Warnings: Vin-centric which means angst, Tifa, broodiness, and Chaos.

Chapter 39 : Infinite White

The white was distant yet all around. The white was a cushiony nothingness that absorbed all the pain. The white was warmth and comfort. It was nice here. It was safe.

"I'm going to go see if I can find Vincent," Tifa announced to Zack.

They'd moved back up to the surface, and shifted their camp to the big house in the middle of the lake because Sephiroth wouldn't go any further. It had been up to the two of them to do most of the work. Tseng had turned out to be hurt worse than he'd let on. Internal bleeding had nearly finished him on the stairs but both Tifa and Zack had Cures equipped and they'd managed to stabilize the Turk until they'd reached the surface and could put him down and do a more thorough job. Internal injuries were always a bitch to Cure and even potions weren't one hundred percent. The two of them drained ethers like bottled water and kept casting until the Wutaian's colour wasn't pasty grey and they barely had enough energy left to heal themselves.

Vincent had transformed back into Vincent. He'd seen the puddle of... stuff that was all that remained of the young clone and had thrown up, or at least gagged. He hadn't eaten enough in the last couple days to have anything in his stomach. After that, he'd followed along behind them like a kicked puppy, never out of eyeshot, but just out of reach. Once on the surface, he'd stood around watching them while they worked on Tseng but, the next time the SOLDIER had looked up, the gunman had been gone.

Sephiroth had stayed down near the water.

With the worst of their injuries fixed, the three of them had fallen into an uneasy doze. It hadn't lasted long, just until Zack heard a thump from outside. He grabbed his Buster and carefully opened the door, not expecting anything but unwilling to be taken off guard. There, on the step, were some of their packs. He looked up and thought he saw a flash of red disappearing down the hill.

Well, at least the spooky broody dude was making himself useful in his horrified embarrassment. Honestly, Zack thought, it's not as if any of them had lily white hands. What was the guy afraid of? However, he was too tired to yell that at Vincent's back so he just picked up the gear and hauled it inside. When he checked out the contents they were potions, elixirs, food and liquids. Everything convalescing soldiers needed. At least, Vinnie's brain was still working in some areas.

Two days later, they were doing much better. Well, the three of them were doing much better. Sephiroth was still spending most of his time in the cavern; waiting, he said, for Cloud's return. He had a wild, vacant look in his eyes that truly scared his SiC. It reminded him too much of when the General had buried himself in the secret lab underneath ShinRa mansion, except this time he came up to sleep. He ignored his plan to keep the others warm, and would pull Zack into his arms, tight enough that the SOLDIER had trouble moving... or breathing. It was up to Tifa and Tseng to snuggle up behind them for warmth. The General obviously didn't care. There was never a word of complaint.

Other than that he spent all his time below. Zack took him food and bullied him into eating it. He made sure Seph went to the bathroom and brushed his teeth and damned if he didn't feel he was back home in Gongaga with his eight or ten younger nephews and nieces.

"He'll come back," Sephiroth would say, "They won't let him stay dead."

Zack would smile and nod. "I know, Seph," he'd say, and he did believe it, but he was pretty sure the silver-haired warrior didn't hear him. Or, even if he was listening, it wasn't enough to pull him out of the freaky cavern and Zack couldn't help but feel a bit pissed and a bit scared, and a bit hurt, by that.

Then there was Vincent. The ever-disappearing Vincent.

There'd be a thump at the door and one of them would open it to find the rest of their packs, maybe some goodies scrounged from the houses, a load of firewood, or even a fresh caught zuu. And always in the distance would be a blur of red as the gunman ran away.

Two days of this behaviour and small fighter had had enough. Zack couldn't blame her. He just hoped she'd have an easier time getting Broody out of his funk than he was having getting Seph out of his.

"Good luck," he said as she headed down to the door. With a resigned sigh, he picked up the cards and dealt them out.

Tseng looked at his hand and put down two cards. "Trump marriage," the Turk declared and added it to his score.

"Fuck," Zack muttered and wondered, once again, why they weren't playing poker.

