Warnings: Short chapter; character development and other interesting stuff (well, I found it interesting). Oh, and mild lechery.
Chapter 41 : Slow Cheetah
The next day, Sephiroth gave in to the Commander's suggestion that Cloud practice with his new blades. The sound of steel-on-steel echoed up from the deserted city, along with shouts and boasts and gales of laughter. Tseng talked Vincent into accompanying him to the structure in the cliff that had intrigued him since they arrived. Their departure was much quieter. The General and Tifa worked together to assemble the harness that he'd seen—he winced even as he thought it—in a dream.
He had Yazoo sit with them, questioning him in order to map out Hojo's facility in the Northern Caves. Where were the security points? Where would they be most likely to find the Professor? Where would they find Omega or, failing that, the elusive Weiss? What was the troop strength? Each question would make the youth draw back. He'd been kept in the lab. They didn't talk around any of them. He didn't know, hadn't wanted to know, he'd say and he'd pull his arms a little tighter around himself.
Tifa finally told the General to hush since he couldn't seem to talk and cut straight at the same time, and she chatted with the sylph-like youth. She asked about his brothers and what it had been like growing up with siblings, explaining that she had been an only child. She'd always wanted a brother, she said, but by the end of Yazoo's stories, she announced that she was just as glad to have been spared the experience.
Then she chatted about how she'd trained with the most notorious guerrilla fighter Wutai had ever produced which led to the two of them comparing techniques and instructors. They talked about food, and books and just living day-to-day. No matter what he said, she just smiled or shrugged and accepted it. He'd killed one of the lab techs? Well, she'd read some of what went on in Hojo's labs so the boy could hardly be blamed for that, now could he? He'd had sex with his brothers? He had to have been lonely and frightened, all of them probably were. It was nice that they could turn to each other for comfort.
And with each smile and each shrug, Sephiroth could see the wire-fine tension leaving Yazoo. The General didn't think Yazoo even realized how much tactical information he'd given up to the dark-eyed fighter. Sephiroth had to admit that, even with the hidden agenda, Tifa's bright friendliness kept the conversation flowing. He concentrated on assembling the complicated sword harness and only threw in the occasional, non-confrontational comment. Trying, like her, to keep it light.
It was one of the most relaxing days he'd ever spent.
Vincent was finding his day much less relaxing. It's not that Tseng chatted continuously, he actually said very little, but it was what he said that had the ex-Turk grinding his teeth.
"Have you given any thought to my proposal?" the Turk had said halfway through the village, his voice nearly drowned out by the whoops and hollers of the two SOLDIERs battling overhead.
"Your proposal?" Vincent returned, baffled, although his voice was its usual uninflected growl.
"That you join us at Neo-ShinRa, fully reinstated, with all the benefits and privileges that should be yours."
"I have not thought of it," he growled, "nor will I."
The sounds of battle fell away as they climbed out of the ruins. Vincent began to hope that the whole expedition would be accomplished in blessed silence.
"Your siblings are dead," Tseng kept walking, didn't even turn to look at his companion, "One died in an accident nearly twenty years ago and the others while trying to fight off Deepground."
Vincent pulled back into his mantle. "Why are you telling me this?"
*I think he wants you, my host.* Chaos laughed.
"Your father's title is vacant," the Turk continued, "Things are a little chaotic right now but, if the right people are contacted, I'm sure you could be confirmed as the new baronet."
"Why are you telling me this?" he repeated. Again, Tseng ignored the question."
"It would be a shame for a title as old and respected as Dr. Valentine's to fade from history. I'm sure your parents wouldn't want that."
Vincent knew his eyes were flashing—even Chaos was growling in annoyance at the persistence of the man. "My father died before he could let me know how he felt as the inheritor of an empty title. Considering he went by his professional designation, I don't think it mattered to him. As for my mother, I long ago I stopped trying to live up to whatever standards she thought appropriate for the family name. She washed her hands of me when I joined ShinRa and the others followed her lead. Why should their concerns be mine?"
