Warnings: Language and Chaos finally gets his wish... almost.

Chapter 45 : Scars Remain

"So, you don't always find it easy to forgive," Vincent's voice was its usual low growl. "I find that reassuring."

"What are you talking about?" Zack didn't growl, he couldn't, but his voice was abrupt and unfriendly. He'd joined the ex-Turk for silence, not conversation.

Vincent either didn't notice or didn't care that the First didn't want to talk. "You once told me that all you had to do was make the decision to forgive and it was done."

Zack remembered the conversation: it was after Chaos had taken him on that little joy-ride. "Yeah, so?"

"At the time, I thought that your calm acceptance of all of life's betrayals was almost saintly," Vincent continued before Zack could protest the description, "I have often thought that saints would be uncomfortable to be around so I am gladdened that you fall somewhat short of the requirements."

Zack frowned, confused; what the hells was Vince talking about? And then he got it; "You overheard our talk, didn't you?"

Red eyes flicked his way. "Enhancements don't shut off just because you don't want to hear. You should know that."

*Sometimes that's a mixed blessing,* Chaos commented. Its voice was wistful because it hadn't managed to convince Vincent to go investigate the intriguing sounds they'd heard last night. The prude had refused to spy on his son.

Zack had to concede Vincent's point about enhancements; he'd felt a shadow of his friends' emotions through their link even though he hadn't wanted to, but he didn't know what to say to the rest of it. He'd never claimed to be a saint. He wouldn't want to be one if it were offered and he really didn't want to talk about this with a guy who'd been content to shut himself up in a coffin rather than face reality. "Are you going to tell me what to do or how I should feel? How I should see Tseng's point of view." His voice came out meaner than he meant it to but he couldn't seem to pull back.

"It's hardly my opinion that matters," Vincent's reply was calm.

Zack snorted, "You must have one, being a Turk once yourself after all." Zack could feel the pressure of the gunman's steady gaze. He lifted his chin determined to ignore it but couldn't help turning to glare at Vincent in challenge.

"Very well," Vincent said, "my opinion is that treating people as pieces on a chess board is a disease that infects all of humanity. Everyone, at some time, believes that he knows what's right for someone else regardless of how that person feels. We justify actions, kind and evil, with the words 'best interests'; presidents who lie to the public; parents who beat their children… security chiefs who withhold information."

Zack was staring at him. "Aren't you a bucket of sunshine."

Vincent ignored the dry comment. "The strong and the powerful will always manipulate people and events to obtain results they feel give them the best advantage. To believe that you would be protected from such decisions because you, yourself, always mean well is naïve and delusional."

"I have a right to be angry," Zack defended himself, looking away from his companion. Vincent's words hurt because he knew that they were true.

"You once told me that you cannot control other people's decisions and actions. That is true. I have said all that I will on the subject so I will leave you to your–" brooding "–thoughts. Good luck with your decision and the resulting action." Only the flash of gold through the gunman's red eyes let on that, inside the gunman, Chaos was chortling. It did occasionally enjoy its host's dry humour.

The gunman dropped back and away and Zack let him go. He already had too many unpleasant things to think about and Vincent was far too disturbing a conversationalist. Instead he tried to concentrate on what they'd be facing in the crater. He reviewed the reports he'd read, tried to put together something coherent from all the skimpy information on file. And if Zack's eyes strayed to Tseng, with his dark hair drifting loose from under the hood of the parka he wore, no one could see it. And if his thoughts strayed to how easy it would be to lop off the bastard's head, he was the only one who had to know.

Fuck it. He needed to kill something...

Vincent watched the tall figure in SOLDIER First black stalk over the landscape, big sword humming as he swung it through the air, chopping at nothing. Frustrated rage infused Sephiroth's companion and Vincent was glad they weren't walking together. He had his own thoughts to deal with.

