The microchip had to go, there was no way around it. Nero had seized twice more; each successive fit worse than the last. Shalua was honestly impressed it hadn't caused Nero problems before this. Then again, maybe it had. She had asked him, but Nero had only shrugged. Shalua herself did not know many Turk hand signals or sign language, and it was therefore difficult to ask him much outside of "yes" and "no" questions. Maybe Deepground had had a better way to perform maintenance on the darn things. Maybe they hadn't cared. The latter seemed more likely.

Tucked just under the base of Nero's skull, it would have been easy to install, and fiendishly difficult to extract. Which was probably the idea. The little bit of metal and plastic with its miniature firecracker had wiggled loose and was now pressing against the outer myelin of Nero's spine, wedged between his skull and cervical vertebrae. The absolute last thing they needed was for the damn thing to carve a slit in his spinal cord, or worse still, poke a hole in the membrane surrounding his brain.

Nero had managed so far, but stress and muscle strain could trigger seizures. The poor boy had already been through enough, and it didn't seem fair that just when he was starting to make progress, he should be set back again. Nero, as always, had taken the news in stride, accepting what she told him without question or comment. Vincent, in contrast, had been beside himself. Literally. Gigas had briefly shown up again, allowing Vincent a respite from the constant fear and worry for his son's life. At least Shelke was happy to see him.

It wasn't just that the chip would be difficult to a) reach and b) extract without c) detonating it; it was downright impossible. Shalua had seen Nero pluck the chips from the survivors as if picking a lint ball off the back of their necks. His fingers had phased through their bodies as if Nero were a ghost, and not flesh and blood himself. However, his shadows had yet to reappear, and even if they were present, it was arguable if he could perform the trick on himself. That left only one decidedly nervous and reluctant option: Vincent.

Vincent had Nero's aptitude for shadows, but nowhere near his level of skill. This was perhaps to be expected. Nero had grown up in Darkness and had been manipulating it to his will all his life. Vincent had only been introduced to this new ability recently. It didn't seem fair to put so much pressure on him, but they literally had no other option. Shelke had taken the matter in hand, supplying Vincent with a bucket of deactivated and defused chips with which to practice- and once he got good at it, herself. In the chaos of the rescue mission, she had forgotten about her own chip until later. Vincent practiced as if his life depended on it; though it wasn't his life, but Nero's that hung in the balance.

No pressure. As if Vincent needed another reason to worry.

"I can't do this," Vincent repeated.

"Yes you can," Shelke told him encouragingly. "You already did it like five times. Try for six."

Vincent had practiced on everything from muffins to frozen chocobo cutlets. Now Shelke stood with her closed fist extended toward him, a microchip clutched inside. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes- it helped if he couldn't see it- and swiped his long fingers through hers. Opening his own hand, Vincent smiled a little at the minute square of metal and plastic resting on his palm.

"Ta-daaa!" Shelke sang.

"I should practice with some live ones," Vincent decided. "Do you have any with the explosive still intact?"

"Err…" Shelke said uncertainly. "Yeah, we do, but I'm not holding those."

"That's okay," Vincent assured her. "We'll use the chocobo necks."

Nobody ever wanted to eat a chocobo neck, and consequently it had been easy to get several of the unwanted cuts of meat on which to practice. Carefully tucking a few of the live chips down into the squishy meat, Shelke wiped her hands and stepped back.

The first attempt, he somehow managed to only grab the explosive, the miniature firecracker bursting in his open hand. In the open, it wouldn't have even been enough to take a finger off had Vincent's hand been closed. However, if it had gone off inside someone's head… Shelke gagged and shuddered, suddenly acutely aware of her own chip still embedded in her neck. Vincent likewise swallowed hard, shook himself, and tried again.

He managed to retrieve the rest more or less successfully, though two of the six chips Shelke had hidden in the chocobo meat detonated once he'd extracted them. The good news was that none of them had exploded while still inside the flesh. This did not seem to reassure Vincent very much.

"You can do this," she told him firmly, taking his hand in both of hers. "I believe in you."

