“Don’t be such an old man!”

“Yuffie, I am an old man.”

She wrinkled her nose and stuck her tongue out at me. “You don’t look it. I don’t know why you have to act it.”

“I don’t feel like acting it.”

“It can’t be that hard, can it? Just – cheer up. Get laid or something.”

I turned my best withering glare on her, but she didn’t flinch. “I don’t need to get laid,” I said finally, when it was apparent that she was waiting for an actual answer.

“Okay, so you’re not up to that. Fine. That doesn’t rule out ‘or something’.”

I tried a disdainfully-raised eyebrow. Still no reaction. “Such as?”

“Let’s go out,” she said, and my jaw must have dropped because she quickly followed it up with, “to a bar or something. You can sit in the corner nursing a beer if you want. At least you’ll be doing it with other people.”

“Why would I want to sit alone with other people?”

She leaned over conspiratorially and whispered, “It’s less pathetic.”

“I’m not pathetic. I’m brooding.” I said it louder than I intended and winced as I heard it come out.

“Brooding,” Yuffie repeated, and it sounded ridiculous in her mouth. She was clearly not impressed.

“Yes,” I said, trying to recover some dignity. There had to be some around here somewhere.

“Relax,” she smiled at me and laughed. “You’re not really dead, you know. You don’t have to act like it.”

“I am officially dead.”

“Just one more thing Shinra’s wrong about.”

“Shinra isn’t right or wrong, just rich.” It was something I’d heard Veld say more than once, and it made me blink to feel the sound of it in my own mouth. I probably sounded too much like him, lately. He’d always been old before his time, a common personality defect in Turks who made it past twenty five or so.

Maybe Yuffie – god forbid – had a point.

“Okay, what bar did you have in mind?”

She wouldn’t tell me until we got there. That was probably a good thing, since I would have recognized the name of the bar.

“Oh hell no, I’m not going in there. Pick another bar,” I told Yuffie as soon as I saw the name. The Beaver Pelt was one of many dives located just far enough under plate to be unregulated, and just close enough to civilization to get patrons with enough cash to pay their tabs. A bar said a lot about the area of Midgar proper it was closest to.

The Beaver Pelt happened to be the bar closest to the Shinra building. If there was a Turk, technician, or random under-secretary looking to forget the details about the company they worked for, they probably ended up in here. If you’d asked me, I would have guessed it was destroyed in some kind of bar fight long before the world ended, or at least that the destruction of the company would have cut into the traffic.

I would have been wrong. The place was not full, but there were a lot of butts and most of them were in chairs. I recognized too many of them.

“Best karaoke in town, Vincent. Come on,” she said, dragging me inside. I thought about digging the pointy toes of my boots into the street to slow her down, but she seemed determined. Best to get it over with.

Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever seen one of these movies – Cloud looked at me blankly when I asked him, but for all his good traits, cultured isn’t one of them – but when I was a kid I used to go to the movies on the weekend for a double feature. My favorites were the Westerns set in old Corel, when the coal mining industry was just getting started and it was wild out there. And there was always that scene where the hero’s just blown into town and he walks into the bar for the first time, and everybody gets real quiet and looks at him like they know the main character’s arrived and that means the trouble’s getting started.

I didn’t think that happened in real life, but damn if those kids didn’t prove me wrong.

“… What?” I asked the bar, silent except for the cheesy remix of some song I didn’t know continuing tinnily from the speakers. There was another beat, and then Yuffie marched up to the karaoke stage and started arguing with the DJ and suddenly everyone was talking again, exactly as if I hadn’t come in at all.

The young man with the microphone never quite recovered his groove, and in a minute Yuffie was starting a cheesy pop ballad. I could have guessed the lyrics without seeing them on the screen. I wondered how distracted she was, and briefly considered sneaking out while she was singing.

I told myself it wasn’t worth it, she’d just drag me back in. Besides, it was kind of interesting to see how much the place had changed in the last thirty years.

Odin’s balls, thirty years! It still hadn’t really sunk in. I felt older than these kids, but not that much older, not really. Just like Veld’s old-fashioned patter and disapproving coughs, it was as much a facade as it was any real expression of how I felt.