Vincent knew Tifa was looking for him. Even if he hadn't seen her trotting down the path, he would have felt her. She brought a wave of purity and sunshine with her; purity and sunshine he wasn't fit to look upon. He'd told her what he carried inside but now she'd seen it, seen Hellmasker. There was no hope for them now, he knew, but he was still committed to fight Omega at the end of their journey. After, after the fight, if he wasn't killed, he could find someplace dark where he could be alone and the world would be safe from him.

*What if she doesn't reject you, my host?*'Impossible,' Vincent thought back, 'Nobody could accept Hellmasker. Even you don't.'

*True. I don't mind carnage and gore, and devastation can be quite amusing on occasion, but it's always the same thing with him; 'let me paint you', 'I'll make you immortal'. As if he could,* Chaos snorted. Vincent had a picture of him tipping his head in thought. *And I don't like poetry.* This time Vincent snorted. *But I still think, my host, my own, that you are nearly as frightened of the possibility that she won't reject you as you are of the chance that she will.*

'Don't be silly.'

*Prove me wrong, my immortalis. Stay and talk to her. Or are you just a different type of weakling?* Vincent shifted uncomfortably. Chaos wasn't finished. *I know. I dare you to stay and have a conversation with the feisty one. If you don't then I get your body for a day.*

Vincent eyed Tifa, she was getting closer. 'And if I do stay? What do I get?'

Chaos laughed, *You'll be no worse off than you are now.* That's what Vincent expected him to say. *If you actually have sex with her then I'll leave you alone for a day. You have my word.* The demon was still laughing as he retreated from the ex-Turk's thoughts.

He could hear Tifa calling his name. She was looking all over the town for him, poking her head into the ruined buildings, searching the broken rooftops. Was he afraid that she would accept him, accept all of him?

Surely not.

Everyone wanted to be accepted by the one they liked, didn't they? Except... except if she could accept his monsters, didn't that make her a monster too, and he didn't want to be attracted to a monster.

*You're an idiot, my immortalis. Truly you are.* Actually, when he tracked back over what he'd just thought, he had to agree with Chaos—he ignored its triumphant hooting—so why had the creature's words made him uneasy?

"There you are," Tifa's voice was tired but determined. "Are you going to hold still or are you going to run away again?"

Vincent frowned. The way she said it made it sound like she, too, was accusing him of being a coward. Didn't she realize that he only wanted to protect her? He wavered. His protective instincts, and something else, pushed him to go but Chaos' words, and its threat about taking over his body, anchored him.

"If you take off now, then we have no future, Vincent Valentine." Her words were firm, final. "It can be in short sentences but I won't be with a man who can't talk to me about what's upsetting him so much."

She stood on the road looking up at him, hands on hips, chin out thrust in determination. There were faded bruises on her arms, from blocking hits; there was one on her cheek, from not blocking a hit. As a reminder that Tifa Lockhart was tougher than she looked, it was very effective. Vincent swallowed his nerves and nodded shortly. "I will not run."

She nodded, "Right. I'm coming up," and she scrambled up the side of the ruined building until she was in front of him on the roof. She pointed to the edge. "Sit. Maybe you'll have a harder time leaving that way." He sat. She sat beside him. He expected her to start the questioning right away, blunt and determined, and he braced himself.

Instead she dabbed at a scrape, pressing it to stop its sluggish bleeding. Then she looked out over the ruined city and sighed. "I know you expect me to run screaming from you in horror, but I won't. I can't."

"I would understand," he said calmly.

"Yeah, well, I wouldn't," she responded then fell silent. They listened to the breeze as it passed through a forgotten chime. He was about to ask her to explain when she spoke again. "You didn't choose to have Hellmasker... inserted or melded or stuck, whatever the procedure's called. You didn't ask to have him inside you, or to have him come out when you're hurt to a certain level. You didn't choose to have an obsessed mass murderer as part of your being." She took a deep breath. "I did."

He didn't turn toward her. He barely even looked at her, but suddenly all his attention was on the young fighter. She could feel it, too. She lifted her chin and turned her head a little away, pretending a fascination with the distant trees.

"I don't understand," he finally said.

