Chapter 2
Vincent paused in the hallway out of sight of the dining room, listening to the beginnings of a conversation he ached to be a part of. He had already missed so much, too much.
But Sephiroth wasn't ready. He needed time, time with someone who knew him, someone he trusted. That wasn't Vincent. They were strangers to one another.
Lucrecia's son. Their son. He expected Sephiroth would want it confirmed, but Vincent had little doubt now, looking into those features. They had made a child together... and that child was already grown, in the blink of an eye. How had twenty-five years passed him by so easily? How could he have slept while Hojo raised his and Lucrecia's child? What had happened to Gast?
"Come on," said the young infantryman beside him, Cloud. He looked no more eager to leave than Vincent, for his own reasons.
What were the chances Sephiroth did any real harm to Zack? His voice sounded calm now, but Vincent knew little about the sort of man he was. Hard to say if the volatility of his mood was simply the product of the situation, or something he'd inherited from his mother.
Vincent followed Cloud down the hall without asking. He had already pressed Sephiroth's men about him, and gleaned two things from their reticence: Sephiroth was a very private person, and his men had a great deal of respect for him.
The mansion was dark. Most of its lights had failed years ago, and Cloud carried a flashlight to augment the pale light shining in through the windows. On his own, Vincent wouldn't have needed it. The clarity of his own vision unnerved him, the way even the deepest shadows shrouded nothing from him. He had had the chance, by now, to look himself in the mirror. The eyes staring back at him had been the wrong color.
What had Hojo done to him? Something seemed to buzz in his veins. Temporary, or part of his new reality? He was at a loss to define what normal should feel like after twenty-five years of slumber. No human body would have survived so long on nothing, but even now he didn't feel hunger. He only felt... wrong.
They had crossed the foyer, he realized, turning away from the front door.
"Are we not going to the inn?" he asked Cloud.
"We are," said Cloud, "but let's go out the back."
"Why?"
"Tifa's... Some of the villagers are standing guard out front. All this stuff, makes them uneasy."
Sephiroth's behavior, Vincent gathered. He hadn't come here of his own accord, but on orders, to accomplish a task which he had clearly abandoned in light of his discovery.
And who had given those orders? Even if Sephiroth's commanding officer was somehow oblivious to his origins, others in the company knew what he might find in Nibelheim. Who had wanted him to know, and why?
Other questions he doubted Cloud could answer for him.
"You think I'll make them uneasy as well," he observed instead.
Cloud glanced up at him. "This mansion's been abandoned since before I was born," he said. "So yeah."
Since before he was born. Vincent thought of the children he and Lucrecia had seen playing in the village; they would be grown now, too, perhaps raising families of their own. Cloud had made it clear enough he hailed from Nibelheim; had Vincent seen his parents among those youths?
"What do they say about it?" Vincent wondered. "Do they remember the people who lived here?"
Cloud shrugged. "They were from Shinra. That's all anybody says." He hesitated. "Sephiroth said... you missed twenty-five years."
"...yes," Vincent confirmed. "I was part of the team who lived here."
How long had the others remained here, after Hojo had sealed him away? What had he told them of Vincent's disappearance? What had he told Lucrecia? Or, had he never had to tell her? Had she died in this mansion, while Vincent slumbered on?
In his nightmares, he'd seen her death countless times and in countless ways, but he didn't know what had happened to her. He didn't know if she'd succumbed to the illness ravaging her when he'd left her side. He didn't know if Hojo had decided to punish her, too, for the affair. He didn't know if, by some chance, she'd survived that day, only to die later, because he wasn't there to protect her.
His hand curled into a fist, fingers pressing into his palm through the glove. A glance told him his left hand mirrored the gesture, but he couldn't feel it. That arm was a foreign weight pulling on his shoulder, though it responded as readily as his flesh-and-blood limb.
Cloud was watching him. "Are you really Sephiroth's father?" he asked.
"I believe I may be," Vincent answered.
Cloud regarded him a moment longer, shook his head, and continued on. If he didn't know what to make of that, he wasn't the only one.
They stepped into the back hallway, and Cloud jimmied open one of the windows. He settled his helmet firmly back on his head before climbing out into the yard, and Vincent followed.
The pines that surrounded the house had grown so much taller. Vincent reached out to touch the trunks as they passed, but their rough bark failed to bring home the reality of the years.