I sat at the bar and ordered a beer, turning around on the stool to watch as Yuffie finished her song and was replaced by an obviously-sloshed couple singing a duet.

“You’re not even in the corner!” she announced as she came and sat beside me.

“I’m not,” I acknowledged. Even if I was somehow not minding this, I certainly wasn’t going to admit it to her.

“Good. It’ll do you some good to get some light on that pale skin.”

I looked up at the dim, flickering fluorescent lights hanging from the ceiling, then at Yuffie, but I didn’t say anything. Didn’t seem worth it. I sipped my beer and watched the crowd while Yuffie chattered beside me.

She’d been coming here pretty much since the city opened back up, almost two months ago now. Oh, it wasn’t officially open, of course, but the sort of people who were here weren’t the ones who could run off to vacation homes. She pointed out this lady who used to take notes for Reeve and always hated the way Rufus hit on her, that young man who’d just been promoted to lead technician in his weapons division before the whole thing came down. How did Yuffie know so much about everyone?

“I talk to them,” she answered me, rolling her eyes. “You know, that thing normal people do.”

“I know what talking is. I’m just out of practice.” I took another sip.

“How about singing?”

I spit the mouthful of beer back into the glass and wondered, briefly, if choking to death would cause one of the monsters to wake up. “No, Yuffie.”

“You’re no fun,” she pouted, then pounded back a shot I hadn’t heard her order and wandered off into the crowd. A few minutes later she was up on the stage again, this time singing something in Wutaian. It was a surprisingly sweet ballad, from what I could make out of the lyrics. The bartender refilled my glass, and I drained it again by the time she was done.

“You have a nice voice,” I conceded as she sat down. It was the closest I intended to come to saying she was right.

“Thanks.”

I turned back around as the bartender was refilling my glass again, and noticed that the wall behind him had a lot more photos than it used to. “You guys move them around, or did you get rid of the old ones?” I asked him as he handed me another beer.

He shrugged. “I’ve never seen ‘em moved, and I’ve been here five years.”

I winced a little. “Where are the oldest ones?”

“Over there, by the john,” he pointed. I got up and walked over, confident that Yuffie would be too curious not to follow. I didn’t know whether I wanted to get my hopes up or not.

The older pictures were black and white, slowly fading to a brownish-grey, glossy 8×10s. The original owner of the bar had been a photography buff, and he liked to put up photos of his regulars getting into crazy shit. I wondered if he was retired or…

That was a depressing line of thought I wasn’t in the mood for, so I focused on looking at the pictures. It looked like they were all still here, but out of order, so it took me a minute to find the one I was looking for.

“This one,” I said, pointing to it.

Yuffie leaned in and squinted. “Some drunk kids on a table. So?”

“That one,” I moved my finger over, “was my old-time partner, when I was a turk.”

“Really? Huh.” She took a closer look. “Who’s the cute girl kissing him?”

I sighed. “That’s me, Yuffie.”

“You were a girl?” I couldn’t tell if she was kidding. I hoped she was kidding.

“No.”

She leaned even further in, her face nearly against the wall. “Huh. You look like a girl.”

“I had short hair and I was wearing pants.”

“I think Elena’s over by the back door.” It took me a minute to take her point.

“Okay, fine. You know, they didn’t take girls back in the day? All we had to hit on were the ladies in the secretarial pool.”

Yuffie smirked. “Your partner doesn’t look like secretary pool material.”

“Ha.” I turned away from her and looked over the crowd again. Different kids, different brands of beer, but something about it felt the same anyway. I seriously considered actually thanking Yuffie for dragging me in here.

Then Reno climbed up on stage. Actually, I shouldn’t really say “climbed” – more like he fell up the three metal stairs and managed to hold himself up by the microphone stand.

“Ladiesh and gentlemen,” he slurred. “I would like to perform a classhic, dedicated to tall, dark and shpooky back there.”

It took me a minute to realize he meant me, and my first instinct was to kill him.

I took a deep breath as the opening strains of the song started. It really was a classic – old enough that I knew all the words because I’d played the damn thing on the jukebox until Veld threatened to shoot it.