"When I joined Avalanche, the group I talked about before," she finally looked at him to see if he remembered. He did, so he nodded. She looked away again. "It was right after Hojo came to Nibelheim, right after he'd burned it to the ground and slaughtered..." Her voice caught. "I was so angry," she whispered. "My sensei told me I should let it go, that anger in one's heart leads to evil in one's deeds, but I didn't listen. He was just an old man, gentle and sweet. What did he know about hate? Instead, I joined Avalanche and I blew up power lines and mako conduits. And we blew up factories because they made parts for the reactors. Then we blew up the reactors." She fell quiet again. He waited.

"Sometimes there were people in the places we blew up. It didn't even bother me. They worked for ShinRa therefore they were the evil ones, not me. I was fighting back. I was getting my revenge. I didn't even really care about what mako power was doing to the world." She laughed unhappily, "Oh, I could spout all the rhetoric. I could cloak myself in 'the greater good', but really, I didn't care. I just wanted them dead." She took a piece of rock from the crumbling roof and flicked it onto the street. Then she did it again.

"Are you comparing yourself to Hellmasker?" he asked tentatively.

She turned to him, an ugly, self-mocking smile on her face. "Shouldn't I? I was glad when ShinRa employees died. It made me happy. Isn't that just what Hellmasker feels?"

He didn't know what to say. There were similarities in their attitudes if not in the execution. By her own confession, she was akin to the monsters. Yet Hellmasker's exultation hadn't been in her expression during the fight with the clones. Nor had she been cold or indifferent to the fact that this was a fight to the death. She'd been... determined, professional... normal.

"What changed?" He asked

Her sneer fell away. She looked away, leaning forward on her hands a little, hunching into herself. "We blew up a weapons factory that was in the slums under the Midgar plate. When it blew, it took down a ShinRa owned boarding house. It was the middle of the night. The rooms were full. Nobody survived." She grabbed a handful of rock dust and pebbles and let them drain through her fingers to be blown away in the breeze. "They were mostly factory workers so I didn't feel too bad. Then they identified one of the bodies as a notorious Wutaian assassin and terrorist, still wanted after twenty years. He'd been active in the war, almost mythically so. He'd destroyed more equipment depots and facilities than anyone else. He'd accounted for most of ShinRa's top level deaths; directors, generals, and politicians. He was known for the viciousness and cruelty of his kills. Even General Sephiroth had said he was a man to be feared."

It clicked. "Your sensei." There were tears running down her cheeks.

She nodded, wiping the moisture from her face. "Yes. He was living at the boarding house being their fix-it man. Hiding in plain sight, I suppose. He'd known, he'd known what hate was and I'd brushed him off as a fool. And then I killed him without thought or care."

"You left Avalanche," Vincent stated, knowing how her mind would work.

She laughed, a mocking bark of laughter. "You would think so, wouldn't you. Actually I didn't." Her smile fell away. "One: they'd've killed me. The leader was paranoid as all get out. Always thought ShinRa and the Turks were spying on her; and two: what else was I supposed to do? I was a backwoods mountain girl in Midgar. I talked funny, dressed funny and couldn't type. I knew how to fight and I knew how to blow things up. What was I supposed to do to support myself?" She laughed again, an ugly grating sound. "I could've spread my legs, I suppose. There were lots of girls just like me fucking guys for money. My tits were big enough I probably could've done pretty well at it. Maybe I could've even found myself a Sugar Legs and gotten a fancy apartment above the plate."

Vincent was shocked. He actually rocked back and away. Not just because she hadn't stopped her activities but also because of the rawness of her language. He hadn't thought her capable of such crudity. Yet, it accurately described what she likely would've been stuck doing to survive. Even when he'd been… before, when he'd been a ShinRa employee, he'd seen the helpless and lost trying to work their way out of the slums on their backs. It rarely worked.

"I decided to stay where I was while I looked for a way out." She slanted an amused glance at him, as if she knew what he'd been thinking. "Still, as a sop to my conscience, I was more insistent that we try to keep 'collateral damage' to a minimum." She used her fingers to put quotes around the military bland-speak for civilian deaths. "We only did a couple more jobs anyway, before Sephiroth and Genesis reappeared in Fort Condor and Hojo took off and DGS burst out of the Midgar tower and everything changed."

