Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Once a Man ❯ Love ( Chapter 6 )

AN: Who me? Sing karaoke in a bar? Drunk? Never. I can't imagine where you get these ideas…

 

Once a Man

Chapter 6: Love

I always loved the stories about how two lovers would be trapped in a cabin and out of sheer desperation, make love, only to realize that they were both in love with each other the entire time, but were too unsure of themselves to confess their feelings. I suppose I love these stories because it gives me a voyeuristic look at other luckier people, even if they are fictional.

My romantic associations since Vincent have been completely shallow. Oh, once in a while one of the bed partners I've chosen for the evening will suddenly declare undying love for me. I never believe them. I usually choose them for their bodily attributes and their willingness to do as I wish, hardly the basis even for the shallowest of relationships. Every once in awhile, I would look at the young man or woman who had spread themselves so willingly for me to please myself with and wonder what kind of desperation would drive someone to abase themselves so thoroughly. I didn't bother asking the twin question of what desperation would drive someone to abase themselves by using that person. I already knew that answer.

Vincent and I were not in love, not then, not at first. We were merely two people who were living in close proximity and surprisingly had compatible interests when it came to sex. We continued our daily lives with little alteration. I didn't need to plot how to get laid, and Vincent didn't spend as much time with Dmitri. It was convenient, pleasurable, and relaxing for both of us.

It didn't solve all our problems. The equipment I needed didn't arrive for another three months. Vincent finally started threatening various people and had a couple of Turks stationed, snarling like a pair rabid Nibel wolves in the requisition office. While we suddenly got all sorts of luxurious items (a new heater, state of the art kitchen equipment, a large new bed -put to good use-, a new stereo with a wide variety of music, all the bestselling books, gourmet food items, a gleaming wood burning stove that could heat my little skull home quite efficiently and was a quarter of the mess -Vincent adored that-, and new comfortable furniture.) the lab equipment wasn't one of those sought after things.

In our boredom, we developed all sorts of hobbies. I went back to studying the Tewits, learned to shoot, studied the Ancients and, with more than a little prodding from Vincent, cut down on my drinking. Vincent learned to ski, arranged to test firearms for Shinra -mainly by killing of any scaly intruders to my Tewit studies-, took an interest in botany, and became an expert on the City of the Ancients. Many of the books that lived in the new gleaming, cherry wood bookcase were about Ancient studies and plants.

We got along very well. He's a very pleasant roommate to have. He's compulsively clean and not a bad cook, once we got adequate food supplies. I tried to keep up my end by keeping things picked up (he's clean, not tidy) and, once he introduced me via the telephone to the Turks keeping us in luxurious items, I made sure we were always well stocked with whatever we might need. We were both generally quiet people when at home. Our personalities melded quite pleasantly with few real aggravations -my continued association with the boys and coming home drunk and dirty always irritated him- but to be fair, his disappearing occasionally into Dmitri's home irked me -he did say that he didn't have a sexual relationship with the man, but it still grated.

I really cannot pinpoint the exact moment I realized that I loved him. I don't think that it happened in one big flash of insight, and I don't think it happened like that with him. I know I didn't love him when the equipment finally showed up. I had half expected him to disappear back to Midgar at the time and while I admitted to myself I would miss him a bit, it was no more than parting with a friend. When he remained, I was only pleasantly surprised, but not overwhelmingly so.

In the months that followed as I started testing the sample, I don't think I loved him then either. Shinra finagled another building for me to do my testing in, a rib cage of some beastie that someone had converted by packing layers of dirt between the ribs, making it a turf-bone monstrosity. It was warm, but it was also dark and made me feel that I'd been devoured and was awaiting digestion. In the brief spring of Bone Village, the grass that grew on the sides of the building sprouted and made it look like the thing had gangrene. I spent days in that lovely ribcage, lost in my research, and I didn't miss him more than occasionally wondering if I could get him to clean my lab for me.

When we were together at home, we discussed what he'd found in the City of the Ancients, or he'd take me out to a field and teach me how to shoot a gun. At night we slept in the same bed and often spent long otherwise dull evenings exploring just what kinds of sounds we could get the other person to make.

Vincent was (and to be fair, probably still is, since you don't forget something like that) a talented lover. Unlike some lovers I'd had, he carefully observed the reaction a touch, a lick, or a caress would elicit from his partner. He enjoyed experimenting to see if and when I liked soft touches and slow strokes or hard, pain laced pleasure. Instead of pretending to know everything, he would query, in voice guaranteed to melt the glacier near Icicle Village, what I liked and how things felt. I learned quite a bit writhing around with him all those months.

