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Once a Man	By : Tamlin Category: Final Fantasy VII > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 675 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy VII, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Once a Man

Chapter 4: The Beginning of the Beginning

Living with Vincent is far different than being guarded by
him. Oh, technically, he was still on duty, but since we were
now inhabiting the same domicile, things about him that I hadn�t noticed
before started becoming apparent.
First thing you must understand is that he is as clean as a
cat. He honestly can�t stand being dirty. Oh, he doesn�t mind things like
wrinkled clothing, or as any can see by his present day wardrobe, torn
clothing, but he passionately hates dirt. By noon of the second day in my happy
little skull, the entire place was immaculately clean.
I had innocently left him to his own devices, which I
thought would be lurking and looming around and growling moodily into his phone
to his second in command. The Turks were thrown into chaos by their leader�s
sudden posting to the arctic wastes and he was fielding phone calls at an
astounding rate beginning in the wee hours of the morning. �I left him to his job and went to see where
the �boys� were discovering the sample.
I had made my own phone calls and had requested the
equipment that I would need to analyze the ooze that
was now swirling around its pickle jar on my table. Knowing Shinra the way I
did, I figured I would receive an answer to my request sometime between next
spring, five months away, and the end of the world, which I hadn�t spent any
time calculating, figuring, mistakenly as it turned out, that I would be
thousands of years dead by that time and so I wouldn�t have to worry about it.
I, by the way, win the contest for the most rebellious son
in all history. Mine was sent off to military academy and still tried to blow
up the world in a fit of angst. I would dare you to top that, but the
consequences of your succeeding just make me shiver. Contrary to popular
opinion, I don�t desire the world to be destroyed. I am a logical man (most of
the time) and destroying the planet you are standing on would be rather bone
headed, wouldn�t it?
So I had trudged off, leaving my house to my new roommate,
and went off to find Davies. I had a fine time catching up with the diggers
that hung out around Davies� office and then went off with them to the
excavation pits to see where they had been finding the sample.
I am not big on archaeology. I am a biochemist. My previous
sojourn in Bone Village had been to do a biological survey of the common Tewit.
In case you are wondering a Tewit is a medium size bird that nests on the coast
near Bone Village and is the primary diet of the vlakorados. They are most fascinating
for their ability to regenerate missing limbs and their ability to puff into
large, rather frightening masses of porcupine like feathers. The fact that they
reproduce at an astounding rate is also rather interesting, but not so
interesting that I was going to spend more time freezing in Bone Village,
rubbing shoulders with sweaty diggers, and dating my hand to study their sex
life. When I realized that Bettina was looking like a viable sexual partner, I
started sending out my resume.
Anyways, I tramped out to the mud pits and made
appropriately impressed sounds. The archaeologists proudly demonstrated their
mudslinging abilities and I kept well back out of slinging range. They didn�t
find any more sample bits, so I gave them another round of ooohs and aaaahs,
and escaped back to my skull.
My immaculately clean, shinny skull.
I�m sure that if I had been gone longer, and he�d had decent
clothing, he would have polished the outside of my skull into a mellow shine.
As it was, the floors were swept and mopped, the walls had been washed down,
the curtain around my bed had been washed and re-hung, the cabinets, bookcases,
chairs, beds, counters, and table were all spotlessly clean and smelling
faintly of furniture polish, and the bedding was now neat and straight. He even
cleaned the windows that were in the eye sockets of the skull.
I passed it off at the time as boredom. That one fit, highly
active Turk being confined in a small skull in Bone Village took out all his
excess energy in a cleaning orgy. It was odd, but understandable. Only later
did I realize that it was really just him. I sometimes wonder how he managed to
survive on the Highwind with all that grease and grime and no way to clean it.
He must have been terribly frustrated. Honestly, I don�t know which one got
more of my sympathy, Vincent for having to live with all that dirt, or Mr.
Highwind for having to live with Vincent living with all that dirt. It couldn�t
have been pleasant.
When I finished gaping at my newly clean home, I found
Vincent grumbling into is phone about security patrols and idly trying to wipe
the accumulated soot off my fireplace.
�Wow. You do windows.� I brilliantly noted then even more
brilliantly dove back outside as my newly appointed housecleaner pointed a gun
at me. True, Turks in general don�t shoot the people they are assigned to
guard, but his orders were rather vague and neither of us were sure if he was
supposed to guard me, the sample, or just hang around and intimidate the
diggers into digging faster.