Once again, silence fell between them. It was, Vincent thought, an extraordinary story of an ordinary girl surviving horrible things. Vincent stared at her. She smirked gently back, waiting for him to ask—daring him to ask. It stretched. She raised an eyebrow. He sighed in defeat; even he wasn't dense enough to miss the moral of the story. "So we are each monsters in our own way."

She chuckled, "That's one way of looking at it. I was actually thinking it meant I have no right to condemn you. None of us do because we've all done monstrous things, except maybe Cloud," she nodded agreement to her own statement. If anybody in their group was untouched by evil thoughts or deeds, it had been her childhood friend. Then she continued, "Besides, as sick as he was, Hellmasker might have saved all our lives. We weren't doing so good against those guys."

"I'd rather not be grateful to him," Vincent's voice was cold, and even more distant than normal.

"Nobody wants to be grateful to the darkest parts of ourselves, but sometimes that's just the reality. Everything I learned from Avalanche I've used to fight Hojo and DGS. I've saved lives with the same skills I once used to destroy," she paused, watching a small bird fly past, "I've learned... not to forgive myself, not quite, not yet... but to accept that I have this darkness within me, and that I'll use it if I need to."

"You're saying it's unavoidable," he said hesitantly, "That I should just accept that the parts I'd most like to ignore will occasionally surface."

She laughed out loud, "Especially in your case. You really do have no choice."

He dipped his head, turning away slightly. "Actually..." he started but stopped. If he admitted this, then it was almost as if he accepted that he would always be this way, that there would be no going back to being human.

He stilled.

This, this, is what he was afraid of: acceptance. That's why he'd been avoiding Tifa and Fair. If they accepted Hellmasker like they'd accepted Chaos, then they accepted that he was a monster, then he'd be forced to accept it too. Accepting what he was, being accepted with all that he was, meant he knew there was no going back to being... human.

*Have I said lately that you're an idiot, my host?* Chaos sneered before going back to eavesdropping.

He felt short of breath, even though he didn't always need to breathe. He literally had to force the words out. "Actually, I have some control over who appears when I am injured." A deep breath to get the rest out. "If I allow myself to turn into one of my lesser creatures, Galian or Gigas, earlier in the fight, when I am less injured, then Hellmasker wouldn't have the chance to appear."

Tifa's brows were up in surprise, "You can do that?" He nodded. "What about Chaos? How hurt do you have to be before Chaos appears, because the plan calls for you to let him through to fight Omega? I'm not sure I would know how to gauge–"

He lifted a hand to interrupt her rattle of questions. "I have to be injured nearly until death for Chaos to appear involuntarily, however I can... choose to allow it to appear at any time. Which I can't do with any of the others."

*And you don't do nearly often enough,* his resident demon pouted.

Tifa was staring at him, eyes wide in amazement, "That's... bizarre. Why is he so different?"

Vincent's shoulders rippled in a shrug. "If I remember the discussions correctly, which I may not, it's because Chaos is a natural creature—preternatural actually. The others are artificial creations. Chaos can exist outside of me; they cannot."

Her eyes were still big, "That's just... weird," she murmured almost to herself. "I mean, it makes sense, but still... Poor Chaos," she laughed and this time it was her old, light laugh, "It must be really frustrating."

"You have no idea," the gunman growled, ignoring both Tifa and the demon's laughter. He tucked his nose back into his mantle.

Tifa's mirth subsided but the smile was still on her face when she asked "So, are you still interested in pursuing a relationship with a killer like me?"

He looked at her face, so strong and yet so kind. She knew, she understood. She could accept all he was. Could he accept all she was? Could he accept all that he was? Was he ready to try?

"Yes," he answered all the questions.

Her smile deepened, brought out her dimples, "So why don't you kiss me so that we can see if that works between us? I mean, we did this whole talking thing okay, don't you think?" He couldn't blush. He knew that, he was sure of it. Nevertheless, his cheeks felt warm. She laughed, but not unkindly. "Is it too soon?"

He couldn't answer, not verbally. One nod, one nod he could manage.

