Chapter 4
Barret watched from the deck as the ship sped from the crater and the giant monsters poured out of it. He was past knowing what to think. He didn't even ask.
"I want an investigation into the Science Department when we return," Rufus was saying to someone behind him. "He claims he never filed a report on Gast's research into these Weapons, but I want to be sure. And I want to know about this Jenova Reunion experiment he was talking about."
"Yes, sir." The answering voice was Rude, he thought.
One of the monsters took flight, sped towards them--then past. Barret gripped the railing, breathed in, breathed out. He turned away.
Yuffie and Nanaki were the only ones remaining on deck. Yuffie clung to the railing, looking green, but Nanaki was watching him, waiting on him.
"Vincent took Cloud inside," he said. "Shall we join them?"
Barret shook his head slowly, feeling the weight of the Black Materia in his pocket. "We'll go in," he said. "You go ahead an' check on 'im. I'll get the lay o' the land."
The interior of the ship was more utilitarian than he'd expected for some top-of-the-line airship carting Rufus Shinra around. A few crewmen in unfamiliar blue-and-orange uniforms hurried past him. He found his way to the bridge, definitely a nicer-looking area with an enormous window and shiny instrument panels. Cid was at the wheel like he belonged there, more crew around him.
Rufus and Scarlet stood watching out the front window, flanked by infantry. Barret wondered how many men they had, all told. Rufus had collected himself pretty quick, so now would've been the moment to make a move, while AVALANCHE was disoriented and on unfamiliar ground.
Barret could only guess he didn't have the numbers, and that Hojo's abrupt death had shaken him, or he would've realized they were hanging on by a thread.
No one else was on the bridge with him but Cid, completely absorbed in piloting. Around them were the crew, the infantrymen, Rufus, Scarlet, now Rude walking past to report to them. The Black Materia in his pocket seemed to drag his heart into his stomach, and he backed up out of the bridge. He couldn't let the Shinra have it either.
"Barret."
He jumped and spun, but it was only Vincent.
"...you should get some rest," Vincent said, looking him over.
"At a time like this?"
"Rufus will have ordered the ship south to Midgar or Junon. We have hours before it reaches reinforcements."
Barret nodded slowly. Vincent must have come to the same conclusion he had.
"There are quarters, this way," Vincent said. His cloak swirled around him as he turned to lead the way. Barret followed.
"...where's Cloud?" he asked as they strode down a narrow corridor.
"Other side of the ship," Vincent said, plainly grasping the reason for his question. "Tifa insisted on staying with him. I asked Cait Sith to keep an eye on them. He's the sharpest of us, at the moment."
The lucky bastard controlling the cat hadn't had to slog through a glacier or climb those damn cliffs. "You think he could be on board?" he wondered, aloud this time.
Vincent glanced at him and then shook his head. "Doubtful. If he were, he could have led us to the ship without waiting on Rufus."
"...yeah. Guess so."
"You still doubt his loyalties?"
"I don't know. I'm just tired." Maybe he'd been hoping for a chance to pop the guy one in the face, for Marlene. When he'd thought Barret's anger had cooled enough, Cait Sith had told him, cautiously, that Marlene was all right, but she was still in Shinra custody. And that wasn't all right.
Vincent opened a door off the hallway, motioning Barret inside. It was tiny, just a place to bunk down, but at least it was private. He wasn't sure whether the ship hit a pocket of turbulence or if it was fatigue catching up to him, but he stumbled as he crossed the threshold. He caught himself with his hand against the wall, and when he turned to look back at Vincent, he saw the other man with his hand half-raised, as if to catch him.
"I'm okay," he said.
"...no, you aren't," said Vincent.
"...no, I'm not," he agreed.
Barret let himself drop onto the bunk. Vincent stood watching him for a moment longer before he stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
"The hell happened down there?" Barret asked, not really expecting an answer.
"...we retrieved the Black Materia," said Vincent.
"Man, you know that ain't it."
"I know."
And Vincent stood there waiting patiently as Barret struggled to find any words, to even settle on what was throwing him the most. They had the Black Materia, okay. That meant no Meteor. Whatever Aeris had been trying to do to save the Planet... He felt a pang, wishing she'd trusted them to get this done, at the same time knowing exactly why she hadn't.
He didn't know what Sephiroth would do now, or even what Sephiroth was. They couldn't plan for that. They couldn't even plan for the immediate future until they learned the Highwind's destination. So that just left him circling back to...