Cloud shut off his flashlight as they rounded the side of the house, but Vincent had no difficulty spotting the two figures who stood watch just outside the front gate. He and Cloud made for the corner of the yard farthest from them.
There was someone there, too. A young woman, sitting atop the fence with her legs dangling. "What're you doing sneaking out?" she asked, and Cloud tripped, catching himself against the fence. He hadn't seen her.
"And who's that?" the girl went on, jerking her chin at Vincent.
Vincent looked to Cloud, but he seemed at a loss for words.
The girl waited a beat. "Another company secret?" she wondered. "Maybe I'd better get my father."
"W-wait!" Cloud stammered. He hesitated, and then went on, trying to disguise his voice. "It's, uh... I'm not authorized to tell you. But I promise you're in no danger."
The girl cocked her head at him. "Why're you talking like that?"
"What do you mean? This is... just my voice."
"No, it's not," she said with an easy laugh. "Look, just tell me what you're up to and maybe I'll help you out."
"Just... getting some food for Sephiroth."
"From the inn? I'm pretty sure Birgit went home for the night."
Cloud faltered.
"I'm a pretty good cook, you know," the girl went on. "If you're that desperate you're sneaking out windows."
Cloud said nothing, so Vincent decided to step in. "We would appreciate that," he said, "if it isn't too much trouble."
"Oh, so you do talk." She glanced towards the men standing watch and then motioned the two of them over the fence. "Come on. We'll take the long way so they don't see us."
They followed her between the pines back behind the inn, through its narrow side yard, and across the square behind the water tower. At a glance, the village looked precisely the same. Only small changes, brought on by upkeep over the years. Fences replaced, shutters repainted. Vincent could just make out the village gate at the far end of the street, where Lucrecia had told him it was over.
The girl led them to the largest of the houses that bordered the square. Vincent had been inside of it a few times, when the mayor of the time had invited their team for dinner. He recognized the grandfather clock standing in the foyer, but most of the furniture was different, or maybe just arranged differently, to suit the needs of different people.
Shutting the door behind them, the girl turned to face them. "So," she said, "Sephiroth sent the two of you to bring him dinner? I can't tell if that's any weirder than him not eating for four days."
Cloud shrugged.
"Don't you ever take off that helmet? You're in someone's house, you know." He took a step back at her accusatory tone, but she just rolled her eyes and shifted her attention to Vincent. "And you. That's sure not a Shinra uniform. Where did you come from?"
"I am... an acquaintance of Sephiroth's," Vincent decided, "though I left Shinra some years ago. My name is Vincent."
She gave him a look of appraisal. "Vincent, huh? Well, I'm Tifa."
She stuck out her hand, and, not wanting to offend her, Vincent carefully took it. The contact was jarring, though not as overwhelming as when Sephiroth had grabbed him. His mind may have registered the passage of time as nothing but a blur of nightmares, but his body seemed keenly aware of how long it had been since he'd touched another living being. It made even this brief handshake intensely intimate, and he released Tifa's hand gratefully.
"I'm glad at least one of you has manners," Tifa said, and she jerked her head towards Cloud. "This one's been here a whole week, and this is the first time I've heard him talk. Kind of rude, don't you think?"
"I am sure he has his reasons," Vincent offered, and they were obvious enough to him. Clearly they knew each other, but Cloud was hiding behind the anonymity of the helmet to avoid a conversation. She intimidated him. Probably, she intimidated a lot of boys her age.
What had Sephiroth been like at their age? Had he had any opportunity for crushes, rejections, first kisses? Had he had anyone to turn to for advice?
Tifa shrugged and motioned them along as she crossed the foyer into the kitchen. "So, does the Great Sephiroth have any preferences?"
"Dunno," said Cloud.
"Guess I'll just make what I feel like then," Tifa decided.
He and Cloud hung back near the doorway, keeping out of her way, and Vincent's eyes swept over the room. Much about it was the same, but the table that stood in its center was a smaller one, set only for three; as welcoming as Tifa was, it was no longer a home accustomed to entertaining.
When they had first arrived in Nibelheim, Lucrecia had hung that wedding portrait in the mansion's dining room, put her china away in its cupboards, and settled an arrangement of fresh flowers on the table--but they had used it so rarely, and Vincent couldn't recall a single night when all of them had eaten there together. The dinners at the mayor's house stood out distinct in his memory. Seated across the table from Lucrecia, trying not to share glances with Hojo there, when he was already irritable enough at being pulled away from his research, just looking for an excuse to lash out at someone.