Six months later, when we returned to Midgar, I felt a definite pang when the helicopter touched down and our paths parted. He walked away with the welcoming committee of Turks without a glance in my direction, so I doubted he was deeply in love. I shoved that twinge of pain away and returned to my lab with barely a nod of acknowledgement from the department secretary.

In the months that followed, as we both settled back into our lives. He didn't make any effort to resume our relationship. In fact, I never saw him, not even lurking around at lunch. I went back to my apartment and after a weekend cleaning spree getting rid of the accumulated dust, spiders, and other unwelcome signs of abandonment, had the odd notion that I should get Vincent's opinion on my cleaning skills. I started my herb garden using some of the knowledge that I had absorbed living near Vincent and listening to him talk about the things he'd learned. When I unpacked, I found some of the books he'd handed me recommending them as either informative or enjoyable. I went to work, watching the Turks sweat in the summer heat in their uniforms, wondering if Vincent was out sweating too.

I was hopeless.

In desperation, trying to get him out of my head, I started a relationship with a rather burly young man with pale hair and blue eyes, as physically different from Vincent as I could get. His name was Will. He was loud and often crude, but he was fun loving and kept me company when I needed to escape from my thoughts.

Now that I think of it, he was remarkably like Mr. Highwind, but without the smoking. I wonder if they were related?

Never mind. It's not important.

Work was the same. My staff took over the majority of the Jenova studies, leaving me free to shuffle paperwork and go through the annual budgets (Which I suspected was the real reason I was returned from my icy holiday. Gast hated doing the budget and probably recalled me to take over that task so he could suck up to the president. I think that actually might have been literal, but I never cared, nor had the stomach to find out.) I spent long hours stuck carefully tallying expenditures, results, and cost projections for the next fiscal year.

So life chugged merrily along for three long months. Jenova was, after much intensive study, deemed interesting, but since we had so little of the sample and were having trouble making viable copies of it for adequate research, it was placed in the long term research section of the department, which means that a minimal staff, budget, and equipment were allocated to it. After the budget was submitted, I was put to work on bio-chemical research looking for a way to reduce hospitalization time in our military. Shinra hated having to pay out good money on people who were just laying around doing nothing but bleeding on sheets and bandages Shinra had to pay to get cleaned. When I wasn't working, I was either out with Will, getting drunk mainly, or sitting in my apartment trying to pretend everything was just amazingly wonderful.

It all came to an end when I was out with Will humiliating myself in a desperate effort to prove just how amazingly wonderful my life was.

In short, I was out debasing myself with karaoke.

I was drunkenly warbling some idiot song about how my life would go on after I died -which considering everything I knew about the Ancients, the life stream, and the like, I didn't feel was really worth all the melodramatics- but it had a catchy tune and, as I said, I was drunk. Few, if any, of the other patrons cared. The bar was known for the cheap drinks, darkly lit booths, lumpy pool table, and its close proximity to a rather sleazy hotel that rented rooms by the hour.

When this life is over,

I will meet you there.

My life will go on.

I trilled, idly wondering when this stupid song would end and release me back into the happy land of beer and pretzels.

We will meet again

Where the tide never ends.

Will glanced over at me from where he was playing pool with another young man. I would say I was jealous, but honestly, Will was really meant very little to me and I was already coming to see that perhaps we should part ways. He kept me busy but he wasn't very talented as a lover. Unlike Vincent, he didn't ask, or care, to find out what I liked. He just did what he liked and if I got off on it that was okay too. We didn't have intercourse much, and I was beginning to hope that he'd go find another body to exercise his limited talents on.

I will go on.

Our love will last forever.

Just like the song, I thought as I saw yet another line scroll onto the monitor.

My love I will meet you

On the other side.

Let us not forget.

We have it set.

I kept doggedly at it as yet more lines cued up. A small group of newcomers came in and sat down in the back of the bar in an intense group. It wasn't an uncommon occurrence. I'd seen my share of faces that usually were framed by Turk blue sit in the back booths dressed in dirty leathers and smiling shark smiles at unsuspecting tuna. Just as long as I kept my mouth shut about their real jobs, the Turks kept theirs shut about my after work entertainments.

I will go on!

Our love will go on!

We will go on!

Finally, the song ended. I took a flamboyant and completely ignored bow, and escaped from the stage. Will was leaning against the pool table sipping his beer and chatting with his opponent. I went over to them, catching a waitress on my way and requesting a well deserved beer.

