Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Once a Man ❯ Seduction ( Chapter 5 )

AN: Merry Christmas to all of you! This was really a fun chapter to write, so it's longer than normal. I'll get back to shorter chapters later.

 

Once a Man

Chapter 5: Seduction

 

He told me once that he hated Meg passionately from the moment he glanced over his shoulder and noted us chatting together. Vincent, for some reason that never made sense to me, had come to the decision that while Meg was at best okay for a sexual partner, I was far more appealing. His reason, which makes me wonder if he had some odd eye or perceptional problem, was that I was far more attractive than Meg. Meg, while no glossy beauty queen, had wide brown eyes, a tiny waist, a nicely curved bottom, and bouncy chestnut curls. She was far from homely, but he wasn't interested. Instead, someplace behind those amber eyes, he'd come to the conclusion that I was what he wanted.

 

This is where I started learning about the third thing you should keep in mind at all times about Vincent. If he wants something, he will get it. He will wait patiently till the right moment then use all his skills to achieve his goal. Seeing that in the skill of seducing me Vincent was a born master, I had no chance.

 

However, I didn't know that until much, much later after I was well and truly conquered.

 

I also learned that Vincent is a sneaky, ruthless Turk when he wanted something. He will go to any length, and I do mean any, to achieve his goals. I would melodramatically plead for sympathy here, but if you've seen Vincent, any sympathy I get would be insincere as you dreamily wish you'd been the one he'd set his sights on to seduce. I was a lucky, lucky man to be stalked by that Turk.

 

I was still blissfully unaware of all this when I woke up the next morning to find Vincent absent from our happy home and the sun shining through the windows. I went to the box, hoping that it would possibly contain some equipment to analyze the sample, and was unsurprised to find it was actually forms for me and Vincent. Even though we were stuck in the frozen wastes, we still had paperwork to accomplish. I particularly liked seeing that Vincent was still supposed to do a weekly on-site inventory of the Turk's weaponry. I had a good laugh while I unpacked, till I noted that I was still required to make a cleaning report on the labs. How I was supposed to actually report on the cleanliness of a lab that was on another continent escaped me, but I was game.

 

I separated our respective forms and set them on the table till I could go to Davies and order a couple of file cabinets for us to store them and their future brothers and sisters in. Vincent wandered in and proceeded to spread merriment around him in a dark dismal wave of gloom. He was in rare form even making the sample ooze to the other side of the jar as he scowled at the heater as if he was wondering what would be the most painful and violent way to send it off to the lifestream.

 

At this juncture in my life, I didn't have a death wish -that came later- so I kept my mouth shut and didn't tell him he was expected in Midgar to do his weapon inspection Tuesday so he'd better get swimming. Instead I grabbed my jacket and went off to see Meg. Since I don't have stunning good looks to buffer my way through the wilds of romantic wooing, I have found that charm and attentiveness go a long way to swaying the potential partners' minds. Later, I would cynically put this aside and just wave cash and my position to attract devotees, but that would come later.

I found Meg smiling happily and buzzing around Davies' office. “I got transferred! It's incredible! I'm actually working with Professor Jenkins's team uncovering the Temple of the Ancients!”

Now, I wished Vincent had just shot her. She, eager overachiever that she was, was the one to uncover the entrance to the Temple and discover the existence of black materia.

Anyhow, as my sex life for the foreseeable future flushed, I grinned back. “That's great.”

“He's the best archaeologist on the Planet!” She enthused, gathering papers. “He called this morning and personally invited me to join his team. A private helicopter is coming to pick me up in just a few hours!”

I later found that Vincent had gotten up early that morning, made a few phone calls to his informants, found out that Jenkins had a penchant for plagiarism which could sink his career. Vincent had then used that information to call Jenkins and suggest that Meg would be an excellent member of his team. Vincent, by the way, can ooze menace over the phone with the same joi d' vie that he can shoot bottles off a fence.

“That's wonderful. Do you need help packing?”Considering I had a Turk trying to glare my heater to death back in my cozy skull, helping a pretty lady pack was the choice of activities for that day. Who knew? I might have gotten lucky, but Vincent had been busy.

“Hey, Hojo!” An archaeologist came in and tossed a sweaty, dirty arm over my shoulder. “We got something for you to see.”

I was summarily dragged off to the excavation pits to see men wallow in mud, leaving the last trace of an attractive partner bouncing merrily around getting prepared for her new life in the tropics. I spent the rest of the day being shown the area where the sample was found and hearing tales of how it was discovered. I'm sure it was all very important, but as the day wore into evening, I was less than interested. By the time the diggers let me escape it was nearly dark and I could have merrily eaten one of their boots for dinner. So I dragged my frozen, starved, achy, mud covered self home to find Vincent stepping out of the bathroom wrapped only in a towel. He barely took notice of me as I stood gaping and blushing in the doorway.

“Close the door.” He went over to his cot and picked up a pair of pants. “You're letting in the cold.”

How I managed to find the door, much less figured out how to close it is one of the great mysteries of my life. I retreated to behind my curtain and sat on my bed blinking at nothing in particular.

And I thought he'd been stunning before.

I have been accused of causing immeasurable harm to Vincent, scaring and disfiguring his body. First, I want to say that Vincent already had a decent amount of scars when I first saw him that night. Believe me they didn't detract even a tiny fraction from his beauty. In fact, the light tracings seemed to accent the fineness of his skin and the perfect definition of his muscles. Second, early on in my attempts to undo what she had done, I tried to minimize the damage the treatments would do to his body. Among those minimizations was a serum I had been developing from my research of the Tewits. It basically enhanced his ability to heal and virtually eliminated all scaring. He claims it is a side effect of the demons, but it was really my doing. I hated the thought of any trace of her manipulations ever being permanently etched into his skin. Eventually, even the deepest of scars that I saw that night will fade. I'm not sure I'm pleased with that or not. I did love tracing those scars with my tongue, feeling him shiver in pleasure against my lips.

It took me a few minutes to calm myself back down. He was rustling around, probably getting dressed, which tugged my imagination into areas I desperately didn't want it to go. While I was calming my psyche, he wandered over to the kitchen, thankfully for my fragile state, wearing clothes. I spent a couple more minutes blinking as he rummaged around and finally unearthed a can of tomato soup, some bread, and a few slices of cheese. By the time he'd finished cooking toasted cheese sandwiches and soup, I was almost back to normal and ventured out from my hiding place.

He had been nice enough to cook me dinner too. I suppose that it may have been little more than survival instinct on his part since I might have accidentally set our skull on fire if left to my own devices near the stove at this point.

I should point out he was perfectly aware of what he was doing to me and he never let me live that small humiliation down. He managed to bring it up at least once a month, and often sooner throughout our time together. The pleased, self congratulatory smirk he always wore when reminiscing about it didn't help much either.

Lucky I love the bastard.

I managed not to make a scene as I ate my soup, carefully not looking at him, and nibbled on my sandwich, still not looking at him. I just got up to go look at the specimen when he began what would become what seemed like eons of nearly unmerciful teasing.

“Aren't you going to say thank you?” He had settled himself down next to the fireplace again reading, and glanced up as I rose from the table.

My normally well functioning mind took that moment to start babbling hysterically at me. Thank him? Thank him for the soup or for…that? Oh dear Planet… What should I say…I could say thank you Vincent for the delightful… Oh, no. I am not going to say that… Uh… Oh no…he's looking at me…I have to say something…

After standing there gaping like a complete moron -much to his entertainment- I finally managed to squeak. “Thank you.”

He looked placidly down at his book. “You're welcome.”

I nearly ran back to my little alcove and hid behind the curtain again blushing like a virgin after being propositioned by one of the Honeybee girls. Yes, the Honeybee has been around for that long. Mind you it hasn't always been in the same place. It used to be in one of the byways of Junon. When the previous owner died, Veld hired that ass Don Correno to take it over and move it to Midgar as part of the Turk's spying operations. Tseng, however, never liked getting his hands as dirty as Veld did and let Correno have too much leeway. Seeing that most of the executive board regularly visited -That includes Reeve. He isn't quite as upstanding and pure as he'd like everyone to believe- it was a security nightmare waiting to explode. It was just lucky that some fanatic didn't decide to cripple Shinra by taking out the whole executive board during “Shinra's Bi-Annual Moral Boosting Night.”

So I hid and out by the fire, unknown to me, Vincent smirked and plotted.

The next morning, I was up early and was ready to make headway in my new resolve. I had decided during the night that I was going to see if I could get Bettina to wash up and deodorize. We had always gotten along and the only thing standing between me and a solid relationship with an attractive, enjoyable woman was the smell of fish. As a scientist with too much time on my hands, at least until Shinra managed to send the equipment, I could solve her body odor problem. When the problem was solved, I could get laid and any lingering images of entirely too enticing skin and the firm ripple of muscles would be banished from my thoughts.

I decided the best way to begin was to take note of what Bettina ate during the day. That would begin with breakfast, so I bounded out of bed, into my clothes, and out the door before my sleepy Turk could do more than poke his nose out from under his covers and yawn.

Bettina ate breakfast at what most would consider a hellishly early hour. Having spent many mornings getting up early and stumbling my way down to the Tewit nesting ground before sunrise, I had occasionally breakfasted with her. She always appreciated the company, and just as long as I sat on the other side of the table, I enjoyed myself tremendously.

At some level, I have always been slightly regretful that Vincent broke this relationship up. Bettina was a level headed woman with a sharp mind and a loving personality, who would have been able to not only deal with the duties and schedule of a Shinra scientist, but would have been able to give me well thought out advice when I needed it most. In return, I would have been able to give her a spouse that would appreciate her easy going wit and humor, and give her the stable relationship she always wanted. We would have made a very comfortable married couple.

It is a very small regret though, because even though I still wake up wanting to take a scalding hot shower and scrub my skin off with steel wool just remembering I once was intimate with Her, I would have had to give up my time with Vincent. I would go right back through that hell we endured to live that again.

I suppose there is some sort of irony in play when I think that he probably wakes up wanting to scrub away his skin for being intimate with me. I just wonder if it is justice or just a strange twist of fate.