He knew what he'd heard last night: his son and the young blond soldier being intimate; just the two of them. Rumours in camp had held that they were, or would be, a tight threesome. It was possible but that's not what he'd observed either back in camp or here on the mission. They were close; silver, black and blond weaving in and around each other in a bond that would undoubtedly birth legends, but they didn't show obvious signs of physical intimacy. It was, perhaps, unfortunate that the Commander hadn't joined with the other two last night. His emotions were too unsettled, he was too unsettled and a round or two of sex might have taken the edge off the SOLDIER's temper.

*Maybe I should try my luck with the flighty bat once again,* Chaos teased, *Perhaps he's feeling neglected enough to appreciate my attentions.*

Vincent didn't even bother to sigh. 'It's anger, not lust, which has brought Fair to such a state. So much fury with no target... I pity the creature that pops out in front of him. Dangerous or not, it will be dead.' He ignored Chaos' hum of anticipation. Fair's emotionality was worrying to the gunman because, if the SOLDIER didn't find an innocent creature to vent some of that emotion on, it would be one of the team and their little group's dynamics were already fragile with the addition of the clone.

"You're brooding again."

Vincent looked down at the small warrior with the laughing brown eyes. "It is my nature," he replied.

"Really?" she responded, "Maybe it's just a habit."

He lifted an eyebrow, aware of the action in a way he'd never been before; it was a genetic trait. He could do it. His father could do it… and his son could do it. "Is there a difference? When the habit is so ingrained that it is no longer discernable as a habit, then surely it becomes a personality trait."

She smiled a brief slash of white between rose coloured lips. "Only if it's something others approve of. Bad habits always remain habits because then we can disown them." He grunted; quite sure that many people did exactly that. "But I suspect that brooding is your natural state. Despite the flashy cape, you've always reminded me of the introverted intellectual type."

"My family was an old and respected one. There were standards to be maintained; of behaviour, of education, of lifestyle. Original thinking was not encouraged."

"Wow, that sounds like my father," Tifa said, surprised. "Did they have someone picked out for you to marry?" Vincent nodded. "Huh," she snorted, "I thought that stuff only happened to girls."

"It's all about control. They seemed to believe that, if you can control your children, then you can control the future. But the future is inherently uncontrollable. Too many variables, too many people making decisions for purposes that have nothing to do with yours." Chaos grunted his approval of variables and uncontrollability of circumstance. Vincent ignored it.

"That's like that thing they use to illustrate chaos theory; where the butterfly flaps its wings in Wutai and they get storms in Mideel." Tifa said, not realizing how much she'd amused Vincent's demon. The gunman ignored his guest's chuckling. "So what decision are you second-guessing yourself about?" she asked.

"I should have done more than just kiss you when I had the chance." His calm answer threw her into silence. Even Chaos had nothing to say, although his stunned quiet wouldn't last very long. "Sephiroth—my son; he and Cloud, are taking every moment they can together–" Tifa remembered the two swordsmen's rumpled appearance at breakfast and snickered. "–even knowing that each intimacy they share will make the pain of future loss deeper, sharper and harder to bear."

"They might not lose," Tifa pointed out, "We all might survive."

Vincent looked at her, "Perhaps." He stopped and she stopped as well, looking up at him with large, soft brown eyes; wise and tender beyond all his imaginings and far more understanding than he deserved. "But I have begun to realize that, if you should die on this mission, my pain would be no less deep, no less sharp and certainly no easier to bear for having not been with you completely." He lifted long, bare fingers to her delicate chin, lifted her face just a little more. "In fact, I think the regrets might swallow me whole."

Then he shut out doubts and fears and Chaos' triumphant crowing in order to bend down and kiss that sweet mouth, to taste her. To try to share with her, in this small way, just how important she had become to him. He ran his tongue softly along the join of her lips, begging an invitation and with a sigh she gave it; parting her lips and meeting his tongue with the tip of hers. Brass covered fingers ran down her strong back to settle just above the curve of her buttocks. They rested on her armour so that she'd have some protection if his hand fisted involuntarily, but her warmth still penetrated through leather and metal to heat him all the way through.

