Chapter 1
The others would make bets about it. A gauntlet that served as a back-up weapon if he ran out of ammo, a custom-made prosthetic, an accessory of some counterculture fashion that no one remembered anymore. They never saw him take it off, but they never saw him take anything off, so that didn't tell them much.
Barret knew, of course, but if Vincent wasn't going to clarify, then he didn't think it was his place to say. He thought about putting a stop to it, but he overheard Tifa once putting her concerns about it to the man direct, and Vincent said he didn't mind, so Barret let it be.
They didn't speculate on exactly what Hojo had done to him (with the exception of Yuffie, who gave up when no one joined her). His story said he should've been the oldest of them, but he had the face of a man not yet out of his twenties. When they camped at night, it was his eyes and Cloud's shining unnaturally in the dark. Vincent had never been in SOLDIER.
They were somewhere in the mountains of Wutai, bereft of materia and low on healing potions, when they first saw the monster beneath. It was damn terrifying. Barret couldn't remember exactly what had come out of his mouth then, but he knew it had been less than charitable.
The shock had scattered them, but the monster never turned on them. It tore the remaining thunderbirds to shreds, roared its victory into the sky, and then, abruptly, collapsed. When they dared to venture closer, they found it was just Vincent, again.
The man had always kept himself apart, but he put more distance between them all, after that. Most of the others took their turns at trying to talk to him, but Vincent rebuffed them. Barret decided to let him be, sure a gruffer voice with the same concerns wouldn't get anywhere.
And he had to admit, he wasn't thinking a lot about Vincent once they moved on with their journey. Going back to the Gold Saucer for the Keystone made Barret's blood boil, and the Temple of the Ancients was the kind of horror show that Barret wasn't really equipped to deal with. But he had to deal with it, because Cloud had lost it and Aeris had vanished and Tifa was out of her mind with worry.
Vincent was the last to report in from their fruitless search, and it was only then that Barret noticed. But Cloud had woken in the meantime and told them Aeris's aim, so they had to get moving. It wasn't until they were back on the Tiny Bronco, headed north, that Barret made his way to the rear of the cabin where Vincent liked to hide himself.
"Hey," he said quietly. The others were dozing after the hours spent searching, except for Cid at the wheel, and Cloud with his head in his hands. That wasn't something Barret knew how to fix. He gestured at Vincent's arm. "Want me to take a look at that?"
Vincent blinked slowly at him, something wary in his gaze.
"Think your monster knocked somethin' out of alignment, back at the Temple," Barret added by way of explanation.
"...how long have you known?"
"The whole time," Barret admitted. Since Vincent hadn't told him to shove off, he sat down on the seat opposite. "It's how you carry it. You can't feel it 'cept for the weight, so you gotta relearn how to be aware of it. Doesn't move the same as your other arm."
Vincent looked down at his prosthetic and slowly flexed the fingers. Something in the base of the thumb joint caught, impairing its movement.
Barret kept his hand to himself, just watching. "Must've been one o' the earliest models," he remarked. "Real piece o' craftsmanship, to hold up as well as it has."
Vincent looked at him. "You've looked into other prosthetics," he said. It wasn't a question any more than Barret's observations had been.
"Gun ain't the plan forever," he said with a shrug. "I got it for Shinra."
Vincent hadn't been with them when they'd passed through Corel, and Barret didn't know if anyone had told him Barret's connection to the region, or what had happened. Vincent was always alert for trouble, and he'd no doubt picked up on Barret's agitation when they visited Gold Saucer, but who knew what he'd made of it.
"This body is... the one Shinra crafted for me," Vincent murmured, in that kind of tone where Barret expected him to go on to say something about sins or guilt. He didn't.
"...the arm, too?" Barret ventured.
"Yes."
Barret wasn't sure he'd get an answer, but he knew enough about Hojo to guess. He grimaced. "It wasn't some kinda... you know, prototype test?"
