Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Revelations ❯ Chapter Two ( Chapter 2 )

Chapter Two

Hatred. Grief. Rage. Agony. Thoughts and feelings swirled through his mind like broken shards of glass, rambling and chaotic. Tortured images wracked his consciousness, but they were gone before he could piece them together. Brief flashes of fire and terror, destruction and murder. He was a child, alone and frightened, curled up against the storm of angry words. He hid his eyes from the leering faces around him, cringed away from the needles and wires. He wanted his parents... ...He was a god, powerful and omnipotent, sneering at the foolish mortals beneath him. He laughed madly as he rained devastation down on the world, smiled cruelly as a long length of steel sliced through flesh. He was all-powerful...

...But he was still alone...

Terese groaned, stretching stiff muscles as she woke the next morning. She stared up at the ceiling over her head, wondering what she would do with this day. What would she do with herself now that she wasn't on someone else's schedule? Now that she was away from the terror of the laboratory?

She frowned, her thoughts turning to Vincent. Her rescuer. She shifted uncomfortably, a painful flush staining her cheeks as she remembered her behavior of the night before. What was wrong with her? He had done nothing to make her react to him in such a way. He hadn't attempted to harm her, he hadn't made suggestive comments. In fact, it hardly seemed that he'd even noticed she was of the female gender at all. She had no reason to fear him as she did. She was angry and disappointed with herself. Since when did someone's appearance make a difference in her opinion of them? She'd never been uncomfortable around people with darker skin or different eyes; Vincent was only a more extreme example of the same idea. And he had saved her life.

She threw back the covers and climbed out of bed. Her reaction to him had been ridiculous and unfair. She walked unsteadily to the bathroom. She would not behave that way again. It bothered her to think that she might have hurt his feelings. She had never been able to be mean to people without feeling horrible about it afterward. She remembered the oddly strained tone in his voice before he had left the bedroom the night before. She swallowed. He had definitely noticed her aversion to him, and it had bothered him. But she somehow knew that he would not appreciate her bringing it up.

She shook her head, looking at herself in the mirror. She didn't need to say anything. She would apologize to him with her actions. Her lips twisted into a grimace as she stared at her reflection. Her hair was even more disastrous than it had been the night before, though her eyes were not so bloodshot. There were dark circles under them, though, and her cheeks looked faintly hollow. She snorted softly. And she had been afraid of him. She was surprised he hadn't run off at first sight of her.

She glanced around the bathroom for a comb and saw one laying on the sink, a short distance from the water glass. Picking it up, she turned it over in her palm several times. There was a single strand of midnight hair twined through the teeth. After a moment she set it back down. She didn't feel comfortable using his comb. It seemed... almost like an intrusion, for some reason. She frowned at her reflection again. She would have to wait until later to improve her appearance. Still, she quickly washed her face and dragged her fingers through her hair in an attempt to straighten it before leaving the bathroom.

Collecting herself, she quietly headed down the hallway and out into the living room. Early morning light streamed in from a sliding glass door leading out onto a little balcony. The room was featureless and drab; there were no pictures on the walls, no furniture, nothing to make the place into a home. The carpet, while clean, was threadbare, of a grey color a shade darker than the walls. She wondered what motivated Vincent to live like this. As she had noticed the night before, the only thing to take up space in the room was the bookshelves.

Curious, she wandered up to one of them, glancing at the titles on the spines of the books. There was an amazing variety of subjects in his collection. There were books on math, genetics, engineering, astrology, the environment, weapons (guns in particular), the military, politics, religion, and much more. There were also fictional works, mostly classics, but with a few modern novels scattered here and there. She wondered if he had read them all as she lightly ran her fingertips over the bindings. They came away free of dust.

Shrugging, she turned away from the bookshelves and walked toward the kitchen. Inside she found Vincent with his back to the door, dressed much as he had been the night before, pulling his glove onto his right hand with his claw. He didn't turn, but for some reason she knew he was aware of her presence.

She nervously cleared her throat, then said brightly, "Good morning, Vincent."

He paused, half turning as his eyes flicked in her direction. He looked at her for a moment, then nodded briefly, not speaking.

She studied him as he finished pulling the glove on and picked up the gun that had been resting on the table. He's not really so bad looking, she thought, running her eyes up and down his tall form. He's just startling, just different. His strange looks made him intimidating, surely, but he wasn't terrifying as she'd originally thought. Though she could see how he could come across that way if you ran into him in a dark alley. She smiled ironically as he holstered his gun, turning to face her fully.