“Hey, babe.” Will threw a thick arm around my shoulders. “Mikey here wants to go another round. “iz that okay.”

I hated being called babe, but he didn't mind that I thought the term demeaning. I was no one's baby, especially not his.

He didn't wait for an answer. He just laughed a bit, dropped his hand to give me a playful feel, then turned towards the pool table and started racking up the balls. Mikey smirked at Will and they started their game. I never figured out the niceties of pool, so I went to sit on a bench to the side and when the waitress arrived with my beer, sat and watched the two play.

Another happy victim volunteered to go up and sing. I waved for another beer and watched the unfortunate slob butcher an innocent song. A few more people came in and huddled in shadowy booths. A few only lasted as long as it took to work out what arrangements brought them in then left. Some ladies -and I use the term loosely since they only minimally looked like the female sex- walked in and took over most of the seats at the end of the bar, laughing loud horse like laughs that Heideggar would have been proud of. I slumped, ordered beers, watched Mikey and Will flirt with each other in a overly macho way, and wondered if I hadn't been better off on stage singing.

“What do you mean I touched the ball?” Mikey suddenly yelled, throwing his pool cue at Will.

“You fucking touched the ball.” Will growled back. “I saw it, you fuckin' liar.”

Mikey, not about to lose the manly contest, snarled and threw himself at Will, who swung at him with his cue. They both went down in a heap. This caught the attention of a few other patrons who ambled over to see what the excitement was about. As Mikey and Will rolled around trying to hit each other and screaming insults, they knocked into the gawkers which made them unhappy, which of course made the fight spread.

I, now trapped on my bench by the melee that was spreading around me, tried to get out of the way. I have never liked bar fights. They are unpredictable, and this one was no exception I realized as I noticed that a few of the people were now stealthily sliding their hands into pockets and withdrawing weapons. I was doing pretty well in my escape till someone decided that I looked belligerent and slammed their fist, wrapped in a crude version of iron knuckles, into my stomach.

I went down instantly into the land of kicking feet and shifting legs. I remember only a few moments of being there before some nice person decided to put me out of my terror by kicking me in the head. When I got back to being conscious, the fight was over and people were fleeing out the doors as fast as they could. Bodies lay sprawled around the room, some of them bleeding, and I was being unceremoniously hauled by the back of my shirt collar into one of the back booths as someone was having a hissing, snarling conversation.

“I thought I told you to keep an eye on him.” Someone hissed like a Midgar Zolom with a toothache.

“I… was. I was.” Someone cringed verbally back. “It j…just all exploded too fast.”

“That's not a good excuse.” Mr. Zolom snarled -I wasn't sure if I was happy to be conscious enough to realize I was being dragged around by a man since that also brought back the awareness that I had just been used as a soccer ball. “You should have been on top of the situation.”

“Ya blew it rookie.” Someone laughed snidely.

“And who was that blond who had his hands on him?” Mr. Zolom went back to hissing as I was tossed into a booth, my head smacking into the wooden seat.

I would have protested the treatment but since I seemed to be the one Mr. Zolom was so irritated about I kept my moans to myself.

“Ah…t…th...that was his companion. They've been dating for a few months.” Mr. Rookie stuttered out. “I..it doesn't l…l…look too serious on either of their parts.”

I was just blinking non-blurry sight back into my eyes when Mr. Zolom slapped a wet towel on my face with all the care of a mother Gighee nuzzling her offspring -in case you're wondering Gighees eat their young.

“And what were your orders?” Mr. Zolom sounded like he was about to sink his fangs into his prey. Oddly, I was beginning to recognize his voice.

“I…I was supposed to keep him safe and to carefully screen any person who came in regular contact with him.” Mr. Rookie sounded like he was reconsidering his career choice, considering who I suspected he was and who was smothering me with a towel, I wasn't too surprised.

“In case you're wondering, rookie, that means he's Turk property and no one but Turks come near him.” The snide laugher commented.

I felt insulted. I was not Turk property and as soon as I got that towel off my face, I was going to tell Vincent that. Maybe I'd kiss him first…or pass out. Breathing was getting a bit difficult. I started trying to get the towel off my face, which made Vincent all the more determined to keep it on my face. Spots were dancing in front of my eyes.

“N…no one t…told me…” I could hear Mr. Rookie shaking, his various hidden weapons clinking softly together.

You can always tell a new Turk, they have a fetish for being walking arsenals. Only after a year or so do they realize that all those knives, guns, garroting wires, pocket explosives, and other fun gadgets are just getting in the way and they specialize in one or two weapons with a handy, folding knife as a backup and general all around tool. If you're ever in a pinch for a gift for a Turk, buy then a nice folding knife. They'll love you for it.

