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Sink to the Bottom With You
Chapter Sixteen
The Stuff Nightmares Are Made Of
"And he's about as interesting as a pile of
bricks, so who suffered more, huh?"
Yuffie Kisaragi
If there's a way to infiltrate
you
Sway your mind and complicate you
I'm gonna crash into your world
"Violet"
Savage Garden
"Ow!
Stupid chocobo!" Yuffie cried, clutching her punctured hand to her
chest. "That hurt, you dumb
bird-brain!"
Butterfly just warked loudly and turned her
face away from the indignant girl at the front of her pen, refusing to
acknowledge the presence of the master who had left her to stew in the rain for
an entire day.
"Gawd!" Yuffie exclaimed, putting her hands
on her hips. "It's not like I meant to
leave you behind, dummy! Besides, you
had Lamia with you keep you company.
Look at me! All I had to keep me
company for the past day was Vincent Valentine! And he's about as interesting as a pile of bricks, so who
suffered more, huh?"
Butterfly just stared at her with her big
blue chocobo eyes.
Yuffie smirked at the bird. "That's what I thought. Yeah, you'd better shut up. Who's the dumb one now?"
Butterfly blinked at her.
Yuffie sighed, leaning against the gate of
the pen. "Yeah, yeah, I know, I
know. The idiot ninja girl who's
standing here talking to her chocobo like the bird-brain could actually answer
back – that's who's the retard, right?"
Butterfly warked in agreement, swishing her
feathered tail back and forth proudly as if it was the plumage of a peacock
rather than just several plain blue feathers.
Yuffie scowled at the azure bird, but
started digging through the bag of greens hung near the door. "You know, Butt-butt," she said
conversationally, using her charming pet name for her chocobo. "You'd better watch what you say to me, or
I'll just ask Cid to feed you from now on, and you know how inconsistent he is
with his feedings. He's worse than
Barret, you know."
Butterfly smartly ignored Yuffie's babbling,
more interested in what Yuffie was going to dig out of the bag than in any
lecture the girl was giving her. She
was still sticking stubbornly to the back wall of her pen, like she always did
when she was being standoffish with Yuffie.
But the young ninja knew that as soon as she had one of the magical
greens in her hands, Butterfly would be stumbling over her feet trying to be
her friend again.
The girl yanked a Curiel green out of the
bag and smiled at Butterfly, waving the leafy sustenance in the air
enticingly. The blue chocobo
immediately perked up, her foul mood starting to evaporate as her appetite got
the best of her.
"Lookee here!" Yuffie sang cheerfully. "A yummy, tasty green for my favorite
chocobo! Hmmm...should I give it to her
or not?"
"I think she'll take your hand off if you
don't," a deep voice suddenly said.
Yuffie screamed in shock and whirled around,
the Curiel green falling from her hand and into Butterfly's pen, where it was
immediately consumed by a very contented blue chocobo.
"Vinnie Valentine!" Yuffie bellowed, angry
gray eyes fastened on the dark figure that was standing in the threshold of the
door leading into the chocobos' barn. "You scared the living crap out of me! If you ever do that again, I'm gonna run over there and smack you
upside your head so hard you won't know what hit you!"
Vincent didn't even blink or show the least
interest in what Yuffie had been blathering about. She could have been rattling on about the price of tea in Junon
for all the attention he seemed to be paying her. Not even bothering to reply to her tirade, he simply moved away
from the threshold and padded across the hay-covered floor of the chocobos'
barn. Yuffie, who was trying to
desperately stop her heart from pounding right out of her chest, glared at the
dark man indignantly as he brushed past her without a word.
"Vinnie!" she snapped, putting her hands on
her narrow hips and realizing belatedly that her borrowed shorts had begun to
slide again. She hurriedly hitched them
up and continued, "I was talking to you, Vincent! The polite thing to do is answer back, you know!"
Still refusing to reply, the dark gunslinger
strode over the pen that housed Lamia, his chocobo. Only seconds after he had reached the front of her pen, a soft
wark could be heard as Lamia roused herself from her resting spot on the
hay-softened floor and rushed over to greet her master. Vincent leaned against the gate to the pen
and patted the ebony bird gently on the head with his normal hand, pale, naked
fingers stroking the soft feathers lightly.
Lamia cooed softly and started nibbling on Vincent's jet-black hair,
which was still hanging majestic and loose around his head.
Yuffie stared at the two of them for a
second before sighing. "You're so
lucky," she told Vincent.
"However so?" he asked without looking at
her.
"Your chocobo is so cool," she lamented,
shooting a venomous glare at where Butterfly was combing her feathers with her
beak. "My chocobo is being a...well, you
know what she's being."
Vincent didn't reply. He pulled a bag of greens off the shelves
next to Lamia's pen and threw a couple of bundles into the chocobo's pen, where
they landed on the ground right in front of the large bird. Lamia cooed her thanks to her master, and
immediately began to devour the greens as Vincent looked on, his long arms
draped over the wooden gate and one booted foot hooked into the space between
the wooden boards.
