Vincent Comes Home

For the reviewer who said....I HATE IT

MY DARK LORD SHALL COME FOR YOU

IT WAS ADAM AND STEVE NOT ADAM AND EVE!

I'm sorry--I tried emailing you, but it said it wouldn't go through. I was just wondering if that was a joke or if you were serious. Either way, it was amusing. ^_^

Thank you for all my reviews thus far.

Next bit.


Laboriously. Cloud took up a crosspiece and nailed it in line with its fellows. Luckily, the table was square and not circular. So the task was easier. Although, Cloud had to admit, he had never built a table before. Carpentry was not something he had ever considered going into. He had more followed in his father's footsteps...

His father had been a member of SOILDER. Well…hadn’t he? Something military centered. Right? It was so difficult to remember the small details anymore. The tiny details of a man who had not been around long and Cloud could not remember. He just associated the man as someone who had been with his mother.

His mother. She’d been another who had done a little of everything. She’d owned a restaurant. Been a seamstress. Been a cook. Worked in a factory. Helped built a reactor. Fought monsters to keep the village safe. Moved to Nibelheim. Married a military boy and had a son, whom she had put everything into raising. And was later murdered. By Sephiroth.

Sword through. Through fabric. Flesh. Blood. Materia. Bone. Final. Cloud! Fight. Cloud! Mother! Cloud! JENOVA! CLOUD!

His hands jerked, snapping a piece of wood. He gasped, screwing his eyes shut to keep himself under control. His head roared with the oncoming migraine. No! No! No! He gasped again, straining.

Every time this happened he lost himself. It was like he disconnected.

Like the lights have gone out and he’s content in the dark.

He’d come back to himself minutes, sometimes hours, later. He wouldn’t know where he was, what he had been doing, or why. Sometimes he wasn’t even sure of who he was.

Who had said that? Content in the dark…

TIFA!

With a gasp, his eyes popped open; her face swam before him.

Tifa.

He felt his breathing steady as he gripped himself. His fingers were clenched into his pants, digging in splinters from the wood. He straightened, closed his eyes and took several deep breaths.

Tifa.

He looked up. The sky was blue. Fluffy clouds marched their way across. A breeze fluttered by, lifting his hair and moving it with restless fingers. He breathed in the gust.

It was these little things that mattered. These little things made him remember who and what he was.

Cloud. And Tifa. And…

Cid. Cid’s face grinned at him, cocking an eyebrow. Taking a deep pull from his cigarette. Sticking his tongue out. Looking surly. Roaring orders. Swearing. Pulling on one of his oil-stained shirts. Working on his airship. Helping Tifa with a pot of soup.

Tifa. Smiling. Laughing. Sticking her tongue out (probably at Cid). Teasing Cid. Making a drink. Standing by a soup pot, testing, pulling a terrible face. Throwing the pot out the window. Calming down. Looking annoyed. Going to retrieve it. Calling Barret. Taking Marlene to the park. Giving him an address. Telling him to be careful. Talking about Vincent.

Vincent. Lying in a coffin. Joining the fight. Always wearing those ridiculous metal boots. Firing his gun. Reloading. Disappearing. Returning in an airship. Standing tall. Staying silent. Being tough. Dressing in yellow. Remembering…remembering the past. Interacting with Cid. Reno. Yuffie.

Yuffie. Kissing Reno. Making off with their materia. Skipping in the Ancient City. Throwing her Shuriken. Being young. Celebrating her seventeenth birthday. Running away. Violently angry. Crying when Aeris died.

Aeris…

He blinked, refocusing himself to concentrate.

Aeris is dead.

He shook his head, breathing deeply again. His mouth creased into a fine line and he looked back at the wood. He tossed away the ruptured piece and picked up another. Brushing his hands off, he lined it up with its brothers and nailed it down. He would have to rebuild the pillar in the middle that supported the whole thing. Or, he supposed, he could simply give it four legs instead. That would be easier than trying to rebuild or replace that hunk of splintered wood. Perhaps he could seal and stain it too. Maybe Tifa would like that? He could make it a little bigger, a little stronger, for her. She might like that. He’d have to ask Cid to test it for him. Make sure it was strong enough. After all, he knew next to nothing about carpentry. But it couldn’t be that hard, right? Or maybe one of his crew. He was gone, wasn’t he? Cid. He was off in Midgar with Vincent, Yuffie, and Reno. He’d go ask one of his crew.

Cloud stood up, brushed off his hands again, wincing at what he was sure were splinters but not bothering to pick them out. He walked around the back of the house to the Highwind.