Vincent didn't look as if he believed it.

"Try it on me now," she said.

"Shelke," Vincent could get not farther; words had left him. "Shelke I couldn't! What if I hurt you? Shalua would kill me!"

Shelke looked up at him with a calm, steady expression. "Yes you can. You won't hurt me. Besides, if you can't do it for me, how can you do it for Nero?"

She had a point.

"Don't you want to try it for real before you try it on him?"

"Shelke, I can't use you as a guinea pig," he insisted.

"Nonsense," she scoffed. "Besides, I want the damn thing out of my head too."

That triggered a short-lived smile and Vincent nodded, realizing the sense in her words but still reluctant to go through with it. "Okay. You win. Turn around."

Shelke turned away from him, standing at attention, chin tipped forward so that he could access the joint where he head and neck met more easily. Closing his eyes, Vincent took a shaky breath and swiped.

Nothing happened.

Shelke glanced back at him over her shoulder. "Well?"

"Um. Let's try again."

Shelke stood patiently while Vincent made the attempt a second time, and a third. On the third try, she shivered, and for just a moment Vincent panicked, certain he'd done something wrong and her chip would go off. It didn't, and he took another deep breath, reaching out, willing his hand to turn to shadow.

At the last second, his hand jerked. A startled "Eep!" from Shelke made his eyes snap open, but she stood whole and unharmed in front of him- shoulders hunched up as if from a chill.

"Shelke, are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Did you get the chip?"

"No." He took a deep breath, shaking his head. "I can't do this. I don't have the dexterity, or maybe it's just that I'm too attached to you as a friend. Too afraid I'm going to hurt you. I can't seem to get the emotional distance…"

He paused, an awful idea taking shape in his mind. Before he could lose his nerve entirely, he ran with it.

"Shelke...I might know a way to pull this off. I could...get someone to help me."

She blinked. "Who? I thought only you and Nero could use shadows."

"Um, it would still be me? Sort of? Mask….has the fine control, and he has no connection to you. I could ask him to help. To him, it would just be a task, or a game."

"Would he, though?"

"Maybe. If I offered him something in return. Shelke, I have to do something. Nero's counting on me, but I need your permission to try this."

Shelke nodded. "Go ahead. I can handle Mask."

Vincent turned his attention inward, into the dark recesses of his mind where his headmates lived. The wall he'd built of will and determination still stood, stretching into the distance on either side and high above his head. From behind it came the chime of steel links shifting and rolling.

Galian growled as he stalked past, acknowledging Vincent's presence with narrowed yellow eyes, nostrils flaring. Gigas paused in his patrolling, bowing to Vincent.

'You can stand down for a while,' Vincent told them both. 'I need to speak with Mask.'

Gigas nodded. He and Galian stepped aside, fading into the shadows. Vincent approached the wall.

'Mask.'

No answer.

'Hellmasker. I know you're there.'

A huff of breath, a muttered curse. 'What do you want, o jailer? Come to gloat?'

Vincent took a deep breath. He still wasn't sure this was a good idea, but it was the plan with the best chance of success. Nero's life depended on it.

'I want to make a deal with you.'

Mask let out a bark of laughter. 'Oh do you now? That's fine, Valentine!'

The chains rattled against the stone wall. 'You set me here, you shut me away! Never let me come out to play, never see the light of day! Cruel you are, and cold! Go away!'

'I'm serious.' Vincent placed a hand on the stone, its cool, rough surface scraping his palm. 'I need your skills, Mask. Your dexterity, your deft touch, your gift for precision. You can do what needs to be done. I know you can.'

The back of Vincent's neck prickled, as though Mask were behind him, staring daggers at him. A shiver ran through the stone wall, setting the stones humming.

'Do your own killing!' Mask snapped. 'Why should I help you?'

'It's not killing. It's…saving a life. Have you ever done that before?'

'I saved yours. I, and the wolf, and the giant! And this is your gratitude, is it? Chains and a stone wall and darkness, and only a beast and a berserker for company!'