"Is he really... like all those guys in the black robes?" he asked. "Followin' Sephiroth around without another thought in their heads? Cloud had his reasons... We all had our reasons."
"When one's nature aligns with one's choices..." Vincent mused. "A powerful combination."
Maybe Cloud was both. An experiment. A man seeking vengeance. "You know somethin' about that?"
But Vincent shook his head. "I am not a man of conviction, and so, I am a coward."
Barret huffed. "Sure don't seem like one. It was you who came an' backed me up today."
"I did that because you asked me to."
"What, like you're some kinda robot, you only do what you're told? That's bullshit. You pushed yourself to make it in time 'cause you wanted to."
"...yes," Vincent said softly. Something about that one word in that tone of voice shut Barret up completely.
Vincent knelt in front of him in the small space and gestured to his gun-arm. "May I?" he asked.
Barret nodded cautious assent. Vincent first switched on the safety, and then his fingers reached for the release catch. He used both hands to twist the arm out of its socket, and carefully set it aside. Turning back to Barret, he reached for one of his boots. Barret drew his foot back.
"What... are you doin'?"
"You need to rest," Vincent reiterated.
Barret shook his head. "C'mere," he said. Vincent's brow furrowed faintly, but he leaned closer. Barret reached for the first buckle on his cloak. It was a slow business with one hand, but Vincent let it happen, neither pulling away nor moving to assist him. At last Barret drew the cape away, tossing it over the far side of the bunk.
Vincent looked so much smaller without it. A thin frame, black hair falling about a delicate neck. Without the cowl to hide behind, the uncertain set of his lips was obvious.
Barret was trembling, he didn't know why, but he leaned down to find Vincent's mouth. He steadied himself against the man, hand on his shoulder.
"...I could take care of you," Vincent whispered against his lips, and Barret drew back.
"...no. No."
Vincent looked away. "I've overstepped," he said, as though he were the one who'd kissed Barret.
"Fuckin' hell, Vince," he said, and Vincent stiffened as though preparing for a reprimand. "That Lucrecia lady must've done a number on you."
"...I don't understand."
"You ain't oversteppin', but I don't want it like this." Barret gestured to Vincent, on his knees in front of him. Vincent didn't move. Barret sighed, scooted over a bit, and patted the mattress. Slowly, Vincent rose and sat instead beside him. His gaze was fixed ahead of him, staring at some point low on the wall.
Barret tried to think of another way to explain it. "I don't wanna be... taken care of, like it ain't about both of us."
Vincent frowned faintly, and he said nothing. It occurred to Barret that maybe he had it wrong; maybe Vincent had his own preferences, maybe it pleased him to take care of someone else, a man usually tasked with violence instead entrusted with tenderness. Barret had never liked the way he put Lucrecia on a pedestal, but maybe it was a knee-jerk reaction to think this was anything like that.
"What is this to you?" he tried instead. "You celebratin'?"
"Celebrating?" Vincent repeated blankly, glancing at him.
"Hojo," Barret clarified. "That was the whole reason you came with us, an' now it's done."
He couldn't read Vincent's expression. Another wrong guess, he figured. Still...
"How's it feel?" he asked.
"...like cleaning up a mess," Vincent answered at last.
"Guess that's some kinda satisfying." Barret thought back to Scarlet in the crater, looking down the barrel of her gun as she trained her own on him. What would he have felt at the chance to shoot her and get away clean? But it wasn't just Scarlet, he knew, and it had never just been Scarlet. He wasn't sure he could be satisfied until the whole damn system was torn apart.
The object of Vincent's vengeance was a much narrower target. But then, hadn't all of Hojo's work been enabled by Shinra, too?
"I thought I would feel more," Vincent said, almost as if the same realization now troubled him, but maybe that was Barret projecting. "Satisfaction. Vindication. But it's an action performed too late. A futile gesture that undoes none of the harm he caused."
"Keeps him from doin' any more," Barret offered, even as he understood. "Cloud didn't need to hear any more o' that nonsense he was spewin' out."
"...that's why," said Vincent.
"Huh?"
"I wasn't thinking of Cloud when I shot him. I wasn't thinking of anyone but myself: how I let him do what he wanted, and how I couldn't, now. But you..." He turned his head to look Barret steady in the eye. "You're overwhelmed now because you think of everyone. You care about all of it. I admire that."
Barret shook his head. "I was so turned around I almost gave Cloud the Black Materia." And Cloud would have given it to Sephiroth.