Inside, Tifa smiled and turned away. A warm feeling spread through her. She couldn't betray Cloud. Maybe…just maybe…things were looking up.


Cloud was still feeling a little out of sorts. He stopped inside the entrance to get a hold of himself. Everything was beginning to feel hazy. A woman approached him.

“Hallo Cloud. You all right?”

Cloud blinked, swallowed—with effort—and looked up. He breathed again. “Yes. I’m fine. I’m looking for…Cid…”

No, you’re not. Cid is gone, you moron. You know that.

“Oh, Captain Highwind is out right now. In Midgar, I think,” the woman told him. For the life of him, Cloud couldn’t remember her name. She was a member of Cid’s crew. But be damned, he couldn’t remember who she was. She was wearing green though. Like a giant pickle. “But, uh, I think Captain Jeremiah is here. You need him?”

Captain Jeremiah? Cloud had to pause and think for another moment until the man’s face came into his brain. “Ah, yes. That would be good. Thank you.”

The woman took a step towards him. Cloud backed away, feeling more and more confused. The woman furrowed her eyebrows, looking puzzled. “He’s over in the Northwater, Cloud.”

Cloud opened his mouth to affirm this but, instead, nothing came out. He nodded, ducking his head and backing away to let the woman through. She led him off the Highwind to the Northwater.

Cloud’s hands were beginning to tremble. His breaths came a bit shorter. His skin was clammy. His vision blurred. He blinked several times, clearing his eyes as he followed the woman in her green shirt (was it green….? Maybe it was blue? Or red? Or yellow? A blueberry? A tomato? A banana?) below the deck.

She opened the door to a workshop. A sweep of cold air blasted around Cloud. He stopped for a moment, breathing it in. He felt calmer. The beads of sweat on his brow dissipated. He swallowed and turned to the woman, who was staring at him, still looking puzzled and now, concerned.

“Are you sure you’re all right, Cloud?”

He nodded quickly. “Where’s the Captain?”

“Right,” she said, and turned away. She casually saluted to someone in the room. “First Zet. Is Captain Jeremiah here?”

“No. He went into Midgar.”

“With Captain Cid?”

There was a pause. “Not that I’m aware of. He said he needed some bolts and a bag of marshmellows.”

There was a pause.

"No, I dunno why he wants a bag of marshmellows." There was a snicker in Zet's voice.

Cloud tried hard to follow the conversation but was finding it increasingly difficult. He snorted to himself, forcing him to refocus. He blinked away the blurriness again and looked up concentrate on Zet.

She was gesturing to the side. Funny. Her scraggily brown hair appeared to be melting into her arm.

No! No! No, goddammit! I will focus! Focus, dammit!

Things seemed to clear a little.

“…wrong….him….?” Zet said.

“I….seems….acting….dunno,” answered the woman.

“Cloud?” A voice was drifting through the fog. “Cloud!” It was the woman in green (or blue or red or yellow).

“Cloud!” snapped another voice, sounding angry. Hands were grabbing him. Something hard slammed into his cheek.

“Why did you do that?!” yelped the green woman. She had become a shapeless blob of color.

There was grumble. Cloud found himself on his knees. He opened his eyes. Suddenly, things were clear. He stared up at Zet, who had him by the front of his shirt. She shook him a little. “C’mon, concentrate.”

He nodded, suddenly realizing where he was. He stumbled up, licking his lips and breathing hard. Zet let him go and crossed her arms, looking uncomfortable and angry.

Instead of saying anything about his behavior, she said, “What d’you need?”

Cloud looked up. He had needed something? He had…what was it? He stared at Zet, not comprehending what on earth she could be talking about. He needed something? What would he need from her? Well, he must have needed something—else why would he be here?

Something touched his arm. He gasped, jumping and turning. It was the Green Woman, her eyes were glittery and black. “You were asking after Captain Cid, Cloud. And when I told you he was out, I agreed to lead you to Captain Jeremiah.” She looked at him, inviting him to tell her why he had needed the Captain.

And Cloud couldn’t remember. (Her eyes were terrifying.) He swallowed hard, panting, looking anxiously around. What had he needed? He knew it was something. Something important.

“I’m gonna take him back in the house.” Zet stepped forward, grabbing Cloud’s arm and turning him to the door.

“Well…but….what about the Captain?”

“If the Captain comes back, it can wait. He can’t even remember what the hell he’s doing out here.”

They left the Green Woman behind, passing through dark passageways. Surely they must be underground now. Maybe in an escalator. On an elevator? On one of those moving ramps in airports? Maybe he wasn't moving at all. Maybe he just thought he was?