His mother and oldest brother had planned out the careers and lives of all four children. The oldest, a boy, would inherit the title and the estates, course. The second child would conquer academia; the next would rise to the top of the church, and the extra, awkward, too-tall fourth child? Well, they'd marry him off to bring the greatest advantage to the family. They'd even had his spouse picked out for him; an older woman whose rapaciousness in bed was legendary. She'd offered a royal sum to purchase his body. He could remember the bitter argument when he'd told them no. He'd compounded it by saying he'd rather become ShinRa's bodyguard than be sold like a common whore.
*I think I would have loathed your family, my immortalis. They sound even more repressive than you are.* The gunman nearly snorted out loud. The demon's assessment was accurate.
His mother hadn't yelled—she never yelled—but she'd let him know that if he didn't behave and do his duty as a Valentine, then they would no longer consider him as part of the family. He'd been just as calm when he stated that, ever since his father had died, he hadn't felt like a part of the family anyway. The only time they spent in each other's company were for meals (semi-formal) or social occasions (formal) and conversation was kept light and shallow. They might as well have existed on separate planets for all the impact they'd had on his life and there were many days Vincent had thought that a good thing.
This is what Sephiroth felt…
Vincent nearly stopped as the realization hit him. This disconnection, the lack of attachment and the unconcern, that he felt towards his own family, this was what Sephiroth had trained himself to feel for Hojo, his supposed father, and what the former experiment felt about him now. Because it was safer to feel this way than it was to care and it was less hurtful to treat them as strangers until, eventually, they become strangers, as unknown to him as any one of a thousand rice growers in Wutai. He would not bare either himself or his son to the Turk by saying so. There were other reasons to turn down Tseng's offer. "The monarchy was gone long before ShinRa dismantled it so it is an empty title that would impress only the empty-headed. It is meaningless; without value to the person I was yesterday and the creature I am today."
Tseng slanted him a look, his eyes dark and unreadable. "One can't predict what will be important in the future, or how others will react to a title—even an empty one—so we'll leave the offer on the table." Vincent said nothing and, thankfully, the Turk stopped talking.
It was steeper here and the structure was coming into view. They could see the top of it, the roof and the carved frieze. It was in worse shape than it had looked from down below, however, it was obvious that a great deal of time and energy had been spent to carve it out of the cliff. The gunman was forced to agree with the Turk: it had to have some cultural importance. The road curved around, jutting out from the cliff face so that the pair had a nearly ninety degree angle to it. To allow people to stop and admire the building, Tseng said and Vincent wasn't inclined to disagree.
Out of curiosity, Vincent peered over the edge and looked down and down, until he could almost see the pale, glowing water of the buried city. Jenova could've dropped straight down from here. Odd, though; when he'd looked up from the central pillar, the ex-Turk hadn't been able to see the sky. Some kind of shield, he wondered or just another one of the many oddities this town contained?
*The humming is back, my host,* Chaos snarled, *Stronger than ever.*
'It wasn't Jenova?' he thought. They—he—had assumed that, since the demon couldn't sense it after the creature's death, that the noise had been a result of her presence. Obviously not. 'Why didn't you sense it before?' was a much more useful question.
*Maybe because it's taken this long for that lunatic to settle down.* Chaos was referring to Hellmasker, Vincent assumed, as if that one's appearance had unsettled the immortal creature rather than annoying it. Vincent didn't believe it.
*I don't care what you believe, my host,* the demon's voice was sneering, *as long as you search out that buzz. It is far more annoying than that pathetic pseudo-talent could dream to be.*
Vincent considered the request. Even if the noise proved as elusive as it had before, looking for it would be a good excuse to avoid the Wutaian and his blatant attempts at recruitment. So, while Tseng explored a couple ruined houses built snug against the cliff, the gunman moved around the path from where it nearly faced the structure to where it was nearly parallel. Hoping, against all logic, that Chaos would be able to triangulate the position of wherever the 'buzz' was originating. Needless to say, it couldn't and Vincent resigned himself to crawling around the wreckage.
