Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Revelations ❯ Chapter Four ( Chapter 4 )

Chapter Four

It was dark and silent where he was; the world was a shapeless void. There was nothing to anchor his mind, no reality to cling to, he only drifted aimlessly. He could not... could not remember... who he was, where he had been. Every so often, he thought he could feel it, could catch a glimpse of it, but it was gone before he could capture it, and he screamed his frustration. But there was no one to hear.

The horrible emptiness built until he thought he could not stand it, and in wrenching anguish he looked around for something, anything, to slash open his wrists and end his life. But there was nothing. Nearly crazed with hopeless despair, he viciously attempted to tear the flesh open with his teeth, but to his agonized shock, he found that his body was insubstantial; he could not harm it. A helpless gasp slipped from his throat. Helplessness. He did not like the feeling. It terrified him. Helplessness was the one thing he had always struggled to avoid.

Suddenly his head snapped around, his eyes vainly searching the darkness. He had heard something, he was sure of it. He took several steps forward... or was it back?, looking around wildly.

It came again. A voice, soft and gentle, calling him.

"Sephiroth."

He started slightly. Sephiroth? He blinked as an odd feeling of recognition bled through his thoughts. That name. Yes. He was Sephiroth.

It called out to him again and he looked up, surprised to see a quiet green light building before him. His eyes narrowed slightly as a figure began to slowly take shape, walking toward him. It paused in front of him, and he observed that it was a young woman, short and slight with large green eyes and long brown hair. He felt an instant tug of... something. He should know her, he realized suddenly. But he did not.

"Who are you?" he said coldly.

She only smiled at him. "I am Aeris," she said softly, "And you are Sephiroth."

He tensed suddenly. Her name, too, was familiar. And then a piece of it came to him.

"You are an Ancient." His voice was chill. He did not know how he knew, but it felt undeniably right.

"Yes," she said, unperturbed. "I am an Ancient. Do you know who you are?"

He hesitated, glancing away from her. "I..." He swallowed. "I-I am..."

Her eyes softened and she took another step toward him. Her voice was gentle. "It is all right. I want you to have another chance. You have not yet died; there is still hope for you. It is time for you to remember and go back."

She moved toward him until she was only inches away, and he had to fight a strong urge to step backward. Then he looked down into her deep green eyes and was unable to look away again. They held... a remarkable peace... And he realized that he craved it.

"It will be very hard," she said quietly, "You're life has not been easy in the past, and it will not be easy now. You have suffered, and you are angry. You must be strong, Sephiroth, you must not give into your despair. I believe it can be different this time. Only believe in yourself and the value that you possess, simply by being human."

As she spoke, she reached out and lightly touched his head. Sephiroth recoiled sharply, his lips curling into a snarl. He did not know where his aversion to touch came from, but it was there and it was strong. He was surprised that she had been able to touch him at all, since he had been unable to harm himself.

Aeris shook her head. "If you want to know yourself again, you must let me touch you, Sephiroth." She again reached toward him and he stiffened, but found that he believed what she said. He did not think she would lie to him. His jaw tightened as her fingertips brushed against his temple, but he did not move away.

As she touched him, Sephiroth found himself remembering things, bits and pieces of the broken whole that was his life. Needles and wires, stainless steel instruments, tests and experiments. A sword, long and sharp, made only for him; a company, cold and heartless, giving him his orders. He was a soldier, a general, a leader. They knew him, they respected him, they emulated him, they... feared him. They were all afraid of him, all but one.

As his past rushed back to him, Sephiroth felt himself fading, falling away from the Ancient. As she disappeared from sight, her words followed after him.

"It is time to wake up. Make it different this time, Sephiroth."

For Terese, the days passed by in a melancholy haze. She was listless, often just laying on Vincent's bed during the day and wondering about what might have been. She wondered about her real parents. She'd often thought about them, even before Vincent told her of her past, but now more than ever. Who had they been? Were they both Cetra, or only one? How had they died? Were they caught, murdered? She found no relief in thinking about them, it only brought her more pain, so she tried to push them from her mind.

Her most troubling thought was, what should she do now? What should she do with the rest of her life? What could she do? If she left Vincent's apartment and tried to start a life on her own, she felt almost certain that the scientists would find her. They were probably looking for her right now, tearing Midgar apart to find her. She could not go back there, not with what they were planning for her. Not with what they had already done. She didn't know what to do, and she was lonely and depressed.

She saw little of Vincent, usually speaking to him only in the evenings. And on Sunday, when he was home all day, there was little conversation, she didn't want to bother him. Vincent mostly just kept to himself and read. She still wondered where he was sleeping at night, but she didn't bring it up again, hoping that he would tell her if he wanted to rest in his own bed. She'd also realized, to her genuine puzzlement, that she had never seen him eat. He might have been eating in the morning before she got up, or at night after she went to bed, but she still found it strange. She'd discovered that he was meticulous in his cleanliness. He kept both himself and the apartment emaculate. He took a shower every night before she went to bed, and his clothes were always spotless. She sometimes wondered why the water didn't affect his obviously mechanical claw. In fact, the prosthetic occasionally fascinated her. She marveled at it's engineering. Only a genius could have designed it. She had never seen anyone else with a prosthetic limb that functioned the way his did. It seemed that he wasn't handicapped at all. Every metal finger flexed and moved as well as a normal one, and he could use it for all the same things he could with his right hand. The only problem with it seemed to be that it's smooth metal surfaces made gripping things more difficult. Still, he used it flawlessly, and she wondered how long he had had it. And how he had gotten it. She had actually asked him about it one evening.

"Vincent," she'd said, "how did you get your prosthetic arm? Were you in an accident?"

His response still puzzled her. He'd given a short, bitten off laugh, bitterness clear in his voice as he'd replied, "Something like that."

Something in his tone had warned her away from the subject, and she hadn't mentioned it again. But she hadn't forgotten, either. Terese realized that she was only becoming more curious about Vincent Valentine as time went by. Even in the midst of her depression, of her loneliness, she found herself wondering about him and his past. So she tried to talk to him every evening, mostly about things that were unimportant, simply to get him to speak. She wanted to know what kind of man he was. At first, he had been very reluctant, seeming surprised that she wanted to talk to him at all, but after a while, he had become accustomed to it. He answered her questions, most of them, with a strange kind of tolerance, as though he were merely putting up with her. She didn't mind, as long as he didn't ignore her entirely. It eased her loneliness to talk to him, despite his reserved nature. In fact, she found that she enjoyed the way he would often simply sit and listen to her without interruption. His quiet presence seemed to make it easier to reveal her thoughts, almost as though she were alone, rather than with a man she barely knew. One night she'd found herself telling him about her childhood, though she'd left out the more painful parts. It had still surprised her, though. She had never discussed it with anyone else. She felt... at ease around him, strange as that seemed. She was still sad and depressed, mostly during the day when she was alone and had too much time to think about herself and her people, but she realized that she had started to look forward to eight o' clock, when Vincent would come home. She was bored during the day, and she always greeted him as soon as he walked in the door, a foolish smile on her face. She had never met anyone like him, with his cold, seemingly emotionless exterior but such pain beneath the surface. And she discovered that, the more time she spent with him, the more she liked him.