I showed up at Bettina's door just as she was setting up the coffee pot. “Care for some company?”

She grinned back, “Hey! I wondered where you were keeping yourself. Come in and sit down. Eggs okay?”

I came in and sat down as she pulled out eggs, bacon, and bread for toast. That was the other thing I always liked about Bettina, she could cook.

“How are you and the pretty boy getting along?” She turned and clicked on the old antique that passed for a radio.

I hid my grimace as Ice Pack Sammy's melodious voice crackled through the speakers. “Fine.” Just as long as he keeps his clothes on.

She nodded. “I saw him down talking to the diggers yesterday.” She placed the bacon in an iron frying pan and the nearly heavenly smell of real cooking filled the room. “He seems to be adjusting to things. Thought he'd freeze at first. Poor thing.”

Part of me wanted to comment that he certainly didn't look like he'd been freezing last night as he stepped out of the bathroom steam with droplets of water still clinging to his shoulders. “I got him a coat.”

She nodded and started humming along to a tune that Ice Pack Sammy must have unearthed from his vault of oldies-but-never-goodies. She put coffee on the table which I gratefully gulped, trying to get all Turk like people and their overly perfect bodies out of my head. The rest of breakfast was on the table in a moment and we dug in.

It was a great meal. I had almost forgotten how much I'd enjoyed these times with her. Unfortunately, I didn't see any suspicious food or habits that would have explained Bettina's unique odor. I made a note to myself to check in with her at lunch and after much lazy discussion and playful gossip, I went back to my lurking Turk.

Who was missing.

I shrugged it away and looked at the sample. It was still placidly oozing around, and for a moment I considered redoing the experiments with emotions that I had previously done, but I had already explored that area as much as I could till Shinra's requisition department took mercy on my soul. I regretfully put it back down and ambled around my shiny, clean home.

I finally sat down next to the fire where Vincent was getting in the habit of sitting and looked at the book he'd been reading. I found the title, “A Hundred Years of Solitude,” a bit depressing, so I got up and started poking through the books I'd brought with me. I settled on a light book about astronomy from a researcher out of Cosmo Canyon that I'd been promising myself I'd read for months.

By the time lunch came around, I was so absorbed in the life of planets that I nearly forgot about my quest to deodorize Bettina. I scampered to my feet and headed off to see what my newest interest was eating for lunch. Since Vincent had yet to reappear, I had an excellent reason for intruding on her meal.

I knocked on her door, putting on a worried expression.

“Well, my mother always said not to feed a stray…” Bettina smiled at me as she opened the door.

I gave her a small laugh. “Sorry for disturbing you, but,” I looked around as if I'd lost something that might just pop up unexpectedly. “Vincent's been gone for hours.” I tossed in a slightly irritated sounding sigh and ran a hand through my hair. “He's so new at being up here. I've been trying to keep an eye out for him. He could get in trouble if he wanders off too far.” I shook my head slowly. “That coat I got him is fine but…” I gave long suffering sigh as if Vincent was a heavy load I self-sacrificingly bore for the sake of everyone, “he's a city boy.”

Bettina frowned thoughtfully. “I think I saw him down at the store earlier.” She tapped her lip thoughtfully. “I think I saw him talking to the head digger.”

I nodded, glancing in to note that Bettina was having a rather normal lunch of broiled chocobo and a small salad. “Thanks, Bettina.” I had a sudden inspiration. “Tell you what, why don't you come over for dinner? I'll splurge and get real food.”

She laughed, “Sounds wonderful, but don't strain yourself, Hojo. Just get the fixings and I'll cook `em when I get there.”

Bettina knew me too well.

We parted with a few more small goodbyes and I went down to the store and bought real stakes, frozen vegetables, and potatoes for dinner. I also made a few inquiries about my wandering Turk. Vincent, it seemed, had been there earlier, but had disappeared with a group of archaeologists who were looking into traversing the Ancient Forest in an attempt to reach the old city. I figured he was in good hands, and since my main objective was accomplished, I returned to my book and began plotting anew.

It seemed Bettina's odoriferous problem wasn't dietary, so now I had to look at other causes. During dinner, I could make a few subtle inquiries into her hygienic routine. I have found that if you ask a woman for help in keeping yourself clean and well moisturized, they will all go into long paeans of advice that extols their own routine. I could also try leading the conversation around to favorite foods, just to double check to make sure Bettina wasn't stuffing herself with pickled herring in between more mundane meals.

Pleased, I turned my attention back to my book, patting myself on the back for my prowess in planning my upcoming evening. How naive I was, considering I was unwittingly plotting against a master.

Vincent skulked back in just before dark with a small Lunar Harp tucked under his jacket. He set it down next to his cot and proceeded to clean the poor thing nearly into nonexistence. For a short space of time, my skull housed the cleanest Lunar Harp in the history of the Planet. I always wondered what happened to that harp. I know I put it in the crypt with him, safely tucked away in an air tight chest -At some level I just didn't want to hear his bitching when he woke up to find his things dirty. He had me well trained- along with what other things of his she didn't pettily destroy, but when he and that failure wanted to go through the Sleeping Forest, they had to dig up another. Maybe the Ancient took it. Or maybe he smashed it, destroying any memento that reminded him of our time together.

Bettina arrived soon afterwards to be scowled at until it became apparent that she was there to feed us. If by some chance you ever need Vincent in a good mood, feed him. The better the food, the more pronounced his mood change will be. When we were living together, I often had to worm my way back into our apartment after a fight by waving take-out through a crack in the door as a peace offering as I prayed he wasn't irritated enough to shoot at me. Doors are expensive. When perfectly cooked steaks, baked potatoes, and buttery corn appeared on the table, I was suddenly plunged into a fit of worry that Vincent was going to pounce on Bettina before I could. Herring smell or not.

His mood changed though when I started putting my plan into action, not that I noticed it at the time. I only realize it in hindsight. I don't think he really paid much attention to when I was discussing favorite foods. He even managed to mumble a few nearly monosyllabic replies to any conversation that wandered in his direction. (In case you are wondering, his favorite food is tiny macaroon cookies from a Wutain bakery in Midgar.) However, when I worked the conversation around to dry skin and pleaded with Bettina to save me from my flaky epidermis, he started becoming quieter. When Bettina shared her secret -yes, you guessed it, herring oil- he was back to his old self.

Bettina and I chattered on for awhile more and he went back to his perch by the fire to be beautiful and moody. He did it well, I have to admit and was still a bit worried about my competition when I noticed Bettina's gaze sliding in his direction. Bettina's herring oil would be easy enough to do away with. By the time dinner was over, I was sighing longingly over the latest skin moisturizer that came out of Kalm. It was a hellishly expensive thing, but I noted that Bettina's eyes lit up over it and she nearly yodeled its attributes when she brought it up. I made silent plans to get a shipment of it sent to me and as she left our humble abode. I worried that once Bettina smelled pleasantly of Kalm's flowers if Vincent would snatch my prize away.

The next day, Vincent was once again up early, snatching his harp and heading out the door with a happy swing to his step as I tumbled my rumpled way over to the kitchen to see if I could boil water for tea without too many mishaps. I should have been suspicious. First, Vincent had never moves happily when on the job. Happy movement is always suspect. Later, I learned that a bouncingly happy Vincent is a sneaky, plotting Vincent who is plotting your downfall. Second, he was up very, very early, earlier than I'd gotten up the day before. Vincent isn't really what anyone would call lazy, but if his duties allow it, he does like to lay in bed dozing till around nine in the morning. It's his way of spoiling himself. Getting out of bed and being out the door well before sunrise is rather odd if there is no reason for him to get up.

At the time, I was too innocent to figure out his reason. I just assumed it had to do with the harp.

By the time I got myself awake, any lingering thoughts of my roommate were banished in the rush to get to the store and order myself a couple of bottles of moisturizer. Davies was happy to help out, and I spent the rest of the morning humming to myself.

My mood did have one slight damper. Our happy little skull seemed a bit warm. I went over to my faithful little heater and poked at the controls to see if I could reduce the temperature figuring my freezing Turk had set it too high. The settings hadn't changed though, so I just adjusted it to a lower setting, figuring it was warmer out than it had been previously.

I settled back down with my book and didn't think much about anything till mid-day when Vincent sauntered past our skull with a group of archaeologists. They looked like they'd spent the morning being drowned and stamped on. Vincent was silently fussing at mud splotches on his jacket and a few others were limping along with him. For some reason, bruised, scraped, wet, and probably on the verge of hypothermia, they all looked remarkably happy.

Vincent and his new friends disappeared, heading towards the store, and I was left staring out the window with the image of Vincent turning to one of the diggers and smiling. I felt something curl in my stomach. I almost wanted to rush out and join them, to see that smile again. But I turned away and went back to my book.

I knew where I belonged. I was a scientist. My job was to stay in a lab and methodically test minute changes over long periods of time. I was nothing special to look at. I had nice teeth and I'd been told that my hair was quite nice, but I didn't qualify as good, or even pleasant looking. I was nothing short of homely and I knew it. I did nothing exciting. I had no fascinating hobbies. I didn't bungee jump off bridges or climb mountains. I was bookish, dull, and boring. I even talked wrong, too polite, too formal, too stilted.

Vincent was everything I was not. His life was one of excitement and adventure. He went to exotic places. He did dangerous things, living on his wits and instincts. He was flawless, with perfect bone structure, mesmerizing amber brown eyes, lustrous hair, and beautifully kissable lips. He may have been quiet and serious, but to be fair, anyone with a passing familiarity with the Turks knows that they were Shinra's wild, dangerous children that breathed in the glittery neon city nights and exhaled seductive danger. He was no exception. After all, he was their king.

I belonged safe inside, sipping tea and reading a book. He belonged in some other realm where you got scraped, soaked, and bloody then came back into town brushing off your clothes and smiling at your comrades. We still inhabit those same worlds. Once, by his choice, our worlds connected. Now, by her manipulations, they are well and truly separated. I live in the dull world of science, and he now lives in the rarified air of heroes.

And neither of us is happy.