She became serious, "You know, not all of us are practically immortal so, if we're going to do this, we should maybe not wait thirty years." Vincent recoiled as if struck but Tifa wasn't finished. "It may be romantic to spend thirty years agonizing over love but it's not what I want to do with my life."

He hadn't thought about that, about the fact that she would die. Given the mission they were on, she could die anytime and then it would be Lucrecia all over again, nothing but regrets and dreams of 'what if' and 'if only'. Before he could talk himself out of it, and shutting out Chaos' cheering, he leaned over and touched his lips to hers. Hers were warm, his were not, but both were soft and alive. A touch turned into a soft pressing, close-mouthed and innocent. The pressing turned into a rubbing and maybe, just maybe, a discreet taste or two. Then he pulled away.

He was breathing hard, but when he looked at her flushed, beautiful face, he became breathless. He easily ignored Chaos' crude suggestions as to what he should kiss next. "What do you think?" he asked, "Does it work?"

She dimpled, "I think it has possibilities."

He nodded, "Good." He nodded again, "Very good." Then, overwhelmed by the boldness of his actions, he turned away to look over the ruins, "Very good indeed."

Only Chaos didn't think it was enough.

"You know," Zack commented while sorting his hand, "If you're going to have one emotionally painful discussion in a day, maybe you should have them all." He whipped a glance at Vincent who had been dragged to their makeshift table on Tseng's knees so that Zack could play something other than Bezique with the injured Turk. Not that this new game was any better. He barely managed not to ask why they weren't playing poker, again. Last time he'd asked that Tifa had punched him in the arm. She hit hard.

"What do you mean?" the gunman asked cautiously.

"Well, you and Tifa have essentially sorted yourselves out–"

"I beg," Tifa interrupted.

"What, shit, already?" He peered at his hand, and then at the turned up card. Did he want that suit as trump? Fucked if he knew, but he had a couple in his hand. "Take one," he responded. Tseng frowned but dutifully added a point to their opponents' score. "Where was I?"

"Not concentrating on the game," his partner muttered under his breath. Tifa smirked. She could. After all, they were winning.

"Emotionally painful discussions," Vincent reminded the SOLDIER, his voice little more than a growl.

"Right. So, you and Tifa are good—or getting there—and I'm thinking that it must've hurt and that got me thinking–"

"About something other than the game," Tseng muttered.

"–that having emotionally painful discussions is kinda like taking off band-aids." Everybody stopped playing and stared at the dark-haired SOLDIER. He looked up and saw all the eyes on him. "What? I'm allowed to play that, right?"

It was Tseng who asked the question they were all thinking. "How is having 'emotionally painful discussions' similar to removing band-aids?"

"You know you can carefully and sl-o-w-l-y pull off the band-aid," Zack twisted his body to emphasize his words, "less pain but over a longer time period. Or you can just rip it off. Hurts like hell but it's done."

"I am aware of the different processes, Commander," Tseng said dryly.

Zack ignored him, intent on his point. "So if you have more than one EPD in your future you can have them a bit at a time, draw them out over days, months—even years. Or you can line up all the people you need to talk to and get them all done in a day."

Silence.

"Is this your way of suggesting that I talk to General Sephiroth…" Vincent trailed off. Sephiroth… his son. He was more and more convinced that the anonymous lab tech's speculation had been correct. Sephiroth was his child, his and Lucrecia's; not Hojo's, never Hojo's. He had watched the Silver General and, physically, there was much about the swordsman that reminded him of himself and his own father; height, build, a certain way of moving and holding his head. There was little that reminded him of the revolting little scientist that had been married to Lucrecia.

He had her hair...

"Something like that, yeah. I know he's been thinking about it even if he hasn't said anything," he paused. "Aren't you curious about how he feels about having you as his dad?"

Vincent said nothing. His eyes remained on his cards... which bent under the pressure. Tifa glared at the SOLDIER who looked an apology back. He hadn't been able to help Sephiroth, he was still downstairs on the dock, watching the water. Getting Vincent to talk to his possible son was the only thing he could think of that might bring his CO out of the weird, glowing basement where he waited for Cloud to come back from the dead.

"I will speak to him," the ex-Turk finally said.

"Not until we finish this game, if you don't mind," Tseng pleaded.