With a groan, lifted her to his height so that neither of them had to strain to meet; he released her chin to cup the back of her head, to tilt it at a steeper angle so that he could delve deeper. She wrapped strong arms around his neck, ignoring the clasps of his mantle that pressed into her. She wrapped her legs around his thin frame and locked her ankles easily despite the gun harness he wore.

Compared to his skeletal frame, he mused, she seemed as substantial and as generous as the very earth, and he wanted her. He wanted her with a force that made his passion for Lucrecia seem like a candle flame when he'd always thought it was a bonfire.

*Your timing is abysmal; you do realize that, don't you, my host?* Chaos said snarkily, *Not that I, personally, mind having an audience, but I think the small warrior might.* Chaos' acerbic comment brought Vincent out of the daze that tasting the small warrior had thrown him into. He was alarmed to realize that he really, really wanted to prove Chaos wrong... and that Yazoo was standing barely three paces away, staring at them with large and frightened eyes.

He cleared his throat. "I'm not going to eat her," he tried to reassure the young clone.

*Only because it's too cold to spread her out like that.* The image Chaos provided was graphic and disturbingly hypnotic.

Yazoo swallowed nervously but stood his ground. He had his hand on his weapon, obviously prepared to try and stop him if he should threaten Tifa. "You weren't trying to absorb her, like I do with the materia?"

*Now there's an interesting thought,* Chaos chortled.

Vincent blinked. "That's not an ability any of my forms have."

"I don't need protection, Yazoo," Tifa added her reassurance to the tall gunman's. "I need a room."

"Oh," Yazoo responded blankly. "I don't have one of those." Then he frowned as he realized the stupidity of what he'd just said. Tifa covered her smile by sliding off Vincent. She slid off slowly, teasing even as she disengaged. Yazoo watched with bewildered awe. "You're really not afraid of him?" The fighter shook her head.

"I'd never knowingly hurt Ms. Lockhart," the gunman said firmly, as it were a law written down somewhere.

"Any of you?" Yazoo persisted.

Chaos' comment of *Only enough so we'd both have fun,* was ignored, as was the image of dragging hard brass fingertips over soft living flesh. Instead he responded honestly, "Most of me, I think. We can't be sure until it happens and, quite frankly, I'm unwilling to trust Tifa's safety to Hellmasker's sanity or Gigas' intelligence so we may never know."

"Huh," the clone grunted. They started moving, pulled into motion by the impatient glare of the silver-haired General.

"All of life is a risk, Yazoo. You take what happiness you can and try to make it last."

"That's not what we were told in the lab." He fell quiet, thinking about what she'd said, processing it, trying to place it in what he knew of the world. Finally he sighed sadly, "I think this freedom thing might be more complicated than I thought."

Vincent couldn't help but agree; life had been simpler in his coffin.

*But it certainly wasn't as much fun,* Chaos pointed out and Vincent couldn't even argue.

It took the rest of that day and the start of the next before Zack had worked himself into a fit state to talk to the Wutaian. He still wasn't sure how he was supposed to just let it go.

He understood what Seph had said about the greater good. Sacrificing the one for the many is what being SOLDIER was all about, he'd known that when he'd agreed to the injections, so he got it. Tseng—and his boss, Veld—would have left him in place until his rescue or whatever would have served the greater good. It sucked, but he could understand the attitude... mostly. But it was one thing to sacrifice a SOLDIER and another to abandon an innocent grunt. Cloud hadn't signed the waiver, he hadn't agreed to become a SOLDIER and give his life over to the company. Sure, the blond had wanted to, but he hadn't yet. He was just a bright kid with big dreams and Tseng had left him in the hands of a monster. He'd been on the table when Tseng had walked into the lab and there's no way the Turk hadn't looked up the personnel gone missing from that fucked up mission. He'd have known.

Of course, it was likely the Turks had known all along exactly what Dr. Creepy cooked up in his 'secret' labs from way back when Vincent was still fully human... and they'd done nothing.