*****

As for Vincent, the days had passed quickly. He worked everyday with his typical efficiency, turning out remarkable guns with almost unnatural speed. When he finished, he went home, sometimes stopping at a grocery store to buy more food for Terese; and for himself, on the rare occasions when he needed to eat.

When he arrived at home, it had somehow happened that much of his evening was spent sitting in the kitchen with Terese, listening to her talk and answering her questions every so often. It had surprised him the first few times she had come to him with a desire to talk. He didn't know what to think of her. People avoided him, they didn't make conversation with him. At first their discussions had been awkward and stilted, mostly because of him, he knew. Conversation was not his strong point. But eventually, Terese had become comfortable with his silences, undaunted when he did not want to answer a question she posed. She wanted to talk to him. He guessed that she was lonely, and that he was the only person on hand to speak to. He could not imagine that he would have been her first choice. It still surprised him how she greeted him when he came home. She seemed almost glad to see him, and it was an idea he could not get used to. He realized, too, that he was becoming... accustomed to her presence, and it disturbed him. He did not want to get used to her, didn't want her to become a part of his life. And yet their nightly conversations had become a part of his routine, almost without him noticing. When he arrived home, he expected to sit down with Terese, mostly to listen, occasionally to talk. It was... alarming to him, when he thought about it. He could not become attached to her, in any way. It would be dangerous. And so he tried to stay distant, to stay apart from her. He kept himself emotionless and cool, hoping to discourage her attention. But she was undeterred, and it unsettled him. He would not feel anything for her, he could not. It didn't matter that she made him feel... almost normal, for the first time in so many years. It didn't matter that she treated him like a man, like anyone else. He would not care.

After Terese had gone to bed, he would sometimes leave the apartment to search for any clue as to the location of the laboratory where she was held. He knew that Terese had no idea. When she had escaped she had been too drugged to know where she was going, there was no way she could find her way back. So he visited areas some of the 'tougher' areas of Midgar, hoping that someone would have some information about a hidden lab within the city. He was quickly becoming frustrated. No one knew. And they were not lying to him, that much he could tell. He had a certain talent for intimidation, and it was usually not difficult for him to spot a lie. Wherever the laboratory was, it was well hidden.

Vincent was getting tired. He had not truly slept for nearly two weeks, longer than was normal for him. He did not need to rest often, but his endurance was not infinite. The days were beginning to tell on him, for all that it did not show up in his outward appearance. Not yet. That would come soon enough.

He was tired, and he was at the end of his resources. All but one. He had put off using it until the very last, hoping he could avoid it. He had methodically persued every other avenue available to him, and they had all come up dry. He could not put it off any longer. The laboratory needed to be found, and quickly. He thought he could probably find it on his own, given time, but he had a feeling time was something he did not have. Whatever was happening where Terese had been held was very wrong, he knew that much, and he could not delay for his own sake.

So one evening, more than two weeks after he had first seen Terese stumble into a back alleyway, Vincent left work early for the first time and headed down the street, his breath misting in the cool air of late fall. He walked silently and methodically, neither hesitating nor missing a step, until he arrived at the telephone several blocks from the gunshop. He had not wanted to use the phone at work, where he could be interrupted.

When he reached the booth, he stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. Then he paused, setting his hand on the phone as he closed his eyes and leaned his head against the cold glass wall for a moment. He sighed wearily, realizing he had to go through with it. He only hoped it would help him, and he would not have done it for nothing.

Straightening, he let his gloved fingers curl around the phone and lift it from the hook, his ears already picking up the constant hum of the dial tone. Raising his prosthetic hand, he quickly punched in the number he had looked up and memorized that morning, then held the receiver to his ear, closing his eyes again as he listened to the ringing on the other end. Almost immediately, the sound ceased and a human voice replaced it. Resigning himself, he began to speak.

*****

The man looked up from his desk as a knock sounded on his door, frowning in mild irritation. What was it now? He lifted the stack of papers he had been going through and dropped them against the desk to knock them together before setting them down again and calling, "Come in."

His secretary, Sandra, entered, an annoyed frown on her face. "Sir, there's a man on the phone claiming he needs to speak to you. I told him you were busy, but he said you'd talk to him. He won't give up. Do you want me to disconnect him?"

The man sighed through his nose, running a hand over the dark hair he had pulled back into a short ponytail. He didn't know how the person on the phone could have gotten this number if he was just some lunatic with nothing important to say. He looked at Sandra and shook his head. "No, put him through. I'll talk to him."

She nodded and walked out, closing the door behind her. When she put the call through to his phone, he punched the button and lifted it to his ear.

"This is the President," he said, his voice detached and professional.

There was a silence on the other end for several long seconds. The president frowned. Had some prankster somehow gotten a hold of the number to his office? Just as he was about to hang up in irritation, a calm, collected voice reached his ears.

"Reeve. This is Vincent Valentine."

Reeve's mouth dropped open and the pen he had been idly flipping between his fingers clattered onto the desk. He almost wondered if he was hearing things as the knuckles of the hand holding the phone whitened.

"What?!" he blurted, his voice louder than he had meant it to be.

"This is Vincent," the voice on the other end responded in the same tone as before.

For a long moment Reeve found himself unable to speak, his mouth opening and closing several times as he stared blankly at the far wall. He found it remarkably hard to believe that he was actually on the phone with Vincent Valentine. Finally he shook himself from his stupor, blinking rapidly. "Vincent! My God! I can't- How- How... What- Where have you been? Are you all right?! What the hell have you been doing?!"

"I'm fine, Reeve. I've been here in Midgar."

"What?!" Reeve shouted, standing up from his desk to pace the room. "You've been here for the past three years?!"

There was a silence on the phone for a moment before Vincent said simply, "Yes."

For a moment Reeve couldn't speak. Then he cried, "Why haven't you contacted any of us?! Dammit, Vince, do you think we forgot about you?! I mean, shit, we see each other pretty often, and someone almost always gets around to mentioning you! I don't care if you don't think so, you're one of us. God, some of us thought you might be dead! Believe it or not, we were worried about you! Hell, even Yuffie and Cid are concerned! They try to pretend they're not, but it's pretty easy to see through them. And Cloud, he thinks about you to, though he's a lot better at hiding it. We all remember you." Reeve paused for breath, and when he spoke again, his voice had softened. "It's great to hear from you, Vince."

There was no response from the other end. The silence became uncomfortably long, and Reeve was just beginning to wonder if Vincent had hung up when he spoke. "I... Reeve, I..."

His voice had a strange tone to it now; Vincent sounded oddly unsteady. He stopped for a moment. When he continued, though, it was clear he had changed tracks.

"Reeve, I need your help." His voice again possessed the familiar coolness that Reeve was accustomed to.

Reeve sat down at his desk again, leaning back in his chair as a feeling of disappointment ran through him. "I'll do whatever I can. What do you need, Vincent?"

There was another pause before Vincent said quietly, "First, I don't want you to tell the others I contacted you. At least, not right now."

Reeve stilled. Finally he said, "How can you ask me that Vincent? They're worried about you, don't you get it? I can't keep from them that I know you're alive."