Yuffie leaned thoughtfully against
Butterfly's pen, forgetting that she was supposed to be angry at her
chocobo. She fell into staring at
Vincent, her mind light years away from the barn. Vincent's still had found nothing to tie his hair back with, and
the soft-looking black tresses shimmered in the dim light that the lanterns
provided the barn with. He stood
watching his chocobo with a calm, almost serene expression on his face, red
eyes downcast so that his long eyelashes were all the more obvious now that the
brilliant majesty of his garnet eyes didn't distract from them. The man shifted slightly, lean muscles
flexing underneath his loose covering of clothes. Now that she saw him standing instead of sitting, Yuffie realized
that the shirt and pants he wore were actually a few sizes too big for
him. The black pants sort of bunched up
around the ankles, and the collar of the shirt hung low enough to expose his
collarbone and a blessedly small section of his well-muscled chest.
All in all, he was a sight for sore eyes. He looked almost...normal.
So enraptured Yuffie was with the uniqueness
of her companion's appearance that she didn't notice that she had been staring
at him until she saw cool garnet eyes locked onto her gray ones, staring back.
"Oh!" she exclaimed, turning bright red and
floundering for words. Why did this
always happen with Vincent? It seemed
he was always catching her staring at him like a total moron.
"Um," she said, trying to make up for her
little faux pass. "Whose shirt is
that?" she suddenly blurted. "It's too
big."
"Rude's," Vincent answered calmly,
undeterred by her bluntness.
Yuffie lifted an eyebrow. "Are you sure?"
"He's the one that gave it to me. Why?"
"Half of the buttons are missing," Yuffie
responded, proud of her observation.
"Rude would never have a shirt with missing buttons in his
wardrobe." She pointed matter-of-factly
to the bottom of Vincent's shirt. "See
there."
Vincent nodded. "I noticed." He didn't
say anything more.
Yuffie resisted the urge to stamp her foot
in frustration. Vincent was so freakin'
hard to talk to! "Well?" she
prompted. "What happened to it?"
"Rude lent it to Reno one day. In a drunken stupor, Reno got the bottom of
it caught in a door, and, instead of opening the door and pulling it out like
any sober person would have, he yanked on it until the shirt came free of the
door, hence the missing buttons."
Yuffie placed her hands on her hips and
grinned at Vincent smugly. "See!" she
said. "Now, was that so hard? You could have just said that from the
beginning and it would have saved me a lot of breath."
"And why would I have wanted to do such a
thing?"
Yuffie scowled, not sure whether or not
Vincent was insulting her. "Because if
I lose all my precious breath, I can't talk!"
"What a pity that would be," Vincent said,
turning away from her and starting to pet Lamia again.
Yuffie's gray eyes widened, and she raised
her fists, about to go off on him, but then she suddenly sighed and dropped her
hands at her sides. "You know what,
Vinnie, just punch yourself really hard in the shoulder right now. I'm too sore and tired to go over there and
do it."
"What happened to your hand?" Vincent asked
suddenly, still not looking at her.
The girl blinked dumbly for a couple of
seconds before she realized what Vincent was talking about. "Oh?
My hand? Butterfly—oh my god,
you stupid chocobo! You made me bleed!"
And sure enough, the hand that Butterfly had
pecked with her beak earlier had a small droplet of crimson blood welling up in
the puncture wound and starting to dribble down the side of Yuffie's hand. Between fighting with Butterfly and arguing
with Vincent, Yuffie had failed to notice her injury. But now that she beheld the damage her chocobo had done, the
little hole in her hand stung like crazy, and Yuffie was definitely not happy
about it. Her temper vanished in an
instant.
Butterfly warked in alarm and scampered to
the back of her stall as Yuffie kicked the pen's door with one booted
foot. "Dumb bird!" she cursed
angrily. "As if I don't already have enough
holes and bruises on my body, you had to go and add one more! Are you happy now, huh?! Well, guess what? How would you like to find out what it's like not to eat for two
days instead of one, or maybe...two weeks!
How would you like that, huh?!"
"It's not her fault, Yuffie," Vincent said
flatly, his calm voice easing the violent words that still hung in the air.
"Great!
And now Vinnie's siding with the damn chocobo!" she raged, turning her
scowling face to her dark companion.
"Thanks for making my day end just perfectly, Vincent!" Somewhere in the back of her mind, Yuffie
knew that she was taking out her stress and worries on Vincent, but she was far
too aggravated to really notice much of anything at the time.
Vincent, of course, showed not a shred of
emotion in response to Yuffie's outburst.
He gave Lamia's head one last pat, the kind of resigned gesture one
makes when they're about to make an exit from a situation suddenly turned
awkward. Vincent placed the bag of
greens back on the shelf and started to walk away, his blue-black hair
shimmering in the lantern-lit barn.
All of Yuffie's anger immediately
evaporated. Crap! she
thought. I did it again! Leave it to me to chase him away just when
he might have started to get chatty.
Damn me! Why can't I do anything
right? Now he probably thinks I'm Super
PMS Woman...
But, to Yuffie's surprise, instead of
walking towards the barn door, Vincent strode silently over to where she was
shifting uncomfortably in front of Butterfly's pen. Before she could react or open her mouth, his claw reached out
and took gentle hold of her injured hand, lifting it up in front of him so he
could see it better in the light. A
thin stream of blood was still running from the small puncture hole like a
liberated imp, and Vincent suddenly produced a handkerchief from his pocket and
wiped away the red stream before it could drip onto the barn floor.