Where’s all your strength now, you fucking halfwit.

Cloud didn’t know. A few years ago he had been as strong as ever. He skills were still honed, although now he couldn’t keep track of how much he actually practiced. He used to be so strong. So sure of himself. Well, hell, he had his insecurities but…he had had control.

Where is your control? Weakling. She’s gonna take you to the house like a fucking kid. Where’s your strength?

Cloud felt himself sinking again. Darkness was closing in on him. No!

But he always struggled. And he usually always lost. It was so hard…

A surge of self blasted through him, he opened his eyes.

The sky was blue. Fluffy clouds marched their way across. A bird swept across the sun.

Suddenly the sky was gone. It had turned brown, lined. Like a wrinkly nut.

That’s a ceiling, you dumb shit.

No. The sky has turned brown….

Where’s your control?! Where’s your strength?!

Suddenly, his supports were removed. He slumped to the floor. He heard yells. Anxious voices. But it was all a blur now.

Zet stood awkwardly, trying to pick up Cloud from the floor where his legs had suddenly given out.

“Tifa!” She called, gruffly grabbing Cloud again.

The owner of the house flew around the corner. She looked first at Cloud, then at Zet. “What’s going on?!”

“Dunno. He’s…sick or something.”

Tifa ducked down, grabbed Cloud’s face and looked right into his eyes. There was no recognition there, not even a notion that he could see her.

“Go get Cid!”

“What?!” The color drained out of Zet's face.

“Please. Go get Cid. I need him here to help me. Please, go get him.”

Zet let Cloud slump to the floor. “I dunno where the hell he is!”

“Just--Please! Do it!”

“But—I—,” Zet struggled for a reason. ”I—fine.” Zet turned around. “You gotta bike or something I can borrow?”

“Cloud’s motorcycle is around the back of the house, in the shed. There’s a Vespa back there too.” Tifa left Cloud and scrabbled at a small desk near the door. “There. Here’s the keys. Take whichever. Just go!”

“All right, all right. Christ.”


Zet skirted the house and saw a dilapidated shed. Wrenching the door open, her eyes were immediately caught by a monstrously black and shiny motorcycle.

Completely awed, she stood still for a moment and merely admired it, giving a low whistle. All the little toys and gadgets on that thing had to worth a fortune. And was that a weapon rack? How fast would it go out in the open? Take it out in the wasteland and—

With a gasp, she suddenly remembered why she was there. A little yellow Vespa was smooshed in next to the beast of a motorcycle. Zet had a moment of indecision between how cool it would be to take the hog and how much more practical it would be to take the scooter. She had very little experience with motor bikes, coming from a place that was usually covered in snow and most of her traveling was done aboard the Northwater.

She gave the ceiling an irritable look for making her choose (in books and movies the characters always know just how to run everything) and crowded next to the Vespa. She pulled the little scooter out of the shed, fumbled with the keys before finding the correct set and kicked the bike to a start.

“Things hums like a sewing machine,” she muttered, a little aggravated and imagining what the motorcycle would sound like in comparison. Probably like a freight train. “Okay, stop screwing around. Cloud, remember? Find the Captain.”

She sped away, trying to ignore the ice in her stomach at the thought of approaching Captain Cid. Never mind that she knew next to nothing about Midgar.

Dust flew up around her as she buzzed across the wasteland. She kept her face low, attempting to shield her eyes from the wind and dirt. Her scraggly hair flew out behind her like a flag. She wished she’d have had the sense to ask Tifa for some goggles and a rubber band.

She entered the city a moment later.

Vincent stepped out of the dressing room, layered in a black, pinstripe suit.

Yuffie immediately burst into laughter. “He looks like he’s a mobster! Do you guys have any of those mob hats? The black ones with the curvy rims?”

"Naw," drawled Reno, lounging in a chair. "Get him a cane. Chicks dig a man with a cane."

"Only a pimp cane, Reno."

"Well, there you go. Told you--ladies love it."

Yuffie slapped his arm and looked at the two men standing behind them. "Just the hat. Do you have a hat?"

The shopkeeper, an older man, looked annoyed at this suggestion but his assistant smiled. He said, “Unfortunately, I don’t think we do. Do you like it though?”

Yuffie, grinning hopefully, looked at Vincent.

Vincent smiled, uncomfortable and feeling aloof, and nodded.

“All right then. Are we done?” Cid was standing up, stretching and yawning. “Can’t even smoke in here.”