He heard Vincent sigh before responding. "Then I would ask that you at least delay telling them for a time."

Reeve leaned forward to rest his elbows on the desk. "Why? Are you really that opposed to seeing us? Maybe to you, we're just an irritation that you'd rather be rid of, but, and this may come as news to you, we think of you as our friend."

Vincent was again silent for several seconds. When he spoke, Reeve was surprised by the weariness in his voice. "I just need some time."

Reeve felt a small spark of concern shoot through him, but he only said quietly, "What's going on, Vincent?"

He listened as Vincent went into a brief account of finding Terese and bringing her to his apartment. He found it oddly hard to picture Vincent living with anyone, though it was obvious from the way he spoke that they were not involved... emotionally. Or physically, for that matter. He wondered if Vincent would ever consider another relationship with a woman after what had happened with Lucrecia. And, of course, there were all the complications caused by Chaos. Reeve shook his head. It would be very, very hard.

"About two weeks ago now, Terese and I were talking," Vincent was saying. "Our conversation turned to Sephiroth and Avalanche."

Reeve stiffened in his chair. For whatever reason, he had a feeling he would not like what was coming.

"From what she said, and the talks we've had since, I'm sure she... Reeve, Terese is a Cetra."

There was a loud clatter as the phone slipped from Reeve's suddenly nerveless fingers. He quickly picked it up and placed it back against his ear, his other hand tightly clenching the arm of his chair. "S-Sorry. She's what?! Vincent, are you sure?"

"I am positive. I at first found it difficult to believe as well, but from what she's said, there can be no other explanation. Aeris was mistaken in thinking she was the last. And Terese did not even know what she was until I explained it to her."

Reeve again ran his hand over his hair. "This is... What does this mean?"

"Nothing good. Terese was held at that laboratory specifically because she was an Ancient. Her professor wanted her to tell him how to find the Promised Land. To me it sounds... like someone is carrying on Hojo's work."

Reeve simply sat without speaking for long moments. The clock on the wall ticked loudly, filling the silence. Finally he took a slow breath and said, "What can I do for you, Vincent?"

"I haven't been able to locate this laboratory. I need to go there and find out what's going on, but I don't know where it is, and neither does anyone else I've talked to. I'm hoping that there might be some old records about a hidden lab somewhere in Midgar. I can't think of anywhere else to check. You have access to all of the old Shinra files."

"Of course. I'll put my people to work on it immediately."

"Reeve. Make sure that you trust them."

Reeve nodded, though Vincent couldn't see him. "I will. How can I contact you, Vincent? Where are you living?"

"I don't have a phone. I'll call back here in a few days."

Reeve frowned. "How did you get this number, anyway? You shouldn't be able to get it through any normal channels."

Vincent didn't respond for a moment. Then he said quietly. "I was a Turk, Reeve."

Reeve actually flushed slightly. "Right. Sorry."

"It's fine. I'll check back with you in a few days."

"Vincent!"

"Yes?" he said flatly.

"I'll give you two weeks. That's it. After that, if you don't talk to them first, I'm telling the other guys."

There was no sound for a moment. Then Vincent sighed. "Fine."

"All right." He paused. "It's good to know you're alive, Vince. I'll talk to you in a few days."

There was a click from the other end and Reeve slowly replaced the phone in its cradle. Leaning back in his chair, he exhaled explosively, blinking several times to clear his head. He suddenly had a lot to think about.

*****

Vincent hung up the phone and stepped out of the booth, beginning the short walk to the train station. He put his hands in the pockets of his trenchcoat, bowing his dark head, his eyes focused on the ground. The conversation with Reeve had not gone as he had expected. He hadn't thought... Reeve would react to his call the way he had. He hadn't realized he'd made such an impression on the other members of Avalanche. The knowledge that they talked about him, that they... worried about him, had left him shaken.

They thought of him as their friend. He shook his head. It didn't matter. He could not be their friend. It was dangerous for him to form ties; he didn't want to endanger them. Chaos was unmerciful. He was meant to be alone.

*****

When Vincent came home that night, he was even more quiet and withdrawn than usual. He seemed distracted, as though his thoughts were elsewhere. And Terese also thought he seemed unhappy. There were long silences between them as they sat at the kitchen table, Vincent's eyes focused blankly on the scarred wood. He occasionally raised his right hand to rub his forehead beneath his red bandana, a gesture she had come to recognize as his unconscious response to stress.

When he did it for the third time, she said quietly, "Vincent, are you all right?"

He paused, looking over at her with his hand still against his forehead. He dropped it onto the table. "I am fine."

She smiled a little, shaking her head. "You always say you're fine. I can tell something's bothering you. You're even more dark and brooding than usual."

Vincent frowned a little. "It is nothing, Terese."

She sighed. He was so private, more than she had ever been. It was like he was afraid to share himself with other people, and she wondered what had happened to him to make him so wary. She had a feeling he had been badly hurt, maybe betrayed. She wanted so much to know about him, to know him, but she knew better than to push. That would only drive him away. He had to believe he could trust her first. She knew instinctively that that was at the heart of the problem. She wondered how long it had been since he had trusted... anyone. He had to believe she would not hurt him. That she wouldn't betray him. She wished she knew more about his past. It would help her to understand him, why he was the way he was. In fact, she knew next to nothing. All the information she had was that he had been in Avalanche. She smiled faintly. It could wait.

She looked over at him. He was looking away from her again, the trace of a frown on his face. If he didn't want to talk about what was bothering him, that was all right. It was enough for her just to be with him, whether they spoke to each other or not. As her eyes traced his still figure, she felt a deep compassion fill her. His pain was so clear to her; it might as well have been written across his forehead. He did not display it, but she felt it, nonetheless. She thought... he was lonely. Like she was lonely. And despite the fact that she was the last of her kind, it seemed that his loneliness went even deeper than hers, that it was even more pronounced.

Her heart aching for him, she reached across the table and took his gloved hand in hers, closing her fingers around his. When she felt him tense, she looked up at him. He was staring down at their hands, his face expressionless, his body rigid. She watched as he swallowed, his eyes flickering to her face for a moment before returning to their hands. For several long seconds neither of them moved or said anything. Terese wondered if she had made a mistake. He was clearly stunned by her gesture. She wondered why her simple act of taking his hand was affecting him so greatly. Then she frowned, her gaze sweeping over him. She took in his red eyes, his pale skin, his sharp features. She remembered the golden claw, kept off the table and out of her sight. And she wondered how long it had been since someone had touched him.

She swallowed back tears as she looked at him, her hold on his hand tightening. Vincent inhaled through his nose, a muscle in his jaw jumping.

"Vincent..."

He looked away from her, pulling his hand from hers. But not before she felt the tremor that swept him. He slowly stood from the table, taking several steps away and standing with his back to her.

"You should go to bed, Terese," he muttered, his voice so low she could barely hear him.

She got to her feet as well, looking at him as he stood stiffly, his arms folded across his chest. She pressed her lips together, wondering what she should do, what she should say to him. She wondered if he was angry. She wondered if he was afraid. She didn't know. After a moment she decided it would be best if she just did as he asked.