He was nowhere near key and wouldn’t know pitch if you hit him upside the head with one. I wondered how much of that was natural talent and how much was the alcohol.

By the time he hit the first chorus, I was on the stage. To his credit, he didn’t flinch – I certainly thought I was going to hit him when I went up there. He handed me the microphone, though, and I found myself looking at the crowd and Reno’s stupid smirk as the second verse started up on the video screen.

Why not?

Maybe Yuffie’s right, and I am too young to feel this damn old. At the very least, I was grateful enough to pretend I didn’t see Reno sidle up to her later, considerably more sober than he’d been on stage, while a flirt and a twenty gil note changed hands.

After all, as I told Veld more than once, what’s a little drunken willy-nilly between friends?

Neither one of them spoke, as if asking would jinx it. Words and sentences would mean thinking about what was happening. Better to just go with it.

Cloud’s hands were in Vincent’s hair, tightly tangled, but the taller man didn’t care. His attention was on Cloud’s lips and neck, how smooth the skin was.

This wasn’t about beds or clothes, it was too insistent for that. Both stayed quiet aside from the occasional moan, worried about what name might slip.

They dozed afterward, before Vincent startled awake and Cloud was jarred to consciousness. They looked at each other.

“Now what?”

“Don’t miss, pretty boy.”

“Don’t distract me.”

“You have to learn how to work under stress.”

“The entire point of sniping is that I’m way up here, away from anything that could possibly distract me except for a few amorous pigeons.”

“And yet distractions keep coming. Me, for instance. Or that woman in the skimpy bikini behind the target–”

“You looked at a woman?”

“Valentine, shut up and look at the target.”

“I am looking at the target.”

“Then where did he go?”

“Shit!” Vincent snapped to attention, straining at the eyepiece.

“Northwest,” Veld offered.

“Don’t distract me.”

Dear Cloud,

I know it’s bad form to leave someone to wake up alone. I hope you will understand why I couldn’t stay and tell you in person. I’m really not very good with confrontations that don’t end in gunshots.

You know I hardly sleep. You probably haven’t noticed how little it really is. I can go days without it, but I like sleeping. I like it too much.

Anyway, I woke up before dawn this morning with your arm over my chest. I couldn’t bring myself to move, so I just lay there thinking about – well, things I shouldn’t really think about, and listening to the birds outside getting ready for sunrise.

My good arm fell asleep, and I shifted so the blood would start flowing again. You curled up closer to me, close enough that I could feel your breath on my neck and how hot your body still is from all the makou in your blood.

Close enough that when you tangled your fingers in my hair, I heard you calling me Sephiroth under your breath.

It’s not that I hold this against you. I don’t know everything about your relationship with him, but you’ve told me enough. I saw you after Aeris died, after you had to kill him. You don’t forget easily.

I know all about unhealthy grief patterns, believe me.

But this isn’t about grief or any of that. This is about you and me. If I were a better man, I’d ignore it or I’d wake you and that would be the end of it.

I’m not a better man. I can’t be that. I’m what my past made me, just like you are.

When you said his name, my breath caught in my throat and my bad arm twitched. I almost –

I calmed myself down, got out of the bed, all that. Now I’m just sitting here thinking, watching the sunlight crawl in the window. But I could have hurt you.

I can’t ever really be what you need. I think you can find the right person, but they’ll be totally different from Sephiroth. Someone who fills something else, instead of the wound he left. Someone with fewer scars than you, instead of more.

You aren’t what I need either, and I need to stop pretending. There’s shit I have to deal with before I have the right to be in a relationship with anyone.

I’m going to do that.

I won’t have my PHS on, but you can leave me a voicemail. If you really need me, I’ll find you.

V.

The first shot wasn’t so bad. It made me vomit until I shook, but no big deal. Lucrecia held my hair while I was sick, and took the sample for my father.

The second and third samples were in the mail before we heard back. That week, I went in with Dad’s orders to try to get Gast to talk about what he was doing.

“So what is this supposed to do to us, sir?” I asked him, trying to sound as casual as I could. I knew I was pretty good at charming, but Gast Faremiss was a scientist and scientists seem to be immune to charm. It was just one of many skills I’d only realized I had in my six months in Midgar.