You tried to kill my son! Vincent nearly hissed, but bit his tongue. Antagonism wouldn't win the day for Nero.

'I know you did,' he said, 'and I appreciate it. But I can't let you run wild. Gigas and Galian don't get to come out much, either. But this task - only you can help me with this, Mask. Your talent, your skill. Will you help me?'

'What will you pay, Valentine?' The chain rattled again, a taunt and a reminder.

'I'll let you come out,' Vincent said, praying to every god he knew that he wasn't making a mistake. 'Not all the time, but when it's safe, now and then.'

'Oh how generous,' Mask muttered. 'Not good enough. Give me Bronze! Give me a turn with him, Bronze with the pretty eyes!'

Vincent choked back the first response that came to him, and the second. 'No. That's not on the table. I don't own him, or the right to give him to you.'

'Forget it then!' Mask spat, chain clanking as he moved away from the wall. 'Go away!'

Gods, Vincent hated this, but what choice had he? He would give anything to save Nero, but it had to be something of his own, something under his control.

'A month,' he said through his teeth. 'Thirty days. Not all at once. You can space them out over several weeks. No killing, no knives, no violence.'

What Mask might do instead was nothing he could imagine right now. He'd have some control over him, Vincent reasoned; surely he could keep him out of major trouble, with Veld's help and the grace of the gods.

'That's my offer, Mask. Take it or leave it.'

'What's the job?' Mask asked, so quickly Vincent's last words still echoed in his skull.

'Nero has a microchip embedded at the back of his neck,' Vincent said. 'It has an explosive in it. We're going to remove it, without harming Nero.'

A pause, as Mask apparently digested the information. 'That's it? Take a little chip from the baby Valentine? What's the catch?'

'There is none. Do this for me, and you'll get your thirty days out in the world. I promise.'

'Can I keep the little toy?'

'What on Gaia for?'

'A souvenir,' Mask crooned. 'I'll find a safe place to keep it! Yes?'

'We'll see. First you have to get it out. We're going to try a practice session on someone else. If you do as I say, and only as I say, and if it works, then I know I can trust you. What do you say?'

Mask grumbled and muttered for a moment. 'Will do it. Can I trust you?'

Vincent decided not be offended. This time. 'Yes. I'll let you out now, but the chain stays on for this one. And so help me, if you do anything underhanded, I will lock you up so far down in the dark you'll see Gaia's core. Got it?'

'Yes, yes, go on, go on!'

Vincent emerged from the encounter to find Shelke patiently waiting.

"Well?"

"If you don't mind turning your back on Mask, we're ready to give it a try."

Shelke smiled. "I've got eyes in the back of my head, don't worry. I'm small, I'm not helpless." Calmly, she turned and tilted her chin down. "Whenever you're ready."

"Okay. Mask…?"

Vincent shivered as Mask took control of his body, stretching out his arms like a sleeper waking. The metaphorical chain rippled, extending, tugging at its anchor point. Vincent tightened his grip, letting Mask move and speak, but not take a step.

"Helllooo, little pretty!" Supple as a snake, Mask leaned over Shelke, smirking down at her. "So tiny! Gotta little chippy thing in the back of your pretty head?"

"Yes," she said evenly. "Think you can remove it?"

He winked. "Oh, I can remove lots of things." He squinted, frowned. "On second thought….don't play with little girls."

"I know you're a gentleman," she told him with an innocent smile. "I know you're clever too. Smart enough to snatch it on the first try."

"Oh yes, yes!" Beaming at her, a smug grin on his face, he straightened up and extended his arm. "Shadow, shadow, in we go…."

From somewhere behind his eyes, Vincent took over long enough to phase his hand, and let go once more as Mask swiped his fingers through skin and bone and muscle.

"Got it!"

Mask flourished the little chip, displaying it between two fingers, and held out his hand to Shelke, offering the chip as though presenting a precious gem.

"For you, pretty!"

Shelke applauded and accepted the chip. "Perfect! Beautifully done! My hero."