“Well, Vince?” Reno asked, standing also and smirking. “This enough for you?”

Vincent nodded gruffly, not wanting to seem ungrateful but, at the same time, wanting to remind them that they were the ones who had wanted him to do this. He hadn’t asked them to buy him things. He looked over the pile of pants, shirts, and suits and couldn’t help but wonder how it would be to change clothes every day. He stared back at his clothes of red and black. His metallic boots looked a little lonesome, toppled by the mirror as they were. He glanced down at the shoes on his feet. Black, thick leather and very shiny. The assistant had told him they were dress shoes—something Vincent hadn’t worn in ages—and that the two other pairs of black boots would suffice for the rest of the time. Vincent picked at his cuffs, wondering where he might possibly keep his gun in such a suit. Of course, there was a nice chocolate-bar-sized pocket in the lining on the left side. That would definetly come in handy.

“Well, let’s go then. I’m fucking starving.” He approached the older man and took out his wallet. “How much?”

The older man looked at his assistant. “I’ll get some boxes for you to package these things up.”

“Hey, hey, hey! You didn’t answer me!” But the man was already walking away. Cid glared at the assistant. “What the hell?”

The assistant smiled. “You won’t have to pay, of course.”

“Goddammit!”

“Dunno what the hell you’re complaining for,” Reno shot at him, looking smug and pleased.

“Shut up, you little shit.”

Reno laughed. “You gotta be the only son-of-a-bitch I know who complains when he doesn’t have to fucking pay.”

“S’pose you’re used to that, huh? Steal everything that’s not bolted down,” Cid snarked.

Reno cocked a thumb at Yuffie. “S’her fault. Picked it up from her. She's a terrible influence, you know?”

Cid rolled his eyes. “I’m goin’ out to have a smoke. Get this taken care of and meet me outside.”

The assistant approached Vincent—who was uncertain as to whether or not he should change his clothes or remain in the ones he now wore. The young man seemed to realize such and said, “You may want to change into something more casual. You’re fine to wear it out of the store, of course, Mister Valentine.”

Vincent nodded, acutely aware, again, of his fame. He went back and changed into a set of black slacks and simple, blue t-shirt. He rolled his shoulders when he looked in the mirror. Good god. Was that really him? The cloak, all the black, the head covering—it was all gone. Red eyes gazed over his reflection. They were drawn, inevitably, to his claw. Looking away uneasily, he rooted around the piles of fabric until he found a black suit jacket and shrugged it on. There. Casual, right? Black slacks, blue t-shirt, unbuttoned black suit jacket. He stared at himself.

Had he defined himself by the clothing he wore and his past? Did those clothes represent that past? Was this like when girls cut their hair when they got out of a relationship?

He looked down, considering that for a moment and then dismissed it, a little amused and a little baffled as to why he had thought of it. What did hair have to do with clothes? He didn’t want to cut his hair. He’d just got some new clothes.

“It doesn’t matter…,” he muttered. He sat on the floor and tugged on a set of black boots. He was working with the laces when the door flew open. He jerked, surprised, and nearly cut off his own finger with his claw.

“Are you done yet?” Yuffie moaned. She looked him over on the floor and laughed. Reno appeared behind her. With a laugh he pointed at him, “Lookit that, he dresses like me!”

Vincent stood up and pushed passed them, suddenly not knowing what to say. The assistant dove into the dressing room and began pulling out garments and packaging them up.

Zet zipped through the city, down random streets, having no idea where she was going. Finally she turned the bike to the side, almost flipped, overcompensated, and managed to stop. She kicked down the stand and ran up to a random pedestrian.

“Hey. I’m not from around here—where’s the shopping district?”

The pedestrian, a middle-aged man, stared at her.

She tried again, frustrated. “You know, where you buy clothes and stuff!”

The man, giving her a look full of wonder and puzzlement, pointed down a street. She ran back to the Vespa, which stalled under her inexperience. She tried again. This time, it flared into life and she flew down the street.

She nearly had a heart attack when Jeremiah suddenly stepped out into the street in front of her. With a shout, she braked—accidentally hit the gas—and really braked. The bike skidded to a spark-filled stop, missing Jeremiah by inches. Angrily, she shoved the bike off her leg and jumped up. “Goddammit Jeremiah! What the hell are you thinkin’, just walkin’ out in the street like that! Dammit—I could have killed you!”

Her captain was not even looking at her. He was staring down at the ruined bag of marshmellows he had dropped, no doubt in his surprise. She looked down, blinking at the road, now peppered in white, sticky balls.