“Do? And call me Gast, I’m not that old.” He’s efficient in the lab, moving swiftly from one thing to another. I hadn’t seen the Turk before me leave, but he wasn’t here. Last week we’d all ended up in the waiting room together, puking our guts out. The place itself seemed empty aside from the two of us.

“Gast, then. I’m Vincent.” It was cold too, uncomfortably so. Was it this cold last time? I couldn’t remember. I wondered if the company wasn’t funding him well enough. No assistants, no heat?

“Pleasure to get to know you, Vincent. Looking forward to making history?”

“I’d be more excited if I knew what we were doing. As it is, I’m just following orders, sir.”

He frowned at that. “No ’sir’. I already told you to call me Gast. And you Turks do seem good at following orders. This is highly technical work, I don’t think you’d be interested.”

“With all due respect, following orders is what we’re paid to do.” I waited a beat to see his reaction. He smiled a bit, even relaxed. He really wasn’t used to Turks, was he?

I pushed the advantage. “I’m not stupid, Gast. I’d really like to know what you’re putting in me, what it’s supposed to do. If nothing else, I’d be in a better place to give you details on the results.” In general, I didn’t trust people in authority who wanted to be called by their first names. It usually means they don’t actually want their authority, and that they don’t know how to use it properly.

For a Turk, that could get you killed. For a scientist, especially one who seemed to be working all by himself for Shinra, maybe it was acceptable. I waited to see if he would give me what I wanted.

He sized me up again before he answered, and prepped the needle in silence.

I waited, with my best harmless look on.

He grabbed my arm and slid the needle in so fast I tried to pull away reflexively. I forced myself to stay still.

“We figured that if the SOLDIER program had such good results with simple raw mako exposure, surely we could get even better results with materia that had been shifted back to its liquid state. Ideally, we’ll produce SOLDIERs that carry all the characteristics of the materia without actually needing to equip the stones.” He said all this in a perfectly conversational tone as he administered the shot and applied a bandage.

I stared stupidly at him. He was injecting me with materia? What the fuck. And the thought that my dad would be thrilled that I’d found this out didn’t make me feel any better. He must have thought my silence meant I didn’t understand him, because he just clucked his tongue at me.

“I told you it was complicated.” He pointed toward the opposite side of the room. “Can you walk?” I’d begun shaking without realizing it. I tried to stand, but the room spun and I pitched forward, almost on top of Gast. He let me lean on him and walked me over to the doors into the next room.

There were six beds in the dim light, enough for my entire unit, with five of them already occupied. The room smelled like barbecue, and when my eyes adjusted, I could see why. One of the beds held a body that looked lightly charred. He was one of my fellow Turks, of course.

I let go of the scientist and took one step toward him before I fell forward again. This time I hit the floor.

“Fire materia,” Gast said as I started throwing up. Dad told me the vomiting was the result of the body trying to purge the unnatural materials; it was a symptom of early mako poisoning, too. I told myself it was just that and not the body, because I was a fucking Turk and Turks don’t throw up at bodies. Just doesn’t happen.

The room was spinning as I pulled myself up and tried to focus on Gast. He was still talking, pointing at each of my fellow Turks. Well, pointing at their corpses.

“Ice. Lightning. Poison. Gravity.”

He looked straight at me and I fought to stay conscious, waiting for him to tell me what he’d given me, hoping I would at least know what killed me.

Before he said anything else, the room went dark.

Dad,

This will be the last report on Gast’s little project. He managed to kill most of an entire unit of Turks, and it didn’t sound like anyone was very happy with him. My boss, Tally, yelled at him and he didn’t even flinch, just turned around and justified to the President that he’d learned a lot, and hey, there was one successful specimen.

You know, me. At least, I think he meant me. I was pretty busy trying not to throw up on the President. Judging by the look on her face, Tally was too, for entirely different reasons.

I attached my summary of what he said he was doing, and Lu’ll include my last sample when she sends this to you.

Vincent

PS – Don’t tell Mom. I feel fine now.

Everything had changed. The world looked and felt different. My eyes were sensitive and I don’t think I used to be so twitchy. I should have asked what that last materia was.

