Vincent Comes Home

Nev--Good God and yay for references to other FF characters! I like doing that. I dunno why. It just makes me grin. And I thought Squall/Leon would make a good officer before Rinoa turned him into a wuss.

Pyrasaur--You have, like, the coolest name ever. I'm glad the flashbacks are staying with you. Good. That makers me feel better about the whole thing. Thank you a whole bunch. :)

Maron--I've seen that before, where authors have a hard time writing for many characters. And I'm just the opposite. I have a terrible time writing for just one character because I always end up getting interested and wanting to explore the other characters. So I always end up doing it. :D Oh yeah. And about the dream. Bwahahahahahaha! *snerktease* Ah! And I'm so happy you think Zet is okay. Woot!

VahlanaAngel--Ah, you don't know how much the comforts me--that people think Zet and Cid are okay. I was terrified it was gonna go wrong. I'm so insecure sometimes. Thank you so much! (And I sincerly hope people like your story too. :)

And last, but certainly not least, MaTaki--Allright! *pumps fist* You've all made me feel so much better about Zet and Cid! Thank you! Wohooo! And your reviews do make me happy. Every review I get is always of value to me. Thank you so much! And I'm glad you liked Eddie's letter. I loved writing it! ^_^
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By the way, I noticed that I've been making two mistakes consistantly. First, I keep changing the capitalization of materia. I'm going to fix that eventually. Second, I keep spelling Eddie's name differently. So I'm going to go back and fix that eventually too. :D

Bueller? Bueller?


Vincent almost didn’t sleep that night. He found that, while he enjoyed normal sleep, sometimes it still made him uneasy. There was always the terror that he would never wake up. Or, if he did, he’d be back in his coffin and none of this would have ever happened. The nightmares had been just as terrible when he came back into the world as they had been when he’d been locked up. After Sephiroth was dead, they were twice as bad.

But after three years they had finally begun to lessen. He was even taking on normal sleeping hours. He got up every morning looking the same, which made him a little paranoid. Maybe I’m going to live forever… But he was jumping ahead of himself. He was only…thirty; he wasn’t all that old yet. But he didn’t like to think about that, because it always led him to the thought that he should have been in his sixties.

Vincent took off his shirt. The black substance that Jenova had wrapped around his claw had stuck, hard and shiny. Nanaki had informed him that they had had to scrape it off of Cloud with a heated dagger. Hence the horrible scabbing on his face, throat, and arms. They would leave brutal scars.

Vincent found it a little ironic that he could consider himself lucky. After all, he could remove the claw. Cloud couldn’t remove his skin.

…his skin, peeled away and flapping around his body…

Vincent winced. He scowled and went into the bathroom. He turned the knobs to fill the tub with warm water and then he sat on the tile against the wall.

Vincent flipped the claw over and undid the clasps and pressed in the bolt that released the screws in his arms. He closed his eyes when they tore his flesh but the stump was so covered in scar tissue that it almost didn’t hurt anymore. He let the claw fall to the tile floor.

He stared at his arm.

It was black. Not the shiny, hard black on the metal arm, but a horrible, burned-looking black. As if his flesh was rotting. He raised it up to his eyes, disbelieving. The flesh was ragged and spotted, like mold on bread. There were slight lacerations in the blackened skin. Blood and pus had dripped, clotted, and dried. It looked horrible.

Vincent picked up his claw and flipped it over, gazing at the inside. The entire interior was coated in a layer of dried blood and black flesh. Horrified, Vincent reached over and put it in the tub. He sat back against the wall.

Still not completely registering it, he stared at his stump again. It had never been infected before. It had not even been sweaty before. It seemed that, after Hojo’s work on him, the arm was incapable of regular functioning. He could feel certain things from it—like pain, and sometimes the warmth of Materia, if it was mastered. But he did not feel cold or hot from his skin. His claw felt cold sometimes, and hot too, but never his arm. And, staring at it, he wasn’t entirely certain what to do with it.

This had never happened before.

“First things first,” he reminded himself, so he would not just sit there and stare at it. He got on his knees and went to the tub. The dried blood had started to flake off and out of his claw, but the rotted black flesh remained.

Vincent grabbed a washcloth from the side of the bathtub and soaked it in the warm water. He stared at the claw for a moment, uncertain it he should touch it but then he shook his head. What happened would happen. He needed to concentrate on something anyway.

He was trying to keep his mind off of Tifa.

She had pulled him aside this morning, looking strangely awake….

“Vincent…I wanna talk to you about last night…”

Vincent had looked at her. “There is no need for you to apologize. At least, I do not feel there is anything you need to apologize for.”

“I do.”

Her tone had stopped him. It made him freeze and consider her more carefully.

