Adult-FanFiction.org : Final Fantasy

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
- 4
- 5
- 6
AN: Merry Christmas to all of you! This was really a fun
chapter to write, so it�s longer than normal. I�ll get back to shorter chapters
later.

Once a Man
Chapter 5: Seduction

He told me once that he hated Meg passionately from the
moment he glanced over his shoulder and noted us chatting together. Vincent,
for some reason that never made sense to me, had come to the decision that
while Meg was at best okay for a sexual partner, I was far more appealing. His
reason, which makes me wonder if he had some odd eye or perceptional problem,
was that I was far more attractive than Meg. Meg, while no glossy beauty queen,
had wide brown eyes, a tiny waist, a nicely curved bottom, and bouncy chestnut
curls. She was far from homely, but he wasn�t interested. Instead, someplace
behind those amber eyes, he�d come to the conclusion that I was what he wanted.

This is where I started learning about the third thing
you should keep in mind at all times about Vincent. If he wants something, he
will get it. He will wait patiently till the right moment then use all his
skills to achieve his goal. Seeing that in the skill of seducing me Vincent was
a born master, I had no chance.

However, I didn�t know that until much, much later after
I was well and truly conquered.

I also learned that Vincent is a sneaky, ruthless Turk
when he wanted something. He will go to any length, and I do mean any, to
achieve his goals. I would melodramatically plead for sympathy here, but if
you�ve seen Vincent, any sympathy I get would be insincere as you dreamily wish
you�d been the one he�d set his sights on to seduce. I was a lucky, lucky man
to be stalked by that Turk.

I was still blissfully unaware of all this when I woke up
the next morning to find Vincent absent from our happy home and the sun shining
through the windows. I went to the box, hoping that it would possibly contain
some equipment to analyze the sample, and was unsurprised to find it was
actually forms for me and Vincent. Even though we were stuck in the frozen
wastes, we still had paperwork to accomplish. I particularly liked seeing that
Vincent was still supposed to do a weekly on-site inventory of the Turk�s
weaponry. I had a good laugh while I unpacked, until I noted that I was still
required to make a cleaning report on the labs. How I was supposed to actually
report on the cleanliness of a lab that was on another continent escaped me,
but I was game.

I separated our respective forms and set them on the
table until I could go to Davies and order a couple of file cabinets for us to
store them and their future brothers and sisters in. Vincent wandered in and proceeded
to spread merriment around him in a dark dismal wave of gloom. He was in rare
form even making the sample ooze to the other side of the jar as he scowled at
the heater as if he was wondering what would be the most painful and violent
way to send it off to the lifestream.

At this juncture in my life, I didn�t have a death wish
�that came later- so I kept my mouth shut and didn�t tell him he was expected
in Midgar to do his weapon inspection Tuesday so he�d
better get swimming. Instead I grabbed my jacket and went off to see Meg. Since
I don�t have stunning good looks to buffer my way through the wilds of romantic
wooing, I have found that charm and attentiveness go a long way to swaying the potential
partners� minds. Later, I would cynically put this aside and just wave cash and
my position to attract devotees, but that would come later, too.
I found Meg smiling happily and buzzing around Davies�
office. �I got transferred! It�s incredible! I�m actually working with
Professor Jenkins�s team uncovering the Temple of the Ancients!�
Now, I wished Vincent had just shot her. She, eager
overachiever that she was, was the one to uncover the entrance to the Temple
and discover the existence of black materia.
Anyhow, as my sex life for the foreseeable future flushed, I
grinned back. �That�s great.�
�He�s the best archaeologist on the Planet!� She enthused,
gathering papers. �He called this morning and personally invited me to join his
team. A private helicopter is coming to pick me up in just a few hours!�
I later found that Vincent had gotten up early that morning,
made a few phone calls to his informants, found out that Jenkins had a penchant
for plagiarism which could sink his career. Vincent had then used that
information to call Jenkins and suggest that Meg would be an excellent member
of his team. Vincent, by the way, can ooze menace over the phone with the same joi d� vie that he can shoot bottles off a fence.
�That�s wonderful. Do you need help packing?�Considering I
had a Turk trying to glare my heater to death back in my cozy skull, helping a
pretty lady pack was the choice of activities for that day. Who knew? I might
have gotten lucky, but Vincent had been busy.
