Restful Death

CHAPTER FOUR:



“So, why are you here?” Cid asked, maneuvering the words
around a mouthful of sandwich.

They were trapped in the hotel room - Shera and Tifa kept
going up and down the streets outside, though they didn’t
seem to have discovered where they were staying yet - and
he and Cloud had been forced to order room service when
hunger attacked them.

“‘M wkng fo Vnshn,” Cloud replied.

Cid stared at him.

Cloud swallowed. “I’m looking for Vincent. I thought you
might be, too, since you were at the mansion. I thought if I
followed you, it would be easier to find him. You have a lot
more resources than I do.”

“Oh,” Cid wasn’t sure what to say. Should he tell the kid
he’d found the gunman, or not?

“So - do you know where he is?”

Cid gave a non-committal grunt. “Why’re ya lookin’ for
him?”

Cloud looked slightly uncomfortable. “I just - I need to
talk to him.”

“‘Bout what?” Cid asked, taking another large bite of
his sandwich.

Cloud’s uncomfortable look became an embarrassed
flush. “It’s - well, something Tifa said.”

Cid waited, chewing complacently. The kid would spit
it out eventually. He just needed time.

“She - she asked why I didn’t watch her. She - I didn’t
know what she meant. Then she said I watched Aeris
all the time... and I guess I did. But Aeris - she was
special, you know?”

Cid nodded, then stared at Cloud’s next words.

“I always wanted a sister. Aeris was... she was... I thought
I loved her, you know, like a girlfriend, but... well, she was
so wise, but she was innocent, too. She kissed my cheek
once - it was like getting a kiss from Marlene. Sweet, and
nice, but that was about all. And then she died. I know
everyone thinks I was nuts over her... and I was... but...”
he trailed off, eyeing Cid uncertainly.

Cid fought to regain his self-control. “Okay - I get it. I
guess I thought you were head over heels for her, too.
But - what’s that got to do with Vincent?”

Cloud blushed again. “Well... I told Tifa I only thought
of Aeris as a sister, so she said, ‘And I suppose Vincent
is your long-lost brother?’”

Cid snickered.

Cloud glared at him. “So, I didn’t get it at first, and she
got kinda mad. She said I watched him even more than
I watched Aeris. I thought about it for awhile... and she’s
right. I did. And... and...”

“And you weren’t thinking very brotherly thoughts, right?”
Cid teased, grinning broadly.

Cloud went from being pink-cheeked to turning dark red.

“S’all right, kid - I know exactly what you mean,” Cid finally
had pity on the flustered young man.

“You, too?!” Cloud asked, obviously surprised. “But, I
thought you and Shera...”

“The only one who thinks that is Shera,” Cid growled.

“Oh.” Cloud was silent for a long moment. “So... you
want Vincent?”

“Yup!” Cid said cheerfully, reaching for another sandwich.

“Oh.” Cloud went quiet again, then, “So, do you know
where he is?”

“Yup!”

“...will you tell me?”

“Yup!”

Cloud blinked, obviously surprised. “You will?! But I thought
you said *you* wanted him!”

“Oh, I do.”

“Then ...you don’t think I have a chance?” Cloud’s expression
was a mixture of puzzlement, anger, and sadness.

“Oh, you’ve got a chance. You’re a good-lookin’ kid; you’re
a great fighter, and fightin’ men respect that; and you can relate,
‘cause you been through a lot of the same shit he has, what with
Hojo and the Mako and all that.”

Cloud was staring at him. “Then, I don’t understand why you
would risk telling me where he is!”

“Well, kid, you tell me - do you think *I* have a chance?”

“Of course!” Cloud said, still vastly confused. “You’re
good-looking, too, and a good fighter, you’ve got a place to
live and a way to make money, and people appreciate security.”
He grinned. “Besides, *everyone* knows you don’t take ‘no’
for an answer. *Vincent* is the one who doesn’t have a chance!”

“You’ve got that right,” Cid said, smiling evilly, “and neither do
you!”