He was making a fist again. And clenching his jaw... he was never going to be able to have this conversation. He'd wind up punching the bastard right on his unemotional ass.

It didn't help that they were in the middle of a whole lot of nothing so there wasn't much to distract him other than ice and more ice. They'd rounded the mountain range yesterday and come out on the shore of a frozen cove. They'd talked about sticking to solid ground, following the land south then back north again but Seph had estimated that it would take three or four days to make the trip. It would only take a day to hike across the sound. They'd looked up into the sky, where Meteor was visible even during the day, and decided to risk the short cut. It was slow—Sephiroth was testing every step—so it left far too much time for Zack to think of all the reasons why he really, really wanted to pound Tseng's head against the nearest hard surface.

It also gave him time to realize that his anger wasn't just with Tseng. It was with all of it: ShinRa, the SOLDIER program and the lies they'd told about how they'd be fighting the good fight, protecting the innocent and making the world a better place. It was about being sixteen and leaving his home and his family because he'd believed the lies. It wasn't just Tseng he was angry at; it was Recruiting Officer Liepert and ShinRa's Media Department who'd made him think that the company wanted heroes. It was his old boss, Lazard Deusericus, and his mentor Angeal who'd made him think that there was honour in serving ShinRa and then ripping that belief from him.

It made him wonder who was he angrier with: Tseng as a representative of all that was evil and rotten in the company, or himself as the fool who kept on thinking that people are intrinsically good and decent even when all evidence points to them being so completely not?

All these thoughts, argument and counter-argument, circling around in his head, kept him three steps behind the Turk, unable and unwilling to close the distance. It was also the reason why, when the ice gave way under Tseng's feet, it took him a moment too long to react. He reached out his hand but Tseng had already dropped into the frigid water.

"Oh fuck," he whispered. Tseng was normal: fifteen minutes tops before the guy started to develop hypothermia. "MAN DOWN!" he yelled before stripping off his Buster sword and diving in. He was supposed to be Shiva's chosen; hopefully the ice goddess would cut him some extra slack. But as the freezing water slid over his skin and the bitter cold squeezed his lungs tight, and the murky water didn't let him see a fucking thing, he couldn't help but think that this had been a bad idea.

It was Cloud who reacted first to Zack's voice. Three years of surviving together in the lab had made it an instinct. He pushed out his wings and was flying over the unstable ice before the last echo faded. He grabbed Yazoo, who was running back toward the hole. The ice was breaking up under the boy's feet putting him in danger, so Cloud tossed him to Sephiroth who was on firmer ice. The General set his brother down on his feet before flying over to join Cloud in searching for their fallen companions.

Vincent and Tifa had already retreated but the young fighter was inching her way back, closer to the hole, getting down on her belly to distribute her weight just as they'd been taught at school in Nibelheim.

"Tifa, stay back. We can handle getting them out of the water. You get blankets and dry clothes; something hot to drink," Cloud ordered. Tifa didn't even argue—flying over the ice beat belly-crawling—she just backed up and got the stuff organized.

"What if they don't come back up?" Yazoo asked. Tifa looked at him, then at Cloud and the General.

Cat-slit eyes flamed green. "I can see them. They're caught in the current." Sephiroth's wings beat shifting him away from the broken ice. "They're moving under thicker ice." He pulled Masamune and slashed at the ice. The blade slide through leaving behind a clean, precise cut too narrow for them to pull anything through.

Cloud pulled First Tsurugi from its spot in his harness. The blade sprung apart, making the already wide weapon even larger. Blue-white energy coruscated up and down the length of it, building in strength, and power. It made his arms vibrate and his teeth ache but Cloud just clenched his jaw and let the power build until it was enough. He lifted the blade and with a shout—of anger, of release, of desperation—he struck the ice. The energy poured out of the sword running along the frozen water, cracking it. Smaller beams fed out from the main stream and shattered the ice into smaller and smaller pieces, maybe even vaporizing some, until there was enough space for a dark head to bob to the surface.