�Hey, Hojo!� An archaeologist came
in and tossed a sweaty, dirty arm over my shoulder. �We got something for you
to see.�
I was summarily dragged off to the excavation pits to see
men wallow in mud, leaving the last trace of an attractive partner bouncing
merrily around getting prepared for her new life in the tropics. I spent the
rest of the day being shown the area where the sample was found and hearing
tales of how it was discovered. I�m sure it was all very important, but as the
day wore into evening, I was less than interested. By the time the diggers let
me escape it was nearly dark and I could have merrily eaten one of their boots
for dinner. So I dragged my frozen, starved, achy, mud covered self home to
find Vincent stepping out of the bathroom wrapped only in a towel.� He barely took notice of me as I stood gaping
and blushing in the doorway.
�Close the door.� He went over to his cot and picked up a
pair of pants. �You�re letting in the cold.�
How I managed to find the door, much less figured out how to
close it is one of the great mysteries of my life. I retreated to behind my
curtain and sat on my bed blinking at nothing in particular.
And I thought he�d been stunning before.
I have been accused of causing immeasurable harm to Vincent,
scaring and disfiguring his body. First, I want to say that Vincent already had
a decent amount of scars when I first saw him that night. Believe me they
didn�t detract even a tiny fraction from his beauty. In fact, the light
tracings seemed to accent the fineness of his skin and the perfect definition
of his muscles. Second, early on in my attempts to undo what she had done, I
tried to minimize the damage the treatments would do to his body. Among those
minimizations was a serum I had been developing from my research of the Tewits. It basically enhanced his ability to heal and
virtually eliminated all scaring. He claims it is a side effect of the demons,
but it was really my doing. I hated the thought of any trace of her
manipulations ever being permanently etched into his skin. Eventually, even the
deepest of scars that I saw that night will fade. I�m not sure I�m pleased with
that or not. I did love tracing those scars with my tongue, feeling him shiver
in pleasure against my lips.
It took me a few minutes to calm myself back down. He was
rustling around, probably getting dressed, which tugged my imagination into
areas I desperately didn�t want it to go. While I was calming my psyche, he
wandered over to the kitchen, thankfully for my fragile state, wearing clothes.
I spent a couple more minutes blinking as he rummaged around and finally
unearthed a can of tomato soup, some bread, and a few slices of cheese. By the
time he�d finished cooking toasted cheese sandwiches and soup, I was almost
back to normal and ventured out from my hiding place.
He had been nice enough to cook me dinner too. I suppose
that it may have been little more than survival instinct on his part since I
might have accidentally set our skull on fire if left to my own devices near
the stove at this point.
I should point out he was perfectly aware of what he was
doing to me and he never let me live that small humiliation down. He managed to
bring it up at least once a month, and often sooner throughout our time
together. The pleased, self congratulatory smirk he always wore when
reminiscing about it didn�t help much either.
Lucky I love the bastard.
I managed not to make a scene as I ate my soup, carefully
not looking at him, and nibbled on my sandwich, still not looking at him. I
just got up to go look at the specimen when he began what would become what
seemed like eons of nearly unmerciful teasing.
�Aren�t you going to say thank you?� He had settled himself
down next to the fireplace again reading, and glanced up as I rose from the
table.
My normally well functioning mind took that moment to start
babbling hysterically at me. Thank him?
Thank him for the soup or for�that? Oh dear Planet� What should I say�I could
say thank you Vincent for the delightful� Oh, no. I am not going to say that�
Uh� Oh no�he�s looking at me�I have to say something�
After standing there gaping like a complete moron �much to
his entertainment- I finally managed to squeak. �Thank you.�
He looked placidly down at his book. �You�re welcome.�
I nearly ran back to my little alcove and hid behind the
curtain again blushing like a virgin after being propositioned by one of the
Honeybee girls. Yes, the Honeybee has been around for that long. Mind you it
hasn�t always been in the same place. It used to be in one of the byways of Junon. When the previous owner died, Veld
hired that ass Don Correno to take it over and move
it to Midgar as part of the Turk�s spying operations.
Tseng, however, never liked getting his hands as dirty as Veld
did and let Correno have too much leeway. Seeing that
most of the executive board regularly visited �That includes Reeve. He isn�t
quite as upstanding and pure as he�d like everyone to believe- it was a
security nightmare waiting to explode. It was just lucky that some fanatic
didn�t decide to cripple Shinra by taking out the
whole executive board during �Shinra�s Bi-Annual
Moral Boosting Night.�
So I hid and out by the fire, unknown to me, Vincent smirked
and plotted.