"Of course," Vincent agreed and played a card. "I've just hung your jack" he announced. Tseng threw down his cards in disgust.

The white was getting thicker, closer, but it was still safe and warm. It was nice. There was no pain. This was good. He would stay here. He frowned.

Vincent descended the stairs much slower than the first time. There was no urgency in this trip. Imminent death didn't await one of their party, although this was just a different type of rescue. He was also slower because he was being careful not to spill the food Zack had prepared for the General. As he placed foot after foot on the long spiralling stairs, he tried to think of what he could say, of what Sephiroth would say. What questions would Lucrecia's child ask of him? How would he answer?

*The easiest way to find out is to just get down there, don't you think?* Chaos sounded impatient, *This endless circling in your mind is making me dizzy.*

An intimate conversation: just him, his son and his demon. Wouldn't this be fun? Vincent nearly snorted out loud.

*Did you just use sarcasm, my host? You?* he could feel Chaos smiling, *I think you've been associating with me too long.* It laughed at its own wit. The sound was nearly loud enough to make the gunman wince, but at least it kept the demon entertained as he made his careful way down the stairs. It was perhaps better than listening to the endless list of unanswerable questions his mind had devised.

Perhaps.

Sephiroth was easy to spot. He was kneeling on the edge of the dock at the far end where their battle had taken place. Not far from where Hellmasker—Vincent turned his mind away from the memory. That incarnation's insanity did not make him insane or any more dangerous than anyone else in their party. He wrapped himself in Tifa's assurances and made himself move forward. "Sephiroth," he said, holding out the food. There was no response. "General," he said a little sharper.

A silver head turned toward him. Green-eyes looked at him from an icy distance. "Valentine."

Vincent held out the food once again, "Commander Fair sent down some food."

The General looked at it blankly, "I am not hungry."

"Nonetheless, you must eat." Sephiroth looked ready to refuse. His eyes narrowed and his lips tightened. Vincent knew what to say to stop any argument. "He worries about you." Sephiroth turned away.

The gunman placed the tray on the dock between them then, with a sigh—why did these talks always happen while sitting on the edge of something?—he sat down and dangled his legs over the bright water.

"Zack made the stew," he announced. Then he stared at the General, his son, until the SOLDIER picked up the tray to examine the contents.

It had surprised him that the scatter-brained First knew how to cook but Zack had explained how much SOLDIERs needed to eat. Even with the limited number of SOLDIERs ShinRa had maintained, providing food for them all would've bankrupted the program. Plus eating out or ordering in was impossible in the field, so Lazard, the program's one-time boss, had arranged for several courses on cooking and Zack had taken them all. The gunman couldn't help but wonder how many of those classes had devolved into food fights.

This was made from leftover zuu. He'd caught one of the big birds and delivered it to the house just yesterday. The First had built a fire pit and roasted it. He'd even scrounged through the overgrown remains of a garden and found herbs with which to make a marinade, and vegetables to have with it. Today, it had all gone into the pot. Despite the gunman's aversion to meat-based dishes, he'd been tempted to try some of the aromatic dish. It had been good; filling and comforting, so maybe it would help stabilize his son.

His son...

"I was encouraged to come down here in case you have any questions about Lucrecia, your mother," he paused, his throat closing, "or myself." That pulled the silver-haired SOLDIER's attention from the water but he didn't say anything right away; no outburst of accusations or recriminations; no barrage of questions. Just the steady sound of him chewing and swallowing.

"I was surprised that Commander Fair knows how to cook, and does it so well. He made the stew."

*You already said that*

"So you said," Sephiroth commented quietly, "He was always a very resourceful young man."

"Do you love him?" Vincent didn't wince but he did bury his face behind his collar and his hair. Sephiroth was supposed to be asking the questions.

"I do love him, as I understand the term," the swordsman answered quietly. "Four, even three, years ago, if he had been interested in having a relationship with me, I would have pursued it. He wasn't then and isn't now."

"But..." Vincent clamped his mouth shut. This was not what he wanted to be discussing.

*I'm interested,* Chaos said. As if there'd been any doubt.

"But, 'haven't we slept together'? 'Haven't we had sex?' Aren't those the questions you wish to ask?"

