Midgar Burning Chapter 53
Title: Midgar Burning
Authors: silence_laughs and calvi_sama
Pairing: Cid x Vincent
Rating: NC-17 (eventually), most certainly R
Disclaimer: We do not in any way own, nor profit from, the characters and/or locations of FFVII, that would all be SquareEnix. Also any other references to persons or products mentioned herein are purely coincidental *coughs*, and where they are not then they belong to their respective writers, producers, directors, or other individuals/companies listed under that sneaky little thing called a "copyright".
Warnings: Adult themes, blood, some violence, language, kidnapping, torture, mentions of abuse, murder, and above all else...yaoi, the 'inappropriate to minors' kind, the 'makes us sit up past our bedtimes reading' kind, 'cause lets face it folks, it just wouldn't be the same without it! >:3
Summary: Even as Cid fights to show Vincent it’s okay to love again, Vincent’s enemies are moving in. Can Cid secure a place in Vincent’s heart before their world falls apart?
A/N: Two things folks: 1) This is an RP and 2) This fic is AU. The usual players here: silence = Cid, and all in Cid's world, and yours truly = Vincent, and all in Vin's world. Easiest way to say it. ^^ This fic is a 'novel'-form piece (ie multi-chapter) that is darker than what we normally write, and out of our comfort zone in the fact that we normally prefer to stick to canon-type stuff. But I got the idea from ani_mama 's artwork (more specifically this picture), persuaded silence to "go along with it", and it's been going 'full steam ahead' since then, and quite grown on us. We hope you all like it! Icon art provided by silk_weaver .
--> A quick note here: there's going to be quite a lot of information to absorb in this chapter and the next at least, so please try to stick with it. Some pretty big questions are going to be answered regarding Vincent's past. Regretably, I would prefer this information to be trickled to the reader throughout the story and not just thrown at the reader en masse, but given how long this thing is and how much more we have to go, I had to take the inelegant risk. So, that being said: plese enjoy the next chapter.
Chapter 53
---------- Meanwhile back at the ShinRa Tower ----------
Running footsteps echoed down the abandoned hallway. Fluorescent lights above flickered and buzzed, their sound forgotten in favor of a more pressing errand and lit the walls with a cold, harsh light. A junior lab assistant, his lab coat open and flapping behind him skidded to a stop in front of a door marked ‘Authorized Personnel Only’ that was key-card locked. Digging into his pocket for his electronic passkey, horn-rimmed glasses sliding down a nose that had been broken a least once, he pushed his glasses up with one hand, swiped his key-card through the lock with the other, and was beeped through.
Things at ShinRa Pharmaceuticals had been in a state of chaos after news of Rufus ShinRa’s death had reached lab employees. Rumors of layoffs had spread like the plague and it was everything the senior researchers could do to keep the assistants and staff from running out to get a jump on the job market before the wave of unemployment they were so sure was coming hit. Then had come the police; crawling through the building everywhere they were able to go and pulling people aside and questioning them. To say things had been tense was a severe understatement. No one knew what was going to happen next.
Letting himself into the dim laboratory -why the man insisted on working in the dark was beyond him- the tech stopped to allow his eyes to adjust. The creep said it was to better see the subtle glow of the mako string, something about tiny biological neurofilaments or whatnot. Bottom line, the man was a crackpot and no one knew why ShinRa had kept him on the payroll.
“Doctor Hojo?” the tech called hesitantly.
“Shut the door you simplistic idiot! You’re letting in too much light!” snapped a shrill, grating voice from a corner.
The tech hurried to comply, and then scuttled over to the hunched back at the furthest microscope. A long, greasy ponytail on a receding hairline propped up the man’s large, round-lensed glasses as Dr. Hojo peered into a high-powered microscope at something that glowed a faint crimson color. “If only I had my notes! I’m missing something… but what? Neuropeptides are right… perhaps a light chain… no-no-no too harsh!” He adjusted something on the microscope then continued muttering. “But I ran the PCR several times and each strand was intact, what is it?!”
“Doctor Hojo, have you heard? ShinRa’s been…”
“Murdered, yes-yes my boy, word does travel even down here. Now do you have something useful to say or are you going to keep annoying me with repetitive drivel?”
The tech just sighed and turned on the ancient television in the corner. “It’s on nearly every channel, they read the will and everything goes to ShinRa’s head of security and foreign affairs!”
At the sudden flare of light, Hojo shrieked and covered the microscope with a heavy canvas cover. “Turn off that light, you imbecile! You might have destroyed two years' worth of research!” He whirled on the tech, fully intending to gouge the idiot’s eyes out, but what he saw on the television screen froze him in place. Scrabbling for his glasses, he lowered them back onto his face and stared, fixedly at the screen while wisps of black hair clung to his sweaty cheeks. Eyes widening as they grew used to the light, Hojo crept closer to the television, the light from the screen reflecting off of the lenses, creating twin discs of silver light and completely obscuring the man’s eyes, giving him an evil, owlish appearance. His lips peeled away from his stained teeth in a hideous, malevolent grin. “So one of you did survive,” he cackled eagerly. “And right under my very nose!”
“Dr. Hojo?” the tech asked hesitantly, feverishly fiddling with his pocket protector. “Who survived?”
But Hojo did not hear him. He moved closer and reached out to run his fingers over the man on the screen, almost lovingly. “Now it all makes sense! The mako, ShinRa’s evasions… the secrecy! My specimen,” he sighed happily. Now he had hope! He didn’t need his notes, he had something better! The only surviving specimen from that experiment! He could reverse engineer that strain of mako! Re-create everything! He began to grow excited. What was he doing wasting time here? He wasn’t getting anywhere. By now he had enough gil saved up that he could start his own lab, maybe he’d go back to his old location. Better yet, if this one survived, how many others had as well? “So much to do. I must make plans, buy supplies…” he began muttering as he wandered out of the lab, leaving his work unfinished. He had much better, more relevant things to focus upon now, such as re-acquiring his specimen.
The tech watched Dr. Hojo leave, and then looked back at the screen, puzzled. What in the world could Dr. Hojo possibly want with Vincent Valentine?
---------- At the same time, back across Midgar ----------
“Are the others following us?” Vincent asked softly.
“Yes, sir,” Verdot said from behind the wheel after a brief glance in his rear-view mirror.
“Anyone else, as far as you can tell?” he asked, rubbing his eyes tiredly. Gods, his chest hurt.
Tseng looked over the seat and spoke with Rude briefly over the phone while Verdot checked the rear-view mirror again, and both men shook their heads. “Good,” Vincent said, “pull over here.”
“Sir?” Verdot asked, scowling.
“Mr. Highwind and I shall continue on alone. It is Friday.” Vincent said simply.
Verdot swore under his breath and pulled off the road and into a parking lot, Rude and Reno in the car behind them following suit. When the cars were parked, the men got out, Tseng assisting Vincent to stand. Then, leaning on his cane he addressed them. “Mr. Highwind and I shall move on alone from here. Go back to the Tower and continue business as normal and I shall see you in three or four hours. Tseng, please have last quarters reports delivered to my apartment. I’ll call if I have need of you. It’s just business as usual, gentlemen.”
“Yeah, except you’re nearly dead on your feet, boss!” Reno said, his teal-colored eyes filled with concern.