"Zack!" Cloud shouted and rushed over to where the General was reaching down a strong hand. "Gods, Zack, please be okay." He didn't know what he'd do if Zack didn't survive...

Zack had him; thank gods his bat senses worked underwater. Tseng had had the sense to ditch the parka which weighed a freaking tonne when wet and now all he had to do was bust through the ice above their heads. Sure. No problem. He smiled at the Turk—not his best effort but at least he'd tried—and punched upwards. The ice didn't even crack. They were so screwed...

A thin steel blade sliced through the ice, missing his head by only a couple finger widths. He looked up and saw Sephiroth looming above them. He was slightly distorted by the ice but it was definitely the Silver General. So maybe they weren't so screwed. He gave Tseng a grin, a real one this time.

Suddenly, someone was holding him, with arms of cold steel asking for comfort and companionship. Someone was whispering to him, making promises and giving him dreams of 'if only'. Someone was pulling him down, away from the surface, away from rescue.

'What the fuck?' Zack struggled against the arms holding him, squeezing him, killing him. Tseng's grip tightened but he still slid through. He was so cold...

You are mine, the voice whispered, reminding Zack uncomfortably of his unpleasant interlude with Chaos. Killer and lover; doer and thinker; shallow and deep, a singular duality. Join me. We shall be one but not the same.

'I don't think so,' Zack replied. He tried to kick out of the thing's grasp but it seemed to be holding him everywhere.

I am your god, Zackary Fair. You chose me as I chose you. The voice was neither male nor female... which fit because Zack could feel breasts and cock pressed up along his back.

'Shiva. I'm being held underwater by Shiva,' he realized. That was pretty fucked up. Why would his patron god be trying to kill him?

Come to me and live forever.

'Fucking shitpiss,' Zack thought because he knew what was going on. In the oldest stories of Shiva, the goddess could be pretty damned possessive of the things he considered his. At least that was one aspect. What Zack needed was the one that eschewed possessions and went to sit on the mountaintop to meditate, and he needed that aspect now because he was beyond cold, beyond tired and nearly beyond breath. 'C'mon, Seph," he prayed, "be my hero,'.

Join me. As warrior-priest you will have all that you desire...

An image formed in his head of Aerith—so pretty—sitting at his feet, gazing up at him with worshipful eyes... wearing the outfit that insane Tsviet had worn, right down to the boots.

Ooo-kay then... That was completely hot and certainly worth considering, except that this Aerith looked at him as if he was perfect and he knew he wasn't and he knew she knew he wasn't either. Where was the teasing? Where was the hidden laughter that so often lit her from the inside? This wasn't his Aerith and he didn't want her to ever be like this. Shiva was offering him a lie—a hollow clone of his girl without spirit or personality—and it's not what he wanted, although he wouldn't mind keeping the boots...

He fought to hang on to Tseng and the reality the Turk represented and felt strange when he realized that Tseng was hanging on to him just as hard.

Sephiroth reached down to the dark-haired figure. He already knew it wasn't Zack but he also knew that Zack, having dived in to the rescue, would be holding the Turk, lifting him out of the freezing water; insisting, in his way, that Tseng be saved first. As long as Zack was rescued as well, Sephiroth had no problem with that. He used his fire skills to raise his body temperature before plunging his hands into the water. He gripped Tseng under the arms and heaved. It felt like he was trying to lift creation, and a harsh grunt of effort escaped, but at least he managed to get the Turk's head above water.

"Something has hold of Zack," Tseng said as soon as he had breath. "He's slipping."

"Where is he?" Sephiroth asked. He looked at Cloud, newly arrived, and with a nod ordered him to take his place holding up the Turk.

"End of my right arm."