Vincent resisted shifting in discomfort. "It's none of my business. You don't need to answer."

A small, mocking smile flitted across the General's aristocratic face. The swordsman thought of Zack's words when he'd confessed that he and Cloud had shared themselves in the lab: 'just comfort between friends'. It described perfectly what had happened between the three of them... and what might happen again before the mission was over. He knew Zack was in love with his little flower girl. When they returned, if they returned, from the mission the bouncy First would go back to her and the intimacy the three of them had shared would end. He wasn't looking forward to it but he was going to say none of that to Vincent Valentine.

"You're right. It's none of your business," he tilted his head to stare at the dark-haired gunman. "Did you ask out of prurient curiosity, or did you feel it was a proper 'fatherly' thing to ask?"

Again, Vincent resisted the urge to fidget. "I'm afraid it was neither of those things. I am having trouble defining the relationship between the three of you. It... pokes at the part of me that used to be a Turk." He didn't mention Chaos' interest which could easily be defined as 'prurient'.

"Hmm," Sephiroth said in acceptance. He knew, too well, that intense early training never really left a person.

He took another bite of Zack's thick stew, buying time while he thought of what he'd like to say. He'd been ignoring the situation, and would have gladly continued to ignore it, but of course it had been there, in the back of his mind. It all came down to how he wanted to define 'family'. Was it automatically and merely the creatures who'd spawned him, and any other creatures they also spawned? Or was it the people he lived with everyday? People that he worried about and who worried about him? He'd thought he'd known. Now he didn't, and one of the reasons for this new uncertainty was sitting beside him, patiently waiting for him to talk.

He wiped his mouth carefully, placed the napkin over the unfinished food and, twisting sharply, set it behind him. His movements were precise and controlled: his thoughts were not.

"For nearly two decades I have worked hard to convince myself that biology has played little to no part in who I am as a person. Even though I can recognize the effects my fa–that Hojo had on the way I think and behave, I have grown to believe that it was caused more by the manner in which he raised me rather than from whatever genetic material he donated to me." He paused in distaste before continuing, "As an adult, I became responsible for my choices and actions. Those choices and actions were influenced by my upbringing, of course, but, as I recognized those influences, I could choose whether they would influence me. At that point, who, or what, my mother and father were became irrelevant to the person I was. This gave me great comfort."

Vincent blinked. It was quiet with only the gentle lapping of the water and the soft creak of the boards while he worked through what the silver-haired warrior had said.

To the ex-Turk, son of Doctor Sir Grimoire Valentine and the Honourable Felicia Cominterre, former scion of a noble house that had dated back centuries before ShinRa re-ordered the world, Sephiroth was describing a person with no ties, no responsibilities to anyone outside himself, someone utterly selfish and self-concerned. At least, that's what it sounded like. And yet... the General had ties; ties to Strife and Fair, even ties to Tifa. Then there had been that master-sergeant back in camp. The connection between the two of them was obvious. Plus, it had been only a few short days and Vincent had seen him take responsibility for many things; for peace with Wutai, for the continued stability—and probity—of Neo-ShinRa. He'd accepted responsibility for saving the world. Those decisions argued against him having no ties.

So what had he said?

"You don't allow people outside yourself decide what is important to you," he said hesitantly. "Family is less important to you than the people and things you have chosen to allow into your life."

"In essence, that is correct," the General confirmed. "It was certainly more comfortable than allowing Hojo any kind of control over my being." His voice softened, became musing rather than matter-of-fact. "I had thought, or rather hoped, that my mother had cared for me but I could find out nothing about her. When I finally discovered her identity it was... disturbing to say the least."

"Lucrecia Crescent was a good person. She would have loved you if she had survived," Vincent said fiercely.

"I was talking about Jenova," Sephiroth corrected him. "Hojo, and the other scientists, all maintained that Jenova was my mother."

"She is your mother!" The voice was cracked but firm and way, way too close. In an eye-blink, Vincent was standing, gun drawn, facing the last remaining clone. Sephiroth hadn't moved. The silver-haired youth looked at Vincent with scared eyes even as he continued to shovel food in his mouth.