“I’m fine, Reno, but your concern is duly noted, and appreciated.” Vincent said softly, giving Reno a small smile. “Now, let’s move quickly before we pick up any unwanted attention. Gentlemen.” He nodded and made his slow, stooped way to the passenger side door with Tseng's help. Cid moved to the driver’s side door. As Vincent got situated, and when he strapped himself in, his cane propped in between his legs, he looked over at Cid and asked, “Are you ready?”
“Uh?” Cid asked, looking doubtfully at Vincent. “I dunno. Am I? Reckon I look pretty enough,” he said, flashing surprisingly white teeth in the other man’s direction. “But I don’t have a clue where I’m goin’.” Not to mention the fact that he had rarely ever driven, much less something this nice…but he wasn’t going to tell Vincent that; the poor man had more than enough to worry about already. “An’ I can’t seem t’stop thinkin’ about how much I want ya t’get me outta this suit.” Fidgeting with his hat before starting the car, Cid sighed and looked at the dash. “What, uh…what’s that one light mean, right there?”
That comment worried him… greatly. “That is your turn signal, Cid. Have you driven before?” Sudden flashes of an imminent fiery death shot through his frontal lobe and he winced. “Do you wish me to try and drive?” He didn’t think he’d do any better, but Cid’s dubious expression was alarming.
“It’s, uh…it’s been a while, that’s all. An’ no, you don’t need t’put that much strain on yer arms. I’ll manage, m’sure.” And he did, but was very quiet for the most part. He needed to focus on this. Then he realized that he was driving them back to his apartment, which was not where they were headed. “Have I been goin’ th’right way ‘r just not heard ya talkin’?” he asked sheepishly, looking sideways at Vincent when they next stopped at a red light.
Vincent managed a weak, uncertain smile. “Well, you’ve taking a round-about way, but we can still get out of Midgar if you take the next right and stay on the expressway.” He fiddled with the ivory head of his cane and bit his lip. “We’re going Northwest, towards Healin for about an hour.”
Cid’s eyes lit up. Leaving Midgar? It had been a long time since he’d done that, even just for a day. Newly cheered, he took the next right -he was pretty sure he did it legally, even- and sighed in relief when he saw that the expressway was mostly empty. “So,” he said, seeking to fill the silence even though it was fairly comfortable.
In a complete contrast to Cid’s cheer, Vincent only grew more apprehensive and nervous the closer they got to their destination. He had never shared this part of himself with anyone, not even Tseng, and now Cid was going to know everything about him. Every dark secret, every lie… he looked out the passenger side window, not wanting his companion to see his expression, and his hand tightened around his cane until his knuckles turned white. He really didn’t think he could handle the condemnation he would inevitably see in Cid’s eyes when he learned the truth, and for a moment he resented the man for trapping him into this agreement. “Yes?” he asked softly.
Cid laughed nervously. “Just tryin’a make conversation, I reckon.” On the empty road -no one ever left Midgar, it seemed, but there were plenty of people on the way in- he felt confident enough in his limited driving ability to take one hand off the wheel and reach for Vincent with it. He finally dragged his eyes away from the road after a long moment of groping blindly for the other man’s hand. “I know y’won’t believe me ‘til I make good on what I say, but whatever this is ain’t gonna take me away from ya. Y’ll always have me. I ain’t goin’ nowhere, an’ I’m not gonna want to.”
Vincent nodded, keeping his eyes out the side window so he had been unaware of Cid’s attempts to grasp his hand. When Cid finally made contact he jumped and recoiled as though burned until he realized that all Cid had wanted to do was hold his hand. So he did, threading his fingers with Cid’s and returning his gaze out the window. He reached up and removed his hat so that he could rest his head back on the headrest. “As you say,” he said softly. Who wouldn’t find him despicable, a selfish bastard, and just downright cruel? He did. And he had every expectation of Cid leaving him. As long as he had had this secret, he could pretend that it didn’t exist, that he was just another man trying to keep his head above the waterline. Now even that was gone, and he was slipping under to drown.
Unconvinced, Cid drove the rest of the way in silence, holding Vincent’s hand just tightly enough to assert that he wanted to hold it. When they reached the sanatorium, Cid squeezed even tighter and drove once around the lot before finding a parking spot he could manage to fit the car into. When they were parked, he turned off the vehicle and handed Vincent the key.
“Thank you,” Vincent murmured and released Cid’s hand. He reached over and opened his door, then unfastened his seat belt. He turned in his seat and swung his legs out followed by the cane and sat there a moment before he grabbed the door frame and tried to haul himself out of the car only to succeed in sending a stabbing pain through his chest. “Fuck,” he muttered around a wheeze as he slumped back into the seat. Dammit, I can do this! he thought venomously. I can get out of a fucking car unassisted! Sucking in his lips and furrowing his brow he took a -somewhat- deep breath and with one mighty heave he pushed and pulled himself onto his feet… and immediately into a coughing fit that had him spitting bloody saliva onto the ground. He leaned heavily on the car and his cane, bent over until he could get himself back under control. Finally, licking the blood off of his teeth and dabbing it from his lips with the handkerchief from his breast pocket , he stood up as straight as he could, tugged his jacket down, replaced his hat, and with Cid in tow made his way to… he groaned audibly. There were quite a few steps up to the front door. He had forgotten. Lips thinning in determination, Vincent made his way over to the beginning and, using the handrail and his cane, began to climb, one slow, excruciatingly painful step at a time.
Ten minutes, and fifteen steps later, he had to give up. He was drenched in a cold sweat and his chest hurt nearly too much to breathe, and he was only half-way there! “I can’t- I can’t do it,” he gasped. “Hurts…” he leaned over onto the railing, completely lost in his own misery.
He hated seeing Vincent spitting out blood. It made him feel so inadequate for being unable to take away the pain, and so afraid that at some point, the blood would keep coming until Vincent passed out or worse. Only a step behind the taller man, Cid laid a hand on his shoulder. “You can. Take yer time, Vincent. There’s no hurry.” He could just scoop him up and bring him in, but he wanted, perhaps illogically, for Vincent to feel capable, even when he so clearly was not. “Lean back on me if y’need to, sugar. We c’n make it.”
“Nothing… left,” he choked, falling down onto his knees, then forward onto his arms, dropping his cane to go skidding down several steps followed by his hat. His arms shook as he tried to take in enough air, but failed. Panic had its icy grip on his imperiled heart and he breathed heavily out of his nose for several minutes. He swayed and his eyes lost focus as he slowly suffocated. “Just… have to… lie down… a minute… get my… breath back…” Suddenly his head was too heavy. He just needed to rest for a minute! “Try… again…” He eased over onto his side, resting his cheek against the hard cement step. The pain eased when he did that and his breathing became a little easier. He would try again in a little bit. He could make it, but he had to rest first, just for a minute, only a minute. He began to fall asleep.
“Don’t hafta try so hard t’prove yerself,” Cid murmured, dropping to sit beside Vincent on one of the steps. “I know y’can, Vincent. An’ you know y’can. We’ll try again. Keep yer eyes open for me,” he said, worried. “If’n y’pass out here I won’t be much good to ya.”
Vincent only coughed weakly in reply, having not really heard Cid. Right now he was cursing his fate and the circumstances that had brought him to this point. Damn you, Sephiroth, and damn me too.
“Oh come now, Father, none of that,” Sephiroth’s voice ghosted in his mind. “It will take more than a piece of metal to kill you and you know it.”