"Don't let go," the General ordered him, even knowing that the Turk didn't need the words. It was there in his jaw and his eyes; he wasn't letting go. Interesting, Sephiroth thought, before putting it out of his mind for more immediate concerns. He raised his temperature even more until it was almost the level of a materia cast, and then he plunged into the water, over his shoulders, over his head. He traced a path down Tseng's right arm until he reached the hand gripping the Turk's wrist. A little further and he touched that well-known, well-loved face. With a thought he sent warmth through the skin. He used the connection between them to knock the First awake and was rewarded when Zack's other hand came up through the water to grab hold.

He is mine. The voice whispered over the surface of his mind.

'No,' the General's inner voice was implacable, 'He is mine and I will not give him up to you.' Then he released all his built-up heat in a cloud that nearly turned the water to steam. He directed it at the presence he'd felt forcing it to let the SOLDIER go and driving it away from Zack.

Without the weight of that thing, Sephiroth easily pulled the SOLDIER out of the water.

"He's got him, Tseng. You can let go," he heard Cloud say, "C'mon. Let's get you to Tifa and the blankets," and the blond warrior was streaking across the ice holding the larger man easily. He'd caught a glimpse of Zack's face and to say he was freaked would be an understatement. Zack's Gongagan tan had disappeared lost under a grey-white sheen that reminded Cloud a frost-covered window. Even his black hair was grey, as if the cold had penetrated and changed it. He didn't have to look back to know that Sephiroth had stopped flying and was examining the SOLDIER anxiously. He knew, even before Sephiroth 'called' to Zack, what the General was planning, and he knew how he'd react. He flew higher into the air.

"Lift Yazoo off the ice," he yelled at Vincent even as he felt the heat build inside himself.

It was Sephiroth's heat, transmitted through their Jenova or mako or whatever caused the connection, and the General was pouring it into Zack. It was physical heat: Cloud could feel his body temperature spike, could feel Tseng's clothing start to steam where it was pressed against him. It was emotional heat: Cloud felt his heart speed up and his penis harden as desire and need and want poured through the connection.

It took all his concentration to keep his wings beating a steady rhythm. He wanted to be with Sephiroth right now, with both of them. Even knowing that the General was doing it as a way to keep Zack alive, or bring him back from wherever the SOLDIER had gone, didn't stop his body's automatic reaction to Sephiroth's call; and, even knowing that he had no control over it, didn't stop the young blond from being horrified when he realized that he was rubbing himself against the Turk.

He needed to land because, even though this wasn't the General or Zack he was pushing against, he was so going to cum, especially as Sephiroth was increasing the power of his call. He could feel the pressure, the heat, building along his spine, under his skin. Gods! It was like the General was caressing him from the inside. If he wasn't on the ground soon, he was going to drop Tseng or squeeze him into a paste when he peaked.

Cloud folded his wings and dropped, barely remembering to slow down before he hit the ground. The ice cracked a little from the force of his landing and Tseng let out an unconscious grunt. He handed the Turk over to Tifa and then dropped to his hands and knees, groaning and convulsing uncontrollably. It wasn't mind-blowing like when they had sex together, but it was fucking embarrassing. At least it didn't last long...

He rolled over, away from the spot on the ice his body heat had melted, and just lay there, looking at the clear, northern sky. It had worked; he could feel Zack, still dazed, but alive. Cloud tipped his head and watched as the General brought them nearer. He had Zack cradled in his arms like a little kid and his beautiful two-tone wings nearly blotted out the sky.

Who gave a shit about being embarrassed when this was the result?

"I don't want to have sex with anyone," Yazoo's husky voice rolled softly over the blond.

Zack's voice was rueful in response, "Yeah, well, I sure as fuck do."

"Huh," an unknown voice coughed above their heads. "Ain't that the strangest thing we've seen for many a long year."

AN: I received the gift of two pieces of fan art. As usual on this site, you'll have to fix up the addresses.

The first is of Specimen C:

http ://duetmaoim .deviantart .com/ art/ Specimen-C-145260417

The second is Tifa wearing somewhat more realistic clothes for a paramilitary specialist:

http ://duetmaoim .deviantart .com/ art/ Tifa-146192078

Thank you, Shinimegami7; they're beautiful!