She swallowed awkwardly. "Good night, Vincent."

He said nothing, not turning to look at her.

She quietly left the room.

*****

When Terese woke the next morning, the events of the night before were far from her mind. She had dreamed about her parents, and about her people, the Cetra. She was feeling very depressed as she slowly got out of bed and began to get dressed.

She had no way to answer the questions she had about herself and her people. She sighed wearily. She imagined she would go through life always wondering what it meant to be an Ancient. She would never have anyone to talk to who would really understand. She couldn't ask questions about her connection to the planet, or her empathy for other people. She would never know if her people had had a special purpose that she was unaware of, one she should've fulfilled. She would never have the answers she wanted. She would never belong anywhere. Those hopes had all been destroyed the moment Sephiroth had ended Aeris' life.

For a moment she wondered what on earth her purpose in life was. What was the point of it all? There was nothing for her. She might as well be dead.

Then she frowned, shaking away her dark thoughts, ashamed of herself. What would her people think, if they knew she wanted to give up so easily? She would not be a weakling. She could survive alone, she did not need anyone else.

But what would she do? She was a Cetra, that must mean something. The abilities she had must have some purpose. She roughly pulled her shirt over her head, yanking her hair from beneath the collar. She would never know.

Leaving the bedroom, she walked heavily down the little hallway and into the kitchen, collapsing in one of the chairs and propping her chin on her hand. Vincent was just pulling on his trenchcoat as he prepared to leave for work. He glanced up briefly when she entered, then looked away again, saying nothing. She sat gazing blankly ahead of her, her thoughts still on her people.

"I had a dream last night," she said abruptly, falling into the habit she had acquired of discussing her feelings with Vincent, whether he cared about them or not.

He still did not speak, but she had no doubt that he was listening to her. "I dreamed about my people. And my parents. I kept trying to fit in, to get them to be proud of me, but whatever I did was all wrong. I kept screwing things up, somehow. I think... they were ashamed of me."

Vincent was standing quietly, his red eyes focused on her as she talked.

"And I know everyone is dead. They're all dead. But... they can still see me, right? At least, I think so. And I probably really am doing everything wrong. I mean, how will I ever know? I won't. I'll spend my whole life making stupid mistakes because no one ever told me they were mistakes. And it will all amount to nothing. I'll never know if my people had a purpose. I don't know anything about them. And so I hardly know anything about myself."

She stopped, sniffing dejectedly as she stared off into space. She looked up when she heard the soft rustle of Vincent's trenchcoat, watching as he left the room. She swallowed. Well, she shouldn't have expected him to understand. Why would he want to listen to her stupid little problems when he probably had more than enough of his own? He probably thought she was being pathetic and childish. It really wasn't that big a deal. Life would go on.

She blinked rapidly, slowly laying her head down on her folded arms. She was lying to herself. It was a big deal to her. She took a shallow breath, forcing herself to hold back the tears that were stinging her eyes. She would have to learn to accept it, somehow.

A moment later she heard the faint, barely audible sound of Vincent's footsteps on the kitchen floor. Quickly lifting her head, she turned toward him, hoping she didn't look like she was about to cry.

He was holding a large, dark blue book in his right hand as he walked toward her. Pausing next to the table, he shook his head slightly, a mild frown on his face. "I should have thought of this before. It was careless of me not to. I came across this book more than two years ago, in an old shop in Costa del Sol. I have no idea how it got there, it didn't matter at the time. I have not read it. I started it, but I was... distracted, and I never finished it. It will not tell you everything you wish to know, but it may help you find some of the answers you are seeking."

Finished, he laid the book on the table. Terese wiped at her eyes before pulling it over to her. When she looked at the title, she thought for a moment that her heart had stopped beating. She stood from her chair. She could barely swallow. She read it again, feeling a trembling excitement beginning within her.

Compiled Religious Texts of the Cetra

She ran the tips of her fingers over the title, as though to make sure it would not vanish, revealing the book to be something else. Slowly, she picked it up, holding it against her chest like a priceless treasure. She looked over at Vincent. He stood silently, his face revealing nothing. She took several steps toward him, pausing when she was less than two feet away.

"Vincent, I-I..." Her eyes again filled with tears, but for a different reason now. This book was unimaginably precious to her. It would tell her what her people believed, perhaps how they had lived. He could hardly have given her a better gift.

She acted without thinking. In a gesture of almost painful gratitude, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Vincent's waist, laying her cheek against his chest as she held him tightly, the book still in her hand. A tear trickled down her nose, dampening the front of his black shirt.

Vincent's body stiffened against hers, all of his muscles tensing as she embraced him. She could feel his shock, and she knew she should let go of him, but she couldn't. She needed to show him her gratitude, in an almost physical way. She had to express her feelings, and she didn't think she could do it with words. She had to show him that he had touched her.

Then she felt Vincent tremble, and her heart twisted painfully. Her gratitude melted into compassion as she tightened her arms around him. His wrenching loneliness tore at her. She wanted to stop his suffering, and so she held him, hoping to comfort him with the warmth of human contact.

His chest rose and fell as he took a shuddering breath.

And after a moment she felt the change in him. It was hardly noticeable, but she was aware of it. It was a breaking, a realization of desperate need. His hand came up and lightly brushed over her shoulder, down her back. He loosened against her, his body relaxing, accepting the contact. For a moment his pale cheek touched her hair.

Then with a sudden, vicious curse, Vincent wrenched himself away from her, stumbling backward with a gracelessness she had not seen before. Moving to the other side of the kitchen, he turned to face her. He swallowed, breathing a bit too quickly. He was shaking.

"Terese, that- We can't- Th-This cannot happen, I-" He broke off abruptly, looking at her desperately. His mask of cold indifference had slipped to reveal a terrible pain, one that hurt her to witness.

"Vincent..." she whispered, taking a step toward him.

"Don't," he said sharply. Moving quickly, he brushed past her and walked out of the kitchen. A moment later she heard the door open and close as he left the apartment.

Slowly, she walked to the table and sat down, staring blankly ahead of her and praying she hadn't made a horrible mistake.

*****

The next several days crawled by. At first Vincent and Terese said almost nothing to each other, their relationship slipping back to what it had been when he had first brought her to his apartment. They avoided each other as much as was possible when they were living together in a relatively small area. Any time they were forced to be in the same room together, the air almost crackled with tension. Terese read the book Vincent had given her. Vincent absorbed himself in his work.

And then Terese began to get annoyed. This was ridiculous. It was stupid to let what had happened get in the way of what she hoped could be a close friendship. One evening after Vincent had returned home from work, she stalked into the kitchen and stood with her arms folded, glaring at him. He looked back at her, clearly startled, though he said nothing. She snapped that she thought this whole thing was a bunch of crap, and she was sorry she'd hugged him, and could they get over this and go back to the relationship they'd had before? Vincent stared at her for a long moment before shrugging and returning to his gun. That was good enough for her, and so they resumed their aborted evening discussions, at first in a rather one-sided fashion. Terese often told him what she was reading about and her thoughts on it. What she learned about the Cetra excited her, and she never got tired of talking about it. They were a very religious people, and they thought it was their responsibility to care for the planet and all things that lived on it as a way of thanking God for the blessings of the earth. They considered their communion with the planet sacred, and when it warned them of danger they felt it was their duty to protect it. Vincent very rarely spoke when she told him about her people, but he listened and she knew he was interested.