“But it… fucking… hurts, you selfish prick.” Vincent growled in a sudden flash of anger, which really only sounded more like a wheeze. “And don’t… call me ‘father’,” He bit out between clenched teeth.
“Hey, are you all right, sir?” An orderly just arriving for his shift said coming up to squat beside Vincent. Concern was plainly written on his kind face.
“Do I… fucking look… all right?” Vincent gasped, glaring up at the orderly and causing the man to take a surprised step back.
“Back off ‘im,” Cid muttered. “He ain’t all right, but he ain’t your responsibility. He’s mine. So you back off, an’ you let me take care of ‘im.” Unnecessary, but he was edgy, concerned, and emotionally stretched more thinly than he could ever remember having been before. He may not be the most capable hands for Vincent, but he also knew that more medical attention was the last thing Vincent wanted…and he probably didn’t need it, either. There was nothing more that could be done until the next surgery. Except… “Vince, sugar, where’s yer oxygen?”
“Tseng…” Vincent said, trying to sit up and having to grab onto Cid’s arm to do so. “Car… Tower…” Once he was up he gripped his chest and tried to ease the pain by evening his breathing. He was grateful for Cid at that moment as the orderly moved off with a dubious expression, and he managed to give Cid a weak smile. “Could you… hand me my cane… please?”
Cid nodded and passed the cane to Vincent, running his fingers through dark hair with the other hand.
“Thank you,” Vincent breathed. He snagged his overturned hat with the end of his cane and brought it up to his hand. Placing it on his head, he looked at Cid, “Will you help me up?” It was difficult to ask for help, but he wouldn’t be able to do it by himself, that was painfully obvious to him now.
Nodding again, Cid stood slowly, and then squatted awkwardly on the steps so he could support Vincent as he eased him into a sitting position. From there, he stood and looked at Vincent, trying to work out how to best bring him back to standing.
Vincent rested a moment longer, leaning forward with his forehead against his cane, his hat held loosely in his other hand. When had things gotten so far out of control?! Finally he straightened up, put his hat back onto his head and reached for the banister. It was a stretch, and a painful one at that, but he achieved it and with Cid’s help, lifting under his armpits, he wrestled himself upright again. He reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and retrieved the linen handkerchief to once again wipe the blood off of his lips. Turning, he replaced the handkerchief and began his painstakingly slow way up the rest of the steps.
Once he got to the top he sat down on a bench to catch his breath. When they finally entered the sanatorium thirty minutes had elapsed.
“Mr. Black!” One of the nurses exclaimed upon seeing his pale and drawn face, hidden securely behind the ever present dark shades. “You don’t look well, sir, can I get you anything? Oh! And who is your companion?”
Vincent waved her off, saying breathlessly, “No need, my dear, I’m fine. I’ve been ill, and am just moving a bit slower than normal. This is Mr. Pemberton, a cousin to my nephew. I thought it might be beneficial if he came. I trust that will not be a problem?”
“Oh no, no problem, sir!” The nurse said brightly although her expression still held concern for his appearance. Then to Cid, she beamed a smile and said, “How are you, Mr. Pemberton? Your cousin’s condition hasn’t changed, I’m afraid, but I think it will help if you see him. Ah yes! Now I can see the family resemblance!”
Cid forced a hearty laugh. “Yeah, shoulda seen us when we was young! Can’t tell us apart in pitchers ‘til ‘bout age twelve ‘r so. Then I got handsome, an’ he- well, y’know.” He laughed again, and then put on a sad face. “We’ve all been worried ‘bout ‘im fer a long time. I’m glad t’have th’chance t’see ‘im, even if he ain’t doin’ no better.” He was treading on thin ice; he had no idea what they were talking about, and going into too much detail would blow their cover. Vincent really should have given him a rundown of this situation on the way here. “But if y’could take us there pretty quick? I think a sit-down’s in order here,” he said, nodding in Vincent’s direction. “Came over a little weak this mornin’, but I couldn’t talk ‘im inta skippin’ a visit. Said it wouldn’t be right, an’ I reckon ‘e’s got a point. So here I am, an’ feelin’ right ashamed o’ m’self fer not visitin’ sooner.”
The nurse gave ‘Mr. Pemberton’ a peculiar look, but she knew better than to say anything. A man such as Mr. Black, a wealthy man such as Mr. Black who had poured more money into this place than she had seen in her life, had purchased not only care for his nephew, but had also purchased a guarantee of ‘no questions asked, thank you very much’. But it didn’t mean she couldn’t think it. And what she thought was that ‘Mr. Pemberton’ looked a lot older than Mr. Black’s nephew by a good ten years at least. Instead she plastered a smile on her face and said, “Mr. Black knows the way, shall I fetch a wheelchair? That might make it easier.”
“That won’t be necessary, Lucy, thank you.” Vincent said softly, leaning heavily on his cane. “We’ll just be going now.”
Lucy nodded. “Just page me if you need anything, sir.”
Vincent nodded and began hobbling down the hallway, his cane making a tap-tap-tap sound with every other footfall, trusting Cid to follow him.
Cid followed, confused and saddened by the need for secrecy with…whatever this was. He looked around the building, feeling dwarfed by the enormity of the hallway. Everything was cold and white, and he shuddered. This place was even less pleasant than the hospital.
After what seemed like hours, Vincent came to the nondescript closed door that shut his skeleton off from the rest of the world. He placed his palm on the doorknob and glanced back over his shoulder at Cid briefly before looking back down at his hand on the knob. If he released it, he knew it would be shaking. He shut his eyes and prayed for strength, but in the end just gave up as what was left fled him, leaving him an empty, resigned shell. Vincent turned the knob, opened the door and entered the dim room that smelled of the ever present dark spices. When Cid entered, he shut the door behind them, and stood facing its solid form. He knew what Cid would see: the thin nearly emaciated form, dwarfed in the bed, the limp and lank hair, the pale skin. He shuddered and waited for Cid’s condemnation, or worse… his pity.
Cid wanted to put his arms around Vincent and lead him to a chair to sit down, but he sensed that the other man needed some time to compose himself before the talking started. Instead, he took one of the extra chairs from the corner and brought it to side of the bed. Once he was seated, he reached out and took the hand of the apparently comatose young man. He didn’t see any family resemblance between himself and this other blond -probably because there was none- but he didn’t really question the nurse’s statement. “What’s ‘is name?” Cid asked quietly. The more complicated questions with the more painful answers could wait.
Vincent let out a shaky breath, but did not turn around. Instead he placed the palm of the hand not holding the cane flat against the door. “His name is Cloud. He is one of three known survivors of a series of horrific and immoral experiments. Sephiroth is the second… and I am the third. But I think you already know that.” He turned away from Cid and leaned his shoulder against the door now. “Somewhere, in the darkest part of your heart, you already knew.” He murmured. “Sephiroth lost his body, and Cloud lost his mind… I was the only one to escape intact… if you could call it that.”
Cid nodded and let out his own shaky breath. “Yeah, I think I did.” He shivered, from the cold and from the thought of what those three men had been through. He was so lucky to have Vincent, after so much… would he lose him now? Would the truth of all this drive them apart? He hoped not. He very much hoped not.
