Vincent Comes Home

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This is a short chapter...

Yeah. Next bit...


Cid threw himself down next to Cloud, grabbed a bowl and ladled himself some stew. “Goddamn,” he said, taking out his cigarette and smooshing it into the ashtray. “I’m gettin’ too old f’this shit. Crews brawling, men beatin’ the shit outta each other, officers pretending they have authority. Damn. It’s been too long since I’ve had to put up with that shit.”

“What did they say?” Vincent asked, stopping to look at him.

Cid slopped two mouthfuls and swallowed. “Said she was in rights to do what she did. Evidently ‘is crew ‘as been givin’ ‘im trouble for a long time. She finally took control of it—literally with that fuckin’ materia—and kicked them out.”

“So, you agree?”

“No,” Cid scowled, disgusted. “Just 'cause the crew’s been givin’ ‘er shit doesn’t make it right. She should have gone to Captain Jeremiah—but she doesn’t seem to think he’s fucking capable. She just looks at him as her pilot—not as her Captain. If somebody did that on my ship, I’d been tempted to gut them on the spot.”

“But,” said Cloud, suddenly sitting up straighter. “Maybe she tried to go to Jeremiah. Maybe it didn’t work?”

Cid shrugged. “Dunno. He asked for my advice. I told him to demote her. Her actions tell me that she thinks she’s in control—“

“That’s ridiculous, Cid.”

“No, it’s not,” said Cid, leaning back in his chair. “That’s command. Surely you, of any of us, remember command, Vinnie? You were a fuckin’ Turk. You sure as fuck didn’t mother anybody. Somebody woulda tried that with a Turk command, they’d’a been shot—probably on the fuckin’ spot.”


And unfortunately, that was true.

Vincent had led a small command through a series of Mythril caves. They were to meet with a small command of ShinRa’s boyscouts [a joke among the Turks]—SOLDIER—and advise them about the caverns. Vincent had already been scheduled to go there. He was hunting for clues to a problem that President Shinra was beginning to get nervous about.

Whispers were stretching through the slums in Midgar and other towns of a secret organization. At first, Vincent thought, perhaps it was something like the Turks. But he was disappointed. It just seemed to be the first threads of some kind of ragtag resistant group. Nothing sophisticated, just terrorists against ShinRa.

Or, at least, this is what he told his command.

The real reason for this mission was a certain man on his squad called Bruce Witherton. Witherton was tall, stocky and had a rough neck sort of way about him. Vincent had received his orders concerning him just yesterday.

He had been summoned by the Head. Her name was Eyes. Or that was at least what everyone called her. Her real name was Coraline Frank. She was notorious for knowing everything that went on seemingly everywhere. As if she had eyes wherever you went. She had stood in front of him and his command, taking stock of them. She explained to them, again, why they were being dispatched and what the President expected out of them.

Then she had turned to Vincent. “Valentine. Do you have any questions?”

“No, ma’am,” said Vincent. But she held his eye a moment longer than she should have. He turned his face just slightly to the side.

She went into another explanation of the SOLDIER group that would meet them and then, turned again and asked, “Do you have any questions, Valentine?”

He didn’t consider it this time. “Yes, ma’am. Just one, ma'am.”

She immediately turned away from him. “The rest of you go get ready. Your commander will be with you shortly.” After they were gone she sat down in her chair and looked at him. “There’s a man in your company named Bruce Witherton.”

Vincent nodded.

“He’s pissed off Commander Rajin. Insubordination. Unfortunately, at the time, he was not on duty—so we would have to document it if he had an accident." She smiled rather pleasantly. "I’m leaving this to you.”

Vincent nodded shortly. “Yes, ma’am.”

So that was the real reason they were there. To kill Bruce Witherton. The man himself seemed edgy and loud. In the caves, the echoes swallowed them.

“Shut your mouth, Witherton.”

He did. The echoes stopped. But he glared at Vincent. And Vincent, be damned, couldn’t help himself. “You want to say something, Witherton?”

The man’s face contorted. His glared deepened. “Of course not, sir,” he said, loading as much sarcasm as he dared into the title.

Suddenly, his job was easier than he thought it would be. Vincent scratched his ear, stopping the unit and turn to fully face him. A bitter smile spread over his face. “You know what’s coming, don’t you?”

“What are you talking about?”

And Vincent beckoned to him, still smiling.

Witherton didn’t come.

“Now, Turk.”

And slowly, he edged forward.

Vincent dropped his smile and hardened his eyes. “On your knees.”

“What?” Witherton's eyes went wide, like a scared rabbit.

“Now.”

Bruce Witherton began to quiver. He went down on his knees. Oh, yes, he knew what was coming.

“Uh…sir?” asked Rolan, a newbie Turk. She would learn, just like he had. One of the other Turks poked her and shook his head.