Mask bowed, but before he could say another word, Vincent yanked him back into the recesses of his mind. Mask retreated with no more than a token resistance and a muttered curse.

Looking at the chip in Shelke's hand, Vincent nodded. "Well. That's what we'll do, then."

It was true, Vincent mused, that a parent would do anything for their child. The deal with his personal devil lurking in the back of his mind, Vincent watched nervously as Shalua and Max fitted the new respirator over Nero's face. Max's model was a bit smaller, more streamlined and less bulky. He had only worn it for a few hours once or twice before, but the CPAP mask's tube wouldn't reach, so it would have to do.

Although Vincent had reached straight through the glass of the mako pod on at least one occasion, he'd done so spurred by adrenaline and instinct. Asking him to reach through glass as well as flesh and bone would be asking too much. Therefore, they would have to do this on dry land as quickly as they could.

Vincent was there to remove the chip, with Veld standing at his elbow; an ever-present source of quiet and strength. Max had come ostensibly to see how the new respirator worked. Shelke, although her actions had been few, had scarcely left Nero's side since he'd been put in mako suspension. It was a lot of people to crowd into one room, but Nero was indifferent to all of them.

Shalua flipped the valve to let the mako out of the pod. Rather than drain it back into the reservoir, however, she'd rigged it to drain into one of the other empty tanks. This way, if things went south, Nero could be submerged again immediately and they wouldn't have to wait for the original tank to refill.

Nero did his best to remain standing, but soon lost to gravity. By the time the liquid was gone, he was sitting on the floor with his back against the transparent wall of the tank. Two orderlies stepped forward, each hooking a hand under his arms. Nero did not even look at them. Between the two of them, they lifted him out of the tank, though one of them probably could have done it, Nero had waned so thin. Shalua followed behind them and threw a blanket, saturated purple with dark mako, over Nero's shoulders. The lab was still trying to figure out a replacement for his mako suit, but this would keep his skin from cracking and peeling for the brief amount of time he'd be out of the mako pod. Already breathing hard, Nero could barely hold his head up, let alone walk. The orderlies carried him to the examination table and helped him sit down. Shalua came over and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder to steady him, and to make sure he didn't fall. Nero clutched the blanket to his shoulders, breaths labored and too-deep, as if he'd run a long way.

"We need to get him back into the pod as soon as possible," Shalua said tensely, fingers of her flesh hand pinching his wrist as she counted seconds between heartbeats. "He's working too hard to breathe."

Max stepped forward and gathered his long, wet hair into a looped-over ponytail, exposing the nape of his neck. It might not actually help, but the gesture made Vincent smile briefly. Stepping around to face Nero, Max took his hands in hers. Behind the mask, Nero looked at her, pleading.

"It'll be okay, Nero," Max said, squeezing his hand. "I promise. It really will."

Nero held her gaze for a moment. Despite the SOLDIER glow, there was no light in his eyes, only exhaustion and a pain so deep that he might never find the surface. He let his gaze drop, attention drawn inward, and pulled his hands back to clutch his shoulders. Despite the new respirator, his breath rasped loud and crackling through the vents.

Vincent stood behind Nero, willing his hands to stop shaking.

"You can do this," Shelke whispered, patting Vincent's arm.

Not me, Vincent thought, mentally fingering an imaginary key. Grabbing dud microchips out of frozen chocobo necks was one thing. Stealing live munitions, no matter how tiny, out of his son's head was another entirely. What if he did it wrong? What if he stole the chip but not the explosive, or grabbed the explosive and left the chip? Could he do it twice if he had to? What if Nero was hurt? What if Mask got away from him?

What if, what if, what if…

Vincent took a deep breath, trying to think of this as just another long shot, a distant target. He could hit this mark. He could do this. Mask would help. Thirty days of supervised freedom in order to keep his hands steady. Shelke was right. He could do this. With help.

Vincent closed his eyes, reaching into his own mind first.

'Mask? It's time…'

The key turned. The chain fell. Mask stood, and stretched, a wide grin showing all of his teeth.