She looked at the ground. “I don’t want you to think that…there is anything between us, Vincent. And I’m afraid I may have led you on, somewhat, last night. That wasn’t…wasn’t my intention…and I’m sorry.”

Vincent had looked at her, almost seeing Lucrecia in the same moment. He had supposed too much, it seemed.

She took his silence for anger. “I didn’t mean to, Vincent,” she said, almost desperately, looking up at him. “And when you said we were more alike than you though, I didn’t—“

Vincent shook his head. His lack of dreams the night before could not battle the darkness that came over him. He was not angry, or really surprised, or even sad.

As Edward would have said, Goddamn. Why’s this shit always happen to me?

He had made the wrong choice, an assumption, and had relinquished his guard against such emotion. Now he was paying for it.

Again, muttered Edward, rolling his eyes. Goddamn, I hate my job sometimes. Have I mentioned that I miss Eyes, lately? ‘Cause if I haven’t, I am now.

“I understand,” Vincent told her. And he had turned around and walked away. Humiliation was something he hadn’t felt in a long time, but he bore like he did everything else. Put up the mask and believe that it’s nothing. Others will look at you and believe it doesn’t matter. That was good.


Vincent shook his head and looked back at the claw. Awkwardly, but carefully, he tried scrubbing at the inside of it—but such was a job made for two hands. He just stared at it. Sometimes it seemed like, if there were Gods, they were all laughing at him. He looked at his arm.

He sighed at the blackened flesh, unsure if it was rotting, or if it was infected. It didn’t feel weird at all. It felt like it normally did. He rubbed his temple and got up. He went to the sink and tried rubbing his stump down with hot water and soap. It did little except to clean off the blood and pus from the lacerations.

Frustrated, he turned around and went into his room. He picked up his gauntlet and slipped it on his whole wrist. He tried Esuna first (I will support you through trial. I am the healer of Pestilence.). It did nothing. He tried Cure next. It gave him nothing.

He tore the gauntlet off and tossed it onto the floor. It figured. It really did. He wanted none of it right now. None of it. At all.

He strode over to the bathroom and turned off the lights, leaving his claw in the tub. Rubbing his hand over his face, he went to his bag and opened it up. His spare Materia was here. He took out an orb and went to his bed, turned down the covers and laid down. He flipped off his light.

He settled into a comfortable position. And then, gripping the Materia hard in his hand, he activated Sleepel.

(I give your enemies gentle rest. You move in for the kill.)

At that point, Vincent didn’t care if he ever woke up again.

But he did. An uncanny sense bringing him into consciousness, he opened his eyes. He saw a mouthful of teeth. He jerked and sat upright.

Nanaki looked up at him, quiet. The bandage over his eye making him look, somehow, more fierce.

Vincent looked back, not bothering to puzzle at how Nanaki might have unlocked and opened the door. “What?”

The beast seemed to be making some sort of measuring of him, but then he said, ”Breakfast is ready, if you would like some. Cid says we’ll reach the Forgotten City early this afternoon. He wants everyone to get their strength up.”

“Yes,” Vincent said, quietly. “Thank you.” The somberness was still there. The darkness. He couldn’t shake it away.

Nanaki sniffed the air. “Why did you use Sleepel?”

Vincent paused and then shook his head. What did it matter if Nanaki noticed? “I couldn’t sleep,” he replied, pushing back the covers. The orb was still in his hand. He looked at it. It called to him, louder than ever. Almost a command.

(Use me,) it seemed to say. (Come back.)

Vincent closed his eyes and went to the sack. He put it in with the other orbs. It called more insistently to him. Just to take it out, activate it again, and go into the warm, dreamless slumber where nothing mattered.

“You should be careful about overusing that. It will pull you in completely.”

Vincent tugged a dark shirt awkwardly over his head. “I know.”

Nanaki cocked his head to the side, almost like a dog might. “Why did you--?”

“Why does it matter?”

Nanaki bowed his head. “I apologize. I’ll leave you.” He did so.

Vincent stared at his door and sighed. Get a hold of yourself…

(Dreamless sleep. Warmth. Peaceful slumber. Come back to me.)

Vincent shook his head, cocking a glare at his bag of Materia. He went into the bathroom. The claw lay in the tub of now cold water. He drew it out and looked it over.

Most of the dried blood was gone; the pus was too. But the blackened flesh was still there, clinging to the inside. Irritated, he went back, tossing the claw on his bed. He went to his gear and pulled out a small knife. He tried scraping it off, at first, but that did very little. Finally, he simply set the knife aside. His arm was covered in blackened flesh. The inside of his claw was covered in blackened flesh. What did it matter if the two of them were together?