I stayed away from work for a few days on Tally’s orders, spending most of my days in the university library on the student ID I’d liberated from Seiichirou’s wallet.

Finally, the reply came from my father. My hands shook a little as I read it.

Vincent,

There’s just not enough data. You should have gotten more information out of Gast. No matter, I can reverse engineer it. It may not work with the spell materia, but we’ll branch out into other varieties.

Send another sample.

G.V.

I put on my suit and went to work without replying to it. I decided to let it sit a week or two, let Dad stew a little. It’s good for him, I told myself.

“I told you to take some time off,” Tally said when I came in.

I shrugged. “I took three days off.”

“You sure?”

“Nothing better to do,” I told her, and I meant it. I wanted to do something violent, something to make me stop thinking, to shut my brain up.

She nodded and took a quick glance at the files on her desk. “I’ll give you Veld, then. I’m restructuring the department. Partners instead of units. It’s more streamlined that way.”

I might have heard “harder to take out” in that, but I wasn’t sure. She handed me the file and called for my new partner over the intercom. He was short, unusual for a Turk, with brown hair in his face. I wondered how he could see to shoot.

“Valentine,” I introduced myself.

“Veld,” he replied. “Looks like I drew the short straw.”

“Looks like you are the short straw,” I snapped back. I could see the top of his head clearly. I wasn’t that tall.

He punched me in the arm. I punched him back reflexively.

“Not in the office,” Tally snapped. “You’ve got a mission. Get to it.” I nodded to her, then Veld and I headed for the elevator. I checked my gun and smiled to myself.

Nothing had changed.

Dear Vinny,

Everyone says hi. I hope Shinra’s treating you okay.

You haven’t written in a while. I’m sure you know that. Your father’s getting testy about it, complaining about the investment, but he’s really worried about you.

Don’t tell your father I said this, but you can always come home. Getting an “in” at Shinra is not worth more than you are. I don’t want you to be unhappy there. Midgar’s a big city. I worry that no one cares about you there.

Well, there’s always Lucrecia and Seiichirou to keep an eye on you. Have you gone over to see them at the university? You should, you know. You three were so close when you were little. Lucrecia said you haven’t even called her!

I hope you’re not forgetting where you came from, Vincent.

I love you. No matter what happens, you can always tell me.

Love,

Mom

Vincent sighed at the letter, then tucked it between the pages of a book and shoved it into the back of his locker. He waited almost two weeks to reply, and only then did it because he had to tell his father something.

Dear Mom,

I’m fine. Just really busy, you know, working. We don’t get a whole lot of leave but I’ll make sure I give Lu a call next time I can. Don’t worry, nothing too dangerous. The letter in the other envelope’s for Dad, it’s work stuff, so you don’t need to read it.

I know you love me. Love you too. Nothing’s wrong.

Vincent

The letter to his father went in its own envelope.

Dad,

They’re assigning me to some post-SOLDIER program under that Gast guy. If you want to pull me out, now’s the time to do it.

Vincent

The reply came so fast Vincent hoped it was instructions to get the hell out of there.

Vincent,

Perfect. I want you to send me samples of your blood after every significant treatment. I’ll be letting Lu and Seiichirou know to help with packing and sending that; don’t want to take any chances!

G.V.

This letter Vincent read twice, three times. It hadn’t arrived with a letter from his mother. That meant she didn’t know. He could appeal to her, and it might work, but he knew his father would never forgive him.

Besides, the SOLIDER project was considered a resounding success. How bad could the follow up be?

“I wish I was smarter.”

“Stop it, Vin,” she tells me.

“I do. Just because you’re tired of hearing it—”

“—doesn’t change it. I know, Vin. But you are smart. You’re just… you don’t care,” she shrugs.

“I do care,” I argue, but halfheartedly, because we’ve had this argument like eight times and it doesn’t change and it won’t stop me from leaving. It’s only after I say it that I realize I’m making her point.

“You only care because you don’t want things to change. What made you like this? You used to be interested in stuff, when we were younger.”