She eventually got him to tell her a little bit about the people in Avalanche and to describe some of the places they had gone. She was especially interested in the Temple and the City of the Ancients, of course, and she questioned him about them for long periods of time, wanting to know every detail he could remember. She learned that Sephiroth had killed Aeris in the middle of the Ancient City, and was angered at such a profanity. She found, though, that Vincent was very reluctant to discuss Sephiroth in any kind of detail, and so she left it alone for the time.

She was very careful not to touch him again, wary of disturbing the delicate peace between them. But she felt more and more that she and Vincent were alike in many ways, and she wondered if he saw it as well. Their loneliness was the same kind of loneliness. The loneliness of being different, of fearing rejection because of who you are.

She wanted to know who he was. She wished he would let her in. Because... she liked him. Despite his brooding silences and withdrawn manner, she'd grown to care for him while staying in his apartment. Beneath his dark, cold exterior there was a human being who was hurting. And she wanted to know why he suffered. She wanted to know why he isolated himself from the world, living away from everyone, without anything to connect him with the outside. When she had hugged him, she had felt the terrible need within him. In that moment he had not been able to hide himself from her, and she knew that her touch had affected him greatly. He had slipped in his control and allowed himself to feel, to need.

He had needed her, needed the warmth she had offered him.

But then he had rejected it, and the expression on his face when he had backed away from her had been one of agony, almost of fear. Even as he desired to be touched, to be accepted, he was afraid of it. She could only guess as to why.

But she would be patient. It would do her no good to try and force him to tell her about himself and his past. She only hoped that, with time, he would trust her enough to tell her on his own.

And Vincent continued his search for information. Three days after first contacting Reeve, he had called him again. He did not discuss his actions with Terese, not wanting her to get involved unless she had to be. It didn't matter anyway. Reeve's people had not come up with anything yet, though he'd said they still had a lot of files to go through. Mildly frustrated, Vincent had said he would check with him again in another few days.

And another Sunday quietly arrived. Terese was in the bedroom, reading. Vincent was in the kitchen, probably reading as well. It was a mild, sunny fall day.

Terese gazed out the window, looking at the bright blue sky and the puffy white clouds. Several birds flew by the window as the sunlight streamed through the glass, falling across the floor like a river of molten gold.

She looked back at the page she was reading, starting to finish her paragraph.

A light breeze stirred the curtains and they rustled gently.

She frowned, realizing that she kept reading the same sentence over and over.

The faint shouts of street vendors filled the quiet.

Terese shut the book with a sigh. Despite her interest in her people, she was not content to just sit and read all day. She had not been out of the apartment since Vincent had brought her to it nearly three weeks ago now, and she was extremely weary of being indoors.

Setting the book on the table next to the bed, she stood and walked to the kitchen. She found Vincent seated at the table, absently examining his gun, a distant look on his face. He glanced up when she came to the doorway, though she had been very quiet leaving the room and coming down the hallway. The more she was around him, the more she noticed that his senses were incredibly acute, almost unnaturally so. His hearing in particular seemed to be astonishingly sensitive; no matter how quiet she was, she never took him by surprise.

Entering the kitchen, she moved to stand next to the table, lightly tapping her nails against the wood. Vincent kept his red gaze trained on her, his expression as impassive as ever.

"Vincent," she began uncertainly, "Do you think... I- Well, it's been a long time since I've been outside, and it's such a nice day, I mean... Do you... Do you think we could go out?"

She cringed a little, half-expecting an annoyed and immediate refusal. She knew that Vincent didn't go out much, and probably never if there was no real reason. His appearance likely made him reluctant to be out in public, where people would gawk at him. But she couldn't go out on her own, not with the danger of being captured again.

Vincent flipped his gun around his finger, replacing it in his holster with practiced ease. He rose to his feet, stepping away from the table. "Very well."

She blinked in surprise. "Really? You mean it?!" She smiled at him, grinning with pure pleasure. "Thanks!"

She felt a surge of astonishment when Vincent's eyes warmed a bit, his mouth relaxing into what, on someone else, might have been the prelude to a smile. A real smile. Her own grin widened in response, stretching itself until she broke into a happy laugh. She felt an impulsive urge to hug him but firmly reined it in, not wanting to ruin the moment.

He gestured toward the door. "Let us go, then."

"All right, just wait a second, though! I'll be right back!" Turning, she dashed down the hallway and into the bedroom, snatching up a sweatshirt and tying it around her waist. Pulling on her shoes, she ran back to the kitchen, sliding to a stop and then spinning in a circle. She was almost giddy with happiness; she hadn't felt this way in a long time. It was almost like she was a little kid going to the carnival for the first time, and she was only going out for a walk.

Vincent raised an eyebrow at her, though he said nothing as he walked to the door and out into the hallway, pausing to wait for her. She followed him, and after he locked the door, they headed down the stairs and out onto the streets.

As soon as she was outside, Terese took a deep breath of the semi-fresh air. They were in the middle of a large city, after all. One couldn't expect the air to be totally pure, like it was in the country. She closed her eyes and smiled as Vincent stood at her side, looking down at her. Sighing, she opened her eyes and looked back up at him. "Do you know how long it's been since I've just been able to enjoy being outside?"

He said nothing, maintaining his usual silence, though he did raise his eyebrows slightly in question.

"It's been..." She paused, frowning. "It's been... How long has it been? It's the middle of November. I was taken in May, close to the end. So it's been... ...Five months. Five months, and I'm finally outside again." She grinned at him. "Because of you."

Vincent's eyes flickered away from her, focusing on the pavement. She realized her rather indirect manner of thanking him had made him uncomfortable, though she wasn't sure why. It was as if he didn't want her to be grateful to him.

"Well, let's go," she said brightly, not wanting him to withdraw into himself.

He nodded and they began to walk down the street. It was a beautiful, unseasonably warm day. Terese reveled in the mild, playful breeze that swept through her hair, listened to the singing of the few birds that graced the air above Midgar.

After a while Vincent frowned slightly, glancing at her. "Terese, is there no one you should contact to let them know you're all right?"

She shook her head, smiling a little. "No. I was adopted, and I don't have any brothers or sisters. My parents are dead, and so are my grandparents. I really didn't have any close friends, just acquaintances, and they've probably forgotten about me by now anyway. What about you? Do you have a family?"

Vincent's lips turned up in a strangely ironic smile. "No, I don't have a family."

"No?" she said, curious. "Did you never have brothers or sisters, or have they... passed on?"

"I was an only child."

"What about your parents?"

He was quiet for a few moments, gazing out ahead of them as they walked. "I don't remember my father. He was never a part of my life. My mother died a long time ago."

"Did your father die when you were very young?"

Vincent's expression hardened. The single word he spoke was clipped. "No."