I kept company with my book till well into the night. Vincent didn't come back and I sat lost in the stars till I realized I was getting hot. Through the day, I had absently tossed off layer after layer of clothes till now I was dressed in nothing but a pair of pants and a cotton undershirt. I hadn't even paused as I shucked off a sweater as I went to warm up my tea. I barely remembered kicking my boots under my bed, leaving me to pad around in my socks. I have no memory of taking of my sweatshirt or long sleeve, cotton dress shirt. Now, I was in a thin tee and sweating.

I went to poke at the heater, but it was on its lowest setting. I had let the fire dwindle to some ash covered embers and with night now fully settled, I couldn't even claim warm weather was making the skull too warm. I knelt down and looked at my heater more carefully. It looked fine to me, but it was putting out a lot of heat. I turned it off, slightly worried about a fire hazard, and went to bed thinking that I'd have to go and get a new heater tomorrow.

In the middle of the night, I woke up freezing. Vincent was nowhere in sight and the skull was like an ice box. I crept back to the fireplace and rebuilt the fire and huddled under a blanket next to it as it slowly grew into a small blaze. In my sleep muddled, tired mind, it seemed to take hours till the fire was big enough to provide even a little bit of heat.

“Something wrong?” Vincent's voice came from the door.

I looked up as he stepped in, brushing snow off his jacket. “The heater's malfunctioning.”

“Hmmm.” He nodded and looked around. “That's a problem.”

Of course, I thought, my heat dependent Turk would consider it a problem.

“I'll get another tomorrow.” I turned away, huddling closer to the fire.

“Okay.” He looked around the skull house appraisingly. “I'll be over at Dmitri's.”

Dmitri was one of the archaeologists, the one that sorted and cataloged the digger's finds. He lived in the skull just across the street. He was slender, blond, and slightly too effeminate for my tastes with his wide doe like brown eyes and long silky hair. I thought he always seemed rather dusty, pale, and nervous. But Vincent was going to spend the night over there…with him…

“Fine, fine.” I shivered my way back to my bed. “Take the sample. No point letting it freeze.”

He shrugged and scooped up the pickle jar off the table. It oozed sluggishly around. Why I thought something that had been buried in the permafrost for hundreds if not thousands of years was going to take harm from staying in a cold room is beyond me, but I wasn't functioning well at that point in the morning. Vincent didn't comment on it and turned around and walked back out without even giving me another glance to spend the night with Dmitri.

I curled up and miserably fell back to sleep, wondering if sleepily if I should get up and spend the night at the inn and debating just how bad herring oil really was.

I was outside Davies store as soon as it opened in the morning. Davies gave me a cup of coffee as I shuffled into his office and told him about my heater.

“That's not good, Hojo.” He shook his head. “We're out of heaters and the dealer is back ordered.”

Naïve thing that I was, I didn't even question this.

“But I have no heat… Can I borrow one from someone?” I nearly pleaded.

He shook his head sadly. “Sorry. We all switched to installed heating units last fall. You're probably the only one that still has a portable.” He scratched his chin thoughtfully for a second, “But tell you what, bring it over here and I'll see what I can do with it. I could probably fix it.”

My gullibility to this day surprises me…

I whimpered gratefully and rushed back to my frozen fossil of a home and retrieved my broken heater. I also took the time to pile more wood on the fire. It didn't adequately heat the place, but it kept it at least warm enough o stave off freezing to death. I then raced back and handed the heater over to Davies.

“I'll get right on this. Come by tonight and pick it up.”

I grinned like the fool I was. “Thank you!”

He disappeared back into his office, leaving me shivering and planning on how to spend the day. Vincent and his new friends were already out making another attempt to get to the Ancient's city. Bettina was in the middle of weekly laundry, and I was left with the diggers, who greeted me with hearty slaps on the back and offered me a shovel.

For what happened next, I can only claim the extreme circumstances. However, it does give me a small bit of pleasure to know that in my desperation to stay warm, I spoiled Vincent's plan. Mind you, I would have been much happier if I hadn't. I could probably have spent the night warm and half mad with pleasure, not to mention back in the possession of a functioning heater, but there is still the thrill of satisfaction that the one who was responsible for my descent into the horror of archaeology suffered a bit from the result of his actions.

I took my shovel from the diggers and with Vincent's smile in the back of my head, went off to be one of the boys. Male bonding is a frightening thing. It turns even the sanest of people into beer chugging, mud slinging idiots. By the end of the day, I had learned the technique to shoveling and had spent most of my mud covered day, perfecting it. I even got a few congratulatory comments on how good I was slinging the foul stuff. I grinned back, pleased with my accomplishment, and managed not to say I had plenty of practice metaphorically shoveling through another type of brown foul stuff back in Shinra's science department. After being dragged off to finish the ritual of bonding by drinking too much beer and being slapped on the back by people just as filth as I was, I stumbled wearily and somewhat drunkenly back to the store where Davies handed my heater back to me.

“It was the controls.” He tapped them lightly. “I couldn't completely repair it, but it's safe and it'll give you heat.”

I pathetically thanked him and dragged my muddy, inebriated self home, set up my heater, spent a few moments trying to locate the bathroom, then flung myself into the shower with a heartfelt moan of relief. By the time I emerged, my home was once again cozy and warm. I considered opening a can of soup in celebration, but opted instead for falling face down on my bed still wrapped in only the towel I came out of the bathroom in.

Vincent slid in just before nightfall. I had pulled a blanket over me and half buried myself under my pillows. I was now sore and exhausted, but the room had stopped its annoying habit of twitching, instead settling into a smooth even sway.

Take note. Exhaustion plus heavy drinking plus a hot shower equals one hugely bad idea.

“Hot in here.” Vincent loosened his coat and frowned at the heater.

I mumbled into my pillow and realized that I was indeed sweating. However, at this point, I was not going to dispose of my blanket. I may have been shit faced drunk, but I wasn't insane.

Vincent went over to glare at the heater, then with a philosophical sigh (Translation: I suppose it could be worse) he peeled out of his jacket. I let my tired eyes close for a moment as I contemplated how I was going to get my exhausted self under the sheets and free myself from the blankets. Deciding to pull the curtain closer around my bed, I opened my eyes to find Vincent being distracting. Very distracting. As in he was nearly doing a strip tease by the fire distracting. Mind you, for all I could tell he wasn't even aware I was conscious.

Thick headed, wasn't I?

First the shirt came off. He slowly unbuttoned the first few buttons, then with a feline stretch pulled it over his head. Under it he wore a white tank top with which he repeated his stretch revealing silky skin and rippling muscles. He ran a hand slowly through his hair, as if trying to comb it back into order, then sat down on the edge of his bed to pull off his shoes. He frowned thoughtfully at them, set them aside and took off his socks tucking them into the shoes. He then gave a sleepy yawn and -damn him- stretched lazily with his arms over his head.

I was suddenly feeling warm in a totally new way.

He wasn't finished with me though. He stood back up and started tugging his belt loose. He paused, looked towards me, then apparently deciding I was asleep, took his pants off and set them aside leaving him only in a pair of briefs and leaving me frozen on my bed.

Sweet Planet he was beautiful. With his long legs, golden skin, fine bones, and perfectly toned muscles, he would have made even the finest, most talented sculptors, those that carved gods out of marble, toss in their chisels despairing of ever catching such perfection with their meager craft. Poor mortal that I was, I could only whimper silently into my pillow as the room added its own special effects by swirling in and out of focus behind him.

He gave another yawn, stretching from the tips of his toes up to the tips of his fingers, making this already tight briefs strain against rather interesting portions of anatomy and giving me a good idea that Vincent was just as beautiful under the briefs as the rest of him hinted. He glanced over at me again, as if just making sure I was asleep then ambled over to the kitchen to look for something to eat. This of course involved him bending over, giving me a supposedly innocent view of his firm, round posterior.

And people say I like to torture innocents.

After rummaging around, he pulled out a half of an uneaten sandwich and sauntered over to his bed to stretch out on the covers, open his book, and pose like a reclining god. He lay, nibbling coyly on that damned sandwich and idly flipping papers with the light from the fire casting gold and shadows on him.

I cursed my day. I was tired. I was sore. I was so drunk I couldn't even find my feet, much less stand up and walk over to him. So of course I would have a nearly naked Vincent stretched out in front of me like a scene from one of my most sensual wet dreams. Even though my muscles now felt like water, other parts of me were rock hard and weeping for attention.

He lounged there eating his sandwich for a few minutes, then with another sleepy yawn, got up and did the completely unmerciful. He took off the briefs.

I want to pause here to say one thing. He's evil. Beautiful, but evil.

I won't belabor the issue. He's perfect. At rest he is long and elegantly shaped. When aroused he's stunning. He is a sight that could raise the dead. Too bad it couldn't raise the drunken. I did give it a try. He noticed my feeble movement and turned questioningly in my direction. I froze clamping my eyes shut, reality slapping me in the face.

This was Vincent. I was Hojo.

It was one thing to look as a voyeur, it was another to actually think of acting on the impulse to reach out and touch. Dmitri with his dark eyes and pale body could touch, but not me. It was a losing and humiliating battle, so I retreated and played dead, or at least asleep.

“Hojo?” Vincent's voice was like velvet. “You awake?”

I didn't answer. Instead, I kept my eyes closed and made a small sleepy snuffling sound.

He gave a sigh that at that point I couldn't interpret since I had never been in this circumstance before. Now, having heard that sigh many times, I know just what it means. If I'd known then what it meant, I probably would have found the strength and the sobriety to leap of the bed and tackle him to the floor. (Translation: I want to fuck you silly and you're just being difficult.)

He fussed around a few more minutes then put out the light and called it a night. I stayed awake for a good long time trying to get the image of him out of my head and trying to calm my anatomy down. I decided, while I lay there, that I needed to continue with my plans for Bettina. The moisturizer would be here in a week or so, and with Bettina smelling like the flower she was, I could enjoy all the fun that my body was demanding.

Vincent, evil, perfect, Turk that he was, slept the sleep, not of the just, but of those who have set their plans and no amount of wiggling or denial would save their prey.