There were actually many levels open to the canyon even though they'd only been able to see one from the ruined city. All featured colonnades; the top level's columns were heavy and crude; the lower levels' were slim and elegant. He could see that they were all carved and painted at some point, although time had erased or faded most of the decorations. He walked through an archway, trading pale northern sun for dim emptiness. The floor had once featured intricate tile work but, like the rest of the building, it was eroded and faded; much of it was broken away as well, as if the craftsmen had been hasty or ill-trained or both. Neither the architecture nor the decorations, ruler-straight and blatantly man-made, matched that of the organic, flowing conch-shell houses.
What had changed the culture so much?
His sister might have known. Even without his mother's hyperbolic descriptions, he'd always known she'd been a brilliant scholar like their father. And he'd also known, even without his mother's vitriolic denouncements, that he hadn't inherited a tenth of the fabled Valentine intelligence.
*Pfft,* Chaos dismissed the memory, *being an academic doesn't make one intelligent. They're dead, you're not. So who's the smart one?* Vincent could nearly smile at the simplistic judgement.
He explored the upper area finding nothing but dust and the occasional skittering rodent. When he emerged back out on the gallery he saw Tseng walking down some stairs that probably led to the lower level. Vincent didn't worry about him, too intent on his own task to care about the Turk's. The centre of the structure had collapsed, piling roof, architrave and columns in huge chunks creating a nearly impassable barrier. It was a good thing he didn't need to climb it, not really. Whether it was Chaos' presence, or that of the others, or merely a side-effect from all the experiments Hojo had subjected him to, he could jump three, four, even five times his height with ease. Once over the pile, there was more of the same regimented structure looking empty and lifeless, except now he could detect Chaos' buzz. It wasn't in the ears, but more like a vibration in his back teeth. He walked into the carved inner rooms looked around but whatever he was looking for wasn't here. The vibration stayed the same—just on the edge of audible.
He returned to the open walkway and went even further to the east, following the curve of the cliff face. The vibration got stronger. Once again, the walkway ended in ruins, this time the stones had fallen into the abyss, but there was an arching staircase to a hidden gallery above. Hopefully the source was up there. He climbed the stairs two at a time. To his disappointment most of the upper level was crumbling and gone. Even worse, the vibrations had lessened. With a growl he turned to go back downstairs. A small bag caught his attention—it glittered and sparkled—so he took it and stuffed it in one of his pockets to look at later.
Down, back to the walkway, where the vibration had been strongest. He looked up, nothing there; left and right, empty. He walked to the edge and looked over. He could just make out the lower level gallery. In it, he could dimly see Tseng's shape moving around through the slim pillars. He pulled back with a frown. He could navigate back to the stairs and go down that way, or... A quick jump, twisting in mid-air so he faced the structure, then his gauntleted hand came out and grabbed one of the carved lintels and swung him neatly into the lower level.
He felt, more than saw, the Turk's gun being drawn and cocked. "It's me," he announced calmly, not caring if Tseng actually shot at him.
"That was a foolish thing to do," Tseng responded in his same level voice.
"It was efficient," Vincent disagreed, ignoring the drawn gun to seek out the buzz, for it was a buzz now; as in 'a steady low humming sound, like that of a bee or a mosquito'. If this was what Chaos had been hearing, no wonder the demon was irritated. "Have you found anything?"
Tseng put away his weapon. "Nothing of any use. The paintings and mosaics are too damaged to be easily interpreted."
Turning his head, using it like a tuning fork, Vincent was barely paying attention to the conversation. "You need Professor Gast. Or his assistant, Ifalna... something," he responded absently. It was the Turk's silence that drew Vincent's attention. "What?"
"Both Professor Gast and his wife are dead," Tseng explained, "Killed by Hojo in his quest for control of the Science Department and the last known Cetra." Vincent grunted in acknowledgment of the information, unsurprised and not really caring. He had hardly known them as they hadn't spent much time with Lucrecia who'd been his assignment. He'd avoided them in his off-hours because Gast had reminded him of an uncle he hadn't liked and Ifalna was always trying to hug him. Although, now that Tseng said it, he could vaguely recall hearing about their deaths; overhearing, actually, a couple techs standing outside his cage, gossiping about Gast's 'suicide' while on vacation. The lab tech had supplied air quotes but nobody had needed them to know what had really happened.