"You almost did that because you trusted him, and Tifa. That... isn't a failing."
"...an' I trusted you, too," Barret added, wondering how much or how little that factored into it. "Maybe you think it's 'cause you don't care that much that you can keep a level head. But I don't think that's it."
"No?"
"Think you just know how to focus. That's all. I get all caught up, can't see the forest for the trees."
Every little thing he didn't understand piled up, tripped him up, left him spinning. It was why, ultimately, he'd been okay with letting Cloud lead. He felt like he was always the last to put two-and-two together, still mulling things over days or even weeks after everyone else had processed and moved on.
But maybe, nobody really knew what was going on, and Barret was the only one willing to admit it.
Vincent shifted slightly, something Barret felt more than saw. "What would this be, to you?" he asked. "Or are you too turned around?"
"Hell, it just felt right," Barret admitted, gesturing vaguely. "You been watchin' me, then you know sometimes I jump into things without thinkin.'" If he waited for his thoughts to catch up, he might never get anything done.
"You trust your instincts," said Vincent.
Barret shrugged. He knew his instincts weren't always on point, that he'd made a lot of bad calls, but he didn't want to say that now, given what they were talking about. It was no good telling Vincent he might be a mistake. Barret didn't think he was.
"I ain't been with anybody since Myrna," he said instead. "Ain't even thought about it." As he said it, he reflected that Vincent probably hadn't been with anyone since Lucrecia. If he'd ever had the chance to be with Lucrecia at all. "You probably get that," he added.
"I do," Vincent affirmed. "But I also..."
"What?"
"Your marriage was a good one?"
It took Barret a second to process that, because as simple a question as it was, it spoke volumes. His mouth twisted, and he liked Lucrecia even less. "What, you think you're a step down?"
Vincent shrugged, returning his attention to the wall.
Maybe he understood Vincent's question more than he cared to admit, because on the rare occasion he allowed himself to think about it, he wasn't so sure Myrna would still love the man he'd become. He wasn't the optimist she'd known, the gentle giant who'd never held a gun to do anything more than shoot old beer cans.
But seeing it through Vincent, he didn't like the idea that it would make the man a lesser option. Maybe all it meant was that they were different people now, with different things to offer.
"You ain't Myrna," Barret said. "Ain't nobody ever gonna be Myrna. But you get me on a lotta things, I think. An' maybe that's what's good right now."
"...maybe," Vincent agreed softly.
Vincent was looking back at him now, but more of his hair had fallen into his face, obscuring it in place of his cowl. Barret reached over to brush some of it back. He could feel the tangles under his fingers, another way Vincent failed to look after himself. Maybe he genuinely wanted to take care of Barret, but Barret didn't want it without reciprocation.
He leaned in to kiss Vincent on the forehead. "Think we could both use some rest," he suggested.
Vincent's eyes flicked from him to the narrow bunk, something skeptical entering his expression.
"...it'll be real cozy," Barret admitted with a chuckle. "But I bet I make a better bed than the floor."
"Very likely," Vincent conceded, with the hint of a smile.
He let Vincent help him off with his boots, and then insisted on doing the same, arguing that he didn't want to get jabbed with those weird-ass pointy boots in his sleep. Later, he'd have to ask what the hell those were about, but he thought it might be too early in whatever fledgling relationship this was for that kind of question.
His fingers ghosted over the top of Vincent's prosthetic, but Vincent shook his head slightly. Not an outright refusal, he thought, but a dismissal of the time it would take. Unlike Barret's, it didn't look designed to be removed so easily. Someone had left him with that claw, without any intention of him ever exchanging it for something with a gentler touch.
Barret started to lie back, cursed at the weight in his pocket, and stripped out of the coat. He wanted to chuck it far from him, to be totally rid of all that horror, at least for a little while, but instead he folded it up and tucked it carefully beneath the bunk.
Then he lay back, and Vincent tucked his slender body against him. He felt the man's slow breathing, the weight of that metal claw settled carefully atop his chest. Part of him wanted more, now, awake to a physical closeness he hadn't had in years, but at the same time he was exhausted, and he didn't want the embarrassment of passing out halfway through.
And as crazy as everything was right now, as much as he didn't understand, it was kind of nice to have mysteries that left him something to look forward to. He turned his head to kiss Vincent, once, and then closed his eyes and let his breathing fall into rhythm with Vincent's, carrying them both into sleep.