The next morning I leapt out of bed, regretted it, and pulled myself together enough to go off to visit Bettina. We had a pleasant repast, then, in a fit of nostalgia, and in a panic to avoid a naked Turk who'd been sleeping in late, I went down to the Tewit breeding grounds and visited with my avian friends. They didn't recognize me, but since they a) were not naked, and b) did not want me to sling mud and drink beer, I had a fine time catching up with them. We parted ways at lunch time, and I scampered, rather quickly too when I spotted a pair of overly large lizards loping over the horizon, back to the village. I waved hello to my newly bonded digger buddies as I passed the mud pits, and ambled into my boney home.

I immediately wanted to run back out. Instead, my stupid body decided that that was the time to stage a rebellion and stand frozen to the spot.

Vincent, being the creative person he was, had come up with a new fun game to while away the hours spent in Bone Village. Tormenting me. He was doing a wonderful job too. I only wondered where he found the popsicles. You know, the long ones with bright colors…Rocket Pops?

He was lazing in a chair half naked in the continuing heat of the skull, with his shirt off, his skin glowing and moist with sweat, and his bare feet propped on the table. He held a book in one hand and the popsicle in the other, giving it a blow job. At least that's what it looked like to me as I stood petrified in the door as the long, round icy treat slid through the tight “O” of his lips into his mouth then slipped back out. Back and forth, sometimes with a parting lick on the end as he caught a droplet of the melting treat. He was so absorbed in the ecstasy of sugary water that he didn't even glance over in my direction as all the blood in my body made a rush to more southerly locations.

After pleasuring his pop for awhile, he turned to acknowledge my existence with lazy, heavily hooded eyes. “Would you like one?”

Yes! My body screamed. My mouth however mumbled, “No thank you.”

He nodded and the popsicle slid back through his lips as he turned his attention back to his book. I stumbled to my bed and hid behind the curtain. The curtain and I were becoming fast friends. It didn't stop the soft slurping sounds or the pleased hum he made as he lapped at his treat.

To be honest, I would have stayed there for the rest of the day, torn between my need to go out and suck on Vincent's popsicle, and the certain knowledge that he didn't mean it that way, that there was no way on the Planet that he could want me.

Before you get all misty eyed and shaking your head saying poor Hojo, he needs to get a bit of self confidence, I want to point out one very, very important fact. You don't mess with Turks.

Ever.

Period.

If this had been any other, normal, non-weapon wielding person, I would have ventured out from behind my curtain and at the very least eyed the situation over. The consequences would, at worst, have been a bit humiliating, but I would have survived. Vincent was a Turk. He was the leader of the Turks, which is a position you do not get by being a nice person. You get it by being the most dangerous son of a bitch in the organization. Stepping even a tiny bit out of the expected behavioral norms of scientist to Turk could very well mean my ending up painfully dead, fed to the vlakorados (maybe he'd skip the dead part and just move right on to the feeing part), and my mother would get a brief, terse note that her son disappeared while on a mission to Bone Village.

You don't believe me? Just what do you think Shinra did when Vincent suddenly turned up missing?

I was not wallowing in self-depreciation. I was caught tight in the knowledge that scientists, nerdy, homely scientists, were far more likely to end up vanishing than to end up with their lips on a Turk's popsicle.

Call me silly. I have a well developed survival instinct.

My communion with the curtain came to an end when a knock sounded at the door. Vincent, popsicle probably still in hand, answered the door, and I heard Dmitri's delicate voice.

“I'm so sorry to disturb you.” Dmitri nearly whispered. “I just thought you'd like to know that…”

Vincent made a small sound, “Wait, I'll be over in just a moment.”

And he was gone. He only took enough time to dress and shrug into his jacket and he was out the door.

I sat quivering, cursing Dmitri, and idly wondering if I would ever be able to face a popsicle again. I really had never paid that much attention to Dmitri before. I knew he was from the Icicle area and had moved to Bone Village a few years before I arrived. He was quiet, preferred to stay either in Davies office cataloging the archaeological finds or in his own place where he cleaned each delicate piece of history that was brought to him. Even though he was well read, his nervous mannerisms such as twitching as he talked and biting his finger tips, made my nerves shriek if I spent too much time in his presence. However, he could come to the door and claim Vincent's time with nothing more than a few breathless words.

I would hate him, but I had no grounds. Vincent wasn't mine. He just liked to do strip teases by the fire for my viewing pleasure and give blow jobs to popsicles at my table while dressed in no more than a well fitting pair of blue pants.

I should have checked myself into a mental institution. I was obviously oblivious to reality.

I ventured out from behind my curtain once my breathing slowed back to normal and ambled around my skull. Vincent hadn't brought the sample back, probably worried that it would overheat, so I didn't have much to do. I searched, and after a half hour found, my music player. He'd tucked it on the bookshelf.

I watched a movie of brave pioneers who with no more than the clothes on their backs and a few sturdy, loyal chocobos conquered the hinterlands of the western continent. After a chococo pulled one brave, albeit dim witted lad out of quicksand and then ran with him as the natives tried to earn a meal of chocobo stew, I tossed the viewer down and sulked around. At dinner time, I poked around the cabinets and came up with a meal of chocobo ramen in honor of the movie, and proceeded to feel sorry for myself. Bettina was still odoriferous, Vincent was out getting laid, all I had was a second rate movie, some cheap ramen, and a group of sweaty archaeologists. It didn't help that when I went to get some ice for a glass of water, I found the rest of the box of Rocket Pops.

In desperation, I shrugged into more substantial clothing and went off to visit my new buddies. They greeted me with many a drunken, slurred cry, and I took a big gulp of fortifying air and waded into their midst. I listened to tales of dirt, more dirt, and the occasional chewed, shattered remnant of bone. As I drank down more and more beer, the tales became more and more interesting. By midnight, or there about, I was laughing hysterically with one of my good friend's arms around my shoulders as another regaled us with a fascinating tale of finding the finger bone of some prehistoric beastie, when Vincent prowled in to glare at the lot of us.

He waded through the still laughing diggers and caught me away from my friends by the scruff of my neck. “You. Go home.”

I gave him a wobbly smile. “Don' wanna.” I waved a beer at him as I dangled from his hand. “ `ave a drink?”

If I wasn't so sloshed, I might have noted that he was more rigid than usual and was snarling silently at my drinking buddies, who were sidling away from him rapidly. My Turk was, unknown to me, beyond angry and I was hauled out of the bar and dragged, sometimes not so figuratively, down the street. I waved goodbye to my friends, calling a few slurred promises that we'd see each other tomorrow.

Vincent tossed me into our overly cozy home with little ado. “Go take a cold shower.”

I didn't want to confess I didn't know where the shower was at that point, so I just sat on the floor blinking at him and grinning stupidly. He was sort of a fuzzy blur of blue that kept wavering like a candle flame. It was quite intriguing. I would have been more than happy to spend the rest of the evening watching him flicker around like that. He had other ideas though.

“Planet, you're drunk.” He hauled me up and pulled me to the bathroom.

I thought this was hilarious and giggled the entire way there. When he shoved me under ice cold water, I didn't find that quite so funny, and pouted at him. He let me go, I didn't even know he was holding me up, and let me fall into a heap on the tiled floor of the bathroom. He looked down at me from slitted, angry eyes, then turned and left me alone to drown or sober up by myself.

Now some die-hard, foolish romantics might think that Vincent was acting in a fit of jealousy. Or, worse, that once I sobered up, I staggered out of the bathroom to have delicious sex with my adorably irritated Turk to make up for all the problems I gave him, after which we declared our unknown till now feelings of love.

I always like those stories, but they rarely come true. Truth is that once I got sober enough to stand up and find the door by myself, I was a dripping, shivering mess, whose mouth tasted like the floor of a brewery, and I had to face a furious Vincent who had to walk, at midnight, through freezing weather to drag my intoxicated carcass home. These are not the makings of an even tolerable night, let alone the prelude to a night of passion and love. Besides, once I stepped out of the bathroom, I had to rush back in to throw up. Hardly a sexually appealing move. If you must know, I nearly died of humiliation the next day, after I crawled out of bed, threw up again, and tried to kill myself by drowning in the toilet.

“What were you thinking?” Vincent's voice snarled at me as I wobbled my way out of the bathroom for a second time.

I am embarrassed to say it took me awhile to locate him. He was sitting next to the fireplace flipping angrily through his book. He'd turned off the heater and had built up the fire, so the room was nearly at normal temperature. Snow was tapping in large flakes against the windows, showing up briefly against the blackness, then fading off as it slid down.

He didn't even look up at me as I stood swaying and dripping water by the bathroom door. “Drink that.” He pointed to a murky glass of water on the kitchen shelf, “and go to bed.”

His voice wasn't the most warm and comforting voice I had ever heard. Actually, if I had been more sober I might have stepped outside to warm up. Instead, I sloshed my way over to the glass on the counter, picked it up (after a few tries) and gulped down the contents. It was relatively disgusting, but considering what my mouth tasted like at the moment, I couldn't complain. I glanced over to where he was still vindictively reading (Yes, he can vindictively read. I have never yet seen any other person who can make the simple act of looking at and turning a page a menacing activity).

I found my bed -eventually- and collapsed in a soggy heap on top of my covers, another brilliant day done. I just prayed to whatever deity that was listening in to plastered scientists that my equipment would arrive tomorrow. I didn't think I could survive another day of my involuntary vacation. I was actually thinking fuzzily that I could sit and do paperwork tomorrow and what a relief that would be.

I got my wish, as the next day dawned horrifically bright and it was snowing heavily. Vincent was once again gone, probably over to Dmitri's bed, and I was left with the comfort of my long ignored paperwork and my overactive heater that Vincent had kindly turned back on. I made myself a pot of good Wutain tea and settled down at my table to plunge into the ever exciting word of writer's cramp.

You, children of the computer age, don't know the wide eyed wonder that we experienced when the first computers were installed in the science department. We stood around the technician, an old foul smelling man that smoked more than Mr. Highwind, like acolytes around a sacred alter. When our computer was finally left in our care, you couldn't imagine the tentatively awe-struck fingers that reached out to stroke it as visions of computerized paperwork filled our minds. We then turned into a pack of snarling wolves to be allowed to use it first and postured territorially over any infringement on our time with our new god.

