Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Apotheosis ❯ Vagabond Visitor ( Chapter 13 )

They were beautiful.

Moonlight stole through the library's great bay window, painting the room in a faded palette of charcoals, the glow of the fire's banked embers providing the only real illumination. But it was more than enough for him to see by.

She was a small figure, huddled in front of the fireplace, a quilt casually tossed over her prone form. The orange glow played over the flowing waves of her hair, the shadows giving its color a darker cast. It was lovely. It reminded him of-

No. No it didn't.

The one he had truly come to see sat upright in the wing-backed chair beside the mantle, files spread in his lap, elbows propped on the chair's dusty arms. Tall and lean, even in repose he radiated a sense of capable ferocity, like the sword that leaned against the wall beside him. He wondered what it would be like to see this so-familiar stranger bound to his feet, silver hair swirling around him, to run, to leap, to lunge… it would be exquisite. But his face…

Ah, it was heartbreaking.

The eyes. Large, widely set, tip-tilted, with the small, barely noticeable fold at the inner corners… they were her eyes, set in this strange man's face.

It was terribly, simply terrible that they both represented such physical perfection. Did their inner beings match their flawless outward representations? They couldn't. That would be even worse.

It would be easy enough to find out. He could make a game of it; how close could he get before his hosts detected him? Could he slink across the room, and stand between the two of them with his back to the fireplace? Could he touch one of them? Stroke their alabaster flesh? Lean around the side of the wide chair and whisper into an ear?

But it would upset them so when he was discovered, as he inevitably would be. Make them frightened, angry, unwilling to take his good will seriously. It would break his heart to see either of this pair unhappy. There was quite enough negativity to go around… for the moment.

His eyes. Her eyes. The eyes he had never thought to see again, let alone minted anew in an unknown countenance. The long, delicate lashes… that now shielded the faintest of peridot gleams.

The smile pained him. "They always wondered about that," he said, voice hoarse with disuse and emotion. "Whether the glow would give away your positions at night."

Sephiroth opened his eyes completely, giving him a flat, unreadable stare. His heart twinged, seeing such a callous look in that gaze, but he squelched it fiercely. It was not her gaze, not her calculating hostility.

That had been years ago.

"I'm sorry. What a terrible non-sequiteur," he continued, watching Sephiroth intently for signs of movement. "Please don't reach for your sword. I don't mean any harm to you right now."

"To me?" Sephiroth asked. "What do you mean, then?"

He exhaled slowly, the boiling froth of his soul just barely restrained. His shoulder blades were suddenly lances of pain, burning seams within his back. He inhaled deeply. "I mean harm," he rapped out, "all sorts of harm. But not here. And not now." He tried to smile again. "No. I mean to tell you a story. It's one I don't think you know. At least, not what really happened."

"And why exactly should I listen to this?" His voice was rough and grating, entirely at odds with its owner's appearance. A failure. A flaw. Utter perfection had not been produced.

What a shame. What a terrible, terrible waste. Nevertheless, marring the man further would solve nothing. Not tonight. Perhaps not ever.

Perhaps.

Really, it was just too amusing, that it had all come to this. "Because it bears on your past, and quite possibly on your future. Your masters are hunting you, Sephiroth." He laughed bitterly. "Because I've never told a bedtime story before."

Sephiroth's eyes sparked, casting a brief fey glow over his features. Almost beautiful enough. Almost perfect enough. "Go on, then."

"Mmm." He leaned lightly against a bookcase, settling himself. He had planned this encounter out scrupulously, imagining it taking place in a million different settings, playing out in a thousand different ways, having a hundred different resolutions. But he had never, ever guessed what her son had truly become. No matter; no matter at all. The tale, and its telling, were paramount.

Sephiroth had to know. Had to know what he had truly cost.

"Once upon a time," he began. "Yes, that has a nice ring to it, doesn't it? Once upon a time, there was a man named Vinnie. Vinnie also worked for Shinra; was in fact a Turk, one of the President's personal bodyguards. He spent a great deal of time at the company headquarters.

"It was there that he met a young research assistant, a ravishingly beautiful young woman named Lucrecia. She had-she looked-" His throat tightened. Oh, it hurt; it still hurt so badly, just to see her in his mind's eye. "Well, she looked quite a bit like you, Sephiroth. Not nearly so strapping, of course, but… but, he met her there.