"The blood should clot in a little while,"
he said calmly, wrapping the handkerchief around the small wound and tying it
there.
"Um, thanks," Yuffie muttered, not knowing
what else to say. Having Vincent this
close to her, touching her, was making her dizzy. There was so little space between their bodies that she was
practically standing on his feet, the warm closeness of his presence soothing
her in ways that were outside physical comprehension. The clean smell of soap drifted from his unbound hair, and Yuffie
barely caught herself in time when she found herself leaning closer to Vincent,
trying to breathe in his scent even more deeply. The man was lightly running his fingers over the tender flesh
surrounding Yuffie's puncture wound, each unconscious brush of his callused
fingertips sending waves of pleasure coursing through Yuffie's body.
He keeps doing that, she thought giddily. And I'm going to have to beat a hasty
retreat out of here.
She felt a mixture of relief and
disappointment when Vincent suddenly stopped his ministrations, but her heart
suddenly leapt up into her throat when she felt the fingers of his human hand brush
against her bruised cheek with startling gentleness.
"Ow," she said automatically, more out of
surprise from his caress than any pain she was in. The bruise had actually stopped hurting long ago.
"Forgive me," Vincent apologized in his
typical monotone, his soft breath whispering gently across her skin as his warm
fingers brushed over her bruise again.
She was staring right up into his face, her punctured hand still gripped
loosely in his claw.
"No," Yuffie replied hastily to Vincent's
apology. "You didn't hurt me. I was just surprised, that's all."
Vincent didn't respond, only continued to
run his fingers over her bruised cheek.
Yuffie's head was swimming with the intoxication of having him so close,
and she was having a difficult time getting her thoughts straight. She kept thinking about how warm Vincent's
fingers were, or how the light from the lanterns flickered in the depths of his
garnet eyes like fires in the night.
His lips were very slightly parted as he studied her bruise, for some
reason making him look too vulnerable for a man of his age. A lock of blue-black hair suddenly flopped
over his right eye, and he tossed his head unconsciously to put it back in its
rightful place.
Oh my God, Yuffie thought dumbly.
He's absolutely gorgeous! How
come I never noticed that before? I
wonder what he thinks of me? Does
he...No, Yuffie! Get those thoughts out
of your head right now! This is not the
time to be getting a crush on Vincent Valentine! He's a grown man...and you're just a girl. It can never be...
"Does it still hurt?" Vincent suddenly
asked.
Yuffie blinked. "Um...does what still hurt?"
"Your bruise," Vincent answered calmly,
garnet eyes not even flickering in her direction.
"Oh!" Yuffie exclaimed, feeling like an
idiot. "No, not too much anymore, I
mean, you know." She laughed
weakly. "Guess the Brother of Battle
was gentle with me, huh?"
Vincent's eyes suddenly fastened onto hers
in surprise. "You remembered that?" he
muttered, fingers still hovering over her bruise.
Yuffie nodded. "Of course, Vincent. It's
not like I never listen to what you say.
You said the Brother of Battle had given me a kiss."
Vincent continued to stare, a strange
emotion flickering in the crimson depths of his eyes.
"So," Yuffie floundered after letting the silence
drag on for a few more seconds. "Who
exactly was the Brother of Battle anyways?
You said you'd tell me."
For a moment, Vincent's garnet eyes remained
locked onto hers with a gentle intensity, but then he suddenly averted them,
apparently finding the wall more interesting at the moment. "I'll tell you later, Yuffie."
Yuffie scowled at his profile. "No fair, Vinnie. You said the same thing back at that horrible place with
that...green light." She repressed the
urge to shudder, barely. "C'mon, Vinnie! Tell me!"
Vincent stared at her, his fingers suddenly
brushing her cheek lightly. "I'll tell
you," he promised. "If you'll tell me
what song you were singing last night."
Yuffie blinked, horribly confused for one
second, but then she flushed in embarrassment when she realized what he was
talking about. "You mean, when I was
singing in the shower?" she stammered.
"You were listening?"
Amusement suddenly flickered in Vincent's
eyes, even as a lock of black hair suddenly tried to hide that emotion from her
view. "It's not like I never listen to
what you say, Yuffie," he said softly.
The young girl's eyebrows shot upwards, and
a smirk came to her face. "Oh my
god! Vinnie made a funny! Vinnie made a funny!"
Vincent cast his gaze away, looking uncharacteristically
bashful, and he gave a short peal of rumbling laughter that came from deep in
his chest and never entered his throat.
Though he never cracked a smile once, Yuffie perceived a strange
relaxation in his demeanor that she would never dream of finding in
Vincent. Was he comfortable around
her? Wow, that would be a first. The notion of Vincent Valentine actually
relaxing and "chilling" for a change was as inconceivable as Cid surviving
without cigarettes for five minutes.