"You are feeling better?" he asked, quickly sweeping her with his gaze.

She nodded. "Yeah, I am, thanks."

He nodded as well and picked up the trenchcoat that had been draped across the back of one of the wooden chairs, pulling it on.

"Vincent, um..." she started awkwardly, realizing she needed clothes and a brush... and food. She suddenly discovered, once she thought about it, that she was starving. She felt bad about asking, him, though, like she was imposing when he had already done so much for her.

She glanced at him to find him looking back at her, patiently waiting for her to finish her thought. Fiddling with the material of her gown, she murmured, "Do you... Do you have anything I can wear, and... something to comb my hair with?"

He frowned a little as he gazed at her, then shook his head. "I should have thought of that. There are no clothes here but my own. You may wear whatever you like until I can get you something else, probably this evening. I have a comb on the sink in the bathroom, and there are towels in the closet at the end of the hall."

He stopped for a moment, glancing briefly around the kitchen. "There is not much to eat, but you are welcome to anything that you find."

Finished, he stepped past her, into the living room, and headed toward the door that she guessed lead out of the apartment. Setting his hand on the knob, he turned to her again, his sharp features expressionless. "I am leaving for work. I'll lock the door, and I suggest you remain inside, for your own safety. I should be back by eight o'clock."

For some reason, Terese found it strange to think of him leaving for work. She somehow hadn't pictured him as having a job where he had to interact with other people. She frowned at herself. Of course, he would have a job! He couldn't just sit around his apartment all day. He had to make money somehow.

He opened the door and began to step outside.

"Vincent!"

He paused, looking back at her and waiting.

"I..." she flushed, looking down at her feet for a moment before meeting his eyes again. Her voice was a whisper when she spoke. "Thank you... for saving me."

He looked at her for a long moment, saying nothing, then stepped out the door, shutting it softly behind him.

*****

Terese, frowned, trying to decide whether to eat first or bathe. Eventually, her desire to feel clean won out over her hunger, and she headed for the closet Vincent had mentioned, pulling out two towels. Dumping them in the bathroom, she then went to the closet in the bedroom, and it suddenly occurred to her that she was sleeping in his bed. She blushed and frowned at the same time. Where was he sleeping, then? She would have to ask him.

Opening the doors of his closet, she looked at the clothing hanging inside. Black. Somehow, she wasn't really surprised. She wondered if he even owned anything in another color. Grey, perhaps? She smiled amusedly, absently rifling through the shirts and slacks before selecting one of each. As though she really had much of a selection. Maybe he went to a store and simply bought as many pairs of the same outfit as they had in his size. Shaking her head, she carried the clothes into the bathroom and turned on the water in the tub, letting it heat as she quickly stripped off the filthy white gown she was wearing.

Glancing at the sink, her eyes again fell on Vincent's comb, and she picked it up. It still felt strange to use it, even though he had given her his permission, but she shrugged the feeling off and began to work on her hair, starting at the tips. She winced as she pulled through the tangles created by two days of inattention. When she had finished, she stepped into the tub and turned the shower on, sighing as the hot water hit her skin. She turned her face up to it, closing her eyes and sighing contentedly. She hadn't taken a hot shower in a long time.

She stayed in the tub for long minutes, simply letting the water soak into her skin, before finally using the soap to clean her body and wash her hair. As she lathered her head, her thoughts turned to her time in the lab. The scientists had performed tests on her almost every day, injecting her with drugs and taking samples from her. When they hadn't been testing her, they kept asking her about the "promised land". They seemed to think she knew where or what it was. She'd tried to tell them that she didn't know what they were talking about, but they didn't believe her. At one point, they'd tried to torture the information out of her...

She shivered, forcibly making herself push the thoughts away. She couldn't deal with that now. She'd finally gotten away from there. She didn't want to think about it.

Turning the water off, she stepped out of the tub, onto the rug on the tiled floor, and began to towel herself off. When she finished she hung the wet towels on the hooks on the door and combed through her hair again, carefully removing any strands that got caught in the teeth. Picking up Vincent's clothes, she slipped into the shirt, buttoning it up the front. It hung down to her mid-thighs. Shrugging, she grabbed the pants and pulled them on, fastening them at her waist.

Looking down at herself, she laughed out loud.