'Yes, let's do it, where is baby Valentine?'

Vincent focused on his arm, letting shadow envelop it from elbow to fingertips. Opening his eyes, he blinked to clear his vision, held his breath, and let Mask take control.

The first thing to hit him was the smell. The room stank of hospital, medicine, steel and sharp and too, too clean. Over it all, however, was the dark, damp, moldy smell of mako. There was a tank, but it was empty. A white coat, but this one a lady. Pretty lady… His pretty pretty had worn a white coat too. Alas, alas for pretty… Her name escaped him. Not him on the table this time, though. No, oh no. Someone else lay waiting on the cold steel.

"Hello, little Valentine," Mask purred, leaning close to Nero's ear. "Hold very, very still, won't you?"

Mask had expected him to shudder or cringe, but disappointingly, he did not react. He just sat there, eyes blank and gold and so, so old… Valentine had said this was his baby. How did a child get so cold? A boy so young, and yet so sad. For such a short life, were things so bad?

Experimentally, Mask prodded his arm. Baby Valentine started at his touch, body locking up stiff and cold, as if frozen. A brief shiver passed through him, and then another. Something not right. Something wrong. He couldn't live like this for long. No one asked, no one cared, all of them just stood and stared. Watching, waiting, starting, gaping. Did they know the mistake they were making? What good was a life to give, when the receiver didn't want to live?

"Baby Valentine, tell me true," Mask whispered. "Did they bother to ask you?"

Baby Valentine shut his eyes, his rasping breath sharpened to a cry. Rasping, gasping, out and in. To prolong this would be a sin. White coat paused and raised her head.

"Now, Vincent," was all she said.

"Mask," he muttered, watching baby's eyelids flutter.

Mask stood back, and reached out, sweeping his shadow-fingers through Nero's head. There it was, the little toy! He snatched it from the shaking boy. Grabbed the chip, but not the spark; a last way out, escape, to mark.

"I have it!" he crowed, displaying his prize, satisfied over the boy's demise. The gasping stopped, the shaking ceased; he'd freed him from his pain, at least.

He dropped the chip to the floor, crushed it, and turned toward the door. "Done deal. I did my part."

Everyone stared at him, faces frozen in delightful horror. The explosion had been small, barely enough to bob the boy's head, but inside… Oh, inside… Almost at once his body had begun to oxidize, melting away not into pyreflies, but into a viscous black sludge that slid away off the table, forming a wide, black puddle of shadow on the linoleum tile. Max screamed, the sound drowning out Mask's obscene laughter. Falling to her knees, she scrabbled in the darkness with both hands as if Nero had fallen into a pond of black water.

"No… No! Nero, no!" Up to her wrists in blackness, she reached, grabbing madly at nothing. The pool of liquid darkness rippled and Shalua seized Max around the middle, pulling her back. The puddle undulated, the center rising up and pulling the rest of the darkness with it into a tall, human shape. It was larger than Nero, and dressed in long robes of deepest void. A wide-brimmed hat of antique style shaded its face, only a pair of piercing golden eyes visible beneath its shadow. Deep indigo wings that somehow managed to be darker than night, yet shining with all the light of the stars unfurled from its back.

"Omega…" Shelke whispered and bowed her head.

Mask sneered. "What are you supposed to be? You think you can beat me?"

Omega's golden eyes narrowed to slits. Mask flipped him off and darted for the door, but jerked to a halt and fell to the floor, tripping after only a few steps. On the verge of cursing, he looked back and noted Omega standing with one foot planted firmly on his shadow. Slowly, Omega advanced with stately steps, long robes flowing around him. Mask scrambled to his feet, prepared to conjure a blade from darkness as Valentine had once done. He'd no sooner formed the thought than he felt himself lifted off the ground by his throat, yet Omega had not touched him.

"What?" he gasped, legs bicycling empty air, both hands groping for something to cling to.

Omega stood there, one arm outstretched, holding his shadow by the throat.

"That was unkind," Omega intoned, his voice echoing and ancient, yet strangely familiar. "His father came to you for help, and you betrayed his trust."