Vincent fell silent for a while, looking at the ground until the reason he was there galvanized him to move. He turned around then and with halting steps he made his way over to the bed and sat down on the edge to look down at Cloud’s pale, lifeless face. He reached out a badly-shaking hand and brushed the backs of his fingers down the young man’s cool cheek, then traced fingertips down Cloud’s jaw to the thin chest that rose in a weak but steady rhythm. It wasn’t fair. This young man, barely more than a child, should have had a long and healthy life. And instead… slowly he reached into his pocket with withdrew the Jenova mako and a syringe. With hands that continued to shake, he filled the syringe, and when it was full he put the now-empty bottle down on the bed and stared at the glowing, poisonous, green fluid. “I’m killing him, you know," he said sorrowfully, reaching for the thin arm and picking it up to lay it in his lap. He didn’t need a tourniquet anymore to find the vein, and Cloud’s body absorbed the mako quickly. He stroked his thumb over the tender flesh of the boy’s inner elbow. “I’m killing this beautiful child.” And with supreme effort he stilled his hand enough to insert the needle, pull back the plunger to mix blood with mako and then shoot the mixture into the body in front of him, taking another piece of his soul with it.
“With th’world th’way it is, he’s maybe better off that way.” There wasn’t much else to say; he didn’t have enough information to draw any other conclusions, and he certainly wasn’t going to judge. He did wonder how much he was going to know once they left this place- information he would surely wish he didn’t know. “He’d be stuck here, in this mess of a city, if he were functionin’. You’re stuck, an’ so is Sephiroth…wouldn’t be any better fer him. This way at least he’s far away from it all.”
Vincent smiled sadly as he replaced Cloud’s arm back under the covers and tucked the young man in. “I appreciate your attempt to justify what I’m doing, Cid. But you needn’t bother. The truth is what it is, and what it will always be.” He turned his back to Cid and sat on the edge of the bed. “You need to know why I’m doing this before you tell me it’s okay or not.” He mumbled.
Vincent sighed and struggled to his feet, and leaning heavily on his cane, he hobbled over to the other remaining chair that sat under the window. Grasping its back he turned it to face the window and sat down heavily. Twiddling the cane in his fingers he looked at the horizon and the dark clouds that were slowly making their way towards them. A storm would hit soon, he thought. What a perfect atmosphere for a ghost story. When he began to speak, his voice was flat and hollow, and lightening could be seen splitting the sky outside the window.
“When I lost my wife, I never knew that kind of pain existed. I never thought anything could come close to it again. I was crushed. I had lost much of my desire to do anything. We had had such plans, a future that was so bright and full of possibilities.” He paused there for a moment, and a distant grumble of thunder could be heard, ominous and promising a break in the calm before the storm, before continuing softly. “I would have given up, I think, right then and there if it weren’t for my son. Through Ayden, I still had a piece of her, the best piece made tangible in the perfect little child we had created together. I had blamed myself, you see, for her death. If I hadn’t gotten her pregnant, she would still be alive, and I am deeply shamed that a small part of me also blamed my son as well.”
The old pain came back, crushing and overwhelming and for a moment he struggled to continue. But once he got going, the words came easier. “I spent as much time with Ayden as I could between my duties to the emperor and those to my family. He became my whole reason for living. And then I lost him, too.” He voice shook a little now. “I woke up one morning and went into his nursery. I- I thought he was sleeping, but…” He broke off, feeling his eyes begin to burn. He brought his hand up to rub his chest over his heart that seemed to be hurting, but not from any physical pain.
“I don’t remember much after that. I think I screamed, or yelled, or something. I remember picking Ayden up and…” he broke off as his voice caught in his throat. His hands were shaking very badly now. “He was cool to the touch. I kept thinking that if I could just get him warm, he’d be okay. Tseng came over, I think my parents must have called him, because I remember him trying to touch me, but I kept shoving him back. I just held onto my son, my perfect little boy, and tried to get him warm.” He looked at Cid then who was studying his face avidly, compassion evident in his depthless blue eyes. “A father should never outlive his child, Cid.”
“No,” Cid whispered. How much of Vincent’s warmth vanished that day? Had he poured it all into his son, trying to revive what was gone? And here was Cid, asking for everything he had left…he had never realized until now how cruel that seemed. Vincent’s face showed his pain, and Cid wanted to take it away in whatever manner he could, but he understood that some pain simply lived, as indestructible as Sephiroth’s willpower seemed to be. He wanted to wrap Vincent in his arms, but that would not have been acceptable, so instead he reached for his hand. Some contact, something to root Vincent to the present- surely that would ease this, if only minimally.
As soon as Vincent felt Cid’s hand seek out his own, he grabbed on. He wanted more. He wanted to be wrapped in arms that comforted him, and told him it would be okay, that it was acceptable to feel these things. He wanted the comfort that he had denied himself to be given so many years ago. But why would Cid want to do that? No, it was better that he be left alone. It was what he deserved.
He looked back out the window, but did not let go of Cid’s hand. If anything he squeezed harder. “Three days after Ayden died I found myself standing on the edge of Temple Cliff dumping my son’s ashes out onto the wind instead of placing them in the family shrine with his mother, as was his right.” His voice was dull, hollow-sounding even to his own ears. “I left town that night, taking all of the money I could get and wearing nothing but the clothing on my back. I told no one where I was going and soon my existence was nothing but bar after bar in one of the dirty fishing towns on the coast. I would drink until they threw me out, and I would wake up face down in the gutter, dirty and hung over. I would get up and go to the next bar and start all over again until I ran out of money, and then I started begging for money, eating out of trashcans when I got hungry enough. You see, if I got drunk enough I would stop seeing them when I closed my eyes, and when I began to sober up I would see Lucrecia’s face and the disappointment I would see there, that I knew would be there at my behavior, just made me drink more out of shame. Soon I became desperate for any alcohol I could get; holding out my hand to anyone I saw, all pride and honor gone, but people were giving me a wide berth now. I hadn’t bathed in a month, my clothes were stained and torn and I was thin and sickly-looking, imagine my shock and self-loathing whenever I saw my own reflection…” He trailed off as he was once again taken back to that moment in time.
“Anyway,” he sighed, “one day someone did answer my plea for money. In fact he even went with me to the bar and began buying me drink after drink until I was well on my way to a good drunk. He asked me about my family and I told him I had no one anymore, that I was alone, which wasn’t true of course, but to me at that time it was. He then asked me if I wanted to participate in a great and wondrous experiment, ‘groundbreaking’ for the advance of medicine and humanity. My first thought was, 'Where the fuck were you two months ago when my wife died?' But of course I did not voice it. I told him I wasn’t interested and when he pressed further I actually got up and walked out, not even finishing my drink. When I lay down on the dirty mattress that was my bed, that I shared with another drunk, in an attempt to try and sleep, I saw him again. He just looked down at me with this expression on his face. The streetlights reflecting off his round glasses made him look so evil, and I remember being afraid and not really knowing why because he had been nothing but nice when I’d sat with him in the bar. He left shortly thereafter when I didn’t really acknowledge him and I was glad, and when I woke up the next day there was a brown paper bag next to me. I opened it and inside was quite a bit of money. I didn’t question who left it, and went right to the nearest bar; quickly burning through that small fortune until once again I ended up face down in the smelly gutter. But that wasn’t where I woke up…” Vincent trailed off, staring at the roiling clouds. And now he could see the rain, just beyond the trees. It would hit them soon.