Unfortunately, his relaxed state didn't last
for long. His gaze suddenly shifted
back to her face, so quickly, in fact, that it actually startled her. Her body suddenly froze up as a rabbit's does
when it senses danger. A dark shadow
seemed to fall over Vincent's face, subtly contorting his features until he
seemed more like a creature that was to be feared than pitied. The shade of his eyes could suddenly be more
accurately described as "demon red" instead of "garnet." A mass of uneven bangs suddenly rushed
forward to fall over one eye, as if trying to hide prevent Yuffie from seeing
what lay in those fiery depths. But
that red eye, that one red eye, still glared out at her from between spaces in
the strands of midnight hair, the crimson glow refusing to let up its soundless
assault. She was suddenly all too aware
of the fact that her hand was still gripped in his claw, about how wickedly
sharp the digits of the false appendage were...
Yuffie let out a startled gasp as Vincent
suddenly moved past her, fingers falling away from where they had been hovering
close to her cheek. Later on that
night, when she would be fighting sleep, fighting the nightmares, Yuffie would
reflect on that one moment as Vincent moved past and away from her. She would realize with a start that she had
memorized every single detail about that one motion. She would remember how his human fingertips, callused from all
kinds of hardships and labor that he had been faced with in his lifetime,
brushed like a ghost's whisper across her face, just under her bruise, one last
time. She would remember his long
blue-black hair tickling her bare shoulder as he strode past so coldly, so
suddenly. She would remember the sound
his rustling clothes made, the sudden wiff of clean soap that drifted to her
from his body as he moved past her. She
would remember even minute detail of his passage, down to the soft fabric of
his borrowed shirt, to the aching void in front of her that Vincent had
previously occupied.
Then, just like that, the moment was
gone. She was facing empty air, her
hands limp at her sides, her eyes overbright as they stared at the spot where
Vincent Valentine had been standing just a second before. She could hear him moving away towards the
door of the barn, his boots only making the faintest noises on the ground as he
moved like a phantom in a dream.
Her next actions were on pure reflex. Somewhere in the back of her rational mind,
she knew that Vincent had left suddenly for a reason, and that reason was
probably to be alone with whatever dark emotions she had glimpsed in those
crimson orbs before he made his great escape.
Her common sense told her that the man with those eyes of hellish fire
was a dangerous man, an assassin, a murderer. The logic of her human mind told her that she needed to be
deathly afraid of Vincent Orion Valentine.
But Yuffie Pristina Kisaragi, daughter of
Kira Ayami Kotori and Lord Godo Kisaragi, had never been known for her common
sense. Her heart was at the controls
now – her heart was pulling the strings to make her dance, and her blessed,
bleeding heart told her that she needed to stop him, that something was wrong
with him. Her heart said that Vincent
needed her help.
"Hey!" she cried, her own voice sounding far
away as she whirled around.
"Vincent! Where are you going?"
"Sleep," came the flat, cold answer. No life in his words at all. Just sharp sounds that were soon lost in the
air of the barn. He never once stopped
walking.
"Oh," Yuffie said, feeling rejected. "But I thought we were going to talk about
my song..."
No!
What are you doing, fool girl?!
You can't tell him about that song!
Are you crazy?!
"Later," was all Vincent said. His hair danced a little goodbye waltz for
her as he flung open the door leading into the bar and vanished, the wooden
door slamming violently behind him.
Then Yuffie was alone, and all was
quiet. She lowered her head in
dejection, a few wayward strands of brown hair coming out of her ponytail to
flutter lonely in the air in front of her bowed head. Her lower lip suddenly trembled, and she bit down hard on the
pink flesh in anger of her own weakness.
Her view of the hay-covered ground suddenly became blurry as unexpected
tears sprung into her stormy gray eyes.
"No!" she suddenly whisper-screamed,
clenching her hands into fists, her punctured hand protesting loudly. "You will not cry! You will not cry!" she told herself
fiercely though clenched teeth. "You
are not a baby anymore! You are a young
woman, and you are not going to cry like a sissy!"
Sure, you big baby, tell yourself that all
you like! You know you won't be able to
do it! Go ahead and cry your little
eyes out! You were just snubbed! He can't stand being around you...
Yuffie hissed under her breath and covered
her face with her hands, pressing back against her tightly-shut eyes as if that
harsh pressure would stop the tears that were threatening to flow out like
raindrops forsaken by their respective heavens. Her breaths were coming thick and ragged, and her entire body was
shaking from head to toe.
God, what is wrong with me?! He's just a man! He's just one man! He has
issues! It was nothing personal, you
big wuss! Pull yourself together!
Despite the way she had been treated by her
master in the recent past, Butterfly just couldn't cower at the back of her pen
while her rider was shaking and trembling in the middle of the barn. The blue chocobo cooed softly, her big eyes
alight with the chocobo version of concern as she took a cautious step towards
the gate of her pen, closer to Yuffie's quivering form. In the pens on either side of Butterfly, the
Vincent's chocobo Lamia and Jet, Cid's green chocobo, also cooed in an attempt
to ease the soul aches of the young girl who smelled of suffering and tears.
But Yuffie didn't hear the soothing voices
of the birds behind her. She suddenly
dropped her hands away from her face, wetness glistening on the palms as the
lantern light struck the tears she hadn't been able to prevent. She raised her face up so that the light
also glinted off the two glittering, silver tracks on her cheeks.
"Vincent," she said softly, her voice
somehow rising above the sympathetic cooing of the chocobos. "What's wrong with you, Vincent? Why are you like that? Why?