Terese looked away for a moment, almost wishing she hadn't asked. His father had left them, he had not died. That much was clear. And clearly, whether he would admit it or not, it still bothered him. At the same time, though, she was pleased with their discussion. For whatever reason, Vincent seemed more relaxed today, and now she had more things to add to her small list of information about his past.

Content for the moment, and not wishing to irritate him, she steered the conversation away from his personal history. She rambled on about some of the more pleasant times in her past, enjoying sifting through the memories. She told him about her adoptive parents. They had been wonderful, and they had loved her a great deal, though they hadn't always understood her. Of course, no one had. They had died almost two years ago in a car crash, and she still missed them all the time.

After a while Terese began to realize that she was hungry, and to her astonishment she realized that they had been out walking for more than an hour. It was about one o' clock, and she hadn't eaten since eight-thirty or so. She said nothing, though, not wanting to make Vincent pay for her. He had done too much already.

It didn't matter though, because after a moment, Vincent said mildly, "You are hungry."

She blushed, realizing he had heard her stomach growling. "It's fine, Vincent. I can eat when we get back to the apartment."

"We will not be back for a while. We've been heading away from it for more than an hour."

"Oh." She said, glancing down. Then she said, "That's all right. I'm not that hungry."

He looked at her. Her face grew even more hot.

"Jeez!" she cried, "It's stupid that you have such good hearing! I could barely hear that!"

Then she watched as an amused smile, however faint, really did cross his features, and decided her embarrassment had been worth it. For a moment she could only stare at him, her mouth open, but then, pleased and very surprised, she couldn't help but grin back at him. He really looked kind of nice when he smiled.

He looked past her for a moment, then gestured with his normal hand. "There."

She looked across the street where he had indicated to see a hot dog stand with a short line of people in front of it. "Well, but... I guess I... Oh, all right."

Nodding, he started across the street and she trailed after him, still slightly embarrassed but more excited by his smile than anything else. It was dumb, really, it was just a smile, but with Vincent it almost felt like a victory. With a giggle she picked up her pace until she was at his side again.

There were only two people ahead of them when they arrived at the line. Terese noted with irritation that the person who stopped behind them left more than a polite space between them. She wondered if Vincent had noticed. Probably he had, but by now he was used to it.

When it was their turn, Vincent stepped up to the booth, his expression shielded. The girl behind it, short with auburn hair and glasses and wearing a floppy blue hat, looked up at him, her eyes widening briefly. Then she grinned at him. "I like your bandanna!" she said, tipping her head to the side childishly, though she was clearly high-school age. "Pretty cool."

Vincent stared at her, almost comically surprised by her words. Terese thought he probably didn't get that kind of comment very often. She smiled, pleased.

The girl, her name tag announced her to be Heather, leaned across the cart, peering at him. Vincent looked back at her, seeming nearly as fascinated as she was, though for different reasons.

"Hey!" Heather blurted, "Wow! Are those contacts?!"

"No." Vincent said bluntly.

She gaped at him. "They aren't?! Your eyes are red on their own?!"

He nodded once.

Heather gaped at him for a moment, then crowed, "Sweet! That's awesome! I've never seen anybody with red eyes before!"

Terese looked at Vincent. He was astonished, looking very much at a loss for words. She almost laughed. She'd never seen him so unsure of himself.

After a moment Heather seemed to remember why Vincent was in front of her in the first place. "Oh!" she said, "What do you want?"

Vincent blinked, then turned to Terese. "What do you want on your hotdog?"

She shrugged. "Ketchup and mustard, I guess."

Heather looked over at her. "Oohh, he's buying for you, huh? He's one of the good ones. In all ways, I bet," she said, winking exaggeratedly with a suggestive chuckle.

Terese's mouth dropped open as her face flushed a brilliant scarlet. Heather laughed playfully. How would Vincent react to this? she wondered. Mortified, she turned to peek at him.

He was standing with his arms folded, a black eyebrow cocked. His lips were curved into a slight smile and there was an odd sparkle in his eyes. Terese's own eyes widened. He was amused. He turned to Heather. "How much will that be?"

She told him, and he quietly drew the money out of his wallet, giving it to her with his right hand. The girl glanced at his prosthetic while she took it, stiffening slightly. Despite her obviously accepting attitude, the golden, mechanical 'claw' still disturbed her a little. Her eyes swept him as she handed him the hot dog, obviously wondering just how different he was. Maybe he was one of the cult freaks.

Sighing, Terese took the hotdog from him as he handed it to her. "Aren't you going to eat anything?"

He shook his head. "I am fine."

They turned and left the stand, Heather calling a 'thank you' after them before addressing her next customer. They began to head back the way they had come as Terese ate, walking silently until she had finished. After a few moments she said musingly, "Do you ever want to just... tell someone about yourself, Vincent? I mean, whether you'd actually do it or not, do you ever just want... to let it all out?"

Vincent said nothing, his hands in his pockets as he walked, not looking at her. She didn't really expect him to answer, and so she continued on her own, unperturbed. "I do. But it's hard, isn't it? It's really hard to do something like that. You just don't know how the other person will react. I never talked about myself and what I could do when I got older. As a kid, I didn't know any better and I'd babble on about it all over the place. I thought everyone else had the same abilities I did. I mean, why would I think they didn't? And the other kids thought I was a freak."

Vincent glanced at her briefly, though he still did not speak.

She looked down at the sidewalk, watching the cracks pass by as they traveled. "One time some of the older kids attacked me, you know. They were just afraid, but even though I knew by then that they didn't like me, I never expected that. It was only a couple, most of the kids wouldn't even think of doing something like that, but they didn't try to stop it, either. They were probably scared, too. The big kids, they threw rocks at me. I guess I'm lucky they didn't beat me with their fists, or something."

She laughed a little, rubbing her forehead. "One of them hit me right here. It was kind of sharp, and it bled a lot. We moved away after that, and I learned not to talk about my connection with the planet. Of course, at the time I didn't even know that was what it was."

She noticed that she had unconsciously slowed her walk to almost a crawl, and Vincent had reduced his speed to stay with her. Whether he actually cared about what she had to say or he was just being polite, it still made her feel better. She smiled up at him. "You're a really good listener, Vincent. That's one of the things I like about you. Even though you don't actually say anything in response, I still know you're listening."

Of course, Vincent didn't say anything to that, either, and she laughed. Without thinking, she impulsively hugged his arm as they walked. Then she pressed her lips together and swallowed, releasing him as she mentally cursed himself. There was a slight hesitation in Vincent's step for a moment, his red eyes flickering over her face, but then he continued as if nothing had happened. Relieved and very surprised, she stayed at his side, not speaking for a while.

They left the main streets and started down the more out-of-the-way ones that led to Vincent's apartment. After a few minutes Terese saw a group of five teenage boys across the street. They looked like they were part of a gang of some kind. They leered back at her and she quickly turned her gaze elsewhere, unconsciously stepping closer to Vincent. Then she saw three of them break off from the main group and start toward them, and she closed her eyes, hoping that they would leave them alone.

The boys crossed the street and began to walk behind them, matching their pace. Terese looked at Vincent. His eyes were focused ahead of them, and he might have been totally unaware of the group behind them. He appeared completely unconcerned.