He pulled on the claw, hooking it around his stump and pressed in the trigger bolt. Screws launched into his flesh. Ignoring the tingling feeling that came over him, he went to his locker and pulled out a plain, black jacket and shrugged it on.

He looked in the mirror. Red eyes stared back. I’m not the man I was…not three years ago, not thirty years ago. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply.

When he arrived in the mess, it was mostly empty. A few members of the nightshift were catching a meal before they went to bed…

(Back. Come back. To sleep. To sleep…)

The only one who looked up when he entered was Cid. He was sitting with Zet, Jeremiah, and Barret. The pilot waved at him. “C’mon over here, Vince. Have some breakfast.”

Vincent thought, for a split-second, to refuse. He didn’t really desire to be with anyone anymore. He wanted to leave. He wanted to wander again. But he did not. He walked over to Cid’s table and sat down.

“Mornin’,” said Jeremiah. “Heard you ‘ad a rough evening.”

Vincent looked at him.

“Jesus, Jeremiah,” said Cid, lighting up a cigarette. “Where’s yer fuckin’ tact?”

The older man sat up. “Huh?”

Barret rolled his eyes.

Cid leaned back in his chair and put his boots on the table. “Oi! You mind bringin’ somethin’ out here for Vincent?” The Captain called.

“I can get it myself—“

“Naw, naw, let ‘im bring it out.”

“I’m not particularly hung—“

“I said don’ worry ‘bout it, Vince. It’s ‘bout time he got some damn exercise!” He yelled, grinning from ear to ear.

“All you’ll get is some old, moldy fucking hot dogs if you don’t shut up!” A man’s voice yelled back.

“Fuck, I’m surprised we still have fuckin’ hot dogs with you ‘round.”

A middle-aged man with a kerchief tied about his white-blond hair exited the kitchen bearing a tray. “Fuck you. You know I’d only do this because it’s you askin’. Everyone else can get their own goddamn food.” He set the tray down on the table. “Hallo, Vincent. It’s been awhile.”

Vincent nodded.

“Well, if th’ food tastes like shit, it’s Cid’s fault. I gotta go start lunch prep. So lemme the hell alone.”

Cid laughed heartily, stretching. “I like that guy. He’s a fuckin’ riot when he wants to be.”

Barret scowled at Cid. “Dunno what the hell you’re in such a fuckin’ good mood for.”

Cid looked at Barret and said mildly, “Sorry, sunshine. Maybe it’s because ten hours and twenty-two minutes have gone by without something fucked up happening. I’ll celebrate why I still can.”

“With what?” asked Barret, looking annoyed.

Zet snorted. “With booze and cigarettes. Not that that’s much different from normal.”

“Don’t’ f’get the girls,” Cid put in.

“Yeah right, you don’t get girls.”

Cid looked at her, feigning outrage. “I beg your pardon?”

“Well,” said Zet, grinning and waving a hand nonchalantly. “It’s just that you’re so old, you know?”

“You little bitch.”

Zet laughed.

Barret looked between them and rolled his eyes.

Jeremiah turned to Vincent. “Lemme explain,” he said, looking a little uncertain, as if he wasn’t quite sure where he was. “These two knuckle’eads come thumpin’ on my door las’ night, drug me outta bed and made me ‘ave drinks with ‘em. We all fell asleep in Cid’s room. When we wake up, those two young idiots are bright as rain. Er, sunshine. An’ I fee’ like m’foreheads caved in.”

“Y’shoulda been there, Vince. It was like a sleepover.”

Zet, who had been in the process of taking a drink, snorted into her glass. She leaned back in her chair, grinning, “You can come t’the next one, Vincent. We can all talk about guys, drink hot chocolate and eat peanut butter and pickle sandwiches. How about it?”

Vincent thought back on his morning, his night, and his evening. For all the things that had happened to him….

Do you want to give it up? Just run away?

Did he really want to give this up…and go back to his lonely wanderings? Did he want to hide forever? You must be stronger than that.

“Perhaps,” Vincent answered, allowing a little smile.

Cid grunted. “I ain’t talkin’ about no guys. I ain’t interested in that.”

“Well, you don’t have t’come,” Zet said loftily, turning her nose up at him.

Cid frowned and rubbed his chin. “Well now, I dunno…peanut butter and pickles sandwiches are hard to pass up.”

“Ugggh,” Barret voiced, making a face. “That ain’t natural.”

“Your mom ain’t natural,” Cid said immediately, trying to keep his face straight.

Barret stopped and glared. “I know you ain’t talkin’ ‘bout my momma.”

“Gee, Cid,” said Zet, rolling her eyes and tossing her hair, but grinning. “How old are you?”