“Now you know.” Mr. Zolom, commonly known as Vincent, snarled and apparently decided to emphasize his point by shooting at his subordinate, making him shift his focus from “cleaning me off” to chastising which gave me an opportunity to escape from the towel.

I took a few much needed breaths as Vincent blew holes in the wall and floor around his fleeing rookie. Turk initiation is tough. I suppose instead of years of college, lack of sleep, poor nutrition, and the merciless climb through the ranks of academia to become a scientist, Turks just get all the torture out of the way in a matter of months. You might even consider it a more civilized course of training when you consider the petty backstabbing and politicking that goes on in the world of science. Of course, in academia, few people actually die when they mess up.

Vincent then turned his joyous attitude towards the others. “And what are your excuses?”

Mr. Snide shrugged. “I was in Wutai till yesterday.”

“I didn't recognize him when we came in.” Another replied from where he was kicking the bodies on the floor. “When I did spot him, the fight was already in progress and I couldn't get over to him quick enough to prevent his being injured.”

Vincent finally turned and glowered down at me.

I decided I was one of those who needed to come up with an excuse. “I…ahh… was busy trying to figure out how to avoid karaoke and thought I could date who I wanted.”

Vincent, to show just how happy he was to see me, picked up the towel and slapped it back on my face. “Who gave you permission to think.”

I went back to communing with the towel and Vincent snarled a few orders at his men to clear the bar. Actually, I was quite happy. Yes, I had a few things I needed to discuss with Vincent apparently, such as his disappearing, the whole territorial posturing, and his trying to kill me with a towel, but overall I felt idiotically better that he was there.

I must have suffered brain damage.

I should point out here that, as a dating technique, trying the old game of dating another person to get your ex jealous is not highly recommended when your ex is a Turk. Turks, almost by definition, do not get jealous. They get rid of the other person, look you over and most likely get rid of you as well for trying to make a fool of them. It is not unknown for a Turk in the middle of such a situation to wipe out entire families that Shinra has to then cover up. Now, I suppose in an effort to normalize this activity, it has been listed under “training exercises” and sub-classified as “body removal-civilian” in Shinra's operations manual. Over the years, I have had quite a few people volunteered for experimentation by Turks with broken hearts.

If I had any reason to believe, such as even a tiny note, that Vincent was even slightly interested in continuing our relationship, I would have been much more careful. Will, although no prince, was not a bad person and I had no vindictive wish to see him become a small picture in the obituary column of the Midgar Daily Press. I was mulling over how to calm Vincent down, save my drunken hide, and see if I could possibly get out of the bar without being in more pain, when I was yanked out of the booth and dragged out the door, the towel falling to the floor in our wake.

“You…” Vincent was still in all out snarl mode. “You…”

“If it helps, he was a rebound.” I tried valiantly to get my feet to stop stumbling, but Vincent's legs are much longer than mine and he was using them to their full advantage.

He hissed a few unintelligible words. I don't think they were actually ever meant to be words really, just a variety of hisses to express his extreme displeasure.

I got tossed into a rather pitiful looking sports car and was promptly locked in. Turks generally drive rather ostentatious cars when they are on duty, black, sleek affairs that radiate menace. When under cover -a Turk's dream job since it got them out of their suits- they have a variety of standard issue junkers that they use to slip around unnoticed. This was one of those junked cars. While it looked like it was lucky to make it down the block without falling into a sad pile of rusted parts, it could probably break the sound barrier, four-wheel over the Western Continent's desert, and plow through the iciest of Icicle's snowstorms without so much as getting a ping in the engine.

I frowned at its peeling dashboard when Vincent came around and sat in the driver's seat. I finally had time to look at him. He was dressed in a pair of old torn jeans, a battered leather jacket, and a pair of heavy boots with, no doubt, steel toes that were ideal for kicking poor sots in bars. His hair, which he always kept neatly trimmed around his collar was now longer and shaggier than normal. His eyes looked bruised and his lips were set in a thin, pale frown. In short, he looked like both a sexy bad-ass, bad boy and like he needed to collapse into bed and sleep for a week.

He was also still hissing softly to himself. “Fucking drunk… Should have… Probably…”

While I took it as a good sign that he was now speaking semi-coherently, I was still a tad worried about being locked in a car with him. Vincent, if you haven't noticed, doesn't use profanity. This isn't a new phenomenon. Politeness is ingrained into the very fiber of his being. If I had completely failed in undoing her plans, I often think he would have gone out slaughtering the innocent and plunging the world into unbreakable darkness while politely apologizing if he accidentally bumped into someone or stepped on their foot.