“Huh?” was Cloud’s brilliant response, a second before he
was tackled.


*


It was long past dark, but Vincent was still sitting on his front steps.
He was gazing at the vast array of stars, but he didn’t really see
them.

He was having a serious internal debate.

About mirrors.

Specifically, about himself looking *into* mirrors.

And if he should, or not.

He didn’t want to - every time he got up to go and retrieve the
bathroom mirror out of the tiny closet where he had hidden it,
he would remember the burn of chemicals or the bite of a
scalpel and sit back down again.

Yet Cid’s words kept floating through his head...

‘...nice to look at...’

The man *had* to be insane.

Even if Hojo’s experiments hadn’t scarred him too badly, he
had never been anything to write home about.

He remembered himself from long before, a young Turk
assigned to the ShinRa mansion to guard two scientists. He
remembered his reflection then, the neatly-trimmed black hair
around a pale, serious face. A face too thin to really be
attractive, all bony angles. Dark eyes, to match his hair, a
lean young body well-muscled by training but not very noteworthy
among his bigger, bulkier comrades. Tall, slightly gangly still,
with the awkwardness of youth...

That was what he remembered.

He gazed down at his hands, studying the dull gleam of the
bronze claw and the eerie, almost glowing white skin of his
other hand. It looked more frail than he remembered - the
fingers were long and slender and the bones of his wrist
showed in delicate relief.

The hand looked like it could easily break, yet he knew he
was much stronger than he had ever been before.

Wait...

A memory flared into his mind - his arm strapped to a table,
his other arm and his legs weighted down so he couldn’t
escape, Hojo muttering about burn resistance as he broiled
the back of Vincent’s hand with a blowtorch. He remembered
screaming in agony as his flesh bubbled and sizzled, until the
pain made him black out.

Even now, the memory made him nauseous - he would never
forget the hideous smell of his own hand cooking...

Yet the hand he gazed at tonight was as smooth and whole as
if he’d never used it.

He didn’t remember getting up, but he was suddenly on his feet
and going inside, stripping off his coat and shirt as he went.

Nothing.

Not one scar.

Not even the ones he’d had *before* Hojo had experimented
on him.

He ran his fingers over his ribs, staring at the perfect, smooth
skin on his right side, where he’d carried knife scars from a
fight since he was twelve years old. And the bullet scar on his
arm, gotten on his first mission as a Turk - gone.

No acid burns, no scalpel marks.

No sign that he’d ever been in that basement at all.

His hands shook as he unfastened his belts and his pants and
kicked them off, and they were trembling violently as he
skimmed his fingertips over clear, unblemished white skin.

Memories were still assaulting him; Hojo cutting a ragged gash
in one leg with a dirty knife, watching as Vincent’s body raged
with fever, fighting against the infection the scientist had
purposefully given him.

Glass shards in his other leg, watching in horror as his body
forced them out, Hojo’s gleeful face as he scribbled notes in
a file.

In a room with some Mako-beast, weaponless and defenseless
as the monster clawed at him, seeing the white gleam of his thigh
bone through the tattered flesh of his leg, before Hojo had shot
the beast to keep it from finishing the job...

Nothing - his legs were as unscarred as a sheltered child’s.

His knees hit the floor and he sat there limply, staring straight
ahead as his mind tried to process this.

Ever since Cloud had opened his coffin and stood staring at him,
he’d been hiding. Using his cloak and his hair to shield himself
from anyone who wanted to stare -

- and *everyone* had seemed to stare.

Had he just been paranoid? Maybe all those looks he’d thought
he’d seen had been his imagination?

Or, maybe, Hojo had changed his face into something hideous
- he’d done enough surgeries on him while Vincent had been
unconscious - he hadn’t even been aware of the addition of the
claw until he woke up and saw it...

‘...nice to look at...’

There was one way to find out.

...and he suddenly had to know...

He crawled slowly toward the shack’s only little closet, where
the mirror was waiting.

Swallowing his fear.

Ignoring the shaking.

He *had* to know...