Authors: silence_laughs and calvi_sama
Pairing: Cid x Vincent
Rating: NC-17 (eventually), most certainly R
Disclaimer: We do not in any way own, nor profit from, the characters and/or locations of FFVII, that would all be SquareEnix. Also any other references to persons or products mentioned herein are purely coincidental *coughs*, and where they are not then they belong to their respective writers, producers, directors, or other individuals/companies listed under that sneaky little thing called a "copyright".
Warnings: Adult themes, blood, some violence, language, kidnapping, torture, mentions of abuse, murder, and above all else...yaoi, the 'inappropriate to minors' kind, the 'makes us sit up past our bedtimes reading' kind, 'cause lets face it folks, it just wouldn't be the same without it! >:3
Summary: Even as Cid fights to show Vincent it’s okay to love again, Vincent’s enemies are moving in. Can Cid secure a place in Vincent’s heart before their world falls apart?
A/N: Two things folks: 1) This is an RP and 2) This fic is AU. The usual players here: silence = Cid, and all in Cid's world, and yours truly = Vincent, and all in Vin's world. Easiest way to say it. ^^ This fic is a 'novel'-form piece (ie multi-chapter) that is darker than what we normally write, and out of our comfort zone in the fact that we normally prefer to stick to canon-type stuff. But I got the idea from ani_mama 's artwork (more specifically this picture), persuaded silence to "go along with it", and it's been going 'full steam ahead' since then, and quite grown on us. We hope you all like it! Icon art provided by silk_weaver .
--> A quick note here: there's going to be quite a lot of information to absorb in this chapter and the next at least, so please try to stick with it. Some pretty big questions are going to be answered regarding Vincent's past. Regretably, I would prefer this information to be trickled to the reader throughout the story and not just thrown at the reader en masse, but given how long this thing is and how much more we have to go, I had to take the inelegant risk. So, that being said: plese enjoy the next chapter.
Chapter 53
---------- Meanwhile back at the ShinRa Tower ----------
Running footsteps echoed down the abandoned hallway. Fluorescent lights above flickered and buzzed, their sound forgotten in favor of a more pressing errand and lit the walls with a cold, harsh light. A junior lab assistant, his lab coat open and flapping behind him skidded to a stop in front of a door marked ‘Authorized Personnel Only’ that was key-card locked. Digging into his pocket for his electronic passkey, horn-rimmed glasses sliding down a nose that had been broken a least once, he pushed his glasses up with one hand, swiped his key-card through the lock with the other, and was beeped through.
Things at ShinRa Pharmaceuticals had been in a state of chaos after news of Rufus ShinRa’s death had reached lab employees. Rumors of layoffs had spread like the plague and it was everything the senior researchers could do to keep the assistants and staff from running out to get a jump on the job market before the wave of unemployment they were so sure was coming hit. Then had come the police; crawling through the building everywhere they were able to go and pulling people aside and questioning them. To say things had been tense was a severe understatement. No one knew what was going to happen next.
Letting himself into the dim laboratory -why the man insisted on working in the dark was beyond him- the tech stopped to allow his eyes to adjust. The creep said it was to better see the subtle glow of the mako string, something about tiny biological neurofilaments or whatnot. Bottom line, the man was a crackpot and no one knew why ShinRa had kept him on the payroll.
“Doctor Hojo?” the tech called hesitantly.
“Shut the door you simplistic idiot! You’re letting in too much light!” snapped a shrill, grating voice from a corner.
The tech hurried to comply, and then scuttled over to the hunched back at the furthest microscope. A long, greasy ponytail on a receding hairline propped up the man’s large, round-lensed glasses as Dr. Hojo peered into a high-powered microscope at something that glowed a faint crimson color. “If only I had my notes! I’m missing something… but what? Neuropeptides are right… perhaps a light chain… no-no-no too harsh!” He adjusted something on the microscope then continued muttering. “But I ran the PCR several times and each strand was intact, what is it?!”
“Doctor Hojo, have you heard? ShinRa’s been…”
“Murdered, yes-yes my boy, word does travel even down here. Now do you have something useful to say or are you going to keep annoying me with repetitive drivel?”
The tech just sighed and turned on the ancient television in the corner. “It’s on nearly every channel, they read the will and everything goes to ShinRa’s head of security and foreign affairs!”
At the sudden flare of light, Hojo shrieked and covered the microscope with a heavy canvas cover. “Turn off that light, you imbecile! You might have destroyed two years' worth of research!” He whirled on the tech, fully intending to gouge the idiot’s eyes out, but what he saw on the television screen froze him in place. Scrabbling for his glasses, he lowered them back onto his face and stared, fixedly at the screen while wisps of black hair clung to his sweaty cheeks. Eyes widening as they grew used to the light, Hojo crept closer to the television, the light from the screen reflecting off of the lenses, creating twin discs of silver light and completely obscuring the man’s eyes, giving him an evil, owlish appearance. His lips peeled away from his stained teeth in a hideous, malevolent grin. “So one of you did survive,” he cackled eagerly. “And right under my very nose!”
“Dr. Hojo?” the tech asked hesitantly, feverishly fiddling with his pocket protector. “Who survived?”
But Hojo did not hear him. He moved closer and reached out to run his fingers over the man on the screen, almost lovingly. “Now it all makes sense! The mako, ShinRa’s evasions… the secrecy! My specimen,” he sighed happily. Now he had hope! He didn’t need his notes, he had something better! The only surviving specimen from that experiment! He could reverse engineer that strain of mako! Re-create everything! He began to grow excited. What was he doing wasting time here? He wasn’t getting anywhere. By now he had enough gil saved up that he could start his own lab, maybe he’d go back to his old location. Better yet, if this one survived, how many others had as well? “So much to do. I must make plans, buy supplies…” he began muttering as he wandered out of the lab, leaving his work unfinished. He had much better, more relevant things to focus upon now, such as re-acquiring his specimen.
The tech watched Dr. Hojo leave, and then looked back at the screen, puzzled. What in the world could Dr. Hojo possibly want with Vincent Valentine?
---------- At the same time, back across Midgar ----------
“Are the others following us?” Vincent asked softly.
“Yes, sir,” Verdot said from behind the wheel after a brief glance in his rear-view mirror.
“Anyone else, as far as you can tell?” he asked, rubbing his eyes tiredly. Gods, his chest hurt.
Tseng looked over the seat and spoke with Rude briefly over the phone while Verdot checked the rear-view mirror again, and both men shook their heads. “Good,” Vincent said, “pull over here.”
“Sir?” Verdot asked, scowling.
“Mr. Highwind and I shall continue on alone. It is Friday.” Vincent said simply.
Verdot swore under his breath and pulled off the road and into a parking lot, Rude and Reno in the car behind them following suit. When the cars were parked, the men got out, Tseng assisting Vincent to stand. Then, leaning on his cane he addressed them. “Mr. Highwind and I shall move on alone from here. Go back to the Tower and continue business as normal and I shall see you in three or four hours. Tseng, please have last quarters reports delivered to my apartment. I’ll call if I have need of you. It’s just business as usual, gentlemen.”
“Yeah, except you’re nearly dead on your feet, boss!” Reno said, his teal-colored eyes filled with concern.
