A/N: It will probably seem strange that I posted two small chapters back-to-back. I decided to remove one chapter in between and condensed it here with part of the next chapter, which will be enormous. Maybe not my best decision, but some information was summarized instead of adding in whole scenes that didn't flow particularly well with other things I wanted to happen now. So that missing chapter is scattered throughout this one and the next few. I hope the story still flows well between chapters.

Chapter 13

Invitations

Vincent glared at the invitation lying on his desk. The envelope seemed to stare back, hindering progress on his report. Nowhere in his employment contract did it mention dinners, galas, or balls—or any other kind of formal event. He was finally getting used to the employee life when the damn thing mysteriously appeared on his desk.

The 3rd Annual WRO Summer Gala raised money for their presumption of governance, and the high price of each plate likely bought a few promises from Reeve. Vincent's seat at a table would come free. A perk of being an honored guest for life for his services to Gaia. Although, this year marked the first he would appear.

After a quick phone call from Reeve, yes—it was expected he attend. And yes—Vincent could decline, but that wouldn't help him reassimilate with society. "And don't worry; you can be miserable with Cloud and Barret. They've been invited, and Tifa plans on being there, too."

Funny, she hadn't mentioned it to Vincent again after the night her invite came in the mail weeks ago. He thought she might since she brought it up. He scoffed at himself at the thought. Why would she ask him? It was a safe assumption Cloud would be her date. Default date.

He covered the invitation with a takeout menu. Easier to ignore it if unseen. Better to focus on work and the outstanding matters he needed to complete for the day. Normal life, indeed.

Everyone had returned to their usual routines following the mission into Deepground. Vincent preferred to immediately follow up with Nibelheim. That didn't happen, as both Reeve and Rufus insisted on delaying for a couple of weeks. They wanted a little time to let everyone rest and review the collection. Vincent knew Rufus wanted to allow his company time to mitigate any blowback from their Deepground discovery. The young president knew little of what information the mansion still held and probably wanted to deal with one issue at a time.

But Vincent didn't have time to worry about ShinRa's reputation risk. He had been suddenly busy with multiple assignments at work, not that he minded. Aiding security teams clearing Deepground, writing reports, investigating minor crimes here and there, just to help Yuffie's team—all part of the job.

Several days were filled with questioning their lone prisoner in the WRO jail. The data culled from the drives only increased the questions the medical teams needed to be answered. Getting the man to talk wasn't a problem. But Parran wasn't much help with their dilemma regarding pregnancy or any others that came up about the early SOLDIER program's specifics. The scientist had only been an assistant professor, helping Professor Hojo supply the infantry with packs of guard hounds and similarly obedient furry killers. His knowledge of SOLDIER was limited.

His missing partner was a different matter. Professor Brukho had worked for ShinRa during the same years as Vincent at the mansion. He may know more about the techniques used to ensure successful pregnancies for both mother and child.

Vincent turned his attention back to the computer and read the last few lines of his report, an account of what he remembered about the Jenova Project in Nibelheim.

It annoyed him that he needed to write the piece. Unfortunately, ShinRa had never managed to make digital files of the experiments or otherwise regarding their unofficial projects in the town. Everything remained filed the old way within the mansion basement. Rufus and Tseng assured them that their current databases held little to no information on the early Jenova Project. Likely a precaution insisted on by Hojo and the former president. The secrets the mansion held had always remained there—at least until their surviving experiments had escaped. But any other references within their databases only contained schematics and personnel for the mako reactor—the official ShinRa interest in the village.

He listed the dates he remembered that coincided with the arrival of himself and each staff member. He was sure the dates were not exact but felt confident the month and year were accurate. Details included experiments, processes, timelines, success or fail status, and each scientist assigned to a specific project and their respective field of study and specialty. There were far more failures to list than successes. He paused when he typed out 'Project S.'

His mind darkened with memories he'd only recently been able to chase away with brighter ones. Shutting them out, he filled in only pertinent details of the evil genius of Project S. Those involved, the duration, key milestones, and research methods he could recall in his laymen's terms. No need to include his attempted intervention and the aftermath of that doomed endeavor. The end result: Success. He didn't like the way the word looked on its own. Success. That's better.

Vincent let out a heavy sigh as he saved the document and scanned it briefly for errors. The only details needed were the personnel assigned to the mansion and the Jenova Project. Although he doubted they would find a full staff roster even at the house, the archives in the basement remained mostly untouched and were urgently needed. They could worry about finding the surviving scientists later, something the WRO should have planned for already. Some of them deserved a draconian penalty for the ethical and moral standards they violated.

He forwarded the report directly to Reeve, Rufus, and Tseng in a secure email, feeling relieved to be done with it. They would notice the lack of personal details. He kept the focus on other staff in the mansion and not his Turk—or other activities. Rufus—and especially Tseng—would understand. Hell, they might even appreciate that level of discretion. Reeve may follow up, but he knew Vincent far better in this life—not the Turk life. He would offer an off-the-record open ear, knowing it would hear nothing. This trip down memory lane was a mental and emotional hazard. He wasn't looking forward to the in-person review still upcoming. Nevertheless—the first step was done.