Jeremiah looked at Vincent and shrugged. “They’ve bee’ like this all mornin’. I dunno what’s got into ‘em.” But he smiled, as if he knew something Vincent didn’t.

Vincent looked down at his food and forced himself to eat it, despite the mutinous churn in his belly.

“I’m serious. Don’ be talkin’ ‘bout my momma!”

“Oh, c’mon, Barret! It’s classic! It was just a joke.”

He sipped his water, watching the banter. Once, he had been on the distributing end of japes and silly jokes. And, just as often, on the receiving end. Barret, Zet, Jeremiah, and Cid. In their places, he could see the old veteran, Bloody Luke, Corrie, Snicket, and Klaus.

Such a long time ago.

No. The past is in the past. Live in the present.

“Come hell or high water,” Cid said, pointing his cigarette at Zet and Jeremiah. “We’re goin’ home today. After we go to the City. We’re done. I can’t hardly wait. You know what I’m gonna do as soon as I get back?”

“Wha’?” Jeremiah asked.

“I’m gonna order a pizza. All meat. With extra meat. And extra cheese. And get the little things of dippin’ sauce. An’ I ain’t goin’ t’get it. They’re gonna bring it to my damn door. Four of them. Four pizzas. All the same thing. An’ I’m gonna fucking eat ‘em all. An’ I’m gonna smoke while I do it. Best goddamn meal in the whole world righ’ there. Pizza, cigarettes, and a beer. I can ‘ardly wait.”

Cid was eager to leave. Of course he was. He hated what they were doing.

And suddenly, it made sense. He was dreading the trip into the Forgotten City. So he was compensating by being extra loud and unusually rambunctious. Especially with these two. Perhaps because they were pilots like him?

Or perhaps because they were outsiders?

That made sense. In a strange sort of way. Cid was stressed with their current group, so he created an outside one that wasn’t stressful.

Vincent smiled, a little thoughtfully. No, you will come to do such things again. It just takes time. He wouldn’t dwell. There was no point in dwelling any longer.

“Oh shit!” Cid let his chair fall back on it’s legs with a thump. “I forgot to check on Tifa and Cloud!”

“Cloud’s fine,” Barret grumbled, looking surly. “Yuffie’s watchin’ ‘im.”

“Ah, well, I better go get Tifa then. We should landin’ in the…in about two and half hours. We’ll be goin’ as soon as we get there. So be ready by, oh, say…noon. That way if we land on schedule we’re all ready t’go.” Vincent noted how he cut himself off, how he didn’t say ‘the Forgotten City’.

Cid heaved himself up, rubbing his chin, and sauntered away.

Zet stretched and yawned, leaning back in her chair. She smiled after Cid.

Jeremiah sipped his orange juice, gazing blearily over his glass.

Barret glared at everything in front of him as if it had done him a mortal wrong.

Vincent stood and nodded to them, then, he followed Cid. He must start by seeing Tifa. Then, things could change.


He matched Cid’s stride and walked next to him for several moments before the other man said anything.

“Whacha need, Vincent?” He was no longer laughing and joking, it seemed that grim seriousness had set in.

“Merely to come with you and check on Tifa.”

Cid gave him a sidelong glance. “I heard you weren’t talkin’.” It was unclear as to what Cid wasn’t saying.

Vincent neither agreed nor disagreed with that.

Cid raised his eyebrows. “Guess we all ‘ave our bad days, then.”

Cid led Vincent down a long hallway and pounded on a door as he went by. It opened almost immediately. Leon slipped up behind them. Vincent noticed him right away but when Cid turned, he blinked and the corner of his mouth jerked—tiny signs of surprise.

There was a man standing in front of the door as they went down. He was barrel-chested and tall. Cid approached this man. “You still here, Steiner?”

“Yes sir,” said the man, saluting. “My duty as—“

“Go get some sleep, Steiner. You gotta shift tonight.”

Steiner saluted formally, turned sharply on his heel, and marched off, shoulders thrown back and chest out.

Vincent cocked an eyebrow at Cid quizzically.

The pilot rolled his eyes. “He’s always like that. Can’t get the guy t’relax. I think he believes ‘e’s a knight or somethin’.” He turned to Leon. “How was she?”

Leon shifted on his feet, looking at Cid out of the tops of his eyes. “Quiet. They say she didn’t make a sound the whole night.”

Cid raised an eyebrow. “She ain’t dead, is she?”

“I sincerely hope not.”

Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead like Lucrecia.

(Come back to sleep. To sleep. To rest. Warm darkness and slumber.)

Vincent shook off the persistent tug of Sleepel and concentrated harder on Cid and his quiet officer.

“Did anyone come askin’ f’her?”