The next morning, I was up early and was ready to make
headway in my new resolve. I had decided during the night that I was going to
see if I could get Bettina to wash up and deodorize. We had always gotten along
and the only thing standing between me and a solid relationship with an
attractive, enjoyable woman was the smell of fish. As a scientist with too much
time on my hands, at least until Shinra managed to
send the equipment, I could solve her body odor problem. When the problem was
solved, I could get laid and any lingering images of entirely too enticing skin
and the firm ripple of muscles would be banished from my thoughts.
I decided the best way to begin was to take note of what
Bettina ate during the day. That would begin with breakfast, so I bounded out
of bed, into my clothes, and out the door before my sleepy Turk could do more
than poke his nose out from under his covers and yawn.
Bettina ate breakfast at what most would consider a
hellishly early hour. Having spent many mornings getting up early and stumbling
my way down to the Tewit nesting ground before
sunrise, I had occasionally breakfasted with her. She always appreciated the
company, and just as long as I sat on the other side of the table, I enjoyed
myself tremendously.
At some level, I have always been slightly regretful that
Vincent broke this relationship up. Bettina was a level headed woman with a
sharp mind and a loving personality, who would have been able to not only deal
with the duties and schedule of a Shinra scientist,
but would have been able to give me well thought out advice when I needed it
most. In return, I would have been able to give her a spouse that would
appreciate her easy going wit and humor, and give her the stable relationship
she always wanted. We would have made a very comfortable married couple.
It is a very small regret though, because even though I
still wake up wanting to take a scalding hot shower and scrub my skin off with
steel wool just remembering I once was intimate with Her, I would have had to
give up my time with Vincent. I would go right back through that hell we
endured to live that again.
I suppose there is some sort of irony in play when I think
that he probably wakes up wanting to scrub away his skin for being intimate
with me. I just wonder if it is justice or just a strange twist of fate.
I showed up at Bettina�s door just as she was setting up the
coffee pot. �Care for some company?�
She grinned back, �Hey! I wondered where you were keeping
yourself. Come in and sit down. Eggs okay?�
I came in and sat down as she pulled out eggs, bacon, and
bread for toast. That was the other thing I always liked about Bettina, she
could cook.
�How are you and the pretty boy getting along?� She turned
and clicked on the old antique that passed for a radio.
I hid my grimace as Ice Pack Sammy�s melodious voice
crackled through the speakers. �Fine.� Just
as long as he keeps his clothes on.
She nodded. �I saw him down talking to the diggers
yesterday.� She placed the bacon in an iron frying pan and the nearly heavenly
smell of real cooking filled the room. �He seems to be adjusting to things.
Thought he�d freeze at first. Poor thing.�
Part of me wanted to comment that he certainly didn�t look
like he�d been freezing last night as he stepped out of the bathroom steam with
droplets of water still clinging to his shoulders. �I got him a coat.�
She nodded and started humming along to a tune that Ice Pack
Sammy must have unearthed from his vault of oldies-but-never-goodies. She put
coffee on the table which I gratefully gulped, trying to get all Turk like
people and their overly perfect bodies out of my head. The rest of breakfast
was on the table in a moment and we dug in.
It was a great meal. I had almost forgotten how much I�d
enjoyed these times with her. Unfortunately, I didn�t see any suspicious food
or habits that would have explained Bettina�s unique odor. I made a note to
myself to check in with her at lunch and after much lazy discussion and playful
gossip, I went back to my lurking Turk.
Who was missing.
I shrugged it away and looked at the sample. It was still
placidly oozing around, and for a moment I considered redoing the experiments
with emotions that I had previously done, but I had already explored that area
as much as I could till Shinra�s requisition
department took mercy on my soul. I regretfully put it back down and ambled
around my shiny, clean home.
I finally sat down next to the fire where Vincent was
getting in the habit of sitting and looked at the book he�d been reading. I
found the title, �A Hundred Years of Solitude,� a bit depressing, so I got up
and started poking through the books I�d brought with me. I settled on a light
book about astronomy from a researcher out of Cosmo Canyon that I�d been
promising myself I�d read for months.