“What made me feel so bad?” I don’t answer my own question. I can’t really do it without hurting her feelings, and I don’t want to do that. I’m scared because everything’s changing, and everything’s changing because I’m not good enough.

The truck pulls up. Mr. Hollander is driving me to civilization, a.k.a. Costa del Sol, where I’ll head for Midgar. I’m not really sure what I’ll do when I get there. Dad said he’s pulling strings, but he might not get them pulled fast enough, and I should look for a job when I get there.

At least this goodbye is almost over. I throw my duffel bag in the back of the truck and look at Lucrecia.

“I’m sure I’ll be back soon enough,” I tell her, trying to be flippant. “Dad will get bored without me to yell at.”

She frowns and punches me in the shoulder. “He’ll just yell at the rest of us.”

I open the door of the truck and then I hesitate. “Kiss me for luck?” I ask her, as surprised as she is when I realize I said it.

For a minute I think she’s going to punch me again, but she ducks in and presses her lips to mine. They’re dry and soft and I stare at her stupidly when she opens her eyes.

“Good luck,” she says. I nod and climb into the truck. I tell her goodbye, and Mr. Hollander starts driving, making small talk that I don’t listen to.

I’m still so afraid, but as she and the house and all of Nibelheim fade into the mountains behind me, the fear is drowned out by something else. I think it’s relief.

Cloud,

Apologies for walking out on you when you asked me about going back to see Lucrecia. It stirred a lot of emotions that I could not easily sort into words, and I should have at least offered some explaination. I’ve never been very good at speaking off the cuff. It takes me time to gather my words.

Your question was a fair one, though, and I should answer it. When you first found the cave, I almost didn’t recognize it. The plants had grown over it, probably due to the heavy makou presence there, and I guess memories lose their edge after a few decades.

She called my name, and her voice was just like I remembered it, pure and clear. I wondered if she found it peaceful in there or boring, in a quiet cave where she could hide from the world. It had been thirty years since I saw her, but it seemed so much shorter… probably because I’d slept through most of it. Does that time even count?

When we spoke, it was almost as if nothing had changed. Of course, she was still frozen, and I was running around with a bunch of terrorists hoping to kill her husband, but I did say “almost”.

“You told her he was dead?”

“I didn’t have to heart not to.”

“So now what? We find Hojo, you go back to Pretty Shiny Princessland?”

“I will help you kill Sephiroth.”

“Why? I mean, I’m grateful, don’t think I’m not, but… why?”

“Because I don’t like lying.”

“So you want to kill Sephiroth…?”

“So that what I said to Lucrecia won’t be a lie.”

“You’ll kill your lover’s son so that you aren’t a liar, even though technically you already did the lying.”

“Yes.”

What else could I say? I knew you were right, Turk morality or no, so when you told us to go find what we believed in, I found myself back at the waterfall, intending to tell her the truth.

“You came back,” she said in the same clear echo. Without other people filling the cave, it sounded more hollow. A smile spread slowly across her frozen face, though her eyelids never flickered.

“There’s something I have to tell you. About Sephiroth,” I began.

“He’s not dead,” she said simply. I asked her how she knew.

“He’s my son, I can feel him. I told you that. But Vincent, I never did get to ask you… how have you done? How are…”

“The monsters? All three are fine. Gods, I still don’t know why you did that to me.”

“To save your life!” Her voice echoed angrilly, and I heard the soft chiming sound of crystals shaking. “To fulfill your father’s dream!”

“And is it a success? Was it worth it?” I demanded. Did everyone who loved me have to love science more? Fifty-odd years and I was still jealous of a bunch of textbooks.

“It’s not finished. I didn’t have time,” she said, her voice quiet again.

“Isn’t that a shame,” I said, turning to go.

“Wait!” I stopped, but didn’t turn back. “You’re so close. Your father’s dream–”

“Lu, please!”

She hesitated. I could almost hear humming in the air. “You’re going to fight Sephiroth. To kill him.”

I nodded.

“You need to be stronger than you are, don’t you? The final form is the strongest.”

It sounded good. It really did, and I did want to stop Cloud and the others from getting hurt for this, so I agreed.