“No, sir.”

Cid looked a little puzzled. Then he smiled. “Damn, I half expected Cloud to escape and hun’ ‘er down.”

Leon’s face became a mask; he pretended not to hear that.

So much trust between them…

Cid put a lot of faith into his crew.

It had been a long time since Vincent had trusted someone so explicitly.


Bloody Luke was middle-aged when Vincent was first inducted into the Turks. He was not on the man’s command, but the stories about him were legendary. The number of his own men he’d killed, other men he’d killed, women he’d seduced, weapons he owned, and booby traps in his house, always seemed to grow each time someone told it.

How many has he walked in?

Eighty-six, swear to God.

Bullshit. He wouldn’t have a command if he’d killed eighty-six of his own company.

Well, obviously it wasn’t all at once. Ol’ Bloody Luke has had so many people switched out that only one of his original members is still alive. They say the others were—

You are so full of shit.

I’m not! I swear to God! He became a Turk when he was twelve.

I heard he slaughtered his parents and ate their flesh.

Whoa! Hardcore!

They said that when Bloody Luke killed a man, he completely dismembered him and fed the limbs to the vicious monsters he had tamed.

Vincent and Eddie had laughed at the stories. They were outrageous, of course. What man could tame the monsters that roamed? What man could seduce seventy-three virgins in one night? What man could kill eighty-six (or was it a hundred and five?) members of the Turks and no one challenge him?

Then they had met Bloody Luke.

Eddie had been handed over to the command of a man named Savage, who seemed to take his name to heart and was particularly ruthless, as commanders go. But somehow, Eddie had won him over and the two became ruthless together. And some how, he’d won over his peers too, so it was a particularly cheerful command, despite the odd, if not merry, ruthlessness of all of them.

Vincent had been with Commander Eiko, who was hotheaded and devilish in her humor. His peers had liked him well enough, and he felt the same about them. They worked together, but that was it.

There came an assignment one day that Eyes had given over to three commanders. The first was Savage, the second, by chance, was Eiko and the third was Bloody Luke.

The three had come together in a conference room while they were lectured by Eyes for their assignment. It seemed pretty typical. There were freedom fighters out in the woods. It seemed as though there were always rebels against the military force behind ShinRa. And the President was a paranoid man. Root out the terrorists and kill them. Capture the leader, bring him in alive (if possible, which usually translated to--if desired), and extract information.

“Commander Sylva,” (Eyes was probably the only Turk who called Bloody Luke by his real name) “will be head of the operation. This shouldn’t be too difficult, people. If you have to burn the forest down, do it. ShinRa wants them cleaned out by day after tomorrow.

“Talk about short notice,” Eiko muttered, grinning slightly.

“It’s not up to you to decide when you’re given orders, Commander Eiko.”

“Yes ma’am,” she answered, but she was still smiling.

Eyes turned to Bloody Luke. “Move them out, Commander.”

He nodded. “Downstairs in fifteen,” he told them all, not even looking at them. He stood up. They all blinked when his command jumped up with him. He led them out the door.

“Fifteen seconds? Minutes? Hours? Days? Years?” Eiko asked, grinning and rolling her eyes.

Eddie leaned back in his chair. “You see how they jumped up? Damn.”

“They’re like dogs. He trains them until they’re perfect. And if they ain’t,” Commander Savage drew a finger across his throat, making a terrible cutting noise.

“That’s enough,” Eyes snapped, looking at them dangerously. “I’m assuming I don’t have to tell to you two to mind yourselves around Sylva. You both have a rookie with you. Don’t make me regret sending you. Brief them about how he runs a command.”

“Yes ma’am,” Eiko replied, smile not as biting as before. She glanced at Vincent and smirked. “You’re in for a hell of time, rookie. You’re gonna see some real bloodshed.”

Savage laughed. “Now, now, Eiko—don’t scare ‘im. He might run away.”

“Well, then I’d have to put a knife in his throat.”

“That sounds like something Bloody Luke would do.”

“Sounds more like somethin’ you would do,” Eddie sniggered.

“Well, maybe they’ll be callin’ me Bloody Eiko someday. I kinda like the sounds of that.”

Savage smirked at Vincent. “I’d be careful if I were you, rookie.”

Fifteen minutes later, the three Turk commands converged again. They didn’t dress in camouflage or any sort of gear meant to hide themselves. After all, the Turks had a reputation for being bold as brass. Some said it was stupid, but no one seemed to care. For some Turks, it only added to the thrill of assignments.

Bloody Luke looked over them all. He pointed, first at Eddie, then at Vincent. “These two your rookies?”

Eiko and Savage, both serious now, nodded.