“Did he fuck you?” He finally found the ability to speak in complete sentences.

“Can I get back to you on that?” I watched his hands tighten on the steering wheel knowing he was imagining them around my neck.

“Fine.” He turned away and started the car.

I held on and wondered if this was the appropriate time to find Alexander or Gaia or some deity to believe in. I was now beaten, still semi-inebriated, locked in a car that was going through traffic at an unbelievable speed, with a thoroughly pissed off Turk at the wheel. I needed divine intervention. What I got was him slamming to a sudden halt outside my apartment building, slamming my already broken self abruptly into the seatbelt.

“Get out.” He gleefully intoned in a voice that sped my departure from the vehicle.

I scrambled out, ignoring the shrieks of protest from my sides, head, and stomach at all the sudden action and stumbled toward my apartment building. I mistakenly thought I was now free and he would take off to go harass other poor, less battered souls. How wrong I was. As I carefully and painfully limped up the steps to my apartment, I heard his car door slam and the sound of his heavy boots stride across the walkway.

“I can't leave you for a second, can I?” He hauled me up the stairs. “I'm gone…what three whole months?.. and you're dunk, beaten, and sleeping with some blond asshole.”

I would have defended Will, I don't like my lovers being called derogatory terms, but I also knew if Vincent was still cursing, I should keep my mouth shut. Besides, he had his hand in my pocket searching for my keys. Never get Vincent pissed when his hands are anywhere close to your family jewels. It's not pretty and nothing you want to experience for yourself.

“Tell me, did you fuck him here?” He apparently wasn't going to let that one go. He got the door open and shoved me in.

“No.” I wobbled over to the couch, collapsing onto the cushions just as my knees gave up for the day. “If you must know it happened twice, he was lousy, and we did it in that hotel on Junon Street that has the pink roses. He didn't have any diseases and still doesn't. I checked. We also used condoms. Do you want to know the positions too?”

He glared at me and slunk around as I stretched out on the couch. The more the alcohol wore off, the more painful just breathing became. I didn't want to look, but I felt pretty sure a few ribs were broken. I only hoped that there wouldn't be any unhappy extensive internal bleeding. I unintelligently tried to find the pillow that always stayed near the couch for quick naps and jounced my abused body. Vincent paused in his slinking to look down at me as I whimpered.

“Couldn't you pick someone who'd look after you.” He finally muttered then sighed (Translation: I'm disappointed in you), running an exasperated hand through his hair.

“I chose on physical appearance. He was the least like you I could find at short notice for a rebound.”

How those sad words have come to haunt me.

Vincent growled slightly and went back to slinking angrily around. It seemed like old times. I had a small nostalgic moment for when I only had a concussion when Vincent last dragged me home. I carefully found my pillow and put it behind my head with infinite care, listening to him prowl around. I wasn't as worried now. His tone had gone back to normal and his language had returned to its usual polite cadence. Oh, he was still angry, and I had no illusions that what relationship we had was now over, but I didn't have to worry about being found dead in a mysterious break in.

He stopped to glare at me again. “I was only gone for three months.”

“You were the one to walk away.” I closed my eyes, trying to block out the sight of pain in his eyes.. Even then I hated seeing him upset. If I hadn't been so hurt, I would have reached up to comfort him. “I didn't even get a wave goodbye.”

He went back to his pacing and I decided that if my body was going to insist on hurting, I was going to try to sleep through it. The only problem was finding a spot that wasn't painful and not moving. Not an easy task.

“I was busy.” He commented from above me.

“A memo would have been nice.” I wondered if I could pull the blanket from the end of the couch to cover myself with and not scream while doing it.

I wasn't entirely surprised when the blanket suddenly was put over me. He's always been considerate when not irate or plotting. “Not allowed.”

I hadn't thought of that.

I pondered the life of a Turk while he slithered off. It was entirely possible that he'd been dragged off to an assignment as soon as we arrived back. As head of the Turks, he was probably very busy and with his extended vacation in Bone Village, he was probably swamped under with work.

I felt like the sewage we scrape out of the bio labs bi-weekly.

When I heard him come back into the room, I apologized. “Sorry. I didn't realize. I thought that once we got back, you just went back to your own life and didn't care.”

“I care.” He came and knelt down next to me. “Here take these.”

I opened my eyes to find him holding a glass of water and some pain killers.

Can you blame me for loving him?