By the time lunch came around, I was so absorbed in the life
of planets that I nearly forgot about my quest to deodorize Bettina. I
scampered to my feet and headed off to see what my newest interest was eating
for lunch. Since Vincent had yet to reappear, I had an excellent reason for
intruding on her meal.
I knocked on her door, putting on a worried expression.
�Well, my mother always said not to feed a stray�� Bettina
smiled at me as she opened the door.
I gave her a small laugh. �Sorry for disturbing you, but,� I
looked around as if I�d lost something that might just pop up unexpectedly.
�Vincent�s been gone for hours.� I tossed in a slightly irritated sounding sigh
and ran a hand through my hair. �He�s so new at being up here. I�ve been trying
to keep an eye out for him. He could get in trouble if he wanders off too far.�
I shook my head slowly. �That coat I got him is fine but�� I gave long
suffering sigh as if Vincent was a heavy load I self-sacrificingly
bore for the sake of everyone, �he�s a city boy.�
Bettina frowned thoughtfully. �I think I saw him down at the
store earlier.� She tapped her lip thoughtfully. �I think I saw him talking to
the head digger.�
I nodded, glancing in to note that Bettina was having a
rather normal lunch of broiled chocobo and a small
salad. �Thanks, Bettina.� I had a sudden inspiration. �Tell you what, why don�t
you come over for dinner? I�ll splurge and get real food.�
She laughed, �Sounds wonderful, but don�t strain yourself, Hojo. Just get the fixings and I�ll cook �em when I get there.�
Bettina knew me too well.
We parted with a few more small goodbyes and I went down to
the store and bought real steaks, frozen vegetables, and potatoes for dinner. I
also made a few inquiries about my wandering Turk. Vincent, it seemed, had been
there earlier, but had disappeared with a group of archaeologists who were
looking into traversing the Silent Forest in an attempt to reach the old city.
I figured he was in good hands, and since my main objective was accomplished, I
returned to my book and began plotting anew.
It seemed Bettina�s odoriferous problem wasn�t dietary, so
now I had to look at other causes. During dinner, I could make a few subtle
inquiries into her hygienic routine. I have found that if you ask a woman for
help in keeping yourself clean and well moisturized, they will all go into long
paeans of advice that extols their own routine. I could also try leading the
conversation around to favorite foods, just to double check to make sure
Bettina wasn�t stuffing herself with pickled herring in between more mundane
meals.
Pleased, I turned my attention back to my book, patting
myself on the back for my prowess in planning my upcoming evening. How naive I
was, considering I was unwittingly plotting against a master.
Vincent skulked back in just before dark with a small Lunar
Harp tucked under his jacket. He set it down next to his cot and proceeded to
clean the poor thing nearly into nonexistence. For a short space of time, my
skull housed the cleanest Lunar Harp in the history of the Planet. I always
wondered what happened to that harp. I know I put it in the crypt with him,
safely tucked away in an air tight chest �At some level I just didn�t want to
hear his bitching when he woke up to find his things dirty. He had me well
trained- along with what other things of his she didn�t pettily destroy, but
when he and that failure wanted to go through the Sleeping Forest, they had to
dig up another. Maybe the Ancient took it. Or maybe he smashed it, destroying any
memento that reminded him of our time together.
Bettina arrived soon afterwards to be scowled at until it
became apparent that she was there to feed us. If by some chance you ever need
Vincent in a good mood, feed him. The better the food, the more pronounced his
mood change will be. When we were living together, I often had to worm my way
back into our apartment after a fight by waving take-out through a crack in the
door as a peace offering as I prayed he wasn�t irritated enough to shoot at me.
Doors are expensive. When perfectly cooked steaks, baked potatoes, and buttery
corn appeared on the table, I was suddenly plunged into a fit of worry that
Vincent was going to pounce on Bettina before I could. Herring smell or not.
His mood changed though when I started putting my plan into
action, not that I noticed it at the time. I only realize it in hindsight. I
don�t think he really paid much attention to when I was discussing favorite
foods. He even managed to mumble a few nearly monosyllabic replies to any
conversation that wandered in his direction. (In case you are wondering, his
favorite food is tiny macaroon cookies from a Wutain
bakery in Midgar.) However, when I worked the
conversation around to dry skin and pleaded with Bettina to save me from my
flaky epidermis, he started becoming quieter. When Bettina shared her secret
�yes, you guessed it, herring oil- he was back to his old self.