“I’m fine, Reno, but your concern is duly noted, and appreciated.” Vincent said softly, giving Reno a small smile. “Now, let’s move quickly before we pick up any unwanted attention. Gentlemen.” He nodded and made his slow, stooped way to the passenger side door with Tseng's help. Cid moved to the driver’s side door. As Vincent got situated, and when he strapped himself in, his cane propped in between his legs, he looked over at Cid and asked, “Are you ready?”
“Uh?” Cid asked, looking doubtfully at Vincent. “I dunno. Am I? Reckon I look pretty enough,” he said, flashing surprisingly white teeth in the other man’s direction. “But I don’t have a clue where I’m goin’.” Not to mention the fact that he had rarely ever driven, much less something this nice…but he wasn’t going to tell Vincent that; the poor man had more than enough to worry about already. “An’ I can’t seem t’stop thinkin’ about how much I want ya t’get me outta this suit.” Fidgeting with his hat before starting the car, Cid sighed and looked at the dash. “What, uh…what’s that one light mean, right there?”
That comment worried him… greatly. “That is your turn signal, Cid. Have you driven before?” Sudden flashes of an imminent fiery death shot through his frontal lobe and he winced. “Do you wish me to try and drive?” He didn’t think he’d do any better, but Cid’s dubious expression was alarming.
“It’s, uh…it’s been a while, that’s all. An’ no, you don’t need t’put that much strain on yer arms. I’ll manage, m’sure.” And he did, but was very quiet for the most part. He needed to focus on this. Then he realized that he was driving them back to his apartment, which was not where they were headed. “Have I been goin’ th’right way ‘r just not heard ya talkin’?” he asked sheepishly, looking sideways at Vincent when they next stopped at a red light.
Vincent managed a weak, uncertain smile. “Well, you’ve taking a round-about way, but we can still get out of Midgar if you take the next right and stay on the expressway.” He fiddled with the ivory head of his cane and bit his lip. “We’re going Northwest, towards Healin for about an hour.”
Cid’s eyes lit up. Leaving Midgar? It had been a long time since he’d done that, even just for a day. Newly cheered, he took the next right -he was pretty sure he did it legally, even- and sighed in relief when he saw that the expressway was mostly empty. “So,” he said, seeking to fill the silence even though it was fairly comfortable.
In a complete contrast to Cid’s cheer, Vincent only grew more apprehensive and nervous the closer they got to their destination. He had never shared this part of himself with anyone, not even Tseng, and now Cid was going to know everything about him. Every dark secret, every lie… he looked out the passenger side window, not wanting his companion to see his expression, and his hand tightened around his cane until his knuckles turned white. He really didn’t think he could handle the condemnation he would inevitably see in Cid’s eyes when he learned the truth, and for a moment he resented the man for trapping him into this agreement. “Yes?” he asked softly.
Cid laughed nervously. “Just tryin’a make conversation, I reckon.” On the empty road -no one ever left Midgar, it seemed, but there were plenty of people on the way in- he felt confident enough in his limited driving ability to take one hand off the wheel and reach for Vincent with it. He finally dragged his eyes away from the road after a long moment of groping blindly for the other man’s hand. “I know y’won’t believe me ‘til I make good on what I say, but whatever this is ain’t gonna take me away from ya. Y’ll always have me. I ain’t goin’ nowhere, an’ I’m not gonna want to.”
Vincent nodded, keeping his eyes out the side window so he had been unaware of Cid’s attempts to grasp his hand. When Cid finally made contact he jumped and recoiled as though burned until he realized that all Cid had wanted to do was hold his hand. So he did, threading his fingers with Cid’s and returning his gaze out the window. He reached up and removed his hat so that he could rest his head back on the headrest. “As you say,” he said softly. Who wouldn’t find him despicable, a selfish bastard, and just downright cruel? He did. And he had every expectation of Cid leaving him. As long as he had had this secret, he could pretend that it didn’t exist, that he was just another man trying to keep his head above the waterline. Now even that was gone, and he was slipping under to drown.
Unconvinced, Cid drove the rest of the way in silence, holding Vincent’s hand just tightly enough to assert that he wanted to hold it. When they reached the sanatorium, Cid squeezed even tighter and drove once around the lot before finding a parking spot he could manage to fit the car into. When they were parked, he turned off the vehicle and handed Vincent the key.
“Thank you,” Vincent murmured and released Cid’s hand. He reached over and opened his door, then unfastened his seat belt. He turned in his seat and swung his legs out followed by the cane and sat there a moment before he grabbed the door frame and tried to haul himself out of the car only to succeed in sending a stabbing pain through his chest. “Fuck,” he muttered around a wheeze as he slumped back into the seat. Dammit, I can do this! he thought venomously. I can get out of a fucking car unassisted! Sucking in his lips and furrowing his brow he took a -somewhat- deep breath and with one mighty heave he pushed and pulled himself onto his feet… and immediately into a coughing fit that had him spitting bloody saliva onto the ground. He leaned heavily on the car and his cane, bent over until he could get himself back under control. Finally, licking the blood off of his teeth and dabbing it from his lips with the handkerchief from his breast pocket , he stood up as straight as he could, tugged his jacket down, replaced his hat, and with Cid in tow made his way to… he groaned audibly. There were quite a few steps up to the front door. He had forgotten. Lips thinning in determination, Vincent made his way over to the beginning and, using the handrail and his cane, began to climb, one slow, excruciatingly painful step at a time.
Ten minutes, and fifteen steps later, he had to give up. He was drenched in a cold sweat and his chest hurt nearly too much to breathe, and he was only half-way there! “I can’t- I can’t do it,” he gasped. “Hurts…” he leaned over onto the railing, completely lost in his own misery.
He hated seeing Vincent spitting out blood. It made him feel so inadequate for being unable to take away the pain, and so afraid that at some point, the blood would keep coming until Vincent passed out or worse. Only a step behind the taller man, Cid laid a hand on his shoulder. “You can. Take yer time, Vincent. There’s no hurry.” He could just scoop him up and bring him in, but he wanted, perhaps illogically, for Vincent to feel capable, even when he so clearly was not. “Lean back on me if y’need to, sugar. We c’n make it.”
“Nothing… left,” he choked, falling down onto his knees, then forward onto his arms, dropping his cane to go skidding down several steps followed by his hat. His arms shook as he tried to take in enough air, but failed. Panic had its icy grip on his imperiled heart and he breathed heavily out of his nose for several minutes. He swayed and his eyes lost focus as he slowly suffocated. “Just… have to… lie down… a minute… get my… breath back…” Suddenly his head was too heavy. He just needed to rest for a minute! “Try… again…” He eased over onto his side, resting his cheek against the hard cement step. The pain eased when he did that and his breathing became a little easier. He would try again in a little bit. He could make it, but he had to rest first, just for a minute, only a minute. He began to fall asleep.
“Don’t hafta try so hard t’prove yerself,” Cid murmured, dropping to sit beside Vincent on one of the steps. “I know y’can, Vincent. An’ you know y’can. We’ll try again. Keep yer eyes open for me,” he said, worried. “If’n y’pass out here I won’t be much good to ya.”
Vincent only coughed weakly in reply, having not really heard Cid. Right now he was cursing his fate and the circumstances that had brought him to this point. Damn you, Sephiroth, and damn me too.
“Oh come now, Father, none of that,” Sephiroth’s voice ghosted in his mind. “It will take more than a piece of metal to kill you and you know it.”