Bloody Luke beckoned to both of them. “Weapon of choice?”

Vincent licked his lips. “Firearms.”

Eddie smiled pleasantly. “Stave.”

Bloody Luke turned to glare at his fellow commanders. “How are they with them?”

Eiko spoke first. “Valentine was trained a sharpshooter. Boy can hit anything, big or small, with the right gun. He prefers a Dio 360 Sniper Rifle, Second Edition from Wutai.”

Savage glared back. “Tarshil is nimble, quick on his feet, agile at a cat. And when he’s got Materia in his stave he wrecks all sorts of hell.”

“We’ll see,” the man growled, glaring at the two commanders.

“You know, you could talk to us instead of acting like we’re not even here.”

WHAM!

Eddie didn’t even see it coming. Suddenly, he was on the ground, his nose bleeding. He spit out a tooth. Savage crouched slightly, touching his saber’s hilt.

“I wouldn’t,” Bloody Luke growled dangerously. “Teach your rookie some manners. Let’s go.”

They traveled the rest of the day, walking until it was too dark to see and only then would Bloody Luke allow them to rest.

Vincent and Eddie sat around a small fire they had built.

“How’s your nose?”

“Hurts like a bitch. I think it’s fucking lucky that it ain’t broken.”

“You need some ice?” Suddenly another man joined them. Vincent recognized him from Bloody Luke’s company. He introduced himself as Klaus Baudel.

“Naw, I’m fine. Thanks though.”

“How old are you two?”

“Twenty,” Vincent answered.

“Newly graduated then?”

They nodded.

“Well, I wouldn’t be too worried about the commander. He’s not as bad as they say he is.”

“You all jump up like frogs when he left today.”

Klaus shook his messy brown hair. “Commander runs a strict unit but he always brings us home.”

Eddie snorted. “Except when he doesn’t.”

“Ah, you’ve heard the stories about him killing his own?”

“How many has he killed?”

Klaus shrugged. “Dunno. If you ask you get a crack across the face. That’s what happened to me,” and he pointed to his slightly crooked nose. “But that was five years ago. Man thrives on discipline. He’s not afraid to break the rules, of course. But we can’t. At least not his rules. And according to Bloody Luke, his rules are the only ones that matter.”

“Shit,” Eddie whistled. “And we’re following this guy?”

Klaus only smiled. “I’ll stick with you two tomorrow. You’re Eddie, correct? And you’re Valentine, the sharp shooter, right? Just try and get some sleep tonight, you’ll need it.”

So Eddie and Vincent had an uneasy sleep on the ground, only to be shaken roughly awake by Klaus. “Come on,” he said. “Get your weapons. We’re going in ten.”

Eddie blinked blearily and grabbed for his stave. He reached for his Materia. “Ah, what the hell? My Materia’s gone!”

Vincent had jumped right away and was putting a mythril gauntlet on his wrist. He stared at Eddie. “Son of a bitch…did you leave it somewhere?”

“Oh c’mon, Vince, I ain’t that fuckin’ stupid.”

“Stupid enough.”

They whipped around. Bloody Luke was staring at them with a pair of eerie, deep-set black eyes, holding Eddie’s bag. “I want to see what you wreck without your Materia,” the man told them.

“You can’t—!”

CRACK!

Bloody Luke hit him again. Eddie slammed into the dirt. Vincent stepped in front of him, putting a hand to his gun but uncertain if he’d have time to draw it.

Bloody Luke talked as if he weren’t there. “You will do as I say, rookie.”

“Commander Savage—“

“Is second to me. Right now, I’m your commander. Understood?”

Eddie placed a hand on his face. He was shaking with fury. “Yes, sir.”

“You have six and a half minutes.” He walked away.

Vincent turned around. “Christ, Ed. He’s gonna kill you.”

“You got any Cure Materia? I think he broke my nose this time.”

Vincent rolled his eyes and lifted his gauntlet. Green light encircled him (his Materia wasn’t all that advanced) and Eddie’s nose knitted itself. “Just stick by me, okay?”

Eddie scowled but he stood up. The two of them walked out to where the others had gathered. Klaus came up behind them and gave them a grim smile, noting the blood on Eddie’s face.


“Guns to the front,” Bloody Luke ordered. “You’re goin’ in first.”

Vincent swallowed and stepped into the front line. He checked his Materia one last time and flipped off the safety to his sniper rifle.

Bloody Luke glared at him. “You’d be better off with a sub-machine gun, boy.”

Vincent licked his lips. “I don’t have one, sir.”

“Anyone have a sub-machine gun that pretty boy Valentine can use?”

No one did.