"Since this is a fairytale, I'll gloss over the next bit, except to say that they fell deeply in love. But all was not as it seemed; Lucrecia had played him false! For she was already promised to another man, a doctor and scientist named Hojo." His mouth curled. "Ah, I see you know that name," he said, seeing Sephiroth's eyes widen fractionally. "Much to your regret, I imagine.

"Where was I? Ah. Yes. Neither man was particularly happy with Lucrecia's deception, and it came out in such an unfortunate manner. Lucrecia was carrying a child, you see; a child each man thought was his.

"It was Hojo, ever the good scientist, who first discovered the duplicity-blood work or some such-that the child was not his. Vinnie found out about it shortly thereafter, when Hojo shot him in the back." The pain had been like a supernova, crisping his brain with infernal agony… the feeling of utter helplessness when he had tried to rise, failed to even crawl away… the needle plunging into his neck…

A soft gasp interrupted his reverie. The woman, Aeris, had awakened; was propped up on one elbow, staring at them in shock. "Your pardon for waking you, lady." He touched the brim of his hat. "Vincent Valentine, your servant." Her glance flicked briefly to Sephiroth, then back to him. Such an attentive child.

"Something tells me you're just getting to the exciting part," Sephiroth interrupted, his gaze never wavering.

"Oh, as to that, I really couldn't say. Hojo decided to try out a few modifications on Vinnie"-he shrugged back the shoulder of his scarlet cloak, allowing moonlight to wink off the beastly, wretched steel claw-"as well as some exciting research in the field of stasis. It was quite successful; I myself have only recently picked up the thread of the tale again. Though as I understand it, Vinnie was not the only one to be experimented upon… and that the child grew up to be quite the SOLDIER."

"You're not his-" Aeris clapped a hand to her mouth.

"If you're expecting an outpouring of thwarted filial devotion, you are sadly misguided," Sephiroth said coolly.

Was he? Was that what he had hoped for?

"I? Oh, no. Vinnie died, more than thirty years ago. I am only Vincent. But I… owe a duty, to him and his. I tell you this tale simply to be informative. And by way of explanation as to my presence tonight." He reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose, his mind suddenly swirling. "I had… my first visitors in quite awhile, two days ago. Fellow-other Turks, just like Vinnie.

"It appears Shinra has misplaced their greatest general. It seems that general has absconded with a girl they are most interested in reclaiming. They worried that those two would steal something of great value stored in the area, and took it away with them." He jerked his head sharply, cracking his neck. "They wish me to apprehend these two for them."

Terror was writ large on Aeris's face-the poor, sweet thing-but Sephiroth did not so much as blink. Did he feel nothing? Had he inherited none of his mother's great depth of passion?

None of Vincent's own?

"I believe I can spike you to the wall before you can draw that gun at your hip," he said. "Shall we find out?"

Vincent could have laughed with glee at Sephiroth's stubborn fearlessness-that was pure Lucrecia, right enough. "How presumptuous! I said I owed a duty, did I not? This is it. Your warning: run."

"And why should I let you go, now that your 'duty' is discharged?"

This time Vincent did snort. "I said they wished me to apprehend you. I never said I was going to. I have another duty…" His hand suddenly ached to caress the butt of the pistol; the claw twitched of its own volition. "…a duty to Hojo."

They stayed still and silent for a long time, frozen in tableau. Finally, slowly and deliberately, Sephiroth nodded. "If you can get to him first."

He laughed mockingly. "It shall be a race, then," he agreed. He bowed slightly to Aeris. "Lady." He touched the brim of his hat to them both. "Fare thee both well," he said, and faded quickly away into the shadows of the hallway, lest Sephiroth do something silly out of spite.

He was too emotional. He knew that; he always had been. But the boy was so standoffish… so harsh… so cold…

…so terribly, terribly flawed.

What a waste.

The storm had given way to a faint drizzle as he made his way across the lawn, striding eagerly into the wide, open possibilities of the night. Nibelheim; he had never been here… not of his own volition. Devil's Head; what an utterly charming name for such a pastoral mountain village. Quite appropriate, though; he knew exactly which devil's head this poor, sad farce had sprung from. Now all he need do was decide how best to remove it from its neck. And afterwards…

It was an insult. It was insult to injury. This was the result of all the anguish, all the pain, the grief, the loss, the ruination of lives… The pain in his back seared him again, flaring so badly he thought the skin would burst, split, spill his inner workings into the darkness. He gritted his teeth, and raised his face to bathe in the pale light of the gibbous moon. He sucked ragged breaths between his clenched jaws; now was not the time for temper.

It was not the first time good wombs had borne bad sons.