I don't understand you, Vincent.
For a moment there, you were almost human again. Why did you return back to the monster you
think you are? Why? I don't understand, Vincent Orion Valentine. I just don't understand..."
Silence descended once again as Yuffie's
words died in the air. All was quiet
for two seconds before Yuffie spoke again, her voice ringing out softly,
without wavering or trembling – the strong voice of a woman.
"Without you beside me tonight, Vincent,
I'll have nightmares."
But, of course, no one was around to hear
her admission but the chocobos.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
The Planet was bleeding. The earth was dry, cracked and barren, and
the blood raining from the churning heavens was a poor substitute for what the
land really needed. The rivers ran
red. The horrible stench of death and
decay and fear was everywhere, absolutely everywhere. Not one inch of the land was spared from the wings of...of...whatever
was doing this destruction. Bodies lay
festering in the heat, bloated and stinking, all of their expressions frozen in
the epitome of terror. Some of these
bodies had primitive weapons of destruction lying beside them, and that was
fine. Their deaths were either
honorable or well deserved, if they had died the warriors that they appeared to
be.
...WAR...
The battlefield was alive with motion. Millions upon millions of bodies, all
bearing indistinct, insignificant faces upon their bodies, screamed from unseen
mouths as they murdered and slaughtered each other in the name of whatever it
was they were fighting for: religion, honor, loyalty, freedom. Blood stained the cracked earth in mass
amounts as weapon after weapon tore into sensitive flesh, opening up horrendous
wounds that spurted the thick red liquid like bile from the throat of a sick
child. Metal clanged against metal as
the two – three? Four? Five? – titanic
armies clashed on the barren battlefield, all bathed in a hellish red light
that emanated from the glowering heavens above. There were flashes of multicolored light amongst the writhing,
battling bodies as several of the warriors called upon their coveted magic
abilities to endear them to Victory's heart.
Yes, all this blood, all this fighting, all this death, all this
suffering, all this...chaos.
...YES, WAR IS GOOD...
But all in the name of what? These faceless armies have forgotten their
meanings. They've ceased to become
individuals and are just one seething, murdering mass of bodies, no, of
machines. Wars have no meaning at
all. It is only in the talks before,
during, or after the wars that the leaders of the armies discuss the cause for
which they fight. Peace, justice,
freedom. Yes, worthy, noble causes, all
of them. But when the first platoons of
killers in the guise of saviors set foot on the battlefield, how many of them
still recall the reason they are out there?
A few might, a few who are strong, noble, and true to themselves and to
others. But the vast majorities
suddenly have no cause at all. They
have forgotten or just don't care. Wars
with true, noble causes are beautiful, and the blood left behind by them sows
the seeds of the land and may in turn bring great things. Wars without qualm or conscience are hideous
things, great and terrible, eaters of their own children, destroyers of their
own land, ghastly mothers as titanic as the ocean itself, spawning only more
and more killers from their bloody wombs and laughing maniacally as their
offspring give birth to yet more pointless fighting.
Vincent Valentine was at the center of this
bloody matrix, and yet he did not understand it all.
...WAR IS GOOD...
Blood.
"Who are you?!"
WAR.
More blood.
"What is this?!"
Blood, ceaseless and flowing eternal. The rivers are as blood. The mountains are covered in it. The ocean belches its tides, chock full of
the red stuff. The angry skies spit
torrents of it down to the parched earth.
...YES, WAR IS GOOD...
"What?!"
Consciousness. A sense of self. A sense
of humanity.
"Why?!
I don't understand! Why are wars
good?!"
...WARS ARE CHAOS...
"Chaos?!
No..."
Vincent woke up.
For a moment, he just laid there in bed in
the cold dark, letting the light drizzle pattering against the window soothe
his frazzled nerves. He was completely
still, as still as death. The sounds
and motions all around him moved on without him, as most of the world tended to
do to an abomination like him. Lights
from a streetlamp outside seeped in through the opaque glass of his window and
danced in neat patterns on his bedspread, only broken by the glittering
raindrops that slithered down the window.
The fan above him creaked softly as it spun, drying the sweat that had
appeared on his bare chest and upper lip sometime during his restless
sleep. Vincent's garnet eyes were open
wide in the darkness. He blinked
slowly.
The bed creaked softly as he suddenly rose
up into a sitting position, the handmade bedspread falling away from his
muscular chest and down to his waist.
The room suddenly spun, and Vincent had to brace himself with one hand
against the mattress to avoid falling onto his side.
He rubbed his face with his human hand,
wiping away the salty sweat from his forehead and trying desperately to get his
heart to stop pounding so loud. He felt
cold and hot at the same time, a sensation that he had rarely felt in his
entire life, a sensation often attributed to severe illnesses. For a moment, as the room whirled around him
and his heartbeat thudded in his ears, he felt his head become dizzy with
fever, but it was gone as quickly as it had come.
"Was that a dream?" he suddenly whispered,
his deep voice lonely in the darkness of the room.
No,
he argued with himself as he rubbed his eyes.
Too vivid to be a dream. More
like a memory. But even though a
monster like me has many bloody memories to reflect upon, that horrific
battlefield with faceless warriors is not one of mine. And if it's not mine, then it must be...