Bettina and I chattered on for awhile more and he went back
to his perch by the fire to be beautiful and moody. He did it well, I have to
admit and was still a bit worried about my competition when I noticed Bettina�s
gaze sliding in his direction. Bettina�s herring oil would be easy enough to do
away with. By the time dinner was over, I was sighing longingly over the latest
skin moisturizer that came out of Kalm. It was a
hellishly expensive thing, but I noted that Bettina�s eyes lit up over it and
she nearly yodeled its attributes when she brought it up. I made silent plans
to get a shipment of it sent to me and as she left our humble abode. I worried
that once Bettina smelled pleasantly of Kalm�s
flowers if Vincent would snatch my prize away.
The next day, Vincent was once again up early, snatching his
harp and heading out the door with a happy swing to his step as I tumbled my
rumpled way over to the kitchen to see if I could boil water for tea without
too many mishaps. I should have been suspicious. First, Vincent had never moves
happily when on the job. Happy movement is always suspect. Later, I learned
that a bouncingly happy Vincent is a sneaky, plotting Vincent who is plotting
your downfall. Second, he was up very, very early, earlier than I�d gotten up
the day before. Vincent isn�t really what anyone would call lazy, but if his
duties allow it, he does like to lie in bed dozing till around nine in the
morning. It�s his way of spoiling himself. Getting out of bed and being out the
door well before sunrise is rather odd if there is no reason for him to get up.
At the time, I was too innocent to figure out his reason. I
just assumed it had to do with the harp.
By the time I got myself awake, any lingering thoughts of my
roommate were banished in the rush to get to the store and order myself a
couple of bottles of moisturizer. Davies was happy to help out, and I spent the
rest of the morning humming to myself.
My mood did have one slight damper. Our happy little skull
seemed a bit warm. I went over to my faithful little heater and poked at the
controls to see if I could reduce the temperature figuring my freezing Turk had
set it too high. The settings hadn�t changed though, so I just adjusted it to a
lower setting, figuring it was warmer out than it had been previously.
I settled back down with my book and didn�t think much about
anything until mid-day when Vincent sauntered past our skull with a group of
archaeologists. They looked like they�d spent the morning being drowned and
stamped on. Vincent was silently fussing at mud splotches on his jacket and a
few others were limping along with him. For some reason, bruised, scraped, wet,
and probably on the verge of hypothermia, they all looked remarkably happy.
Vincent and his new friends disappeared, heading towards the
store, and I was left staring out the window with the image of Vincent turning
to one of the diggers and smiling. I felt something curl in my stomach. I
almost wanted to rush out and join them, to see that smile again, but I turned
away and went back to my book.
I knew where I belonged. I was a scientist. My job was to
stay in a lab and methodically test minute changes over long periods of time. I
was nothing special to look at. I had nice teeth and I�d been told that my hair
was quite nice, but I didn�t qualify as good, or even pleasant looking. I was
nothing short of homely and I knew it. I did nothing exciting. I had no
fascinating hobbies. I didn�t bungee jump off bridges or climb mountains. I was
bookish, dull, and boring. I even talked wrong, too polite, too formal, too
stilted.
Vincent was everything I was not. His life was one of
excitement and adventure. He went to exotic places. He did dangerous things,
living on his wits and instincts. He was flawless, with perfect bone structure,
mesmerizing amber brown eyes, lustrous hair, and beautifully kissable lips. He
may have been quiet and serious, but to be fair, anyone with a passing
familiarity with the Turks knows that they were Shinra�s
wild, dangerous children that breathed in the glittery neon city nights and
exhaled seductive danger. He was no exception. After all, he was their king.
I belonged safe inside, sipping tea and reading a book. He
belonged in some other realm where you got scraped, soaked, and bloody then
came back into town brushing off your clothes and smiling at your comrades. We
still inhabit those same worlds. Once, by his choice, our worlds connected.
Now, by her manipulations, they are well and truly separated. I live in the
dull world of science, and he now lives in the rarified air of heroes.
And neither of us is happy.
I kept company with my book till well into the night.