I stayed away for a whole hour before I stuck my nose back
in. He�d calmed down into a slow burn and was taking it out on some poor lackey
who�d idiotically thought he could slack off since the boss was out of town. I
learned later that the man took his early severance pay from the Turks, which
is the nice way of saying he was taken down to the incinerator room and used to
heat the 49^th floor.
I was also smart enough to bring a bribe with me in the form
of a warm duffle coat. It was even in Turk blue and had a collar similar to the
one of his uniform jacket. He looked at it and me, sighed (Translation: Okay,
you get to live for another hour, but don�t press it), and snarled a few
unprintable words at the soon to be heating fuel on the other end of the line.
I happily poked at the specimen, which
as you may have noticed I hadn�t named yet, and went to my refrigerator (my
blindingly clean refrigerator) and dug around for a drink. That�s one of my
problems whenever I indulge in too much alcohol, I spend the next day guzzling
liquid like a traveler that just hiked on foot to Cosmo Canyon. After acquiring
my beverage (Cosmo Cola: See the Stars!) I poked into the cupboard (now even
the cans glowed with a clean mellow shine) and found a can of chocobo stew and
dumplings and dumped the contents into a pot (gleaming) and set in on the stove
(my thoroughly cleaned and sanitized stove).
Vincent finished his phone call by calling the other a few
rather creative things and went to glower at the fireplace. The fire was
unimpressed, but since it kept him from glowering at me, I left him to it. It
was right about then I discovered the second thing that one should always keep
in mind about Vincent.
Vincent is brilliant.
I know. Right now, he still believes the babble she prattled
so viciously in his ears, but whether he believes it or not, he is one of the
most intelligent people I�ve ever met. Oh, he�s not going to head up Shinra�s
scientific department anytime soon, and emotionally he was (and sadly still is)
about as inept as a man could get, but his mind�s capabilities are easily on
par with, or, in my rather biased opinion, far in excess of that of his father,
and his father was no slouch in the intellectual game.
�You�re sample seems to react to people�s emotions.� He said
it while still trying to stare the fire into submission.
�Hmmm?� I blinked out of whatever
thoughts I�d fallen into while stirring our lumpy meal.
He nodded over his shoulder to where the sample oozed around
its container. �It reacts to emotions.�
I blinked a few more times trying to get my brain to wrap
around that information and where the information was coming from. In my
defense, I had not yet realized whose son I was talking to, and after spending
a year in Shinra�s employ, I had learned Turks in general were a rather dull,
violent lot that were good at observing, but poor at coming up with a
intelligent conclusion as to what their observations meant. Vincent�s comment
set me back a moment as my reality rewrote itself.
I went over to the sample and lifted the jar. It didn�t look
like it was reacting to anything. �How can you tell.�
He sighed (Translation: You owe me for this) and came over
taking the sample out of my hands. �Watch.�
He took a deep breath and frowned, his eyes narrowing angrily.
At first there was nothing then the sample started rippling oddly. He let his
breath out, visibly calming himself and in a few seconds the sample went back
to its oozing.
He handed it back to me. �Depending on the emotion, it
reacts in different ways. Try it.�
I did. I spent the rest of the afternoon trying it out
watching as the sample swirled in circles when I was happy, rippled when I was
angry, and went still when I got sad. It was actually quite entertaining. At
least it was to me. He found it rather boring, took his new duffle coat and
went off to inspire the diggers to find more sample pieces.
I didn�t hear him leave, and I didn�t know when he got back.
I vaguely remember a bowl of overcooked chocobo and dumpling stew being placed
on top of the growing pile of written data that I was frantically scribbling,
and I remember at some point a warm blanket being wrapped around my shoulders,
but everything else was just lost in the wonder of research.
Vincent was absolutely correct. The sample reacted to
emotion. I couldn�t do a detailed study of this phenomenon since my equipment
was still on its glacially slow trek from Shinra to Bone Village. I did manage
to write up reams of observational data that I was sure Gast would cackle
gleefully over as he rushed to President Shinra to take all the credit for the
discovery.