"You!" Vincent suddenly gasped, his hand
falling away from his face in shock as realization dawned on him. "You, unholy demon! Chaos!
Your memory? No! How can that be!"
The very idea was horrifying even to a cold,
callous man like Vincent. A demon with
memories? A demon with thoughts? A demon with dreams?
"Of course, you bloody fool," Vincent
whispered harshly to himself. "It
thinks. It reacts to stimuli like any
human would do. It has thoughts, and it
seems to have the ability to feel at least the most primitive of emotions,
but...memories..."
Vincent's mind was trying vainly to use
logic to process the recent unveilings.
If Chaos has memories of battles such as those, Vincent thought, that
would mean that Chaos had once been free, that it had once lived, a creature
with a beating heart and skin that could be touched, pierced. It could bleed. It could suffer. It could
scream. It could...die? It's intelligent, but I already knew
that. It thinks, but I don't hear its
thoughts. It doesn't let me. Does it feel? Does it know what fear is?
Does it know what honor is? Is
it aware of its situation right now? Is
it aware of...me?
"Are you listening?" Vincent demanded of the
darkness around him, a lonely man in the inky gloom of his room, speaking to
the air as if it could respond. "Do you
hear what I think, Chaos? Do you know
that I am the host and you live within me?
Do you know...me?"
No answer, external or internal. The demon was silent, as it always was, for
it never used words. It had no use of
them, at least that's what Vincent assumed.
It was then that the man realized that everything he supposedly "knew"
about the Chaos beast were just mere assumptions or theories. He knew it was powerful, and that it was
destructive, and he knew what it looked like, but that was basically all. The rest of his knowledge was just ideas he
had about the demon, about its life span, about how it came to be, about its
personality, if such creatures could have personalities.
Vincent lowered his head, staring at the
blanket still draped over his legs. His
long black hair swooped forward to cling comfortingly to the small trickles of
cold sweat still sitting on his cheeks.
He closed his eyes.
"Chaos," he said to the darkness behind his
eyelids. "Who are you?"
No answer, but he felt a shifting in his
mind and couldn't help but wonder if the beast had somehow heard his words.
Sighing, Vincent flung back the blanket and
lowered his feet to the hardwood floor, reaching for his discarded shirt in the
same fluid motion. There would be no
more sleep for him tonight.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
"Take one drink when you hear thunder,"
Cloud muttered to himself, poking at the shot glass with one naked finger, as
if the glass were something distasteful that he didn't trust himself to pick up
with his bare hands. The alcohol
sloshed against the sides in amusement.
Thunder roared outside, and Cloud downed the
glass in one gulp, wincing as the liquid burned his throat. He hated drinking, but it helped with the
pain. But when he had become such a
weakling, using alcohol to tell his problems to? This was more like something he would find Reno doing...
Reno...
"Take one drink when you see lightening,"
Cloud told himself, refilling the shot glass with a bottle of...whatever he had
picked up beneath the counter. He
watched the clear liquid fill the glass, then set the bottle back on the
counter beside his elbow. He waited.
Lightening flashed outside the window,
lighting up the front room of the bar where Cloud and his bottle sat alone in
quiet companionship. The ex-SOLDIER
lifted the shot glass and downed more of the alcohol. It didn't burn so much this time. He wondered what Tifa would say if he drank the whole bottle...
Tifa...
Cloud suddenly swept the shot glass aside
with one violent brush of his strong arm, not bothering to see if it had
shattered on the floor or not. He
scowled at the bottle of whatever in front of him, a sudden anger making his
vision turn red at the corners. "Take
one drink when your life sucks so bad that you feel like maybe that crazy
bastard Sephiroth had the right idea when he was going around killing people
and threatening to blow up the world!"
With that said, Cloud grabbed the bottle by
the neck and took a long chug, the potent liquid searing his throat as it went
down and making his head spin. He
grunted and took the bottle away from his lips, wiping the small trickles of
alcohol that had seeped out of the corner of his mouth. The room was spinning, the darkness beyond
the area he stood in all melding into one shapeless mass of shadows.
Then, suddenly, a creature loomed out of the
darkness of the room. Cloud's mouth
dropped open as he saw the red eyes, the long black hair, so black that it was
almost blue...a monster!
As the creature sat down at the bar, Cloud's
buzzing mind kicked into terrified mode.
His heart leapt into his throat, and he started violently, letting out a
small cry of fear and dropping the bottle onto the floor, where it shattered
into a million pieces, clear liquid flowing like blood onto the hardwood floor.
Cloud stared blankly at the mess he had
made, forgetting for the moment that he had just seen a "monster" in the
room. Great, Tifa is gonna kill
me...if she can tear herself away from Reno, of course.
"Cloud?" the creature suddenly asked, his voice
breaking the silence.
"Hn?" Cloud grunted, tearing his bleary gaze
away from the broken bottle and back to the creature that had scared the crap
out of him. "Vincent?!" he exclaimed,
suddenly recognizing the red eyes and golden claw, which was resting
contentedly on the bar countertop.
"Yes," Vincent replied calmly, watching as
Cloud's Mako blue eyes strained to focus on him. "I'm sorry. Did I
frighten you?"