I did as she instructed, kneeling down near the stream of makou near her and putting my hands in. The liquid around them glistened and then turned red, running over my hands. It was warm and slightly sticky and made my arms tingle.

“Its name is Chaos,” Lu said as the almost-familiar pounding in my brain began. This one, Chaos, was certainly stronger — stronger than the others — and I had a moment’s panic that he was also stronger than me. There was a flutter in my stomach like laughter. I retched and threw up into the crystalline makou.

Eventually, I told myself, I would get used to this. I think that scared me more than the monsters themselves. I wasn’t sure I wanted to get used to it.

“I’m… becoming less human,” I choked out.

“Better than human. Better than Hojo’s tricks. You’ll be safe now,” she promised.

“This is just your toy against his again, isn’t it?” I growled, feeling sick. Even as I said it, I knew it wasn’t fair of me. She did love me, as strange as it might sound. She saved me and she built her life’s work on me, because she loves me. I understood that. That was how everyone in my life loved me — they wanted to make me better. I’ve got no idea what they saw in me, what raw material I was composed of that they longed to remake into alchemist’s gold.

I’m tired of being raw material.

I hoped that maybe, when this was done, Lucrecia would accept me as finished. I haven’t gone back yet. I don’t consider it hiding. I just don’t think I want to hear her answer.

V.

Cloud,

Unless the unforeseeable has also caught up with you, I will not be there when you arrive. There is vegetable chili and ghysal salad in the fridge. Hopefully I will see you in the morning.

V.

**

Vincent – Thanks for leaving dinner. One of these days you’ll have to leave me some chocobo or something too! I know you’re a raging carnivore and all, but you could share a drumstick once in a while. Tifa called with a rush delivery, sorry to run off without seeing you. Maybe Thursday? Cloud

**

Cloud,

There are tomato soup and chese sandwiches in the oven. They should be warm if you stop by. There’s no clean silverware, but I’m sure a resourceful soldier like you will manage. Sorry there’s no drumsticks; the only meat I crave these days is raw human flesh, and leaving you a hand didn’t seem quite appropriate. If you want to see me, you know where to find me.

V.

**

“I didn’t mean to rag on you, Vincent.”

“…”

“Okay, I did mean to rag on you, but didn’t, you know, mean anything by it.”

“I know.”

“You don’t really..?”

“Are you sure?”

“Is that what you do when you go out at night?”

“No. Actually, I don’t eat meat when I can help it.”

“What, like at all?”

“Sometimes, but I try not to.”

“Why?”

“Believe it or not, religion.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“Nope.”

“But you were a Turk! How could you…”

“How could I worry about killing?”

“Well, yeah.”

“It’s just different. Maybe that’s hypocritical, I don’t know.”

“Eh, if it means something to you, then do it. It’s not like it’ll kill me to buy my own Kalm Fried Chocobo.”

“I’m not sure if it means something or if it’s just a way of proving to myself I’m not… you know, Chaos or Gallian.”

“Well, in general, I think I’d notice if you were.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. Lack of horns or purple fur, for example.”

“That’s not–”

“–what you mean, I know.”

“Cloud?”

“Yes.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

“Okay.”

Vincent sprawled on his apartment couch in boxer shorts and button-down shirt, his tie knotted like a noose around his neck. He stared at the ceiling, half dozing, half listening, and wishing he didn’t have to go to work. Weren’t you supposed to be middle aged before you hated your job this much? Here he was, fresh out of secondary school and already miserable. On the television, Judge Domino was telling a divorcing couple from one of the suburbs that they really should care more who got custody of the kids than the car, but they were yelling at each other so loudly that he doubted either heard the judge. The closing theme began to play and Vincent’s eyes shot open.

“Fuck, I’m going to miss the train,” he snapped at himself as he jumped off the couch. “Where the hell are my pants?” After a panicked search, he found them in his bedroom, under the mattress. He threw them on, laced up his shoes so fast he knotted them wrong, and shrugged his coat on. Grabbing his keys, he threw open the apartment door.

“Gah, sunlight,” Vincent winced, turning back for his sunglasses. He stepped back into the light a minute later and hurried down the stairs two at a time, jumping the railing at the last landing. He ran toward the station.