I woke from my scientific haze to find myself tucked in bed
with the sample sitting on the nightstand next to me. At the time, I didn�t
know better. Now, I would have it secured in a vault under layers of shielding,
and been asleep on another continent. I hated when President Shinra ordered
Jenova�s relocation to Midgar. I much preferred it sitting behind layers of
shields, with a huge sign over a heavy, multi-locked door, in the middle of a
reactor, on the top of a mountain, in the back end of nowhere, on the other
side of another continent. The moment Jenova made her entrance into Midgar, I gave up sleeping and started writing my
resignation to spend time in Costa del Sol (which you may note is on another
continent.) I would have gone to Wutai, but I still had very painful memories
of vacationing there with Vincent.
He loved Wutai. He�d step onto Wutai�s soil and it seemed
all the tension he�d been storing in his body would leave him in one huge rush.
Whenever I noted that he came home more bloody than usual, I would start making
arrangements for a vacation there. After a few days, my dangerous Turk would
turn into a puddle of contented, smiling mush. He�d be nearly purring in
happiness from too much dim sum, sake, and sex.
In the darkest of the dark time to come, when he was
delirious from the treatments, I would sit on the floor cradling him in my arms,
whispering promises that we would go back there and he could wear the soft
bright silks he so adored, and we�d sit, drink fine sake, and eat those tiny
morsels that came on tiny, delicate plates, and he could sleep on those
ridiculously hard mats they laid on the floor, and he could sleep in late, and
we�d go climbing Da-chao, and thousands of other promises to hopelessly try to
push the dark away from both of us. It never happened. At that point even I
knew there was no repairing what she�d done, and the best I could hope for was
that I could still find some way to release him from her plans.
Anyway, I sat up that morning with the sample swirling
sluggishly in its jar and a huge pile of research notes that I blearily
remembered composing. Vincent was gone, and outside the eye windows, I could
see a heavy snow falling. I tumbled out of bed and wobbled aimlessly around my
little abode trying to get my mind to coalesce back together into some form of
coherence.
I eventually found my way to my table and managed to package
up my reports to send off to Gast. After, I made my way to the kitchen
(annoyingly clean kitchen) and found a cup of instant noodles that seemed good
enough for breakfast.
I ambled around slurping my noodles and finally managed to
find my small music player and set it up to play some tunes. Vincent had put it
away in a drawer. I wondered if it was a commentary on my musical choices. I
love jazz, and through the years, I have found that people either love it, are
puzzled by it, or detest it. Vincent, as it turned out, prefers either hard,
ear jarring rock, or soft classical flute ensembles. He is one of the puzzled
when it comes to jazz. It balanced though since I was one of the puzzled when it
came to the rock. How can something that angry be soothing?
I was just sitting filling out the paperwork that was
required for every report that whizzed through Shinra�s mindless mail
department when Vincent arrived back with a young archaeologist tagging
worshipfully at his heels. He would find the only cute archaeologist in Bone
Village (and probably the world since archaeologist aren�t generally known to
be a good looking bunch) and have her slavishly worshiping the air he breathed.
And Vincent, being him, dimwittedly didn�t realize that if he only looked her
in the eye for just a moment she�d fling her naked body on the floor and plead
to bear his children. Happily, he was busy being Vincent and he never even
glanced at her.
And he called me clueless. Pot, kettle,
Vincent.
�If you need anything else, please let me know.� She had a
medium size brown cardboard box held in her arms that she set on the floor.
He nodded, �Thank you.�
�I�ll keep an eye on the others and let you know if anyone
starts slacking off.� She smiled at him with an expression of complete
adoration. �You can count on me.�
I could guess that there were a few other things she�d be
willing to have him do on her, but Vincent just sighed (Translation: I said
thank you, now go away.) She didn�t understand Vincent Sigh Language though and
kept standing there worshiping.
�It must be so exciting being a Turk.�� She tried for conversation.
Unfortunately for her, she was trying it with the wrong
person. Vincent can be very chatty�when drunk off his ass. He also can and
likes to have long conversations, but only with people he knows and feels
comfortable with. I have always thought it rather interesting that Avalanche
believes him to be the strong, silent type that rarely talks.
Vincent sighed again (Translation: Little fly go away or be
swatted), so I stepped in to save her from finding out just how exciting a Turk
could really be, or he got irritated enough to look her in the eye and
instigate the naked female on the floor scene. Now, I have no personal dislike
of naked women writhing about on my floor (my clean, glossy floor), but I
rather like to be on a first name basis with the woman doing the writhing before
she begins.