By noon time, I wrenched myself away from the tedium of it all, and went to see Bettina. I, to win a few points in the game of winning the female heart, brought over a tin of candies from a Midgar confectioner.

“Hey there,” she shooed me in out of the snow that was blowing in the door. “I hear you're the newest and bestest friend of a few of the boys.”

I shrugged, “I got a new hobby.”

“I never thought I'd hear you say that.” She took the candy box as I offered it to her. “You always avoided the boys before.”

“I wanted to expand my horizons.” I sat down and almost instantly had a bowl of thick beef stew placed before me. “How have you been? I haven't seen you for a few days.”

She laughed. “Fine, fine. Davies came over the other day. Can you guess what he got me?” Her smile was wide and excited.

I shook my head.

“Here, sniff.” She held out one arm.

I tentatively gave her wrist a small sniff. She smelled beautiful, like flowers.

Her smile grew dreamy. “He said you ordered some for yourself and decided to place an order for me too. He's so sweet.”

Vincent strikes again. I didn't know that then, but that's what happened. He went down to Davies' office and sneaky, observant, overly intelligent Turk that he was, gave Davies the key to his long time crush's heart -not to mention the solution to her herring problem.

I say again, don't trust a bouncingly happy Vincent.

As I grimly smiled my way through my meal, I was regaled by the wonder that was Davies. Bettina, I suppose, was even in more desperate straits than I was, considering that she'd been celibate much, much longer than I. I can't blame her for pouncing the instant Davies, after a careful sniff, showed interest.

When I was released by the one person Davies fan club, I morosely went back to my overheated skull and threw myself at my paperwork. I signed and noted and initialed till my fingers went numb. During my paper marathon, I suddenly had an epiphany. I could call Gast and explain to him that with the lack of equipment, I needed to come back to Midgar to study the sample at the main laboratory. I could be back in Midgar and my little apartment, a whole city of companions, and I wouldn't have to deal with malfunctioning heaters, male bonding rituals, or naked Turks.

The last was wishful thinking. Vincent once set on a goal, doesn't give up easily. He'd have found some reason to lounge around my apartment with little to no clothes on and since we worked in the same building, there was a good chance that he'd have shown up in my office doing suggestive things to a Rocket Pop.

And people call me merciless.

I scurried off to find my phone and with a nearly hysterical bubble of merriment, dialed Gast's office.

“Gast speaking.”

I grinned like a maniac, “Professor Gast, this is Hojo.”

“Hojo…” He paused, obviously trying to figure out who I was. Honestly, the man thought so little of people that he couldn't be counted on to remember their names. “Ah…my boy, how are you?”

“Oh, fine, fine.” I started pacing around. “I was just calling to say that I really need equipment to analyze the sample. I ordered it, but I haven't received anything yet.”

He hummed disinterestedly absently at me, but such was my desperation, that I continued.

“I would like to return to Midgar with the sample we have and begin testing. I think this could be a breakthrough in gene research.” Actually, I didn't, but it turned out to be so. “A new gene!”

I have regretted saying that for years now. Someplace in Gast's brain he twisted that innocent phrase around by turning new into nova and gene into jen then combining them into…Jenova.

Have I mentioned I hated the man? Trust me, if I was going to sadistically trap someone in my lab and do horrible, unspeakable things to them just for the joy of it, I would have chosen him. That of course would have necessitated me having to spend extensive periods of time in his presence, which of course makes me having him machine gunned to death the preferable alternative.

“Yes, that does sound exciting.” His voice was bored. “However, that is why we sent you there, so that you could be right on top of things.”

What I was supposed to be right on top of, except dirt and snow, I, to this day, don't know.

“But, I need…” I felt my hopes disintegrating.

“Don't worry, my boy” He laughed jovially through the phone, “I'll have that equipment sent right up to you. I can't let my best and brightest perish for want of supplies!”

That was a kiss off, if you couldn't tell.

My small, pathetic hopes in ruins, I mumbled a few polite responses, and hung up. I dragged myself back to the never ending pile of reports and forms. My fingers rebelled a few times and I had to go run them under warm water, but sometime between eternity and forever, I finally initialed the last form and collapsed face down on the table. My head ached, my back ached, my fingers felt like they were crippled for life, and my stomach was snarling complaints. Lovely what paperwork, disappointment, excessive drinking, and stress can do for one.

I sprawled on the table a few more minutes then got to my feet, went had a shower, and after considering making myself another tasty meal of ramen, I went to bed. I remember waking up to toss off my blankets then waking up to pull them back on again. I had strange dreams of becoming frozen into the permafrost and sweaty diggers would use me to lean their shovels against.

Morning was a relief when it came. Vincent was still missing, but the sample, which unknown to me at the time was now named Jenova, was placidly oozing about in its pickle jar on my table. I lay in bed trying to find one even halfway decent reason to haul myself fully into the waking world. My choices were hardly appealing: play with the sample, which I had already done; go visit Bettina and hear more about Davies sexual prowess; sit and watch a movie, which I could just as well do in bed; or go sling more mud and drink more beer. I chose to pull the covers over my head and go back to sleep.

It lasted all of five more minutes till a loud knock at the door dragged me back into the waking world. Cursing Vincent for not being there to deal with this, I stumbled my way to the door, moaning at my aching shoulders and back.

“Hey, Hojo, we found some more of that ooze.” One of my digger buddies greeted me. “You should come. We're trying to catch it now.”

I mumbled a few half coherent words and nodded. He sauntered off towards the fields of muddy holes the diggers liked to fancy excavation pits and I staggered around getting dressed. On the way out the door, I grabbed a package of uncooked ramen and chewed on that as I trotted over to the field with the pickle jar containing the sample under one arm. A few of the villagers were standing around shouting encouragement to the people in the pits as I approached. The diggers were all scurrying around swinging their shovels.

“Over here!”

“No. I've got it.”

“Damn.”

“Here!”

They all scampered as a small dark blob zipped quickly through their legs.

“It's a fast one.”

“Got it!”

“There!”

“Watch out, it's coming your way.”

It took awhile but finally one man managed to slam his shovel down on it and stun it long enough to drop it into the pickle jar I helpfully held out. I never told Gast about that little scene. For some reason the fact that his beloved Jenova had to be chased around by sweaty archaeologists in a mud pit and smacked with a shovel just never managed to get added to conversations.

Everyone cheered and I was hauled down into the pits of mud to look at where they found the newest bit of the sample. It looked like any other piece of mud to me, and since I didn't have any equipment, not even a tiny Petri dish, I could only nod knowingly and say how wonderful it was that they'd found it. This of course was the beginning of another spectacular day slinging mud, which of course was just the prelude to more drinking, which led to me stumbling home frozen, covered in muddy slime, and literally stinking drunk.

I didn't even bother with the shower. I just fell into a chair, put my head on the table and passed out.

I woke up to the wonderful sight of Vincent glaring bloody death at me. I had, in my inebriated stupor, done the unforgivable. I got the floor, the chair, and the table dirty, not to mention I was a reeking mess. I felt horrid, I felt like I had been taken out and beaten with a shovel, my stomach felt like the sample was oozing around in it, my head was pounding, and my throat felt raw. I could only guess by Vincent's loving gaze that if my stomach did rebel, he was probably going to shoot me and bury my body under a dung hill.

“Where is the sample?” His dulcet tones ripped holes in my head.

“Sample?” I croaked.

He just gave me a warm, adoring look that made me want to run back to Midgar. “The sample.”

Honestly, at that moment I didn't have a clue what he was talking about and it showed on my face. He snarled a few encouraging comments and stormed out of the skull. I dragged my aching self out of my chair and staggered off to clean up, vaguely wondering what sample he was so upset about.

He came back in less than a half hour. I was bundled up in layers of warm clothes and was scrubbing up the mess I had made the night before when he came back in with the pickle jar. I still felt awful and, for some reason, now the heater wasn't putting out enough heat, but since I had aspirations of living till at least noon time, I was down on my knees cleaning.

He set the sample on the table, gave me a warning glare, huffed a sigh at me (Translation: leave me alone now or die), and went over to his cot to do some intensive brooding. Relieved that I wasn't going to be the target in some ad hoc firearms practice, I finished my chore and retreated to my own cot and my trusty curtain.

I dozed off to the sight of him pulling out his cell phone and talking to some unfortunate on the line. His irritated snarling followed me down into my dreams. I woke up shivering to see him crouched in front of the heater inspecting the controls. When he noticed me peering around the curtain at him, he scowled at me then turned to look dolefully down at the heater.

“It's dead.” He looked as if his best friend had just been hit by a car while holding on to his beloved pet and now both were road kill.

He's a great actor because, unknown to me, he killed it. I sometimes wonder if, after fulfilling an assignment, he ever stood over the corpse and looked despondently down at it pronouncing it dead. He does have an odd sense of humor, so I could see this happening.

I dragged my aching, shivering self out of bed and over to stand in mourning over the heater. “Lovely.”

My voice had the sweet, soothing tone of an underlizard in mating season.

“Catch a cold?” He almost seemed amused, which for Vincent in stoic mode means the perma-scowl was slightly less intense than usual.

“The drinking is catching up to me.” I choked back.

I hate drinking. The whole idea of cloning Sephiroth in the attempt to see if I could get one right -as in not psychotically butchering villages- was conceived while I was drinking. -I will have to privately admit that Cloud, who I term a failure, was actually the only success of that mindless idea of mine. Take note that he is, when not trying to kill me, everything that a father would be proud of. And I am proud of him. But don't tell him I said that, he's delicate and needs to hang on to the belief that he's the original Cloud Strife.- The notion of making a digital duplicate of myself was an idea I found at the bottom of a bottle of rum while on the beach of Costa del Sol. -I should say, since I am in the mood to explain these things, that I blame a programming error for the whole Deepground incident. I never did get the hang of those things much past word processing, so I had a so-called expert do it for me. What a mistake that was. Who was to know that all he copied was the worst and most broken parts of my psyche? If it helps, there was some poetic justice to the whole affair. He was one of the first people to disappear in Junon. I only hope that Weis got to snicker at him a bit before he got tossed in for demon chow.- The depressed and suicidal act of injecting Jenova cells into myself was also the result of an all night binge of vodka and tequila. Why do I keep doing it? It's one of the mysteries of being a man, I suppose.