Three loud bangs on his office door interrupted his dismal mood, replacing it with annoyance. Only one person would announce herself in that way. He reluctantly moved to the door and opened it a crack to peek at the intruder. "Open up, Vinnie." Yuffie pushed at the door, but he held it firmly in place, only allowing her to see his eyes through the small opening.

"What do you want?" Irritation laced his tone, which he didn't attempt to conceal.

"Such a grouch! I guess you don't want this?" She tried to slide an envelope through the crack in the door to shake in his face.

"Yup." He shut the door without warning, crushing the paper as Yuffie let out a yelp.

"Ye—ouch!" She screeched at him through the door and banged on the surface again. "That was my finger!" She knocked three more times as Vincent returned to his desk and tried to refocus on his emails and remaining to-do list.

"Vincent!" He glared at the door when the pounding continued. "Like I don't know you're in there! Open the envelope, it's an invitation to my party—well, it's an after-party following the gala. All the cool people will be there! And don't even think about skipping out! I know where you live!"

He exhaled in relief as her footsteps faded away from his office door. Why couldn't Reeve have given him an office in the far most corner of the basement?

Vincent hoped to catch Reeve before the man went home for the day to discuss his report in person. He shut the computer down and glanced at the invitation again, wondering if he should call Tifa and ask her to accompany him. Cloud be damned.

The phone vibrated in his pocket. Trying to ignore it, he left his office and headed toward the elevator. This would be a late work night, and he wouldn't make it to Tifa's at a reasonable hour. His lips stretched in a thin line, thinking that this will be the first night in over a week that he would miss dinner. Damn ShinRa and their lack of foresight.

As he stood waiting for the lift to arrive, the phone buzzed persistently in short successions, one after another, unceasing, relentless—never stopping—on and on! He roughly snatched the device from his pocket and opened the group chat that already had 18 messages pending.

Yuffie—Forgot to mention everyone is welcomed to stay at my house if you're hammered. Or next door at Vinnie's. I'm sure he won't mind—will ya, Vinnie?

Tifa—Did he say that?

Barrett—Can't make it this year. Kids have a party to go to. Maybe next time. You kids have one for me.

Reeve—Sorry to hear that, Barrett, but glad the kids will enjoy themselves.

Reeve—I'll hold off on the announcement of our trade contract when you can join for the business leaders of Edge dinner soiree next month. I really want you to be present for it.

Cid—Not coming this year. Shera's pissed but wants to plan a party for all your dumbasses to visit next month.

Cid—So clear your fucking calendars! I ain't dealing with this shit if you don't!

He didn't read the rest as his phone continued to vibrate with new notifications. He typed out one message quickly before boarding the elevator, hitting 'Send' as he ascended to Reeve's floor.

Vincent—Anyone at my door better need immediate assistance from a catastrophic and apocalyptic calamity. Or I will cause one.

He set the messaging service to 'Mute' for 48 hours, then changed his mind and manually added another day. Better to turn it off completely until after the gala and the end of Yuffie's party. Their messaging would only grow worse over the next three days, and he'd rather not be included. He would show up, shake hands, and nod. That would be the end of it.

After days of rushing from store to store, finding the right outfit, trying on hundreds of shoes, and making necessary salon appointments, the day of the gala finally arrived.

Tifa felt no happiness, only disappointment about the event, pouting at the situation she found herself in. Cloud wasn't staying, only planning to remain for the ceremony, then leave right after. He had long been a safe bet to fulfill the date role, an unspoken assumption between the two of them. She had tried to remedy her predicament since no one wanted to be dateless at a formal gala. But her brief attempt to find a substitute proved fruitless. Substitute seemed harsh. Preference was better.

It wasn't as though Vincent had never not responded to a message before. He was known to loathe the communication service as much as Cloud. Tifa opened her messages again, checking her private chat with Vincent. There weren't many, but they had increased in number over the last month or two since the wedding. Most were from her, asking when to expect him for dinner. There were even a couple initiated by him, hinting at his hunger by suggesting she try her culinary talent at a new dish. She had sent the last few three nights ago.

Tifa—Hey! Missed you at dinner tonight! Wanted to see what your plans were for the gala.

An hour passed until she had sent another.

Tifa—I don't think there will be assigned seating. Cloud won't stay. He'll only be there for the ceremony. I think Yuffie will sit at Reeve's table.

Another 30 minutes, and she had sent the last.

Tifa—So it will just be me. I'm going to find Molly and Pete to sit with. Want to join? Being the third wheel is the worst!

She put down her phone and promised herself not to check for notifications again. Was that too obvious? Too bold? He's kind of old-fashioned and shy with women. She had tried to keep it sounding like a friendly invite.

Tifa chewed on a fingernail, thinking maybe it signaled a little too close to a date. Not that she would mind that, but his silence on the invitation felt as bad as a direct rejection. She shook her head and tried to concentrate on getting ready for the gala—no point in dwelling on the negative and making it seem more dramatic than it was. Vincent would probably be a no-show. She didn't want to let it ruin her evening.