“But it… fucking… hurts, you selfish prick.” Vincent growled in a sudden flash of anger, which really only sounded more like a wheeze. “And don’t… call me ‘father’,” He bit out between clenched teeth.
“Hey, are you all right, sir?” An orderly just arriving for his shift said coming up to squat beside Vincent. Concern was plainly written on his kind face.
“Do I… fucking look… all right?” Vincent gasped, glaring up at the orderly and causing the man to take a surprised step back.
“Back off ‘im,” Cid muttered. “He ain’t all right, but he ain’t your responsibility. He’s mine. So you back off, an’ you let me take care of ‘im.” Unnecessary, but he was edgy, concerned, and emotionally stretched more thinly than he could ever remember having been before. He may not be the most capable hands for Vincent, but he also knew that more medical attention was the last thing Vincent wanted…and he probably didn’t need it, either. There was nothing more that could be done until the next surgery. Except… “Vince, sugar, where’s yer oxygen?”
“Tseng…” Vincent said, trying to sit up and having to grab onto Cid’s arm to do so. “Car… Tower…” Once he was up he gripped his chest and tried to ease the pain by evening his breathing. He was grateful for Cid at that moment as the orderly moved off with a dubious expression, and he managed to give Cid a weak smile. “Could you… hand me my cane… please?”
Cid nodded and passed the cane to Vincent, running his fingers through dark hair with the other hand.
“Thank you,” Vincent breathed. He snagged his overturned hat with the end of his cane and brought it up to his hand. Placing it on his head, he looked at Cid, “Will you help me up?” It was difficult to ask for help, but he wouldn’t be able to do it by himself, that was painfully obvious to him now.
Nodding again, Cid stood slowly, and then squatted awkwardly on the steps so he could support Vincent as he eased him into a sitting position. From there, he stood and looked at Vincent, trying to work out how to best bring him back to standing.
Vincent rested a moment longer, leaning forward with his forehead against his cane, his hat held loosely in his other hand. When had things gotten so far out of control?! Finally he straightened up, put his hat back onto his head and reached for the banister. It was a stretch, and a painful one at that, but he achieved it and with Cid’s help, lifting under his armpits, he wrestled himself upright again. He reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and retrieved the linen handkerchief to once again wipe the blood off of his lips. Turning, he replaced the handkerchief and began his painstakingly slow way up the rest of the steps.
Once he got to the top he sat down on a bench to catch his breath. When they finally entered the sanatorium thirty minutes had elapsed.
“Mr. Black!” One of the nurses exclaimed upon seeing his pale and drawn face, hidden securely behind the ever present dark shades. “You don’t look well, sir, can I get you anything? Oh! And who is your companion?”
Vincent waved her off, saying breathlessly, “No need, my dear, I’m fine. I’ve been ill, and am just moving a bit slower than normal. This is Mr. Pemberton, a cousin to my nephew. I thought it might be beneficial if he came. I trust that will not be a problem?”
“Oh no, no problem, sir!” The nurse said brightly although her expression still held concern for his appearance. Then to Cid, she beamed a smile and said, “How are you, Mr. Pemberton? Your cousin’s condition hasn’t changed, I’m afraid, but I think it will help if you see him. Ah yes! Now I can see the family resemblance!”
Cid forced a hearty laugh. “Yeah, shoulda seen us when we was young! Can’t tell us apart in pitchers ‘til ‘bout age twelve ‘r so. Then I got handsome, an’ he- well, y’know.” He laughed again, and then put on a sad face. “We’ve all been worried ‘bout ‘im fer a long time. I’m glad t’have th’chance t’see ‘im, even if he ain’t doin’ no better.” He was treading on thin ice; he had no idea what they were talking about, and going into too much detail would blow their cover. Vincent really should have given him a rundown of this situation on the way here. “But if y’could take us there pretty quick? I think a sit-down’s in order here,” he said, nodding in Vincent’s direction. “Came over a little weak this mornin’, but I couldn’t talk ‘im inta skippin’ a visit. Said it wouldn’t be right, an’ I reckon ‘e’s got a point. So here I am, an’ feelin’ right ashamed o’ m’self fer not visitin’ sooner.”
The nurse gave ‘Mr. Pemberton’ a peculiar look, but she knew better than to say anything. A man such as Mr. Black, a wealthy man such as Mr. Black who had poured more money into this place than she had seen in her life, had purchased not only care for his nephew, but had also purchased a guarantee of ‘no questions asked, thank you very much’. But it didn’t mean she couldn’t think it. And what she thought was that ‘Mr. Pemberton’ looked a lot older than Mr. Black’s nephew by a good ten years at least. Instead she plastered a smile on her face and said, “Mr. Black knows the way, shall I fetch a wheelchair? That might make it easier.”
“That won’t be necessary, Lucy, thank you.” Vincent said softly, leaning heavily on his cane. “We’ll just be going now.”
Lucy nodded. “Just page me if you need anything, sir.”
Vincent nodded and began hobbling down the hallway, his cane making a tap-tap-tap sound with every other footfall, trusting Cid to follow him.
Cid followed, confused and saddened by the need for secrecy with…whatever this was. He looked around the building, feeling dwarfed by the enormity of the hallway. Everything was cold and white, and he shuddered. This place was even less pleasant than the hospital.
After what seemed like hours, Vincent came to the nondescript closed door that shut his skeleton off from the rest of the world. He placed his palm on the doorknob and glanced back over his shoulder at Cid briefly before looking back down at his hand on the knob. If he released it, he knew it would be shaking. He shut his eyes and prayed for strength, but in the end just gave up as what was left fled him, leaving him an empty, resigned shell. Vincent turned the knob, opened the door and entered the dim room that smelled of the ever present dark spices. When Cid entered, he shut the door behind them, and stood facing its solid form. He knew what Cid would see: the thin nearly emaciated form, dwarfed in the bed, the limp and lank hair, the pale skin. He shuddered and waited for Cid’s condemnation, or worse… his pity.
Cid wanted to put his arms around Vincent and lead him to a chair to sit down, but he sensed that the other man needed some time to compose himself before the talking started. Instead, he took one of the extra chairs from the corner and brought it to side of the bed. Once he was seated, he reached out and took the hand of the apparently comatose young man. He didn’t see any family resemblance between himself and this other blond -probably because there was none- but he didn’t really question the nurse’s statement. “What’s ‘is name?” Cid asked quietly. The more complicated questions with the more painful answers could wait.
Vincent let out a shaky breath, but did not turn around. Instead he placed the palm of the hand not holding the cane flat against the door. “His name is Cloud. He is one of three known survivors of a series of horrific and immoral experiments. Sephiroth is the second… and I am the third. But I think you already know that.” He turned away from Cid and leaned his shoulder against the door now. “Somewhere, in the darkest part of your heart, you already knew.” He murmured. “Sephiroth lost his body, and Cloud lost his mind… I was the only one to escape intact… if you could call it that.”
Cid nodded and let out his own shaky breath. “Yeah, I think I did.” He shivered, from the cold and from the thought of what those three men had been through. He was so lucky to have Vincent, after so much… would he lose him now? Would the truth of all this drive them apart? He hoped not. He very much hoped not.