*That's all very interesting, my own, but the source is somewhere here!* Inside him, it felt like Chaos was prowling like a guard fang in tall grass, hunting its prey. Their conversation already forgotten, Vincent stepped away from the Turk, deeper into the darkness, avoiding the rubble where possible, climbing or jumping over it where it was not.
"I've already checked back there," Tseng called after him. He was ignored.
The vibration was so strong he could feel it in his bones. He was clenching his teeth so hard he was developing a head ache. Worse, his creatures were stirring. *There!* his demon directed and Vincent's head whipped around to see a portion of the wall that was lighter than the rest. It almost seemed to be glowing. He reached out his damaged, gauntleted hand, stretching it out toward the wall, anticipating the feel of it.
Only to have his hand go right through...
The 'wall' shimmered and faded revealing an alcove, pristine and untouched by time. Its decorations were bright and crisp and could have been finished yesterday. In the centre of the space was a sturdy column of bright, white stone, too slender to be an altar, but important enough to be carved with figures of what Vincent recognized as ancient gods. On top of the column was a box of light wood, also carved and decorated with precious stones and metals. It drew him forward, drew him close until he could feel the power emanating from the box.
*Open it already and turn it off!* Chaos had a point. His creatures were definitely starting to shift around inside him. He wasn't damaged, they couldn't emerge, but having them all awake was beyond tiring. He grabbed the clasp with his bare hand. There was a tone, like a ringing bell, and the vibration stopped. Vincent frowned. 'I think we're to take it with us,' he couldn't help thinking.
*It stinks of pre-ordained destiny crap.* Chaos sniffed unhappily. It was not a fan of predetermined anything.
"That alcove wasn't visible before which means it was waiting for you to find it," Tseng said unnecessarily, "Intriguing." Vincent growled in denial; it wasn't intriguing it was disturbing.
At least his creatures had rolled over and gone back to sleep.
Zack and Cloud walked back up the hill to the weird little house by the lake. For once Cloud was bouncing a little in happiness, totally carefree in a way he'd rarely felt in his life. Sure, they were on a mission to save the world, and, yes, he'd just come back from the dead—again—but he was alive and he was here with his best friend after having spent most of the day sparring and flying and just messing around. He'd never had this. He'd been an only child then the town oddball so he'd never had any real friends in Nibelheim. Even his friendship with Tifa had been shaded with expectations and false dreams, furtiveness and secrecy. None of those had created a relaxed atmosphere.
When he'd managed to get into ShinRa's armed forces he'd been driven to prove to himself, to everyone, that he was as good as anyone else. He'd trained harder and longer than anyone else, and he'd studied the same way. There'd been no time to develop any friends—even if he'd known how to do that.
Then he'd been sent to Modeoheim. He'd been a support grunt, in charge of another support grunt, both of them responsible for hauling the supplies for the important members of their party. He'd been anonymous and faceless and would have stayed that way except they'd been shot out of the air and had to slog their way over a mountain in freezing temperatures, and he'd met Zack. Cheerful, irreverent, and a small town boy like him. They'd hit it off immediately and Cloud had talked more about himself on that three-day mission than he had all the previous two years.
And he'd laughed. He'd laughed more than he had in his whole, pathetic life.
When it was over, that horrible fuck up of a mission, he'd assumed that Zack would mostly forget about him but then one night, soon after they'd returned, he'd gotten a call from a bar. Zack was drunk; singing and dancing in a way that was 'disturbing the other patrons'. Since he'd given the waitress Cloud's PHS number before he'd ordered the mini-tanker of tequila, they'd assumed he'd agreed to pick up the drunken SOLDIER. Of course he hadn't agreed, he hadn't known anything about it, but he'd gone anyway. The taxi alone had cost him a week's wages. He was just glad the bar had agreed to bill Zack for the furniture and the light fixture.