Vincent shrugged, his shoulders too tense for the motion to come off casual. "I don't remember," he admitted. "I think it happened when I... wasn't myself."
"Oh."
That was about the opposite of discounting Barret's theory. They'd all seen the effects of Vincent's transformations, and they way they healed any wounds he'd taken as a man. It was easy to imagine a sick bastard like Hojo would want to test the limits of that. Could he regrow an arm? Could the same prosthetic be shared between monster and man?
Vincent extended his claw slightly in front of him. "...I don't actually know how to maintain it," he said.
Barret nodded. "I got some tools that oughtta help."
He retrieved his compact tool case from his pack and sat back down, scooting to the edge of the seat to reach Vincent easier. He took the claw in his hand to inspect the casing, then dug around for the right size screwdriver.
"Maybe Hojo gave this to you," he said. "You plannin' on givin' it right back?" At Vincent's raised eyebrow, Barret gestured with his fingers in a stabbing motion.
There was a flicker of amusement on Vincent's face before he shook his head. "I think I'd rather feel it. His throat in this hand." He curled shut the fingers of his right hand where it rested in his lap.
"...not exactly your style," Barret remarked. Vincent was a marksman. He clearly knew some hand-to-hand, but Barret was sure it hadn't been his specialty as a Turk.
"I don't want to kill him as the instrument I was. It was that man who stood aside, who failed. When you got that arm, it was different from the one you had for a reason, wasn't it?"
Barret nodded slowly. "I get you."
As he removed the screws from the prosthetic's gold casing, Vincent held out his hand for them and tucked each carefully into a pocket. This was already the longest interaction Barret had ever had with the man.
"Still," he went on carefully, "don't think you should get too hung up on it. I get vengeance, I do. But it don't always lead you to the best choices."
At that, Vincent raised both eyebrows.
"Hey, I ain't sayin' let 'im live. He's a piece o' work, an' the world'll be better off without 'im. Just sayin,' if you wind up with a clean shot in your sights, maybe go ahead an' take it."
Vincent let out a soft huff, as though he'd said something funny. "...you're probably right."
"Training you got, the bullets you carry, even that monster o' yours... They've saved our asses a couple o' times now. Even if you got 'em from Shinra."
"That's quite an admission, coming from you."
Barret shrugged. "We all got our histories. You can let it eat at you, or... you can accept it ain't goin' anywhere. You gotta decide what it means for who you are."
He could have let his failure at Corel define him. He could have let his mistakes in Midgar define him. He was trying not to. He'd always carry them, but he couldn't let them weigh him down so heavy that he got stuck.
Vincent was studying him intently. "You decided to fight," he said.
"You're here, too," Barret pointed out. At Vincent's skeptical look, he added, "Y'know what they say: better late than never."
"...there is such a thing as too late."
Barret couldn't help glancing towards the front of the plane, towards Cloud in his misery and Cid trying to get them north as fast as he could.
"Hell, let's not think about that right now," he said, and Vincent inclined his head in agreement.
Vincent's thumb was, for now, an easy fix. An internal screw had worked its way loose, creating a gap from the mechanism that was supposed to engage movement. Repeated wear on the threading meant the part would probably need replacing in the future, but for now he could tighten it back up. He had Vincent flex it a few times before he put the casing back on.
"That oughtta do you for now," he said as he replaced the last screw. "When we get somewhere more settled, we can give it a proper look."
"...thank you," said Vincent.
Barret flashed him a grin. He didn't much feel like grinning, but fixing one thing had improved his mood a little. He didn't feel quite so out of his depth.
"You should get some rest," Vincent suggested.
"Yeah, probably. Make sure Cid doesn't wear 'imself out, I'm sure one of us can take over for a bit."
Vincent nodded, and Barret settled himself back into his seat. He closed his eyes and tried not to let himself think about Aeris, about Cloud, about exactly what they were racing towards. There was nothing else to do until they made it north.