Vincent took out his gun and pointed it at the man’s face. “I’ve been ordered to do this by Eyes. You’ve been fucking around with a commander, right? Rajin, correct? You should have known better, Witherton.”

The man did not even make an attempt to deny his knowledge of an incident. "But...please. I didn't know she would take such offense. She let me go. I've only--"

"How long have you been a Turk?"

"Six months, sir." Suddenly the title was full of pleading and respect. It only make Vincent sneer. What a coward...

"That's six months too long, obviously. And long enough to know better. And long enough to know what insubordination costs you."

"I've got a kid, sir. Please, Commander Valentine. A wife and a daughter."

Vincent's mouth dropped open, disgust coming over him. "I'm not killing your daughter or your wife, so don't wave them around in front of me like some kind of shield."

“Just….let me go. Please? She looks just like her mother. I can't--you can't leave her without a father. I—“

“You know I can’t do that, Witherton. You live a Turk, you die a Turk. That’s what secret sects are all about.” And before he got another word out, Vincent sent the bullet into his face.

The Turks who had been around a while winced. The veterans didn’t even blink. But the two newbies, Rolan and a young man called Sanford both gasped and jumped backwards. The others did not chide them for it. They’d all been there once.

Vincent wiped the blood off his gun. Brains, bone, and bits of Witherton’s face were splattered all over him. The body, now without a skull, stayed vertical for a moment and then slumped over. Blood went everywhere. Little rivers and tributaries, all carrying debris of grey jelly that had been a part of Witherton's brains and eyes not moments before, dressed the cold stone in a hot bath of red.

There was a saying among the Turks that newbies heard but never understood until a moment like this. A Turk who’d been in for awhile could be heard to say, “We walk in our own blood.” Moments like these were the reasons for such sayings. When Witherton leaked all over the stone, not one person lifted his or her shoes. They kept their feet firmly on the floor, letting the blood coat the rubber souls. And so they walked away with blood of their own on them.

Sanford, his eyes locked on the splattered face before him, gasped again and looked up at him. “S-sir…”

He looked back at him, looked away and then down at his suit. His smile was bitter. “This suit was new.”

One of the veterans smiled, a tinge of pity there. No one liked killing subordinates.

Rolan and Sanford looked at him helplessly.

The first time Vincent had witnessed something like this, his commander had explained nothing. They had gone about their business like it was everyday. His companions had told him. The Turks did not tolerate rebelliousness or insubordination. The woman who had been killed that day had attempted to convince the command to, basically, mutiny while their leader stopped for information in a bar. But she, unlike Witherton, had died with dignity. She’d accepted what she had done and knew what would happen. She died with her eyes open, straight-backed, staring Vincent’s commander right in the face.

He briskly flicked his sleeve and then finally tore off the suit jacket, still dripping with hot, sticky blood. He hung it on the cave wall and turned to his one of his veterans, a man called Snicket. “You have any brandy with you?”

Snicket nodded, not even questioning his commander's knowledge of the flask in his jacket pocket that he was not suppose to have.

“Give them each a drink.” He did so without question.

Vincent had then stood the two newbies in front of him and explained what and why what had happened today, had happened. That there really was no SOLDIER group coming to meet them. The rumors of a terrorist group did exist and that had been the other part of Vincent’s assignment. Now, they were finished. Witherton had scuffled with a monster, they had attempted to rescue him and got him splattered all over the commander’s new suit.

“Understood?”

They had both nodded, probably terrified not to.

But this wasn’t the same.

“Pilots and airships are different than spies and guns.”

“Hardly,” Cid snorted.

“And you would know?”

Cid glared at him. “I didn’t realize you were an airship pilot, Vinnie.”

“I did not know you were a Turk. And do not call me ‘Vinnie’.”

“They train you for that in the Turks? Forgive me. Captain Vincent what can I possibly—?”

“Would you two stop it?”

They both turned to stare at Cloud, but the boy was getting up, a dark look on his face, and he left them. Cid and Vincent were quiet.

Cid scowled. “We’re acting like a coupla fucking kids.”

“You are.”

Cid opened his mouth to respond but then closed it, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “You really hate bein’ called ‘Vinnie’?”

Vincent scowled. “Yes. And I loathe the constant vampire and virgin jokes as well.”

“Ah,” said Cid, rather delicately. He heaved a great sigh. “All right, all right. I’ll go see what Captain Space Cadet has decided and attempt to waylay him. Can’t judge the girl if I can’t even act my age, right?”

Vincent only raised his eyebrows.

Cid turned a complete circle in his frustration and stomped away.

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Haven't quite decided what kind of relationship I want Zet and Jeremiah to have with Cid, Tifa, Cloud and Vincent. I suppose I really need to concrete those decision. Reno and Yuffie will be there soon, after all. Grah!