Forgetting about the mess he had made for a
moment, Cloud put his hands on his hips and leaned against the refrigerator
behind him, waiting for Vincent's figure to come into focus. "Vincent," he said, voice slightly
slurred. "Coming from anyone else, that
question would be called innocent, but since it's coming from you..."
"Then it's either malevolent or idiotic in
nature," Vincent finished.
Cloud blinked dumbly. "Huh?
I didn't understand a single word you said, man."
Vincent shook his head, raven hair detaching
itself from the shadows around him so that it could frame his pale face. "Never mind, Cloud. Do you need help cleaning that up?"
The younger man stared at Vincent for a
while longer before shaking his spiky head wearily. "No, I can do it myself."
He grabbed a dishtowel from the rack by the sink and kneeled down to mop
up the mess behind the counter while Vincent looked on.
"Be careful with the glass," the dark
gunslinger warned, eyes watching Cloud's ungloved hands for any sign of
unsteadiness. "Don't cut yourself."
"I won't," Cloud muttered, and his voice was
steadier this time, the insta-buzz he had received from the alcohol fading as
his Jenova cell and Mako-enhanced bodily processes broke down the poison in his
system. He finished cleaning up the
broken bottle and wasted alcohol without any mishap and threw the shards in the
trash, dishtowel and all. Vincent
raised an eyebrow, wanting to ask whether or not Tifa wanted one of her good
dishtowels carelessly thrown away, but once he saw the pained look on Cloud's
face, the other man decided it would be inappropriate to ask at the moment. Instead, he watched as Cloud wiped his hands
on his sweat pants, the only piece of clothing he had on, and turned to
Vincent.
"What are you doing up?" he asked the dark
man, not looking like he cared about the answer either way.
"Couldn't sleep," was Vincent's simple
reply.
Cloud leaned against the countertop, elbows
resting on the Formica. "Oh," he said
flatly. "Me either."
Vincent let the silence hang in the air for
a few more seconds before speaking.
"Would it be out of place to ask what is bothering you, Cloud?"
Something flickered in Cloud's blue eyes,
but then they froze over in apathy and bitterness. "Why should you ask? You
don't care."
"You're right," Vincent answered just as
flatly. "Your problems are none of my
concern, but it seems that whatever is bothering you at the moment is affecting
your abilities as a leader, and I don't think you want that to continue."
Cloud suddenly dropped his cold façade and
sighed, all of his pain suddenly welling up in his soul like acid. "I know," he muttered. "I need to pull myself together. I'm afraid I behaved rather badly
today. Sorry about that."
"There's no need to apologize to me. I sense the maelstrom within you. It is no big surprise that you let your
emotions manipulate your actions."
Agonized sapphire eyes locked onto
emotionless garnet ones. "You know,
Vincent," Cloud said wearily.
"Sometimes I don't know whether you're insulting me or not."
"All I was saying was that your actions were
perfectly normal for your average, sentient, human being."
"Oh.
Thanks, I guess." Cloud looked
away, never able to hold Vincent's gaze for long. There was just something about those fiery orbs that had always
shaken him to the core, and for that reason he could never endure the naked
intensity of Vincent's stare for a long period of time. "Anyways," Cloud continued hastily,
wondering if Vincent had noticed how quickly he had averted his eyes. He didn't want to insult his friend. "Hopefully, I'll have my damn head screwed
on straight by tomorrow. Now that you
and Yuffie are back with us..."
Yuffie.
The moment that name left Cloud lips, Vincent's thought processes seemed
to freeze up. He suddenly recalled the
horrific episode in the barn with grim clarity. He was ashamed of himself, leaving Yuffie there all alone without
even so much as a goodbye or a goodnight.
What unacceptable, impolite actions.
Vincent hadn't been raised to mistreat women in such a fashion. He'd have to ask her forgiveness tomorrow,
but he'd have to do it in such a fashion that she would not ask questions
concerning his abrupt departure. Which
meant he would probably have to give a coldly polite, seemingly insincere
apology to discourage her from holding up conversation with him. Vincent was in no condition to explain his
uncharacteristically ungentlemanly actions – even he didn't know what had came
over him in the barn earlier. He had
just gotten the sudden urge to get out the barn and away from the charming
smile and disarming eyes of the young girl as quicky as possible, which was
completely irrational. Yuffie was just
a girl – more like a young woman, actually – but that was all she was.
Yes, a voice in his mind suddenly sneered. She's a woman, and you're a man – and a
lonely man, at that. Now it's only
natural for a man and a woman...
"Vincent!" Cloud suddenly called loudly.
The gunslinger blinked, realizing that he
had completely zoned out of the conversation.
If he had been more human, he would have blushed in embarrassment, but
since he wasn't...
"Forgive me, Cloud," Vincent apologized
immediately. "What were you saying?"
Though he continued to look at Vincent
strangely, Cloud responded, "I was saying that now you and Yuffie are back safe
and sound, thank God, we can focus all our efforts on finding Reeve, wherever
he may be."
"What you believe our next move should be?"
Vincent asked.
Cloud drummed his long, tapered fingers on
the countertop, looking a little bit more like the leader Vincent knew him to
be. "Though it may sound crazy, I think
we should head back to Midgar and search there again."