Vincent was thin, but the pants were still somewhat loose at the waist for her, and they were much too long. The ends of them entirely covered her bare feet. The shirt hung past the tips of her fingers when she let her arms fall to her sides.

Laughing again, she bent over and rolled the ends of the pants up to her ankles, then did the same with the cuffs of the shirt. Shaking her hair back over her shoulders, she looked in the mirror and raised her eyebrows at herself. Still, she thought, she looked better than she had when she had gotten up.

Her stomach growled. Smiling to herself, she wandered into the kitchen to find something to eat.

*****

Vincent gazed unseeing out the window of the train that was carrying him back toward sector six. The day at work had been uneventful. He had turned out guns from the forge with his typical speed, focusing solely on the task of molding and shaping the metal into a gleaming, flawless weapon. No one had bothered him, other than his boss, a middle-aged woman named Alex, and he preferred it that way.

It was after work that he'd been out of his element. He'd had to shop for the items Terese needed. He didn't like shopping and did it very rarely, and then only at the grocery store. This time he'd had to go find clothing and personal items for her, and he'd found himself becoming increasingly uncomfortable as he'd quickly made his way through the women's department at the store down the street from the shop where he worked. He'd received some very strange looks and several snickers as he tried to decide what he should purchase for her. He rarely bought clothes for himself, and he'd certainly never gone shopping for a woman before. Nor did he know Terese's size. The clothing women wore had no clear cut system, as men's clothing did. They were not labeled with the length of the leg or the circumference of the waste line. Finally, tired of the way parents pulled their children close to them as they passed him, and of the finger pointing by people who thought he didn't notice, Vincent had drawn aside one of the people stocking the rack's and coolly described Terese to her. To his surprise, the girl, probably sixteen or seventeen, had been friendly and helpful, only looking briefly startled when she'd turned to face him after he'd quietly addressed her. She'd quickly found most of the items he needed; two pairs of jeans, two T-shirts, a sweatshirt, a nightshirt, some socks and a hairbrush, leading him swiftly around the store. Then he'd had to think about undergarments. The girl had been perfectly comfortable discussing it with him, and underwear wasn't too difficult for her to decide on because she'd already picked out the jeans he'd needed. The problem had come when she'd asked him about bras. He had absolutely no idea what size bra Terese might need; it hadn't occurred to him to pay attention. So the teenager had asked him, well, what does she look like? He'd found himself becoming faintly embarrassed as she'd questioned him, though nothing had shown up on his face. He hadn't really been able to tell her anything helpful; he hadn't had any reason to think about... the size of Terese's breasts, and that seemed to be the information the girl was trying to extract from him. Eventually, though, she'd picked out a bra and handed it to him with a shrug and a grin, telling him to come back if anything didn't fit. He'd thanked her, and she'd smiled at him again and told him to have a nice day.

From there he'd made a trip to the grocery store and bought only a bag full of items. He didn't have a car to carry them in, and he already had the bag from the other store. He could only buy what he could carry.

Vincent sighed softly and raised his normal hand to massage his forehead, feeling unusually stressed. He didn't like dealing with people. He didn't know how to interact with them, and they tended to avoid him anyway. It didn't matter. It made his life easier.

The train came to a stop at the station in sector six, and he rose from his seat along with several other passengers, gathering his purchases. He exited the train and began the walk back to his apartment. It was dusk out, not a safe time to be alone on the streets of Midgar, but he was unconcerned. If his appearance did him any favors, it definitely made him an uninviting target for muggers and thieves. A cocky young teenager had attempted to rob him once, most likely on a dare from his friends. The boy had quickly found himself slammed up against a brick wall, eyes wide with panic as a golden hand began to cut off his supply of air. Vincent had released him, though, just as his face had begun to turn faintly purple, and the boy had ran off sobbing. Vincent had never meant to kill him, only frighten him into changing his behavior. The boy hadn't really seemed to be malicious, only an idiot child who thought robbing someone was a good joke, and Vincent had made him see the consequences of his actions.

Adjusting his grip on the packages, Vincent made his way quickly through the cool evening streets, the few pedestrians he encountered giving him a wide berth. His gait was smooth and easy, despite its speed, the bags he carried doing little to hinder his progress, and he was soon mounting the stairs to his second-floor apartment. Awkwardly digging in the pocket of his coat while holding the grocery bag against his body with his arm, he produced his keys and opened the door with his customary lack of noise.