Zack had been a happy drunk until the booze started to wear off then he'd cried and Cloud had held him and let him cry because that was what friend's did.
He'd also let Zack buy the recording he'd made on his PHS of him pole dancing half-naked around a thick, rough wooden post—and the less sultry dance he'd done as he pulled slivers from his groin—before anyone else had a chance to see it. If that wasn't friendship, Cloud didn't know what was.
Hard to believe they'd only known each other for only a year before the Nibelheim mission. It had seemed like a brand new lifetime to Cloud. He'd met so many new people, made friends with so many people, been teased and given presents, gone dancing and been seduced, gotten drunk and pulled pranks, and done all the things teenagers were supposed to do with their friends. All because of Zack Fair.
Then had come Nibelheim and, and everything that had happened there.
But that was done. It was over. They were free and alive and, for some reason, today was the first time since he'd come out of his... coma, that he'd gotten that feeling back. Maybe it was the buildings that they'd accidentally knocked over, or the noise they'd made, or the fucking flying, but he'd felt like it was four years ago when Zack had snuck him in to watch the SOLDIERs' Goof-Off Games.
He felt carefree and alive. He was alive. Zack was alive. Sephiroth, his lover, was alive. They were all alive. Okay, so he'd been dead and so had Tifa, but they hadn't stayed that way. They were alive now and, for today, that was all that mattered.
So, as they stripped next to the lake before heading in to wash off the sweat and dust and blood, he was already figuring out how he was going to dunk his best friend. And when Zack flashed a lazy grin at him, he knew that Zack knew, and he knew his dark-haired friend was anticipating the battle.
"All that noise can be a little distracting, can't it General," Tifa said. There was no response. Sephiroth sat with his eyes fixed on the distance, hands raised but still.
"And the view is very nice too, isn't it?" There was a loud splash and even Tifa paused in her work. "Very nice."
"What are they doing?" Yazoo asked, moving in front of the window and blocking the view. Sephiroth actually jumped a little then. He gave his co-worker a small, guilty look. "It's just silly. Why don't they just bathe and have done with it." The young clone sounded disgusted.
"It's called 'playing', Yazoo. People do it to have fun or to release tension," Tifa said, not condescending or making fun of him, but just telling him. "And you're blocking the window." That was teasing, but Yazoo obediently moved back a bit.
Sephiroth looked at the small fighter sitting beside him, hands still working even if she was paying more attention to the outside. "I thought you and Vincent…" he left the rest delicately unsaid.
"I'm spoken for, General, not blind and not dead." She smiled, still watching the show, "I learned long ago that one should appreciate art and beauty whenever it's presented. Don't you agree?" Now she was teasing him.
There was a war cry from the lake so Sephiroth didn't bother to respond, allowing himself to become caught up in the action once again. Really, the lake was far too shallow for Cloud and Zack to be indulging in such behaviour. Didn't they realize that the people in the house had a perfect view of... everything?
"Oh! Cloud totally would have had him if he hadn't pulled out his wings," she said in outrage, "That's unfair!"
Yazoo looked at her in surprise. "Isn't this a battle?"
"Mock battle," she corrected.
"Mock battles are just training for the real thing," the clone stated and was backed up by an approving murmur from the General. "In a battle, any and all advantages should be utilized to their fullest. Since his wings are water-resistant it makes sense to use them."
"Hmph," Tifa sniffed in disapproval. "I still think Cloud would've managed to dunk him."
Yazoo was puzzled. "Is that the goal? To push the dark one's head under the water?" Tifa nodded. "So, once he has accomplished it, then they will stop and wash correctly?"
"Good point, Yazoo. Zack should definitely keep using his wings." Yazoo frowned at Tifa, not understanding her change in attitude at all, but Sephiroth hummed in agreement.
Definitely one of the most enjoyable days he'd ever had.
AN: I have relatives coming up that I haven't seen in a long time and I don't actually know how long they plan on staying. I'll try to keep up my posting schedule but I can't guarantee it.