Vincent didn�t come back and I sat lost in the stars till I realized I was
getting hot. Through the day, I had absently tossed off layer after layer of
clothes till now I was dressed in nothing but a pair of pants and a cotton
undershirt. I hadn�t even paused as I shucked off a sweater as I went to warm
up my tea. I barely remembered kicking my boots under my bed, leaving me to pad
around in my socks. I have no memory of taking of my sweatshirt or long sleeve,
cotton dress shirt. Now, I was in a thin tee and sweating.
I went to poke at the heater, but it was on its lowest
setting. I had let the fire dwindle to some ash covered embers and with night now
fully settled, I couldn�t even claim warm weather was making the skull too warm.
I knelt down and looked at my heater more carefully. It looked fine to me, but
it was putting out a lot of heat. I turned it off, slightly worried about a
fire hazard, and went to bed thinking that I�d have to go and get a new heater
tomorrow.
In the middle of the night, I woke up freezing. Vincent was nowhere
in sight and the skull was like an ice box. I crept back to the fireplace and
rebuilt the fire and huddled under a blanket next to it as it slowly grew into
a small blaze. In my sleep muddled, tired mind, it seemed to take hours till
the fire was big enough to provide even a little bit of heat.
�Something wrong?� Vincent�s voice came from the door.
I looked up as he stepped in, brushing snow off his jacket.
�The heater�s malfunctioning.�
�Hmmm.� He nodded and looked around. �That�s a problem.�
Of course, I
thought, my heat dependent Turk would
consider it a problem.
�I�ll get another tomorrow.� I turned away, huddling closer
to the fire.
�Okay.� He looked around the skull house appraisingly. �I�ll
be over at Dmitri�s.�
Dmitri was one of the archaeologists, the one that sorted
and cataloged the digger�s finds. He lived in the skull just across the street.
He was slender, blond, and slightly too effeminate for my tastes with his wide
doe like brown eyes and long silky hair. I thought he always seemed rather
dusty, pale, and nervous. But Vincent was going to spend the night over
there�with him�
�Fine, fine.� I shivered my way back to my bed. �Take the
sample. No point letting it freeze.�
He shrugged and scooped up the pickle jar off the table. It
oozed sluggishly around. Why I thought something that had been buried in the
permafrost for hundreds if not thousands of years was going to take harm from
staying in a cold room is beyond me, but I wasn�t functioning well at that
point in the morning. Vincent didn�t comment on it and turned around and walked
back out without even giving me another glance to spend the night with Dmitri.
I curled up and miserably fell back to sleep, wondering
sleepily if I should get up and spend the night at the inn and debating just
how bad herring oil really was.
I was outside Davies store as soon as it opened in the
morning. Davies gave me a cup of coffee as I shuffled into his office and told
him about my heater.
�That�s not good, Hojo.� He shook
his head. �We�re out of heaters and the dealer is back ordered.�
Na�ve thing that I was, I didn�t even question this.
�But I have no heat� Can I borrow one from someone?� I
nearly pleaded.
He shook his head sadly. �Sorry. We all switched to
installed heating units last fall. You�re probably the only one that still has
a portable.� He scratched his chin thoughtfully for a second, �But tell you
what, bring it over here and I�ll see what I can do with it. I could probably
fix it.�
My gullibility to this day surprises me�
I whimpered gratefully and rushed back to my frozen fossil
of a home and retrieved my broken heater. I also took the time to pile more
wood on the fire. It didn�t adequately heat the place, but it kept it at least
warm enough o stave off freezing to death. I then raced back and handed the
heater over to Davies.
�I�ll get right on this. Come by tonight and pick it up.�
I grinned like the fool I was. �Thank you!�
He disappeared back into his office, leaving me shivering
and planning on how to spend the day. Vincent and his new friends were already
out making another attempt to get to the Ancient�s city. Bettina was in the
middle of weekly laundry, and I was left with the diggers, who greeted me with
hearty slaps on the back and offered me a shovel.
For what happened next, I can only claim the extreme
circumstances. However, it does give me a small bit of pleasure to know that in
my desperation to stay warm, I spoiled Vincent�s plan. Mind you, I would have
been much happier if I hadn�t. I could probably have spent the night warm and half
mad with pleasure, not to mention back in the possession of a functioning
heater, but there is still the thrill of satisfaction that the one who was
responsible for my descent into the horror of archaeology suffered a bit from the
result of his actions.