“Well,” and Bloody Luke gave him a horrible smile, “we’ll have to see how you fair with your rifle then.” He started to turn away but glanced over his shoulder. “Get in the back, Valentine. You’ll be no use in the front.”

Feeling incredibly humbled and self-conscious, Vincent stepped back to stand beside Eddie again.

“Damn, that was lucky.”

But Vincent wasn’t so sure. He felt as he’d failed some sort of test.

“They already know we’re here, just so you know,” Bloody Luke said, giving them a smirk. “Which is to be expected, as the Turks don’t seem to believe in doing anything quietly. So, don’t bother being friendly. These people will kill you. Anyone have any Fire Materia?”

Some hands raised in Eiko and Savage’s command and every person in Bloody Luke’s raised theirs.

“Good,” said the man. “Set fire to the place as soon as we get in.”

He, Eiko and Savage strode ahead of their small unit.

“How are fifteen of us going to fight people who can hide in a forest? Even if we burn it down—they’ll still get away,” Vincent whispered to Klaus.

The man shrugged. “We’re Turks. It’s what we do. Always facing the odds.”

They strode into the woods, bold as day.

Men and women with sub-machine guns raised them into the air and started firing. Those with Fire Materia raised their weapons or armor. Bloody Luke, Eiko, and Savage stood in a triangle. All three of them raised their gauntlets and did a vast activation of Wall.

“Only a few of these people will have any sort of Materia,” Savage roared. “Even so, watch yourselves!”

Eiko turned on her heel to face them. “Scatter! But stay in sight of each other!”

Suddenly, a charged streak of white lightening rammed into the Wall around the man in front of Vincent. The man flinched, going down on one knee and firing up into the air.

That’s what really began the battle.

It was like lions being set loose on rabbits.

Eddie, Vincent, and Klaus all took off at a run.

Root them out, had been the order.

“Stop,” Klaus ordered them. He raised his weapon, a javelin. Instantly, fireballs zoomed in every direction. Trees caught and soon the woods were filled with smoke.

Vincent could hear screaming from every direction, shouted orders, and the clash of weapons.

He’d been on assignments before, but not like this. Not like this. A woman, perhaps fifty yards away, yanked a man out of the bushes and slit his throat. Another man jumped high, catapulting himself into the trees, where he grabbed a brown-dressed boy and punched a knife several times into his chest.

“Get down!” Klaus roared, crashing his arm at Eddie and Vincent’s shoulders and knocking them flat on their faces as a sweep of arrows, a few glowing with Spell Materia, thudded right over their heads into the ground. Klaus crouched next to them. “I know it’s a rough way to be introduced, but stop gawking. You’ll get used to it. Just fight.”

Vincent nodded. He was trembling. He jumped when a man, burned to a crisp with a hole in his skull, slammed down into the ground in front of him. Vincent scrambled backwards.

“Come on,” Klaus said, harshly. “Get up.”

Vincent nodded again and pulled Eddie up with him.

Suddenly, four men and two women dropped to the ground in front of them. Two had swords, one had a gun, one had a morningstar, and two had crossbows.

“Drop! On the ground!” A woman with a sword yelled at them.

Klaus crouched and swung his javelin in a wide stretch. Lightening struck one of the women and two men. “Vincent! Edward! Come on!”

Vincent straightened. This was like target practice. Hit the cardboard cutout across the room. Hit the pop can five hundred yards away. Hit the plate as it flies through the air.

He raised his high-powered rifle and fired off three shots. It was practically point blank range; he couldn’t miss. He felt something hit his cheek. He raised a hand and picked it off. It was a piece of the woman’s face. With a startled cry, he dropped it. His rifle had decimated their skulls.

Breathing hard, he looked at Eddie. He heard more than felt the arrow thud into his back. Eddie grabbed him before he hit the ground. “Vincent! Vince! Come—oh, Jesus Christ!”

Klaus grabbed him by the arm. He looked over Vincent's shoulder and raised his javelin again. A wall of flame erupted in front of them. More arrows came thudding into the ground around them. Some were incinerated by Wall, others by the fire.

Klaus ducked, throwing Vincent to the ground under him.

He arched, terrible pain raging up into his throat. The ground shoved the arrow farther through him. He screamed.

Klaus was up again. He grabbed Eddie, who was staring, frozen, at the arrow in Vincent’s chest. “Take him out of here! I’ll hold them! Find one of the commanders!”

Eddie looked at him, horrified.

“Do it or he’ll die, Eddie! Go!”

This galvanized Eddie into action. He grabbed Vincent under the arm and hauled him to his feet, putting his stave in his free hand. “Come on, Vincent! Come on, man! We gotta go!”

He took off, half-dragging Vincent.