Vincent fell silent for a while, looking at the ground until the reason he was there galvanized him to move. He turned around then and with halting steps he made his way over to the bed and sat down on the edge to look down at Cloud’s pale, lifeless face. He reached out a badly-shaking hand and brushed the backs of his fingers down the young man’s cool cheek, then traced fingertips down Cloud’s jaw to the thin chest that rose in a weak but steady rhythm. It wasn’t fair. This young man, barely more than a child, should have had a long and healthy life. And instead… slowly he reached into his pocket with withdrew the Jenova mako and a syringe. With hands that continued to shake, he filled the syringe, and when it was full he put the now-empty bottle down on the bed and stared at the glowing, poisonous, green fluid. “I’m killing him, you know," he said sorrowfully, reaching for the thin arm and picking it up to lay it in his lap. He didn’t need a tourniquet anymore to find the vein, and Cloud’s body absorbed the mako quickly. He stroked his thumb over the tender flesh of the boy’s inner elbow. “I’m killing this beautiful child.” And with supreme effort he stilled his hand enough to insert the needle, pull back the plunger to mix blood with mako and then shoot the mixture into the body in front of him, taking another piece of his soul with it.
“With th’world th’way it is, he’s maybe better off that way.” There wasn’t much else to say; he didn’t have enough information to draw any other conclusions, and he certainly wasn’t going to judge. He did wonder how much he was going to know once they left this place- information he would surely wish he didn’t know. “He’d be stuck here, in this mess of a city, if he were functionin’. You’re stuck, an’ so is Sephiroth…wouldn’t be any better fer him. This way at least he’s far away from it all.”
Vincent smiled sadly as he replaced Cloud’s arm back under the covers and tucked the young man in. “I appreciate your attempt to justify what I’m doing, Cid. But you needn’t bother. The truth is what it is, and what it will always be.” He turned his back to Cid and sat on the edge of the bed. “You need to know why I’m doing this before you tell me it’s okay or not.” He mumbled.
Vincent sighed and struggled to his feet, and leaning heavily on his cane, he hobbled over to the other remaining chair that sat under the window. Grasping its back he turned it to face the window and sat down heavily. Twiddling the cane in his fingers he looked at the horizon and the dark clouds that were slowly making their way towards them. A storm would hit soon, he thought. What a perfect atmosphere for a ghost story. When he began to speak, his voice was flat and hollow, and lightening could be seen splitting the sky outside the window.
“When I lost my wife, I never knew that kind of pain existed. I never thought anything could come close to it again. I was crushed. I had lost much of my desire to do anything. We had had such plans, a future that was so bright and full of possibilities.” He paused there for a moment, and a distant grumble of thunder could be heard, ominous and promising a break in the calm before the storm, before continuing softly. “I would have given up, I think, right then and there if it weren’t for my son. Through Ayden, I still had a piece of her, the best piece made tangible in the perfect little child we had created together. I had blamed myself, you see, for her death. If I hadn’t gotten her pregnant, she would still be alive, and I am deeply shamed that a small part of me also blamed my son as well.”
The old pain came back, crushing and overwhelming and for a moment he struggled to continue. But once he got going, the words came easier. “I spent as much time with Ayden as I could between my duties to the emperor and those to my family. He became my whole reason for living. And then I lost him, too.” He voice shook a little now. “I woke up one morning and went into his nursery. I- I thought he was sleeping, but…” He broke off, feeling his eyes begin to burn. He brought his hand up to rub his chest over his heart that seemed to be hurting, but not from any physical pain.
“I don’t remember much after that. I think I screamed, or yelled, or something. I remember picking Ayden up and…” he broke off as his voice caught in his throat. His hands were shaking very badly now. “He was cool to the touch. I kept thinking that if I could just get him warm, he’d be okay. Tseng came over, I think my parents must have called him, because I remember him trying to touch me, but I kept shoving him back. I just held onto my son, my perfect little boy, and tried to get him warm.” He looked at Cid then who was studying his face avidly, compassion evident in his depthless blue eyes. “A father should never outlive his child, Cid.”
“No,” Cid whispered. How much of Vincent’s warmth vanished that day? Had he poured it all into his son, trying to revive what was gone? And here was Cid, asking for everything he had left…he had never realized until now how cruel that seemed. Vincent’s face showed his pain, and Cid wanted to take it away in whatever manner he could, but he understood that some pain simply lived, as indestructible as Sephiroth’s willpower seemed to be. He wanted to wrap Vincent in his arms, but that would not have been acceptable, so instead he reached for his hand. Some contact, something to root Vincent to the present- surely that would ease this, if only minimally.
As soon as Vincent felt Cid’s hand seek out his own, he grabbed on. He wanted more. He wanted to be wrapped in arms that comforted him, and told him it would be okay, that it was acceptable to feel these things. He wanted the comfort that he had denied himself to be given so many years ago. But why would Cid want to do that? No, it was better that he be left alone. It was what he deserved.
He looked back out the window, but did not let go of Cid’s hand. If anything he squeezed harder. “Three days after Ayden died I found myself standing on the edge of Temple Cliff dumping my son’s ashes out onto the wind instead of placing them in the family shrine with his mother, as was his right.” His voice was dull, hollow-sounding even to his own ears. “I left town that night, taking all of the money I could get and wearing nothing but the clothing on my back. I told no one where I was going and soon my existence was nothing but bar after bar in one of the dirty fishing towns on the coast. I would drink until they threw me out, and I would wake up face down in the gutter, dirty and hung over. I would get up and go to the next bar and start all over again until I ran out of money, and then I started begging for money, eating out of trashcans when I got hungry enough. You see, if I got drunk enough I would stop seeing them when I closed my eyes, and when I began to sober up I would see Lucrecia’s face and the disappointment I would see there, that I knew would be there at my behavior, just made me drink more out of shame. Soon I became desperate for any alcohol I could get; holding out my hand to anyone I saw, all pride and honor gone, but people were giving me a wide berth now. I hadn’t bathed in a month, my clothes were stained and torn and I was thin and sickly-looking, imagine my shock and self-loathing whenever I saw my own reflection…” He trailed off as he was once again taken back to that moment in time.
“Anyway,” he sighed, “one day someone did answer my plea for money. In fact he even went with me to the bar and began buying me drink after drink until I was well on my way to a good drunk. He asked me about my family and I told him I had no one anymore, that I was alone, which wasn’t true of course, but to me at that time it was. He then asked me if I wanted to participate in a great and wondrous experiment, ‘groundbreaking’ for the advance of medicine and humanity. My first thought was, 'Where the fuck were you two months ago when my wife died?' But of course I did not voice it. I told him I wasn’t interested and when he pressed further I actually got up and walked out, not even finishing my drink. When I lay down on the dirty mattress that was my bed, that I shared with another drunk, in an attempt to try and sleep, I saw him again. He just looked down at me with this expression on his face. The streetlights reflecting off his round glasses made him look so evil, and I remember being afraid and not really knowing why because he had been nothing but nice when I’d sat with him in the bar. He left shortly thereafter when I didn’t really acknowledge him and I was glad, and when I woke up the next day there was a brown paper bag next to me. I opened it and inside was quite a bit of money. I didn’t question who left it, and went right to the nearest bar; quickly burning through that small fortune until once again I ended up face down in the smelly gutter. But that wasn’t where I woke up…” Vincent trailed off, staring at the roiling clouds. And now he could see the rain, just beyond the trees. It would hit them soon.