"She may have been your mother, Yazoo," Sephiroth disagreed calmly, unsurprised by the clone that had snuck up on them and was eating the food off the tray, "but she had no hand in raising me."

"Why do you not wish to claim her," the youth asked, bewildered, "She was magnificent. Her purpose, her destiny, it was beyond what we can imagine."

Sephiroth smiled, "Perhaps that is my problem; I have no desire to imagine it." He twisted to face the slim creature, "As I've told you before, the future I can see, the future that I want, is here, on this world; not on some distant, and possibly imaginary, future world."

Vincent interrupted their little chat. "Why isn't he dead?"

"Because you didn't kill him," Sephiroth answered mildly, but it didn't stop Vincent from flinching. He knew what Hellmasker had done. The General politely didn't pursue it. "Apparently Zack turned him into a frog and he ran away."

A sharp motion of his free hand set that, all of it, aside, "Why haven't you killed him?" the ex-Turk corrected.

"Because he has lost everything: Jenova, his brothers, everything that mattered to him," Sephiroth answered still mild. The clone, Yazoo, looked at him with large eyes. He was using his fingers to clean the bowl until it was practically spotless then licking them clean with hungry greed. "And you know he can't go back. Hojo would rend him down for his DNA without a thought."

"That doesn't explain why he isn't dead." The ex-Turk repeated.

"Because I choose not to kill him." The General gave a small smile, "Not a moment ago you were about to lecture me on the importance of family. You can't have it both ways. If you and Dr. Crescent are my family because you donated genetic material to my body, well then, so is Jenova. However it happened, I carry a great deal of her genetic legacy, as does Yazoo. If sharing DNA makes a family, then that means Yazoo is my half-brother."

Vincent grunted. "So are Cloud and Zack, if you apply that logic." Reluctantly, the gunman holstered his weapon. The way the boy skittered back at the movement let the ex-Turk know that he also remembered what Hellmasker had done.

"How debauched of you," Sephiroth gave a low chuckle, "Maybe that demon of yours is having an effect on your thinking."

*Not as much as I'd like,* Chaos pouted. Vincent clenched his teeth.

"Besides that's not my logic, it's yours. My logic was simply that I don't want to kill him." The General continued, "I should probably also mention that I'm trying to persuade him to come with us."

He wanted to yell, 'Are you insane?' followed by stomping a foot and shouting 'Absolutely not, I forbid it'. He didn't think the silver-haired warrior would listen to either outburst. "That doesn't make sense," the gunman finally ground out. "He was designed by Hojo to fight for Jenova and against the planet. He's an enemy and we'll never be able to trust him.

"He is here all alone, with no idea how to care for himself. He has no idea how to be an individual because it has always been him and his brothers. His whole world has been ripped away." A smirk, "I can sympathize will all of those conditions having experienced them at different points of my life."

Vincent crossed his arms in an unconscious blocking move: he didn't want to sympathize with the young clone. He didn't want anything to do with him. "That doesn't explain why we should take responsibility for him."

"Since he was grown from my tissue samples, you could always look at him as your other son." Sephiroth purred slyly. He slanted his eyes sideways, amused when Vincent's arms tightened to near bone-cracking intensity. The swordsman could hear leather and brass creaking under the pressure. The smile dropped off his face. "I will not allow anything or anyone fall into Hojo's hands if I can prevent it. If Yazoo should prove to be a liability in the future, I will take care of him. Or perhaps I'll just have Zack turn him back into a frog,"

"No, not the frog," the clone pleaded, "I was so small! It was awful. And I think I ate a bug." Long fingers rested on a slim throat as if remembering the sensation... and not in a happy way.

Vincent dipped his head down, hiding his expression. "Hopefully, we won't all end up regretting your largesse." He whirled off, leaving the General to his vigil, leaving the clone untouched. He should warn the others

Sephiroth merely smiled and went back to watching the water. Yazoo curled up and went to sleep, safe in the care of his new brother.

The white was still warm and soft but it wasn't as soothing anymore. It didn't seem as distant and it didn't seem as pure. It was changing and that disturbed him. He didn't want it to change. He wanted to stay here. He was sure he wanted to stay here.