He was only vaguely aware that he was being carried. The pain was paralyzing him. He couldn’t see, move, or think. All he could feel was the burning pain.

Eddie was taking his gun from him and activating Haste. He flitted through the woods like a deer, jumping over companions and enemies alike. Suddenly, he came to a stop.

Vincent jarred horribly. He gasped, trying to breath. He looked up.

Bloody Luke was standing in the middle of a clearing right ahead of them. He smashed the heads of two men together. Blood and bits of gray jelly slopped over his hands onto the ground. He grabbed a woman with a crossbow. She only managed to fire once before her face met his knee.

Vincent heard Eddie give a gasp of horror.

Bloody Luke crouched, whipped around and raised his wrist.

That was the first time Vincent had ever seen a Summon (Eiko refused to show him until she got to know him better). It was Shiva. Devastatingly beautiful and incredibly effective. She raised her fingertips, delicate as a sprite. Thrones of ice grabbed the rebels in its grip. They were frozen solid. When Shiva disappeared and the ice broke apart, so did their bodies. Blood soaked the ground.

The clearing stood empty except for Bloody Luke. Abruptly, he turned around and looked at them.

Eddie gasped, sounding terrified.

“Come out you two. What’s wrong?”

Eddie swallowed.

“Now, Tarshil!”

Vincent could feel his trembling, icy cold fingers as Eddie grabbed him tighter and pulled him through the brush.

Bloody Luke was already striding towards them. He snatched Vincent away from Eddie and looked him over.

“I’m surprised,” the man said, with an air of disappointment. “I figured if one of you were going to get shot, it’d be you, Tarshil. Did you use your friend as an arrow ward?”

“No, sir!” Eddie cried.

“Stop sniveling. Stand guard. Make some use of that staff of yours.”

Obediently, Eddie stepped away and raised his mythril stave.

Bloody Luke sat Vincent down. “You still alive, boy?”

Vincent gasped for air and opened his eyes. They felt heavy. And warm waves kept cresting over him, inviting him to sleep. “Are…are you gonna kill me, Commander?”

Bloody Luke smiled. “You’re just gonna have to trust me, boy.”

He ripped the arrow out.

When Vincent awoke, it was all over. Eiko was staring down at him, concern on her face. He breathed in deeply. She sighed. “Good God, Valentine. Are you all right?”

Vincent barely heard her. He looked up into the trees. The sun must have just been setting, because the sky was a beautiful orange-red.

Beautiful…

“Vincent.”

He blinked and focused on Eiko. The smoke had cleared and the forest was silent. The battle was over. “I’m all right.” His words were slightly slurred.

Suddenly, Bloody Luke was above him. He crouched down and sat Vincent up. He winced.

“It’ll leave a scar, but you’ll be fine, boy,” said the man, staring down on him.

Vincent nodded.


Ever since that day, he’d trusted rough, fierce Bloody Luke. The man had intimidated him for a time, but eventually, as he got to know him, he found that Bloody Luke possessed a dry, clever wit and he was very good at cards.


He wondered why Cid so faithfully trusted his crew. Certainly, men and women among them could be horrible, couldn’t they? But perhaps Cid only trusted certain people. Like this man, Leon, or O’Malley. Maybe he was just an excellent judge of character? Maybe he'd saved their lives or they'd saved his or something?


Cid opened the door and he walked inside. Vincent followed him. Tifa was sitting on her bed. It looked as though she’d just taken a shower, due to her wet hair. Her eyes weren’t red or puffy anymore. She looked up at them.

“Good morning,” Cid said, softly, seeming to forget that it wasn’t morning anymore. His tone was slightly apologetic.

She gave him a very tiny smile; she still looked exhausted. She blinked when she noted Vincent.

Vincent nodded to her. “Are you all right, Tifa?”

I will separate myself from her…

She nodded, studying him curiously.

“Just thought I’d tell you that we should be landing about a half hour after noon. Thought y’might wanna get your weapons ready an’ ‘ave somethin’ to eat.”

Tifa nodded again. “Okay.”

Cid tilted his head to the side. “Are, uh…are you all right, Tifa?”

“Yeah,” she said softly, smiling softly to herself. “I’m all right.”

Cid was just starting to walk out the door when there was a shout and Reno ran into the room. “Christ, come on! Cloud’s gone! He’s fucking disappeared!”

Vincent saw Cid's mouth fall open. “I thought Yuffie was guardin' him!?”

“She was! They’re both gone! We gotta find ‘em!”

“Shit! That's what I get for openin' my damn mouth!” Cid slammed the door back and stomped into the hallway. “Leon! Rouse the crew! Get the nightshift guys up! I want this whole ship searched top to bottom! Don’t stop until they’re found!”

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