"But didn't Red and Turks already
investigate, with Red on the ground and the Turks in the air?"
Cloud leaned easily against the counter,
eyes shrewd as he thought out the situation.
"Yeah, but they came up with nothing.
Red could pick up no scents outside
Reeve's office, and the Turks, though they
were in the air, really didn't have the chance to go through all of Midgar as
thoroughly as I would have liked. On
the other hand, if we all went and investigated Midgar together, not leaving an
inch of it untouched, I think we might have a better idea as to what happened
to Reeve. We might want to search the
surrounding areas as well, though I really don't see much need to, being that
we are now certain the Running Man escaped on the ‘ghost' ship." He glanced at Vincent with a strange breed
of childish hope flickering in his eyes.
"Do you think that is a good plan?"
Vincent shrugged. "It's all we have to go on, but I have one question: If the
Running Man did abduct Reeve from his office, as Reno said, why couldn't Red
find his scent?"
Cloud looked his friend square in the eyes,
easily locking onto the slightly luminescent red orbs in the darkness. "We thought it was because the Running Man
wasn't a normal human being."
Vincent's brows drew together, and he folded
his arms across his chest. "I wouldn't
doubt it," he deadpanned. "If the
Running Man is from the same people that employed or created the Faceless Men,
then I certainly wouldn't be surprised to find that the Running Man isn't human
at all." He paused briefly. "In fact, now that I think about it and
remember what little I saw of our quarry, the more certain I am that he isn't
human in the slightest."
Cloud blinked in surprise; Vincent rarely
ever made such bold statements. "What
makes you say that?"
"The man moved with unnatural grace,"
Vincent responded without looking at Cloud.
"His movements were fluid and unnaturally agile, and I received strange
vibes from him, you might say. I didn't
want to mention it at the time because I thought I was imagining things, and I
didn't want to frighten Yuffie anymore than she already was."
Cloud frowned upon hearing this. "Yuffie was frightened? Was she in the way, then?"
Vincent's eyes locked onto his, and his
voice suddenly became cold. "No, she
was not in the way. Besides, it wasn't
her fault..."
Vincent stopped, immediately wishing he
could retract his words. He couldn't
tell Cloud about Yuffie's irrational terror without telling him about the way
Chaos had been behaving during their time spent in the deep-sea complex. But Cloud was the leader; he certainly
needed to know if one of his friends would be a danger to the others. Of course, Vincent wouldn't have to worry
about anything if he were just to leave...
"Vincent?" Cloud asked, noticing that his
friend had drifted off again. "What
wasn't Yuffie's fault?"
The other man snapped out of his stupor and
stared at Cloud for so long that he became to get severely uncomfortable. He wondered if Vincent knew just how
intimidating he really was? The red
eyes, the pale skin, and the black hair all made for a very unsettling person
to have staring at you. He was just
about to ask what was wrong when Vincent suddenly spoke again.
"Never mind," he said softly but
firmly. "I'll tell you later."
If I'm still here, he added silently.
Cloud repressed his curiosity and
nodded. They knew that Vincent kept
certain things to himself, and he had no other choice but to respect the other
man's privacy, knowing that Vincent didn't react very well to overly nosy
people. "Then," Cloud said. "We're going to Midgar together in the
morning after a brief meeting here to discuss the groups."
And I'm going to make sure that Tifa and
Reno are separated, he
thought as Vincent nodded silently. I
need time to sort out my feelings without having to worry about what they're
doing. It may sound selfish, but if I
want to be operating with a sound mind, this is how it must be. Sorry, Tifa. Sorry, Reno.
"Well, I'm going to bed," Cloud said, moving
away from the countertop and turning towards the stairs. "You going to sleep again?" he asked
Vincent.
"No," he said simply, spinning around in the
stool and walking into the darkness towards the front windows, a phantom in the
gloom. Cloud could see the shape of his
shoulders and head silhouetted against the rain-ravaged windowpanes through
which light from the street lamps filtered in, as if seeking refuge from the
terrible night that they strove so hard to pierce.
"Okay," he said quietly, knowing better than
to second-guess Vincent. He started to
walk to the stairs again, but halfway there, he stopped and said, "And
Vincent?"
"Hn?" the other man responded without
turning. He seemed to be watching the
night.
Cloud shifted uncomfortably, not sure what
to say. He didn't want to upset his
friend after the gunslinger had unconsciously talked a little bit of sense back
into him.
"If you ever, you know, want to tell me what
really happened in that deep sea complex, I'll be ready to listen."
Vincent didn't move or relpy, and after
waiting for a few moments for an answer that he knew would never come, Cloud
resumed his walk back to the stairs, disappearing up them and leaving Vincent
alone in the darkness.
* * * * * * * * * *
Author's Note: Whew...sorry it took so long!
I had to deal with midterms, deadlines, and a severe Gundam Wing obsession
(I love Duo!!). ^_^ Thanks to everyone who is still reading and
sending me feedback on this story! I
really appreciate it! Those reviews and
e-mails are what keeps me going! You
guys rock!! Now, to go and FINISH that
Resident Evil series...hopefully...
e-mail catalina2717@go.com