�Thank you for brining that.� I got out of my chair, causing
her to startle.
She�d been so focused on the wonder that was Vincent that
she never noticed me. Poor thing. I can�t blame her.
She was young, probably an intern fresh from college, and stuck in Bone Village
with its freeze dried inhabitants and dirty, sweaty diggers. Vincent walking
through town must have been like watching a young god visiting the lower
realms.
�Oh, hello.� She backed away,
glancing longingly at Vincent.
I gave her a friendly smile and nodded to the box. �What�s
in it?�
�I don�t know. It came in this morning.� She deflated a bit
as Vincent walked away to warm himself in front of the fire then she turned and
started eyeing me.
I suppose the fact that I was clean was a big attraction. I
definitely was no competition with Vincent in the looks department. I also must
say I wasn�t entirely unpleased with her interest. Having lived in Bone
Village, I knew a young, pretty, non-fish smelling lady was a hard commodity to
come by. If Vincent didn�t want to take advantage of her interest, I was more
than happy to take his leftovers.
�Probably things we forgot.� I gave her a charming shrug and
a boyish scratch on the back of my head. �I never seem to pack what I need.�
She gave me a smile. �Me too. My
mom had to send boxes of things to me when I got here.�
I ratcheted my estimate of her age down from early twenties
to just barely out of jail bait age. I�d have to check with Davies though just
to make sure I wouldn�t suddenly get slapped with statutory rape charges.
I gave her a small chuckle. �I wish my mother would do that
for me.�
Actually, at that time my mother was still alive and well in
Wutai and would often send care packages. She never believed that anyone out of
Wutai could feed her little boy, so every week I got boxes of steamed
dumplings, all kinds of stir fried dishes, delicately folded stuffed wontons,
rolls with various fillings, barbecued meats, fragrant rice, and containers of
soup. Before Vincent, I would eat a meal or two and freeze the rest, which
eventually got tossed out to make room for more of her food. When he settled
himself into my life, he would eagerly wait for those packages and greet them
with cries of heartfelt joy. When the two finally met, he nearly got on his
knees and worshiped her. They got along terrifically.
I�ve noticed, the few times I�ve managed to visit her grave,
that someone leaves tokens and incense. Since all her friends have passed away
and I�m her last living relative that only leaves one other person that still
loves her enough to leave those things. I�d thank him, but he�d probably shoot
me again, so I�ll just let the matter stand as it is.
Meg, my newly acquired friend and maybe more, and I talked
for a few more minutes then I bundled into my coat and urged her out the door
before Vincent either figured out that he just brushed off the best sexual
partner he was likely to find in Bone Village, or got annoyed with our talking
and shot us both.
I won�t tire you with the ancient song and dance that men
and women have been dancing since the dawn of time. Suffice to say I spent the
day attracting a partner, and she spent the day being attracted. By the time I
tumbled into the door covered in snow, I was already planning how to bed Meg
without Vincent lurking around, and Meg was off looking over her scanty
lingerie and seeing if her camp cot would comfortably fit two active people.
Vincent was settled on the fireplace�s step reading when I
finished brushing off. He seemed content enough in the firelight, so I left him
to his entertainment and ambled off to the tiny bathroom for a warm shower. By
the time I had worked out my problems and could feel my toes again, he was
already asleep.
I spent a bit of time sitting by the fire letting my hair dry.
It was shorter back then, so it really didn�t take very long. He made a few
little murmuring sounds in his sleep but otherwise everything was quiet enough
that I could hear the hiss of the snow as it fell against the windows. While I
still wasn�t happy to be back in Bone Village living with Vincent, right then I
was content. I was warm. I had a good roommate. I had a prospective lover. And
I had my work.
I sometimes wonder. If I could travel back in time, when
would I go.
I would go there. I would go there and weave a few lies to
Vincent about a crazy, evil girl with an angel�s face (they actually wouldn�t
be lies) and how dangerous she was to me and to Shinra. I would then make sure
he found her, shot her, and we�d both live happily for the rest of our lives.
Maybe I would kill her myself and make sure Vincent never came close to her. I
am good with a gun. Vincent didn�t like me to wander around unarmed, so he
patiently taught me to shoot and insisted I carry a weapon. I could kill her
and I�m sure Vincent would take care of any lingering suspicions that might
ensue. Yes, that is where I would go. There when everything was before us,
bright and new and unblemished.

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Once a Man