I took my shovel from the diggers and with Vincent�s smile
in the back of my head, went off to be one of the boys. Male bonding is a
frightening thing. It turns even the sanest of people into beer chugging, mud slinging idiots. By the end of the day, I had learned
the technique to shoveling and had spent most of my mud covered day, perfecting
it. I even got a few congratulatory comments on how good I was slinging the
foul stuff. I grinned back, pleased with my accomplishment, and managed not to
say I had plenty of practice metaphorically shoveling through another type of
brown foul stuff back in Shinra�s science department.
After being dragged off to finish the ritual of bonding by drinking too much
beer and being slapped on the back by people just as filthy as I was, I
stumbled wearily and somewhat drunkenly back to the store where Davies handed
my heater back to me.
�It was the controls.� He tapped them lightly. �I couldn�t
completely repair it, but it�s safe and it�ll give you heat.�
I pathetically thanked him and dragged my muddy, inebriated
self home, set up my heater, spent a few moments trying to locate the bathroom then
flung myself into the shower with a heartfelt moan of relief. By the time I
emerged, my home was once again cozy and warm. I considered opening a can of
soup in celebration, but opted instead for falling face down on my bed still
wrapped in only the towel I came out of the bathroom in.
Vincent slid in just before nightfall. I had pulled a blanket
over me and half buried myself under my pillows. I was now sore and exhausted,
but the room had stopped its annoying habit of twitching, instead settling into
a smooth even sway.
Take note. Exhaustion plus heavy drinking plus a hot shower
equals one hugely bad idea.
�Hot in here.� Vincent loosened his coat and frowned at the
heater.
I mumbled into my pillow and realized that I was indeed
sweating. However, at this point, I was not going to dispose of my blanket. I
may have been shit faced drunk, but I wasn�t insane.
Vincent went over to glare at the heater, then with a
philosophical sigh (Translation: I suppose it could be worse) he peeled out of
his jacket. I let my tired eyes close for a moment as I contemplated how I was
going to get my exhausted self under the sheets and free myself from the
blankets. Deciding to pull the curtain closer around my bed, I opened my eyes
to find Vincent being distracting. Very distracting. As in he was nearly doing
a strip tease by the fire distracting. Mind you, for all I could tell he wasn�t
even aware I was conscious.
Thick headed, wasn�t I?
First the shirt came off. He slowly unbuttoned the first few
buttons, then with a feline stretch pulled it over his head. Under it he wore a
white tank top with which he repeated his stretch revealing silky skin and rippling
muscles. He ran a hand slowly through his hair, as if trying to comb it back
into order, then sat down on the edge of his bed to pull off his shoes. He
frowned thoughtfully at them, set them aside and took off his socks tucking
them into the shoes. He then gave a sleepy yawn and �damn him- stretched lazily
with his arms over his head.
I was suddenly feeling warm in a totally new way.
He wasn�t finished with me though. He stood back up and
started tugging his belt loose. He paused, looked towards me, then apparently
deciding I was asleep, took his pants off and set them aside leaving him only
in a pair of briefs and leaving me frozen on my bed.
Sweet Planet he was beautiful. With his long legs, golden
skin, fine bones, and perfectly toned muscles, he would have made even the
finest, most talented sculptors, those that carved gods out of marble, toss in
their chisels despairing of ever catching such perfection with their meager
craft. Poor mortal that I was, I could only whimper silently into my pillow as
the room added its own special effects by swirling in and out of focus behind
him.
He gave another yawn, stretching from the tips of his toes
up to the tips of his fingers, making this already tight briefs strain against
rather interesting portions of anatomy and giving me a good idea that Vincent
was just as beautiful under the briefs as the rest of him hinted. He glanced over
at me again, as if just making sure I was asleep then ambled over to the
kitchen to look for something to eat. This of course involved him bending over,
giving me a supposedly innocent view of his firm, round posterior.
And people say I like to torture innocents.
After rummaging around, he pulled out a half of an uneaten
sandwich and sauntered over to his bed to stretch out on the covers, open his
book, and pose like a reclining god. He lay, nibbling coyly on that damned
sandwich and idly flipping papers with the light from the fire casting gold and
shadows on him.
I cursed my day. I was tired. I was sore. I was so drunk I
couldn�t even find my feet, much less stand up and walk over to him. So of
course I would have a nearly naked Vincent stretched out in front of me like a
scene from one of my most sensual wet dreams. Even though my muscles now felt
like water, other parts of me were rock hard and weeping for attention.