I could childishly blame Vincent for those brilliant moments since he used to be the one to talk me out of my crazy alcoholically induced thoughts, but in reality, it is her. After what she did, instead of silly little schemes, like how to make my barbeque briquettes light faster (1), my thoughts turned dark and I had much less control over them. They seemed to devour my life, dragging me down into some pit in my mind where I couldn't always get back from.

He turned back to the dead heater. “We should get another.”

“Back ordered.” I pleasantly croaked at him, as visions of him turning blue while sucking on his Rocket Pop danced behind my eyes. Vengeance, sweet vengeance.

“Hmmm.” He turned and caught up his jacket. “I'll talk to Davies. Perhaps we could borrow one.”

I nodded and figured he'd talk to Davies then disappear into the warmth of Dmitri's home and, more likely, bed. I went over to brew myself a pot of tea and check the firewood situation over. We seemed to have enough for a few days, but I made a note to make my own trek over to Davies and get some more delivered.

I glanced out the windows and noticed that the sky was darkening and the snowflakes that had been lazily drifting around the village were starting to seem a bit more purposeful. I looked worriedly at my woodpile then checked our food supplies, and despite the agonized cries of my abused self, bundled into my outdoors gear and headed out to the store. I've lived through many a week trapped inside my skull with dwindling firewood and food and no way short of risking dying in Bone Village's temperate climes to get more.

I met Vincent as he trudged back. He arched an inquisitive eyebrow at my miserable self.

“Firewood and food,” I warbled with all the beauty of a vlakorados clearing its throat.

“Ordered them when I talked to Davies.” Vincent eyed me carefully as if expecting me to do something interesting, like die in the middle of the street. “It'll be delivered in a half hour.”

I should have known he'd have noticed things like that, but I was still dealing with the fact that Vincent was both observant and intelligent. It was a hard transition since he didn't talk much to display what was going through his mind. I also had over a year of conditioning by less than brilliant Turks to overcome.

When I didn't fall over dead, he shrugged his coat closer and went back to the skull. I blinked after him a moment, half surprised that he didn't go over to Dmitri's, then followed. There was no point standing out in the middle of a snow storm. Besides, visibility was starting to get limited, so I hurried back in as fast as my aching body would allow.

He was already sitting by the fire reading when I stepped inside and took off my recently donned outerwear. I found my book on astronomy and settled down at the table with a pot of tea and a large glass of soda bicarb to counter the festivities of the night before.

Another exciting day loomed ahead, and I didn't even have the exquisite joy of paperwork to tide me over, just tea and stars. The temperature of the skull was chilly. The snow swished softly against the windows and the fire crackled pleasantly.

In all, it could have been worse. It could have been hot and Vincent could have been doing a strip tease with a Rocket Pop. I mentally slapped myself when my bored brain decided to provide visuals of that event. I glanced over at Vincent, who seemed half asleep, and then quickly looked back down at my book fighting back a physical reaction.

The food and firewood arrived and that provided a small amount of distraction. After, I decided to play with the sample. I had a few emotions I wanted to try out, mainly out of boredom. I decided to try out the wonderful emotion of sexual arousal, since I seemed to have an unfortunate excess of that floating around my system. It also entertained me to think of writing THAT report for Gast. The sample actually started forming small spikes when exposed to my libido and I wondered what would happen if I handed it over to Vincent. I figured it would probably fall asleep. How wrong I was…

By lunch time, the temperature had dropped enough that I set the sample down, picked up my book again and went to perch on the other side of the fireplace from Vincent. He barely glanced at me and returned to his reading.

Add to the things one should know about Vincent: he is patient. He can calmly, quietly wait for an eternity for things to fall into place. Even though I didn't know it, I was doing exactly what he wanted me to do and he was more than pleased that through the afternoon I was shifting closer and closer to the fire. He didn't even seem aware of my steady migration towards warmth. He just calmly flipped pages, read, and occasionally would get up to put more wood on the fire. He even got up and cooked dinner with no more than a brief look at me as if checking to see if I was hungry.

Dinner disposed of, we settled again to our reading. The wind has picked up and now there was nothing short of a blizzard outside. I unconsciously snuggled even closer to the fire, nearly sitting on top of the grating.

“Cold?” Vincent arched an inquisitive eyebrow at me.

“I'm fine.” I got to my feet and went to dig out a heavy woolen sweater out of my things.

Vincent was back in the world of his book when I returned and settled back in my place. I shivered, despite my sweater, and wondered if I should get more wood. I also noted, joy on top of happiness, that my throat was starting to feel even worse, and my nose was beginning to run.

Just what I needed.

I wrestled the knowledge that I was sick out of my head, childishly thinking if I didn't acknowledge it , it wouldn't be true. I sniffled quietly, telling myself that it was just the ash from the fire tickling my nose. I passed the sore throat off as nothing more than a byproduct of my drinking binge and swore off drinking for a month. When my stomach gwirbled at me, I blamed Vincent's peanut butter and banana sandwiches, and swore off them for a month. Aching shoulders, blurry vision, growing headache, and a few sneezes all were pushed firmly into the murky depths of denial. Until someone spoiled it all for me.

“You have a cold.” Vincent was looking at me like I had just rewrote the Turk regulations and instituted a policy of their having to wear pink tutus to staff meetings.

“No, I don't.” I wheezed through a sore throat and stuffy nasal passages, while trying to convince myself I had wood ash allergies. Funny how I had never had them before, but that's the way things go sometimes. “'s all'gies.”

Vincent sighed (Translation: bonehead). “Go to bed before you infect me.”

“I'm not sick.” I coughed. Damn those allergies.

Another sigh. (Translation: Would anyone miss you if I killed you?)

“My mother would.” I muttered. “She checks up on me every week.”

He frowned at me. He has never liked it when I translate his sighs.

“Go take a shower.” He scooted away from me.

That sounded like a good idea. It would definitely clear away any lingering allergens and I would also warm up. I got to my feet, ignored that my head felt like it was going to burst, and tottered off to the shower and steamy goodness. I was in heaven, but since all good things have to end, I came back out and promptly collapsed on my bed in a soggy, towel wrapped mess, my symptoms worse than before.

Vincent appeared at the edge of my faithful curtain with a steaming mug in his hands. “Drink.”

It was some kind of herbal concoction that tasted like mowed grass, seaweed, and bug killer. If Vincent hadn't been standing over me idly playing with the hilt of his gun, I would have quickly wobbled over and poured it down the drain to clear the pipes of any lingering tree roots. As it was, I choked the stuff down and tried hard not to let it come back up.

Vincent, now done intimidating me into drinking the stuff, sat down next to me. “Turn around.”

“Huh?” I wondered what other torture he was about to inflict.

“Your hair's wet.” He motioned for me to turn and scooped up the towel. “You'll get sicker.”

The towel…the one I had come out of the bathroom with around my waist… that towel… Oh… Good thing I had a cold… everyone knew people with colds were prone to be flushed…

He never even noticed -well, actually he did and took a lot of pleasure noticing, but I didn't realize that then. He just motioned for me to turn around again, which I did since it presented him with a slightly less interesting prospect - Much later I was told I had an adorable back end and he enjoyed the view. He then gently started drying my hair.

Few people recognize the innate sensuality of letting someone dry your hair. To do this, the other person has to sit very close to you, close enough that you can feel the heat of their body, yet far enough away that that heat is only a taunt. The other person is also touching a very vulnerable part of your body. Consider, most people when in danger, throw their arms up to protect their heads. Only if their head is in no danger will they protect other areas of their body. Letting someone who is sitting so tantalizingly close behind you take such liberties is both exciting and relaxing. The smooth firm stroke of Vincent's hands, the soft rough texture of the towel, the brush of his arms against my shoulders, if he had planned it -which he had while I was showering- it couldn't have worked better.

Too bad I was sick. The virus, combined with my new routine of drunken stupidity, and the ups and downs of the heating situation all combined with his ministrations. I fell asleep sitting in the circle of his arms, my head resting against his shoulder.

Romantics would probably like me to say here that I woke up in his arms and we made love in the morning light. That didn't happen. I know, you keep hoping, but face it, things just don't happen like that. A cold is a cold and believe me, you don't wake up with amorous thoughts in your head. You wake up wishing that you could breathe and wondering if small evil elves sand blasted your throat while you were asleep.

Vincent was gone, probably to less germ infested climes, and I and the sample were on our own. I crawled my way out of bed, stumbled over to the kitchen to find that he'd left me some more herb tea and a threat dire enough that I gulped the stuff down quickly while glancing around wondering if he was spying on me from some hidden vantage point. He was also kind enough to leave my little music/video player on the counter next to a plate of toast and a glass of juice.

I spent the rest of the day in bed watching a movie about a heroic team of heroes that searched the Western Continent's desert for their lost friend who had been viciously kidnapped by a man with a facial twitch and a habit of laughing at inappropriate moments. By the end of the movie, I was half cheering for the bad guy, hoping he would triumph and do away with the idiots and their heartfelt, platitude filled speeches about how their friendship and love would win the day. I was actually disappointed when those moronic speeches proved true.

I took a nap, woke to find that a dish of scrambled eggs and toast was now sitting on a small table next to my bed being kept warm under a cover. Another cup of that oh-so-special tea was sitting next to it, with another cheery threat. I didn't even bother reading what he'd do to me if I didn't drink the concoction. I just gulped it down and then, once my stomach settled, ate my meal.