Stepping inside, he used his booted foot to kick it shut behind him, then made his way to the kitchen and set the bags down on the table, glancing at his watch to find that he was a bit late. It was ten minutes after eight. He frowned in mild irritation, then glanced around the kitchen, noting the recently washed dishes in the sink and the empty soup can on the counter. A moment later he heard Terese leave his bedroom and head down the hallway, though she made little noise. She paused when she reached the door to the kitchen and he turned around to look at her.

His eyes widened imperceptibly and he stared, struggling to keep any reaction from registering on his face. Her hair was neat and clean, falling in smooth red waves past her shoulders, and color had returned to her cheeks in contrast to her previous pallor. Though she still looked a bit weak, the circles beneath her eyes had faded and her green eyes were bright with health.

But that was not what had caught his attention.

She was wearing one of his black dress shirts and a pair of his slacks. The cuffs on the shirt were rolled halfway up her forearms and still hung loosely on her. The pants had been folded up in a similar way, bunched around her ankles as she stood in her bare feet. The tails of the shirt hung down to her thighs, and the pants, from what he could see of them, began to bunch up toward her waist, as though she had taken one of his belts and drawn in all the loose material, giving the slacks a crimped effect.

To be blunt, she looked ridiculous.

Vincent turned away from her and began to unpack the groceries, discovering that he had to swallow back an unfamiliar surge of amusement. He kept his eyes on what he was doing as he heard her take several steps into the kitchen.

"Hi, Vincent!"

Just as he had that morning, Vincent found himself mildly surprised at the cheerfulness in her voice, but he half-turned his head toward her and nodded without looking at her. She approached him, stopping beside him and beginning to help him unload the bag of groceries. He did glance at her, then, and she smiled at him as she set a carton of eggs on the table. A moment later, she paused and drummed her fingers on the tabletop uncertainly.

"I... hope these clothes are all right? I didn't really know if there was anything you didn't want me to wear."

The corner of his mouth twitched faintly and he forced himself not to look over at her. "They're fine."

She nodded, looking relieved. "And I left the towels I used hanging on the door in the bathroom. Is that all right?"

He nodded as he began to put the food away in the cupboards and the refrigerator.

"The other bag is for you," he said, speaking with his back to her as he put several cans of vegetables and fruit away.

He heard her pick it up and look inside. A moment later she said, her voice sincere, "Thank you, Vincent."

He nodded again, not looking up as she left the kitchen. Once she was gone, though, he relaxed a bit, glancing out the door into the living room. He shook his head slightly as he folded the now empty paper bag and put it in the recycle bin.

*****

Terese carried the bag into the bedroom and dumped the contents out on the bed. She glanced at the brush and set it aside, looking through the clothing. She wondered how Vincent had known what to buy her. She hadn't thought he'd paid enough attention to her to notice what size she was. Still, the pants looked like they would fit, and the T-shirts and sweatshirt were clearly big enough. Then her fingers hooked in the satiny material of a bra, and she lifted the piece of clothing to stare at it. A deep flush stained her cheeks. How on earth had he known what size bra to get her? She shifted uncomfortably as she glanced at the tags, wondering if she had a reason to be wary of Vincent. Though she'd gotten over her initial, irrational fear of him, she was still nervous around him. That had more to do with the fact that she didn't know him, though, and was forced to share his home and be in close contact with him than it did with what he looked like.

Then she tried to imagine Vincent picking out her clothing. She snorted with laughter. She simply could not see him wandering through the women's department, selecting clothes off the racks here and there. And she realized he had most likely been very uncomfortable. She shook her head at her brief moment of uncertainty. Though she hardly knew Vincent, and she believed he was, or had been, very dangerous, she was somehow sure he was not the type of man to take advantage of a woman. She smiled a little, still amused by the thought of Vincent shopping for her, and started to try on the clothing.

As she stripped off Vincent's clothes and set them on the bed, she wondered about the strange expression on his face when she had walked into the kitchen. She frowned a little, trying to decide what he had been thinking. ....A faint tightening of the muscles around his mouth, a slight glitter in his red eyes, and an almost imperceptible flaring of his nostrils... Her eyes widened slightly. He had been laughing at her! Or, not really laughing, but at least he had been amused. She cocked an eyebrow as she pulled on one of the pairs of jeans, suddenly glad of her unnatural perceptiveness. She found it difficult to imagine Vincent being amused by anything. She had known him for only one day, and yet she was already getting a feel for the kind of man he was. Somehow... she thought he had had a very hard life.