Zet growled. "Jeremiah!" she snapped. He glanced at her. She raised her eyebrows, gesturing wildly with her hands.

Jeremiah turned to face her, only now seeming to take in the Vespa. The look he gave her could only be described as bewildered. “I didn’t know you had a Vespa.”

She stared at him for a full five seconds, considered the marshmellows, and mentally forgave him. “Do you know where Captain Cid is?”

Jeremiah shrugged. “E’s off buyin’ clothes with Vincent, in’t ‘e?”

“Okay, thanks. If you see him—tell him I’m looking for him. Tifa needs him.”

“Wha’s goin’ on?”

Zet spun around and was lifting the bike. “That guy—Cloud—he’s sick or something. Says she needs ‘im. Looked like he was havin’ some kinda fit. A spasm or something.”

Jeremiah nodded as if this were part of everyday conversation and said, “Well, if I see him, I’ll tell him Tifa’s sick.”

“Cloud’s sick.”

“Right. Cloud. Cloud?” He looked into the sky. He pointed up at the clouds.

Zet looked up at the sky and growled her frustration. “Just tell him Cloud is sick if you see him!”

It took a few tries, but she kicked the Vespa to life and sped away.


Yuffie, Reno, and Vincent left the store, laden with boxes and packages.

“Took you all long enough.” Cid started to take a few, but something caught his eye. He did a double take and stared up the street.

Reno followed his glance, setting the boxes down to stand on a bench. “Is that Tifa’s Vespa?” He looked at Cid, puzzled. “It’s yellow, isn’t it?”

“Oh, cause no one else can have a Vespa that just happens to be yellow?” Yuffie asked, annoyed at being left with packages.

“Not hers,” Cid grumbled. “I worked on that Vespa. I know what it sounds like.”

“Cause, you know, like people—all Vespas have their own souls. Their own sound. Their own oil. Their own—“

“Shut up, Yuffie.” Cid got up on the bench. “It is. That’s Tifa’s Vespa.”

“What the hell she doin’ out here?”

“Th’fuck should I know?”

Cid stepped off the bench and walked over to the curb. He jerked a bit. “That’s not Tifa! That’s Zet.”

“Who the hell is Zet?”

“It is Captain Jeremiah’s second-in-command. You didn’t get a chance to meet her before we left this morning,” Vincent supplied, arms still stuffed with packages. She was approaching fast.

“Well I’ll be damned before she makes off with that bike.” Cid ran out into the street.

The horrified look on Zet’s face was amplified only when Cid grabbed onto the handbars and gave a muscle-wrenching pull. The bike spun in a circle, Cid still hanging on.

Reno stared, the disbelief on his face clear. “How the fuck’d he do that?”

Yuffie smirked, taking some pride in her friend. “He may be old but Cid is very strong.”


Cid glared at Zet. Zet killed the bike. “What the hell is wrong with you?! Are you all content to just jump out in front of me! What the hell?! Are you all trying to kill yourselves?! Use a goddamn building for Christ’s sake!”

“What the hell you doin’ with Tifa’s Vespa?” Unlike Zet’s bellow, Cid’s voice was low and dangerous.

Zet took a steadying breath, realizing past the fog of trying-not-to-hit-people-panic that the man she was looking for was right in front of her. “Tifa asked me come get you. Cloud is sick or something. He’s having some kinda…spasm or something.”

Cid backed off. “Shit.” He whipped around. “You guys get back. I gotta go.” He turned back to Zet. “Get off.”

“Hey, I’ve got stuff to do on the Northwater.”

“Then I’m driving. Sit behind me.”

She scowled at him but scooted back on the seat and let him sit down. He looked down at the Vespa in disgust. “What the hell’d you do to it?”

She grumbled. “About two minutes ago, Jeremiah stepped out into the street in front of me. I had to skid, else I’d’a taken off his legs.”

Cid grunted, coaxed the Vespa to start and shot away. “Why the hell’d you bring this little thing?” He called back.

“Never ridden a motorcycle."

He couldn’t disagree with that. “Good reason. If you'd have wrecked that, I'd have had to break your goddamn arms. Hang on.”

Cid slammed on the gas and they blasted away.

Zet worked very hard on ignoring him but as she scrunched herself smaller to his broad back against the barrage of wind and dirt when they hit the wastelands, she found that harder to do. She set her cheek against his spine and narrowed her eyes to slits, watching the dirt fly by, attempting hard to think of nothing at all.

Cid felt a shiver wrap up his spine. He shrugged it off and glared ahead, having had the sense to yank down his goggles.

--