"Fool," Mask spat, struggling to draw breath as he hung in midair. "Feeble, fearful, foppish, fool!"

"Why?"

"Why?" Mask laughed. "Why? Baby Valentine wanted to die! Did you listen? Did you ask? No you didn't, only Mask!"

Omega's grip tightened and something like real fear rose in Mask's eyes despite his red-faced snarling. A deathly silence hung as they realized the ugly truth of his words: no one had asked Nero even once what he wanted. Although they'd been acting in his best interests, they'd forced this on him.

"Black heart, black body," he wheezed. "Kill me, you kill daddy…"

"I'm not going to kill you," Omega rumbled.

Mask tried to cackle but did not have quite enough air. He started in surprised as Omega slowly set him down, though his grip did not relax.

"You should," he rasped. "We made a promise, made a deal, thirty days I get to be real."

"You're not off to a very good start," Omega observed dryly. Mask hissed like an angry cat and tried to wrench free, but Omega held firm.

"Not gonna kill me dead? Gonna torture me instead?" Mask dared, finally standing still.

"No," Omega told him, something like patience in his voice. "But I could. Chaos could. We could make things very uncomfortable for you. I have no wish to do that, for the two of you have already suffered much."

Mask changed tactics at once. "I have, I have," he whined, tears welling up in his eyes. "He keeps me chained, behind a wall. I never have any fun at all. No knives, no….no friends."

"Maybe if you wouldn't try to stab people, you'd have a few friends," Veld growled. Mask shot a look at him, reaching one hand in Veld's direction.

"Wanna stay," he said, his voice cracking. "Am I so bad? I saved him, saved Valentine in the lab. If it wasn't for me, he'd be dead. He'd be in the coffin for good. And you'd never have a baby Valentine, no, not at all."

"And I wouldn't have to put up with you, either. Vincent asked for your help. You had no right to do what you did to Nero."

"Had as much right as you do," Mask hissed, waving a hand at the medical equipment and hospital personnel. "What does he want?"

"It's not for you to decide," Veld insisted. He turned to Omega. "Any way you can get him out of Vince's head?"

"I cannot remove what has always been there," Omega replied. "My brother, perhaps, but this one? No."

Veld sighed. "I had to ask. Then you might as well let him go. The chip is gone, so in a weird way, Mask did live up to his side of the bargain."

"As you wish," Omega said, and released his hold on Mask.

The gawk of surprise as Omega let go lingered until Mask cried out and clutched his head.

He looked up, blinking, his eyes filling with horror.

"Nero…?"

Always pale, Vincent's face had gone dead white. He swayed, but before he could fall Veld stepped in and caught him.

"It's okay, Vince. Hang on. Omega's not going to hurt Nero."

Veld glanced at the Summon personified standing nearby. "Tell me I didn't just lie to Nero's father. Is Nero all right?"

Omega looked at both of them, unspeaking, golden eyes like candle flames in the perfect black of his face. Abruptly the shadows of his body collapsed as if he were no more than a scarecrow. The folds of darkness cascaded to the ground, running off of a crouched figure like yards of loose silk. The figure shook itself, the last of the darkness tumbling away and vanishing into his own shadow. Nero pushed himself back with both hands so that he was kneeling on the floor. Shadows covered him like his old mako suit, leaving only his head and hands exposed. He took a deep shuddering breath and lifted his head to look up.

Vincent made a sound somewhere between a whimper and a sob. He slid out of Veld's hold and wrapped his arms around his son.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice muffled by Nero's hair. "I made a deal with Mask. I didn't think I could get the chip out by myself, I was desperate, I-gods, I'm an idiot."

He sighed, clutching Nero tightly to his chest. "I promise you, I will never, ever do that again. I'm so sorry. Please tell me you're not hurt."

Nero said nothing, all his energy focused on pulling air in and out. There was a rasp with each drawn breath, his shoulders heaving as he breathed. Slowly, painfully, deliberately, but without his mask.