They weren't good memories, but he thought of her in this space, and he longed for them anyway. To reach out across the table and touch her hand, Hojo be damned. He should have been bolder. He should have shown her that he was willing to fight for her, for everything that she wanted.
"So, is... is Sephiroth sick, or something?" Tifa asked of a sudden, bringing Vincent back to the present. "Everyone's really worried."
Her son. Their son. Was there still time, to do right by him?
"I can't... really talk about it," Cloud answered.
"There must be something you can tell me," said Tifa. "Sephiroth seemed upset, after the reactor inspection. And Zangan says... maybe you all really came to cover up what's going on up there. Maybe, you're not here to protect us."
"Of course we're here to..." Cloud began, but he didn't finish.
Tifa's concerns weren't unfounded. Shinra had operated that way in Vincent's time; sometimes witnesses to the company's mistakes were simply... erased. No one had ever heard of Nibelheim then, and that had made it an ideal location for an experimental reactor, and for the Jenova Project. But, Vincent didn't think the company had decided to erase it just yet.
"No one was ordered here to harm the village," Vincent offered into the silence. "Sephiroth... has had some troubling news. He needs time to work through it."
Tifa looked at him, her brow furrowed. "Troubling news... Is that why you came?"
"I... hope to be of some help to him, yes," said Vincent. If Sephiroth would let him. If it wasn't too little, too late.
How could he be a father to a man who had seen nearly as many years as he had?
"Well... I hope it all works out," said Tifa.
She finished her cooking, and transferred the meal to a covered casserole dish. She handed it to Cloud.
"There you are. Let me know if there's anything more I can do to help, okay?"
Cloud nodded. "Okay."
Tifa made sure the coast was clear across the square, and they snuck back the way they had come. Vincent should have found it silly, all this stealth for a simple meal, but it was hardly unfamiliar. How many times had he and Lucrecia met in secret? Notes slipped into pockets and kisses stolen in the halls. He had climbed through his share of windows, for her.
They could hear Sephiroth and Zack still talking as they approached the dining room, and Cloud cleared his throat loudly before they drew close enough to eavesdrop. Sephiroth fell silent, and Zack met them in the doorway.
"Hey, buddy," he said. "That doesn't look like it came from the inn."
"Uh, it was closed," said Cloud. "The kitchen, I mean."
"Uh-huh..." Zack's knowing expression said that the situation with Tifa was hardly news to him. "You're gonna tell me all about that in a minute."
"...how is Sephiroth?" Vincent asked.
"'bout ready to hear you out," Zack answered. He looked Vincent over and then nodded, stepping aside to let him through. Vincent took the casserole dish from Cloud, and as he entered the dining room, Zack added, "Make sure he actually eats that, will you?"
"You certainly aren't my mother, Zack," Sephiroth said dryly.
Zack shrugged, and then he slung an arm around Cloud's shoulder. "Shall we?"
The two of them disappeared down the hallway, leaving Vincent alone with his son.
His son.
There was so much distrust in Sephiroth's gaze as he watched Vincent approach. Vincent set the dish down in front of him, and Sephiroth lifted its lid, but even then he never took his eyes from Vincent's face.
He hadn't gotten those eyes from either one of them. The color of Mako, with strange, slit pupils. But the shape of them was much like his own, and those lips were his mother's, the same frown as when she'd been displeased with him.
And yet, the thoughts of an entirely unique person ran through that mind now, thoughts Vincent could only begin to guess at. Years and years of experiences had shaped him into something far more than his origins. Unfortunately, it was plain that those experiences didn't allow trust to come easy to him, and learning who he'd become would take time.
"Sit down," said Sephiroth, "and we'll see what sort of answers you have."
Vincent sat, letting his hands rest across the tabletop, one flesh, one not. It made a soft clunk against the wood, and he glanced down at the table. Zack had scrubbed the worst of the dust from it earlier, but he hadn't been thorough, leaving thick layers streaked across the far end. Time had touched everything in Nibelheim, in its own way, but what had it shaped Vincent into? What if Sephiroth had a monster now, for a father? A freak, as he'd said? Was it any better?
He supposed it would be up to Sephiroth to determine. He had promised answers, and though he anticipated giving them would be painful, they made up only the smallest fraction of what he owed.
"What do you want to know?" Vincent asked.