One of the boys whistled and there were a few cat-calls. Terese swallowed, her chest tight. After a moment they began to make suggestive comments that grew more crude as they went on, and a sick feeling began to build in her stomach. She prayed that they were just a few jerks out for a laugh, and that they wouldn't try anything violent.

The boys closed to within a few feet of them and Terese grasped the sleeve of Vincent's trenchcoat with unsteady fingers, her knuckles whitening. She felt him look down at her, neither slowing or increasing his speed. She wondered if he thought she was being a coward. He didn't try to shake her off, though, for which she was pathetically grateful.

"Hey, come on," one of the boys called, "Why don't you lose your freak and we'll show you a good time."

Another one jogged around in front of them, stopping directly in their path. Without pausing, Vincent slipped easily around him, briefly touching Terese's back to guide her.

"Hey, you better stop, you stupid fucker!"

All three of them moved around in front of them. One of them with spiked orange hair and multiple facial piercings stepped forward and gave Vincent a violent shove. Stumbling backward, Vincent quickly righted himself, then stood and faced the teenagers impassively. Terese clung to his side, tightly holding his arm as her heart thundered in her chest.

The orange-haired kid, who seemed to be the leader, produced a knife, lightly tossing it from hand to hand. "All right, freak. Why don't you just leave the lady with us, and we'll let you go."

Vincent looked back at him, his red gaze unfaltering. He did not move or speak, letting his silence talk for him.

The kid's lips curled into a sadistic smile. "You stupid bastard."

Terese cringed, expecting him to attack Vincent. She could hardly do more than gasp in shock when the kid lunged at her and tore her away from Vincent, his fingers digging painfully into her arm.

Vincent reacted with lightning speed. As one of the kids rushed at him, wildly swinging a second knife, he side-stepped and caught the boy's wrist in his metallic hand. While the teenager's momentum carried him forward, Vincent brought his right hand across the boy's chest and, as he twisted his wrist to the outside, smashed his gloved palm into his elbow.

There was a sickening crack as the joint snapped the wrong way. The knife clattered to the ground and Vincent released him as he doubled over, screaming hysterically, his right arm dangling at a grotesque angle.

This had occurred in a fraction of a second; the first boy had hardly finished grabbing Terese before it was over. As he stared in shock, Vincent turned and grasped the wrist of the hand that held the knife pressed against Terese's throat, then slid his hand forward, his fingers slipping beneath the teenager's palm, his thumb staying on top. Then he tightened his hand, his thumb and middle finger closing down on the pressure point between the boy's thumb and forefinger. The teenager gasped in pain as his numbed hand involuntarily released the knife and it fell to the sidewalk, skittering onto the pavement. Terese wrenched herself away from him, stumbling backward, her eyes wide as she watched Vincent's golden hand come up and grip the boy's throat. The metal fingers tightened as he dragged the boy from his feet and slammed him up against the wall of the building they stood next to. The teenager's toes dangled more than a foot off the ground. In one fluid movement, Vincent produced his gun and pressed the muzzle to the boy's temple.

With a whimper, the third teenager took off down the street, not looking back. The other lay moaning and sobbing on the ground, clutching at his arm. Their two friends had long since vanished.

The orange-haired kid's eyes were bulging out of his head as his panic-stricken face began to turn purple. He stared down at Vincent, kicking at him as he vainly attempted to pry the mechanical hand from his throat. Thin trails of blood began to trickle down his neck where the tips of the fingers were digging into his flesh.

Terese looked over at Vincent. It might seem from the expression on his face that he was utterly emotionless, but the hard, brilliant glitter in his eyes told her otherwise. He was furious. She watched his finger begin to tighten on the trigger. She opened her mouth to stop him, but found she couldn't form words. There was a long, tense moment as the two opponents stared at each other, the teenager looking like he was going to pass out any moment. Then Vincent yanked him away from the wall and released him. The kid staggered and fell to his knees, gasping, his elbows on the pavement.

Looking at the ground, Vincent slowly holstered his gun. He stood very still, saying nothing. After a long moment he glanced at her. "Are you all right?"

Terese swallowed, feeling herself begin to tremble now that it was over and she could actually think about what had happened. "I-I'm f-fine."

As she watched him walk over to her, she again found herself wondering about his past. He had known exactly what to do. It was no wonder he hadn't been afraid. He had known from the start that the teenagers stood no chance of defeating him in a fight. She wondered where he had learned the skills he had just displayed. And she wondered again if she should be afraid of him.

But as he reached her side she dismissed the idea. He had been protecting her. She was safe because of him. Again. When he looked at her she met his red eyes without hesitation, smiling a little.

"Thank you, Vincent."

He didn't look away from her for a long time. Then he nodded and they headed back to his apartment.

*****

Terese had trouble sleeping that night. After tossing and turning for hours, she finally dozed off, only to wake up again a short time later. She wondered what time it was. Quietly slipping out of bed, she walked down the hallway, resolving to find a book to read. Then she frowned. The kitchen light was on.

She walked to the doorway and peered inside, wincing a little as the bright light hit her eyes. She stood still for long moments, gazing into the room.

Vincent's gun was on the table, the bullets resting next to it. Vincent himself was seated at the table. His arms were folded with the normal one on top of the prosthetic, his fingers curled limply. His head was pillowed on top of his arms, long dark hair spilling across the wood. He was asleep.

Moving as softly as she could, Terese entered the kitchen, pausing next to the table and looking down at him. Did he sleep like this every night? she wondered, feeling extremely guilty. Her eyes traced his still form, noting his posture. He had not meant to fall asleep; at least, not like this. Vincent would not have left his gun and bullets laying out if he had intended to rest.

She fidgeted for a moment, wondering what she should do. She didn't want him to sleep like this, but she was afraid that, if she woke him, he would not go to bed. Finally she reached out and lightly touched his shoulder. He did not respond.

"Vincent," she said quietly, shaking him gently. After a moment he groaned softly, his eyes slowly opening. She swallowed guiltily. He was very, very tired.

At first he didn't seem to know what was going on, looking up at her with confusion written across his face. Then he closed his eyes again for a moment, sighing heavily. A second later he lifted his head, sitting up in the chair and rubbing his forehead. His gaze focused on the gun on the table and he frowned, moving as though he would pick it up.

Terese immediately covered his hand with her own, pressing it down against the table. "No," she said firmly. "You are going to bed, Vincent."

He shoved a few stray strands of hair out of his eyes, gazing up at her. Before he could speak, though, she cut him off. "And don't tell me you're fine and I need the rest more than you do or any kind of crap like that. I already feel like a jerk, and I am not going to let you stay out here in the kitchen."

Vincent glared at her, climbing stiffly to his feet. Before he had taken two, steps though, he staggered slightly and she grabbed his arm, holding him steady. He sighed as she wrapped his arm around her shoulders and began to walk him toward the bedroom, too weary to argue with her. His head dropped forward and he leaned heavily against her, astonished at his weakness. He had pushed himself too hard.

They entered the bedroom and Terese sat him down on the bed. He pressed his gloved fingers to his eyes. He was not thinking clearly at all. Everything seemed... hazy, almost dream-like.