I won't bore you with the details of the rest of my days of illness. They weren't all that spectacular. I drank that fowl stuff every eight hours. Vincent left me meals and kept as far away as he could without totally abandoning me. I used up my small store of movies and had to watch reruns. I read my books, fiddled with paperwork, poked at the sample, called the office and was told the sample was now called Jenova, cursed my boss, updated my résumé, and idly planned how to grow my own herb garden on the patio of my apartment in Midgar when I returned. In all, I was nearly crazed with the need to escape when Vincent finally appeared, looked me over and pronounced that he wouldn't shoot me if I stepped outside of the skull.

I took that as a sign of freedom and bundled into my things and escaped into Bone Village. It was beautiful. The snowstorm had dropped about three feet of snow on everything and it still had a pristine, festive look to it. The mud pits had finally frozen over and the diggers were now putting their skills to use by digging out the streets and walkways, creating mountains of snow. Davies and Bettina waved to me as they dragged a sled off to a local hill where the kids could already be heard shrieking in glee. I would have joined in, but my personal cloud of doom chose that moment to slither by and give me a warning look.

No sledding.

I didn't let it slow me down for long. I went over to the store and chatted with a few temporarily out of work archaeologists. We had a fine time and in the continued spirit of male bonding, they invited me over to the bar. Seeing that I had been sick, I forwent the alcohol and while my buddies got plastered, I drank hot cider, which was a good thing since my gloomy self-appointed guardian angel came over and inspected my drink then bent over and whispered a few sweet nothings in my ear about what he would do to me if he caught even a small whiff of alcohol on my breath.

No drinking.

After watching my friends descend into the realms of inebriated idiocy. I went home and found Vincent back in his place by the fire and the whole skull freshly cleaned. He barely looked up at me as I came in, just nodding and returning to his book. I cheerfully went over and pestered Jenova with happy thoughts for a while, then called the office to see when my equipment would arrive -between next fall and never.

“If you aren't doing anything tomorrow,” Vincent looked over the top of his book at me. “We are going to the City of the Ancients.” He looked down again. “You might be useful.”

Oh so casual. I might be useful... We are going…

And I fell for it.

“Okay.” I had always wanted to see where the ancients had lived. I had a small fascination for them ever since I was a boy. “What time.”

He didn't even bother looking up. “Early.”

I nodded and returned to my puttering. When I realized there was nothing left to putter at, I grabbed up my coat and headed outside.

“Where are you going?” Vincent's voice could have stopped a rampaging Materia Keeper. “It's dark.”

I had been planning on going over to see Davies, but I suddenly had a change of plans. I took off my coat. “Nowhere.”

He was glaring at me over the top of his book. “Go to bed. We're leaving early.”

Oh the choices. Stay up and experience great bodily injury or go to bed and visit the City of the Ancients. I went to bed.

When Vincent means early, he means early. I was hauled out of bed in the wee hours of the morning, bundled into my heaviest clothing, and nearly smothered by a thick scarf and hat. He shrugged into his jacket and grabbed his Lunar Harp. We slipped, literally since there was now a slick patch of ice on the step, out the door and stood looking around for a few minutes.

“Let's not wait.” Vincent headed off towards the cavern that lead to the Sleeping Forest. “It's warmer in the forest and it's not dangerous.”

Not dangerous as long as you have a Lunar Harp. I've heard some rather ghastly stories about that place. Yes, yes those lost clones made it their base, Vincent loves to prowl around it, and the failure waltzes through it now and again to pay his respects to the Ancient, but they aren't exactly normal are they? Speaking as a normal, or close to normal, person, that forest is a nightmare without the harp. It was created by the Ancients to guard their city from intruders, namely Jenova. The trees are sentient and their roots, branches, and leaves are all deadly. To make it even more special, those damn plants can cast high level spells like petrify, ice, aqualung, and bolt. Death by tree has never been high on my to-do list.

We entered the forest and loitered around under the glowing trees listening to them hum to themselves. Where it had been winter where we had just been, it was now only cool and slightly spring-like. Vincent and I disposed of our layers of clothes. Vincent merely dropped his at the entrance to the cavern, so I took that as an indication that the weather up ahead was probably going to be mild. I couldn't imagine my delicate, heat addicted, city boy abandoning his one means of staying warm if there was any chance that the weather would turn nippy.

Vincent leaned against one trunk strumming the harp and drifting off into quiet thoughts. I inspected the trees and pondered asking Vincent to bring me back after the equipment arrived. At that moment, I felt the trees were far more interesting than Jenova.

To this day, I still think the trees would have been a more fruitful avenue of study. Yes, Jenova did turn out to have quite a few interesting applications, and when combined with mako, the results were rather spectacular. However, early in the research, I realized that Jenova had quite a few drawbacks as far as side effects were concerned. Gast brushed them aside as trivial and ordered the research to continue. As time went on, and my sanity became shakier, I started agreeing more and more with Gast's viewpoint. I also noted that my proximity to Jenova also seemed to influence my outlook on Jenova's viability for scientific research.

That always worried me. Again I say, I am happier on another continent.

The loitering continued for awhile. Vincent's harp playing improved a bit. I got whapped by a tree when I tried to break off a twig. The trees twinkled and whispered amongst themselves. I vaguely started wondering if I should head back into the village and grab some food. Breakfast had been rather sparse, which if you consider my dietary habits is really saying something.

We waited a bit longer then Vincent straightened up and gave the cavern a sigh (Translation: I've waited long enough.) and started through the forest.

“Keep up, or the trees will get you.” He called encouragingly over his shoulder.

I scampered after him rubbernecking around like a hick from Gongaga visiting Midgar for the first time. We wove through the trees and came on an area that seemed more barren, the trees laying in broken pieces on the ground. Vincent stopped and motioned me to be still.

“There are monsters here.” He nodded to where a couple of shimmers slipped through the blasted forest.

They slipped through the broken trunks of the trees looking a lot like huge oversized seahorses. They seemed to just drift aimlessly around. Every once in a while they dipped down to the ground where I could see something else moving.

“Just wait.” Vincent was watching them carefully. “When they go over there,” he nodded towards a rocky outcrop, “we'll run. Just follow me and keep close.”

I tensed and waited for Vincent to move. The creatures took their time, but eventually, they drifted over to the rocks and started dipping their heads as if eating something that grew on the rocks. Vincent caught my hand and ran, zigzagging through the dead trees. In a few breathless moments, we were on the other side, standing on a path of what looked like crushed seashells leading down into a misty area.

I was about to head down when Vincent yanked me back.

“There's always a monster here.” He held out a spell.

I didn't recognize it, but since I was never very good at those things, I wasn't surprised. For some reason, magic just irritates the hell out of me. It's just completely illogical. I suppose that I got over it to some extent while raising Sephiroth. The boy leaked magic, which wasn't surprising either, if you think of the things his loving mother, and I'm not talking about Jenova, did to him. I was saddened and I felt I had failed my son when he went insane, but I wasn't shocked. In some ways I expected it. What was our entire time together except my desperate attempt to save him from her manipulations?

I never learn.

Vincent stepped forward and started towards the path. I saw a faint blur then Vincent tossing something.

Have you ever seen the third level bolt spell? I certainly hadn't. I got a rather nasty surprise as the area exploded in brilliant light and thunder, but I was not nearly as nasty as the monster. It didn't even have time to squeal before it became ash. Vincent barely bothered to acknowledge the kill, just turning away and walking down the path calmly. For all I could tell, he blasted small beasties into dust everyday just before lunch and was getting a bit bored by it all.

“It should be safe now, but stay close.” He nodded towards the misty area. “We'll wait for the others there.”

I blinked at where the ashes of the monster were still floating to the ground then at his receding back.

I repeat, don't mess with Turks.

The rest of the path was smooth and clear. When we got to the city, I stood and gaped at the giant seashells for a bit, then noticed the etchings on some of the walls, which led me to the interiors of the shells, that showed me the lighting system. I bounced around for a bit like a tyke on a sugar rush, nearly running from one interesting thing to the next. I had brought my notebook and a few small plastic baggies -bought from Davies' store since I hadn't received anything from Shinra yet- and put them to use collecting small scrapings from the shell houses and recording what images I could.

Vincent ambled around seemingly ignoring my existence. He would stroke his hands over the shells and kneel down to look at the dead gardens, sometimes running his fingers through the dirt as if testing it to see if it could still grow anything.

I have heard the failure and his dimwitted companions worrying about Vincent when he disappears. The little brat ninja even thinks that he returns to the mansion and his coffin. He wouldn't. He despises that place as much as I do. I've always known exactly where he is when he's not flamboyantly saving the world. He's there, in the Ancient's city. It's the place that he fits the best.

Oh, he loves Wutai, but there is always a barrier between him and that place. For him, it's a nice place to visit and unwind, but it isn't his home. The City of the Ancients is his home. As I watched him fingering the dead soil, I could almost hear the click as his jagged edges slipped into place in that city, like the last puzzle piece snapping into place in a complex pattern.

If you ever wondered, I only partially lied to Sephiroth. It wasn't his mother who was the Ancient.

Looking back at all that happened, I should never have left Vincent to sleep in Nibelhiem. I should have brought him to that city to recover from her perversions. It would have been better for him. Perhaps there, those demons would have left him in peace and he could have regained his strength. I can only claim that my own mind was in too many shambles to think clearly. By the time I realized my mistake, it was too late. He was conscious and would have killed me instantly if I dared to try to move him.

He looked up from the dirt and nodded towards the east. “There's a house over there that's quite interesting.”

I looked over and saw a large conch shell house with a lake in front of it and a bridge like path skirting the edge of the lake. My feet were already drifting me closer as I took in the details. It was larger than the other houses and in better condition. The bridge, which I was already stepping on, was also in good condition, with only a few broken rails and loose boards.

Vincent trailed closely after me running his fingers along the railing as he walked. When I glanced back to take in the expanse of the lake, he was almost dreamily looking over my head at the house in front of us. He lowered his gaze and blinked sleepily at me.

“Did you see the fish?” He gestured with a lethargic hand towards the water.

I, naïve innocent that I was, scampered over to the edge of the bridge to look leaning against the rail excitedly. I didn't see anything, and frowned down at the water.

“Try over there. The water's deeper.” He nodded towards an area that the railing had come away from.

