutenant was required to don that costume upon his promotion. On that same note, "do they still require the tattoo?" Vincent inquired.

"No, however I remember Verdot once telling me of his," Tseng shook his head. "I assume you possess one?"

Vincent nodded and pulled back his left sleeve. On his arm Tseng could see, despite the scar tissue, the start of a two-headed dragon. The necks continued up Vincent's arm disappearing beneath his shirt. "The gang had the insignia of a dragon with two heads as their symbol among the underworld. However I think we were the last ones to get them. Madame Elizabeth didn't make the new recruits get them when she took over."

Tseng nodded watching Vincent gaze at the marking. It had a completely different value than the scars that marked his exposed skin. "You're being unusually open today, Valentine."

Vincent debated this for a moment. He had told Tseng things that he had never thought of telling Sephiroth. Then again Tseng had served under Verdot. After all, this was a matter only Turks would understand. "Maybe I am being open…" Tseng raised an eyebrow, and finally placed a black stone on the board after their long delay of game. Vincent placed one. "That's game. I win by five points."

Tseng's eyes scanned the board counting his liberties and tallying his points. The score did in fact show Vincent as winner by five points when the captured pieces were added back in. Tseng sighed running a hand over his slicked back hair. "Well, it would seem you've beaten me fair and square…"

Vincent nodded as he started to stand up. "I should go."

"If something is on your mind, you know where to find me," Tseng commented as he started to pick up the pieces.

Vincent gave a slight nod before turning to go. He almost floated back over to the door. Tseng glanced up as he left. "He's a strange one, but I can see why you thought him to be reliable."

Back in the hall Vincent stared out a window near a stairwell. Suddenly a voice seared like the brand of a hot iron across Vincent's mind. "TESSA! LUCRECIA! NO!! HOJO, YOU'RE DEAD!! I'LL KILL YOU AGAIN!!"

"What the…?!" Vincent found he had run down ten flights of stairs before it registered that it was Sephiroth's mental screaming he was hearing. Then, just as abruptly as it started, the screaming stopped. Vincent came to a dead stop and put out tentative mental feelers in his son's direction but got no response. As he pondered looking at the stairwell wall, a bit of the air before him began to waver. Two tiny infant faces with Sephiroth's eyes and hair and Lucrecia's nose coalesced before him and smiled tentatively. Their hair dripped sparks like fireflies. Vincent's eyes widened, and he raised his right hand toward them—several of the sparks danced around his fingers then up his arm. Then standing behind the faces, a vague woman's shape with long brown hair in a pony tail at the top of her head wavered into view smiling gently at the faces. Her head rose, and she smiled sadly at him. "Lucrecia!" Vincent took a step toward her, and one of the infant faces smiled again as the images faded. Vincent sank to his knees and buried his face in his hands, careful not to give mental voice to his anguish. What he did not see, however, were the sparks that continued to dance around him for several more minutes.

A/N—FYI—While very little seemed to happen in this chapter, two things happened that help to set the stage for future events. Besides Angeal Valentine's gift helped me rebuild my buffer. I had almost a month where I managed to write very little that I'm actually going to use, and I wasn't much ahead of my readers. Sometimes sitting at the computer is not worthwhile. Until next week…