An odd sympathy welled up in her as she finished dressing. He seemed... very alone. She wanted to help him.

She suddenly realized where her thoughts were headed and cursed herself. She didn't know him! He certainly didn't seem like the kind of man who needed, or wanted, any help. She would probably only end up irritating him. It was ridiculous to think that there was anything he needed from her. There was nothing for her to help him with...

Even as she tried to convince herself she was imagining things, Terese knew it was useless. The innate sixth sense that was so much a part of her told her that, despite his cold exterior and fearsome appearance, Vincent Valentine was hurting.

She closed her eyes. She didn't want to get involved. She didn't want to open herself to his hurt, his pain. She had enough pain of her own. And she somehow knew that Vincent would not be an easy man to help. He would not let her in willingly. He would make it a struggle for her. He didn't want her help! She knew it already, she didn't have to understand him any better than she did now. Why should she bother herself, why should she let herself be hurt? He was a stranger, he didn't mean anything to her.

She sighed. Even that was a lie. She did care about Vincent, the way she cared about everyone. And now that she was aware that he was suffering, she would not be able to sit back and do nothing. She was not made that way. Maybe she couldn't help him, but she had to try.

Well, she thought, no time like the present.

Running a hand through her red hair, she walked out of the bedroom.

*****

Vincent glanced up as Terese walked into the kitchen, noting with a brief feeling of satisfaction that the clothes seemed to fit her. Looking down again, he went back to cleaning his gun, wiping a polishing cloth along the smooth black barrel. She walked forward until she was standing on the opposite side of the little table, her hands resting on the scarred wood.

"Thank you for the clothes, Vincent," she said again.

He nodded without looking up, deftly emptying the bullets in the chamber into his clawed hand and placing them on the table.

The other chair scraped against the floor as she drew it back and sat down across from him, folding her arms and resting them on the table. He was somewhat surprised at her choice to remain in the room with him, but he said nothing as he drew a second cloth through the barrel of the gun. For long moments the room was silent but for the sounds of him cleaning the gun and the quiet ticking of the clock on the wall. Terese shifted uncomfortably. Finally, she broke the silence.

"You've been around guns for a long time, haven't you?" Her voice was soft.

He paused for a moment, his entire body motionless, then continued, beginning to place the bullets back in the gun. "Yes."

She nodded. "I thought so. You just seem so comfortable. It's like the gun's almost a part of you."

He didn't comment on that as he finished with the bullets and placed the gun in his holster, beginning to gather up his cleaning tools.

Terese shifted her position to rest her chin in her hand as she watched him. "How long have you lived in Midgar?"

He stood, picking up the clothes and carrying them to a drawer in the counter. "Two years. I came shortly after it was rebuilt."

He didn't know what to think of her sudden desire to talk with him. The night before it had been clear that she had wanted as much distance between them as possible, and she'd obviously not been inclined toward conversation. Her fear seemed to have vanished, though, and now she wanted to talk. About him. He frowned, his back still to her. He had no desire to speak about himself, or anything else for that matter.

"Yeah, I remember when it was destroyed," Terese said, her voice thoughtful. "So many people died, even though Meteor was stopped. So many wasted lives... And it was all because of that SOLDIER, Sephiroth. Thank God Avalanche stopped him in time. Do you remember how everyone used to love him? How so many people thought of him as their hero? The Great Sephiroth. They always talked about him with such awe; he was the fearless General, the finest SOLDIER who ever lived. I guess I idolized him a bit, too; I'm not sure there was anyone who was totally immune to it." She laughed a little. "Everyone thought he was so good. Who would have guessed there was such evil in him?"

Vincent hadn't moved. He stood very still, staring at nothing. His hands, both normal and prosthetic, had clenched into fists on the countertop. He closed his eyes against her words, didn't want to hear them. He didn't want to remember, to think about him. Everything had gone so wrong... It was not the way it should have been... Never should have turned out that way. It was his fault. It had always been his fault. He frowned painfully. Perhaps not him entirely, but enough. Because he might have stopped it. He could have prevented it all. The insanity, the hatred, the bitter anger... But he had failed. Failed him. ...Sephiroth...

He was vaguely aware that Terese was saying something else.

"...he called Meteor, I remember how the planet screamed."