The train arrived on the platform just as he did, and Vincent reached into his pocket for a token. It was empty. He swore and looked around. The guard was arguing with someone at the far end of the station. Knowing from experience that the train never waited long, Vincent decided to chance it. He vaulted over the turnstile and sprinted toward the open door of the train.

“Hey! Kid, get back here!” the guard yelled as Vincent stepped on board. He hurried up the aisle and through the passage between cars, hoping the train would start moving before the guard saw him. It did, and Vincent sank into one of the many empty seats on the late morning commuter train.

“Thanks,” a woman’s voice offered from behind him. He turned at looked up at her over his sunglasses.

“Thanks? For?”

“Distracting him. Otherwise I might have missed the train.”

“You’re welcome, but I wasn’t trying to help. I just didn’t have a token,” Vincent explained.

“I should always be so lucky,” she said with a smile. “To repay you, a bit of advice. Don’t follow me.” Vincent started to reply, but she was already walking away.

“Women,” he muttered. “What makes her think I’d follow–” His thoughts were derailed by the echo of gunshots from the car behind him. He started to get up, but he thought about what she’d said and sat back down. Whatever was going on back there had nothing to do with him. He sank down further in his seat and hoped he wouldn’t be late for work.

There was a second flurry of gunshots that made Vincent dig his fingers into the sides of his seat. He heard the hiss of the door and another shot almost simultaneously, then a thunk and clatter as something heavy hit the ground.

A body, his instinct told him. He told it to shut up and sank further in his seat. His foot brushed up against something solid under his seat and he pulled it forward with the toe of his shoe. It was a gun. He picked it up.

“Not dead yet?” a sarcastic voice asked. “Maybe I should take my time with you. I hear you bastards did with my boss.”

There was a cough and then, “No, he gave you boys up right away.” It was the woman from before.

“You bitch,” the man yelled, and Vincent knew she would die if he didn’t do anything. He’d never met her before, but she had sort of tried to save his life. Or something. Besides, this sort of thing was always easy enough in the movies.

Before he could stop and think about how stupid this was, he leaned around his seat, spotted the man standing over her with gun drawn, and fired.

“Ow,” he grunted as the recoil snapped his arm back. The man went down, falling backwards and smacking his head against the door. Vincent blinked and stepped into the aisle.

The woman sat up, wincing. Vincent could see she was bleeding from both legs.

“Nice shot,” she said, her voice more professional than it had been. “Who do you work for?”

“Work for?” Vincent parroted.

“Don’t play dumb anymore. Just tell me where you work,” she was pulling gauze out of her jacket and applying pressure to the wounds in her legs.

“I, er,” Vincent stumbled, “I work in the shopping complex. In the seedy loan place. You know?”

“So that place is a front. I thought so. Who’s behind it, and what’s he want with me?”

“Look, miss, I think you’re confused. I just took the shitty loan job until I find something better.”

She cocked an eyebrow at him. “If you really are that clueless, you’ll give me back my gun.”

Vincent held it out to her. She took it and immediately aimed at him.

“Hey!” he shouted.

“You’re a very good shot for someone who isn’t in the field.”

Vincent shrugged. “Then I’m a good shot. I mean, I just pointed at him and fired.”

She looked at him like she was sizing him up, shook her head, and put the gun down while she pulled out a materia and whispered over it. The wounds on her legs pulled shut and she stood as the train began to slow.

“I have to go. This is my stop,” she told him, stepping toward the door. “You’ll want to get off the train from the very front carriage. You weren’t involved, don’t worry. I’ll be in touch.” The door slid open and she stepped off.

It took Vincent a minute to process her last sentence. “Wait, in touch? What?” The platform was empty when he looked out. After a minute, the door hissed shut again.

He nudged the body with his foot.

It was really dead. Vincent had never personally seen a dead body before, but he was still coming down off the adrenaline high and thinking that he rather liked the feeling.

“Not a habit I should get into,” he told himself quietly. He nudged the body once more for good measure, then took the woman’s advice and headed for the front cabin.

He found himself hoping that she meant it when she said she’d be in touch with him later. If it meant more exciting days like this, he would definitely look forward to that.