Clueless, I scurried over to it and looked down into the water with Vincent trailing after me. The water was deeper here, and I peered eagerly in, searching for movement.

That's when Vincent, evil, ruthless, conniving Turk that he was -and is- made his move.

“Hojo! Get down!”

I didn't even have time to look around when I felt his hand shove me firmly forward into the lake. As I was submerged in the icy water, I heard a blast from another spell going off behind me. I floundered around wondering if I should do something, but seeing that all I had on me was a few plastic baggies and a now sodden notebook, I wasn't all that sure what I could do to help a trained Turk. I started worrying when the silence after the spell's detonation stretched out.

“Vincent?” I called softly as I swam closer to the bridge.

He appeared dusting monster dust off his clothing. “I don't see any more, but stay put for a moment.”

He disappeared again and I could hear his footsteps tapping softly on the bridge planks. That should have given me a clue. Vincent is absolutely silent if he feels the need for caution. Only when he's relaxed does he let himself let people know where he is. I didn't know that though, so I stayed quiet in the frigid water, clinging to a support piling of the bridge.

He ambled around a little -the jerk- then deigned to come back. “All clear.”

By this time I had turned blue. He casually reached down and hauled my numb body out of the water and back onto the bridge. There was a large burn spot on the bridge from where the spell had exploded, but no trace of the monster.

Not surprising since there was no monster in the first place. I remember when I learned about that. We were eating lunch at a café in Junon. He'd been sent there to deal with a string of break-in murders that was frightening the local populace. He'd tracked the loser down to an apartment in one of the nicer sections of the city and spent an hour or more -he'd never clarify that point- explaining why senselessly killing people for money and thrills was a bad idea. He used a short bladed knife to do the explaining and had called me afterwards to come visit him there, which meant he was stressed out, unhappy, and his nerves were in shreds. He hated wet work.

So there we were in a café when he casually mentioned that there had never been a monster on the bridge.

“No monster?” I frowned at him swallowing a bite my chocobo salad sandwich.

He shook his head. “No. I made it up.”

I took another bite of my lunch, thinking over those happy moments in the water. “You mean you left me there treading water while you strolled around letting me freeze.”

“Pretty much.” He had already devoured his lunch, a prime rib sandwich, and was now snitching potato chips from my plate and eyeing the other half of my sandwich. For such a thin person, he eats an extraordinary amount.

“Why?” I slapped his hand away as he made his move on my defenseless lunch.

He sulked at me, knowing that I wouldn't eat that half of my meal -my appetite was never a match to his- then waved for the waitress. “I wanted you out of those clothes, and letting you swim around for a bit seemed like the likeliest way to get that done.”

“You could have just asked!” I glared at him as he ordered more lunch.

Unrepentant wretch that he is, he just grinned. “But it was so fun to watch you squirm.” He settled back in his chair, smiling. “Besides, it worked didn't it?”

Jerk. Why do I have to be in love with him?

I stood shivering on the dock as he looked around, as if keeping an eye out for more unexpected attacks. The area seemed safe, but he didn't seem in the mood to take chances. He glanced over at me then started hurrying me towards the shell house we'd been heading for.

“Get inside.” He kept one hand on my lower back, pushing me forward.

Not wanting to meet anything that Vincent had to blow to ash (again), I stumbled quickly into the house. He briefly left me to scout the rest of the rooms. I stood shivering violently and dripping on the floor, not even interested in the light that gleamed next to me. I leaned against the wall trying to listen for anything sounding like Vincent using another spell. I couldn't feel my feet, my hands were tingly and clumsy, and I felt exhausted. And it wasn't even noon yet.

He came back and nodded. “It's safe.”

That depended on your interpretation of safe.

He looked me over then pulled me away from the wall. “There's a bed up ahead with blankets. You can get out of those wet things there.”

I barely had enough sense to chatter, “Clothes?”

He shrugged, “We'll have to wait till they're dry.”

I was hustled up the spiral of the shell past what looked to be a stairway leading down through the center of the house, and up to the very top. As he promised, there was a neatly made bed with a clean blanket. I grabbed for the blanket, only to have it pulled out of my reach.

“Wet clothes off.” Vincent tossed the blanket back to the bed.

I managed to wiggle out of my sweater, but the cotton turtle neck was beyond me since I had trouble feeling my fingers. I didn't even want to consider my pants. Vincent watched me struggle for a bit, then sighed at me. (Translation: You are such a burden.)

I shot him an irritated look.

“Here, let me help.” He reached out and grasped the hem of my turtleneck then pulled it over my head in one smooth move.

I swayed slightly and stumbled backwards as I came free. He reached forward and caught me by the shoulder, his hand deliciously warm against my skin. He steadied me a second then reached down for my pant's zipper. I blushed and tried to bat his hands away.

“Stay still, the cloth's wet.” He muttered, his hands back on my pants.

“I…I…I…” I stuttered.

His clever fingers worked the button free and slid down the zipper. “There, got it.”

My pants hit the floor with a sodden thump. I was going to sit on the bed, dressed in nothing by my wet, now see-through boxers, when he shook his head.

“It all comes off.”

“Wha…?” I barely had time to process that when my boxers followed my pants.

He pushed me to sit on the bed. I instantly grabbed the blanket and pulled it around me as he knelt down and pulled my shoes, socks, and the rest of my clothing free. He tossed them over to the side of the room and looked me over.

“Blue is not your color.” He sighed. (Translation: The things I do for you.) “Move over.”

I didn't move. My brain had shut down again from recalibration as he kicked off his shoes and nudged me to move further onto the bed.

“Hojo, you're recovering from a cold. I do not need you to catch pneumonia.” He scooted back on the bed and pulled me over to him.

It was completely unfair. There I was, with Vincent's body pressed against mine, and I was a shivering, blue wreck. Vincent leaned back, laying us both down on the bed. For a relic of the Ancient's it was amazingly comfortable, firm where it should be firm, soft and yielding where it should be soft and yielding, and it smelled like fresh herbs in the springtime dusk.

If Rufus really wants to put Shinra back together, he should travel up to the City of the Ancients and figure out those beds. He'd be back on top of the world in a matter of months as sleep deprived people learned of this wonder bed.

My sliding decent into relaxation was interrupted by Vincent.

“Hmm. This might work better if…” Nice of him to give a warning.

The blanket was yanked away, and was then wrapped around both of us. He pulled me closer, snuggling me against his body, my body draped over his, my cheek resting against his collar bone. He was heavenly, warm and smelling faintly of cedar smoke. I nuzzled closer and let my eyes drift shut imagining what it would be like to do this when he wasn't just trying to warm me up after being attacked by a monster and being shoved into a freezing cold lake. As I drifted closer to sleep, I could imagine what it would be like to have his hands caress along my back as my lips and tongue played along his throat. I wondered what sounds he would make, what it his skin would feel like beneath the palms of my hands, what I would feel like to him as we moved against each other.

My mind started trying to nudge me awake, insisting that I needed to get my thoughts out of sleepy, impossible dreams and pay attention to something. I told my mind to shut up, that I was enjoying myself, but it kept demanding wakefulness. I forced my eyes to open and realized why my mind was being such a bother. Unknown to my conscious mind, by lips had been doing just what I'd been thinking of and Vincent, instead of grabbing another spell and turning me into so much ash, was making a soft pleased hum in the back of his throat and gently stroking my back.

He's allowing…

I stopped what I was doing and looked up at him warily. He looked down at me, his eyes shadowed and revealing nothing, but his hands stroked lightly up my backbone.

“Yes?”

“I…uhhh…” I desperately tried to get my mouth to say something intelligent.

“Shhh… You think too much.” He rolled us both over and trapped me under him.

His clothes were dropped to the floor a few minutes later, and keeping me warm was not an issue for long.

People, mostly the same people who watch me with thinly veiled hatred in their eyes, sometimes ask if Vincent was a nice submissive. I, who perpetrated such torture on him, must, by definition, have been the dominant one in the relationship. I generally just walk away from them, or if I'm in one of my less sane moments, find something to keep them occupied. All they really want is hear how I sadistically humiliated Vincent, thereby fulfilling some sick, perverted fantasy they have of doing the same. The fact is that neither of us was consistently the submissive or the dominant one. I preferred being the submissive during sex, but Vincent also enjoyed it on occasion, and sick fantasies of our lives aside, I could never bare to deny him what he wanted.

It really all depended on our mood. Vincent liked to be on the receiving end when he was under stress. He liked feeling protected and cared for. I preferred being on the bottom, unless I'd had a really trying day at work -such as a long meeting with Gast about his latest insane project- then I'd want to be on top, enjoying the feeling of being able to do something good that day for at least one person.

In everyday interactions, Vincent was the one to set the pace, and I was more than pleased to let him. He was far more organized than me and didn't get lost in hazes of research or, much to my continuing embarrassment, after work drinks with my coworkers. He was conscientious, loving, and, when not mischievously pretending to be “moody Turk” -and yes, he did that deliberately- very caring.

I am not too proud to admit that without Vincent my life turned quickly into a black hole. I often would wake up in the morning without a clue as to what I had done the day before, so I would go to the office and check out the security footage from my lab. (Which should give you a hint about just how bad things got.) I would be shocked to see myself babbling crazed endearments to experiments, or perhaps performing a pointless experiment on some poor thing without remembering such small niceties like anesthetic or scientific protocol. When I checked my paper work, it would be half coherent and would sometimes inform me that I'd been wandering around like that for weeks.

It was sometime the next day before we managed to pull ourselves back through the cavern and return to Bone Village. Nobody really missed us. Jenova was still slithering around her jar. Bettina was lost in the wonder that was Davies. My digger buddies had found a skull of some kind and were all on a nonstop drinking spree to celebrate the find, and Dmitri barely nodded to Vincent as we bundled our way back into our cozy little skull, closed the door behind us and went tumbling onto the nearest bed to continue our newfound past time.

 

Author's Notes:

(1) There actually is a group of scientists that have a barbeque briquette lighting competition. Some of the plans and results are really funny. Try picturing a barbeque exploding into a mushroom cloud, instantly incinerating the briquettes, and you have a good idea of what the results are like.