It took a moment for the significance of her words to register. When they did, his eyes snapped open and he quickly turned around to look at her. She was still seated at the table, a pained, distant look on her face as she gazed into the past. She was hardly talking to him anymore, merely thinking out loud, he realized.

"What did you say?" he asked sharply.

Her eyes suddenly focused on his, and her face paled. She swallowed nervously, her eyes wide. "Wha-... I-I didn't say anything..."

He abruptly stepped away from the counter and moved to stand across from her, his red eyes piercing. He made no threatening moves, didn't even lean toward her, but she pressed herself back against her chair, obviously frightened.

When he spoke his voice, though quiet, made it clear that he wanted an answer. "What did you say about the planet?"

Terese glanced from side to side, then stood up from the table and backed away from him. "Vincent, please..."

Several quick, silent steps saw him around the table, and he grabbed her wrist with his metal hand as she tried to leave the kitchen. Her eyes darted to his face and he saw her pulse beating rapidly in her throat. Frightened tears filled her eyes, giving them a brilliant sheen. He kept his hold on her wrist.

"What did you say?" he asked again, his voice low. He noticed in a rather detached way that her hand was shaking.

A tear spilled down her cheek. Her voice was a hollow whisper. "I said... when Sephiroth called Meteor, I heard the planet screaming."

He stared at her bowed head. It was impossible. This could not possibly be what it sounded like. It was ridiculous to even think it. There was no way. Aeris had said she was the last... How could she have been mistaken?

He was about to question her further when he realized her entire body was trembling. A flash of white-hot shame shot through him and he looked down for a moment, cursing himself. Raising his eyes to look at her again, he released her wrist and stepped back. "I'm sorry. I... didn't mean to frighten you, Terese."

She didn't answer, slipping out the door and retreating to the bedroom. The sound of her muffled crying reached his sensitive ears and he sighed, raising his right hand to massage his forehead. He hadn't wanted to scare her. He would wait until tomorrow to speak to her again. She would still be here.

He frowned, moving back to the table and sitting down again.

She had heard the planet scream. Aeris had said something similar once, before she went off on her own in her vain attempt to stop Sephiroth... Did that mean Terese was... a Cetra? Could there be any other explanation? That would explain why she had been a prisoner at a laboratory. Vincent's lips twisted into a thin smile. Scientists seemed to have a kind of... fetish... when it came to the Ancients.

If she somehow was a Cetra, it seemed very likely to him that she did not know. She had been unable, or perhaps unwilling, to tell him why she had been held at the laboratory, and her behavior tonight suggested that she was afraid to reveal her connection to the planet. If she actually was a Cetra.

Could it have been some kind of fluke? He found that rather hard to believe. He would have to find out from her if she experienced other feelings, whether hearing the planet when Meteor was called had been a one-time occurrence.

And if she was a Cetra, what did that mean? What had been the scientist's purpose in experimenting on her? His eyes narrowed as a sudden thought occurred to him. He prayed to God that it was not true, but... could Hojo still be alive? He didn't have any proof to back up the theory and didn't truly think it was a real possibility, but he was not about to foolishly dismiss it. When it came to Hojo, nearly anything was possible...

He closed his eyes for a moment. His life had suddenly become much more complicated. He wondered briefly if he should contact the others, then immediately dismissed the idea. He had nothing but vague ideas to tell them about.

And he didn't want to get in touch with them. He didn't want the ties, however slight, he had made with them to strengthen. After Sephiroth's defeat, Avalanche had broken up, each of them going their own way, but they'd talked about continuing to see each other. Vincent had said nothing, but he had given his Death Penalty and most of his materia to Cloud Strife. He didn't want them around, wanted to distance himself from what had happened. After Cloud had taken them, he had left without looking back.

Since then he had had no contact with any of the members of Avalanche. And although he was certain that none of them knew where he lived or how to reach him, he was aware of the current location of each one. Cloud and Tifa were married and living just outside of Nibelheim. Reeve was now the president of Shinra Inc. Cid had married Shera and they lived in Rocket Town. Nanaki, living in Cosmo Canyon, was quickly making a name for himself in the scientific world. Barret and Marleen also lived in Rocket Town. Yuffie was in Wutai, learning to take over for her father.

Vincent sighed. He wondered briefly if any of them ever thought about him, then clamped down on the stray thought. It didn't matter. It would be best for everyone if they thought he was dead.