He felt Terese's fingers lightly come to rest on his shoulder.

"Are you sick, Vincent?"

He blinked. Was he sick? He did not get sick, hadn't been sick for many, many years.

"No," he said slowly.

He jumped a little as he felt her hands move to the tightly wound bandanna around his head, her fingers brushing though his black hair. He closed his eyes as she began to untie the knot at the back, shivering slightly. She was touching him. She was not afraid... to touch him.

She unwound the red bandanna, setting it on the table and then gently pushing back the hair that had tumbled forward into his face, her fingers stroking across his forehead. It had been so long since someone had touched him... He shivered again and Terese stilled for several moments. When she spoke, her voice was barely audible. "Oh, Vincent..."

Sitting down beside him, she wrapped her arm around his shoulders and pulled him against her, rubbing his back as his head dropped onto her shoulder. He began to shake and she laid her cheek against his hair, rocking him gently. He moaned softly. After a moment his arms slowly crept around her waist and he held her tightly, his fingers clenching in the material of her nightshirt.

After a long time he lifted his head to look at her and she gazed back at him, softly brushing his cheek with her knuckles. His dark brows drew together slightly. This shouldn't... shouldn't be... With a small smile she pulled away from him, laying her hand against his chest and pushing him down on the bed. Even as she did so, he realized again how tired he was.

"Go to sleep, Vincent," she said softly, lightly brushing her fingers over his eyebrows.

Rising from the bed, she turned the lamp out and left the room, shutting the door behind her. Exhausted, Vincent fell asleep immediately.

His peace was not to last.

*****

When he woke up the next morning, Vincent had only a vague memory of the night before. He had never fully come out of the haze of half-sleep after Terese had woken him to bring him to bed, and the events were blurred in his mind. In fact, the first thing to cross his mind was that he was late for work. He glanced at the watch that was still on his wrist, cursing.

He was very late. It was nearly eleven o' clock.

Quickly getting out of bed, he realized he was wearing the same clothes as yesterday, his boots were still on, and so was his glove. He snatched some clothing out of the closet and tossed them into the bathroom, stripping and getting in the shower with the water still cold. Rushing through the process of cleaning himself, he stepped out and got dressed again, throwing his wet hair behind his shoulders. His bandanna was on the table in the bedroom.

He frowned, feeling like he should be remembering something about that but not having any time to think about it. He wound it around his forehead and tied it off, leaving the bedroom and walking silently down the hallway.

Terese was in the living room, looking out the window.

"Why didn't you wake me?" he asked quietly, pulling on his glove.

She jumped a little and then turned to face him, shrugging. "You were tired. You can miss work, today, Vincent, I'm sure they'll get along without you for once."

He said nothing.

"Besides, what's the point of going now? There isn't a train arriving at the station until two o' clock, and then you still have to go there. By the time you get there, you'll hardly have any day left."

He stood silently, frowning at her, his hair dripping down his back and leaving water stains on his shirt. She was right, and that irritated him.

Terese turned back to the window, seeming distracted. After a moment she said quietly, "Vincent, do you know where the laboratory is?"

He started slightly, hardly have expecting that turn in the conversation. He looked at her for a minute before replying. "No."

She slowly turned to face him. "We have to find it. The... the things that happen there... They are very, very wrong."

Vincent did not speak, waiting to see if she would continue.

She wrapped her arms around herself. "It hurts... They hurt people. A lot." She shivered slightly. "They experiment on people like they're animals, just because they're curious! I couldn't really see any other reason behind what they did."

Vincent's jaw tightened. He was not surprised. He had heard this before.

"And," she went on, "I wasn't the only one there."

His eyes narrowed. "No?"

She shook her head. "There was at least one other person. I saw him sometimes, when I was in the main testing area of the lab. Every once in a while they would mention him. He seemed really valuable to them. 'Specimen 1A'. I don't know what else they wanted from him, but they were going to," she swallowed, shivering. "They wanted to... To make me pregnant with his child."

Vincent stared at her. "They were going to make him rape you?"

She shook her head again. "I don't think so. It would probably be artificial insemination. That hardly made it better, though." She shuddered. "You see, they kept him in this kind of glass tube filled with glowing green liquid. I guess it was Mako."

Vincent went very still. When he spoke, his voice was quiet. "What?"

"Yeah." She nodded. "He was never conscious, he just kind of floated there, naked, hooked up to all kinds of monitors and stuff. He didn't even have a mask to let him breath, but he was alive. It was like he was in a kind of stasis."

Vincent frowned. "Do you know why they were interested in a child between you two?"

She shrugged. "The scientists always talked about how a child by both of us would be a 'lifeform' superior to humankind. I guess the man in the tube was supposed to be kind of 'superior' himself, but he was faulted somehow. That was the impression I got. I think he was meant to be a perfect soldier, or something."

As Terese spoke, Vincent felt a growing, terrible suspicion. He told himself it was ridiculous, that it was beyond ridiculous, it was impossible. But the dread did not go away, and he swallowed painfully. "A perfect SOLDIER," he whispered hollowly. The words sounded terribly familiar. He closed his eyes for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was a mere breath of sound. "Terese. What did this man look like?"

She paused, her eyes distant as she remembered. "He was kind of strange looking. He was tall, and well-built; he looked like a soldier. The weird thing was his hair. It was silver and really, really long. Probably down to his thighs. And I think he had some kind of mark on one of his hands, like a tattoo, or something."

Vincent stood, his mouth open in shock, feeling like he had just been hit in the chest with a sledgehammer. He took a ragged breath, staggering backward a step. Dear God, how could this happen? This-this... It was impossible. Please, let it be a lie. ...Please, God. How could he... How could he live through this again?

And then he felt it. The strength of his anguish had given it an opening. It broke through his consciousness in a searing bolt of pain and he bent double, gasping in horrified shock.

"God," he gritted through clenched teeth. "No, no..."

Then another flash of pain brought him to his knees and all he could do was throw himself into the fight. Chaos viciously tried to claw its way to the surface, to force its way out of him. Vincent's hands clenched into fists under the entirely unexpected assault. So long... it had been years since Chaos had fought him. Sweat broke out across his forehead and he heard Terese calling his name as the red of his irises bled over his pupils and flooded his eyes. He gave a hissing gasp as his canine teeth elongated into fangs, feeling as though his insides were being torn out of his body. Trembling with agony, he felt huge, reddish wings begin to sprout from his back. Chaos would break free, and Terese would die.

No! This could not happen.

His lips drawing back in a snarl, Vincent closed his eyes and struggled with the essence of Chaos, dragged him back into the depths within him. Chaos fought him all the way, and for a moment he felt himself slipping, but then he forced the demon down, feeling the wings recede and the fangs pull back as he did so.

His eyes cleared and he collapsed onto the floor, rolling onto his back to stare up at the ceiling as his chest heaved and he gasped for breath. He raised a shaking hand to his head, pressing it against his temple in an effort to ease the pounding. He was vaguely aware of Terese staring at him in utter shock.

But none of it mattered. He could not think of anything but what had brought on the attack in the first place.

Sephiroth was still living.