He lounged there eating his sandwich for a few minutes, then
with another sleepy yawn, got up and did the completely unmerciful. He took off
the briefs.
I want to pause here to say one thing. He�s evil. Beautiful,
but evil.
I won�t belabor the issue. He�s perfect. At rest he is long and
elegantly shaped. When aroused he�s stunning. He is a sight that could raise
the dead. Too bad it couldn�t raise the drunken. I did give it a try. He
noticed my feeble movement and turned questioningly in my direction. I froze
clamping my eyes shut, reality slapping me in the face.
This was Vincent. I was Hojo.
It was one thing to look as a voyeur, it was another to
actually think of acting on the impulse to reach out and touch. Dmitri with his
dark eyes and pale body could touch, but not me. It was a losing and
humiliating battle, so I retreated and played dead, or at least asleep.
�Hojo?� Vincent�s voice was like
velvet. �You awake?�
I didn�t answer. Instead, I kept my eyes closed and made a
small sleepy snuffling sound.
He gave a sigh that at that point I couldn�t interpret since
I had never been in this circumstance before. Now, having heard that sigh many
times, I know just what it means. If I�d known then what it meant, I probably
would have found the strength and the sobriety to leap of the bed and tackle
him to the floor. (Translation: I want to fuck you silly and you�re just being
difficult.)
He fussed around a few more minutes then put out the light
and called it a night. I stayed awake for a good long time trying to get the
image of him out of my head and trying to calm my anatomy down. I decided, while
I lay there, that I needed to continue with my plans for Bettina. The
moisturizer would be here in a week or so, and with Bettina smelling like the
flower she was, I could enjoy all the fun that my body was demanding.
Vincent, evil, perfect Turk that he was, slept the sleep,
not of the just, but of those who have set their plans and no amount of
wiggling or denial would save their prey.
The next morning I leapt out of bed, regretted it, and
pulled myself together enough to go off to visit Bettina. We had a pleasant
repast, then, in a fit of nostalgia, and in a panic to avoid a naked Turk who�d
been sleeping in late, I went down to the Tewit
breeding grounds and visited with my avian friends. They didn�t recognize me,
but since they a) were not naked, and b) did not want me to sling mud and drink
beer, I had a fine time catching up with them. We parted ways at lunch time,
and I scampered, rather quickly too when I spotted a pair of overly large
lizards loping over the horizon, back to the village. I waved hello to my newly
bonded digger buddies as I passed the mud pits, and ambled into my boney home.
I immediately wanted to run back out. Instead, my stupid
body decided that that was the time to stage a rebellion and stand frozen to
the spot.
Vincent, being the creative person he was, had come up with
a new fun game to wile away the hours spent in Bone
Village. Tormenting me. He was doing a wonderful job too. I only wondered where
he found the popsicles. You know, the long ones with bright colors�Rocket Pops?
He was lazing in a chair half naked in the continuing heat
of the skull, with his shirt off, his skin glowing and moist with sweat, and
his bare feet propped on the table. He held a book in one hand and the popsicle
in the other, giving it a blow job. At least that�s what it looked like to me
as I stood petrified in the door as the long, round icy treat slid through the
tight �O� of his lips into his mouth then slipped back out. Back and forth,
sometimes with a parting lick on the end as he caught a droplet of the melting
treat. He was so absorbed in the ecstasy of sugary water that he didn�t even
glance over in my direction as all the blood in my body made a rush to more
southerly locations.
After pleasuring his pop for awhile, he turned to
acknowledge my existence with lazy, heavily hooded eyes. �Would you like one?�
Yes! My body screamed. My mouth however mumbled, �No thank
you.�
He nodded and the popsicle slid back through his lips as he
turned his attention back to his book. I stumbled to my bed and hid behind the
curtain. The curtain and I were becoming fast friends. It didn�t stop the soft
slurping sounds or the pleased hum he made as he lapped at his treat.
To be honest, I would have stayed there for the rest of the
day, torn between my need to go out and suck on Vincent�s popsicle, and the certain
�knowledge that he didn�t mean it that
way, that there was no way on the Planet that he could want me.
Before you get all misty eyed and shaking your head saying
poor Hojo, he needs to get a bit of self confidence,
I want to point out one very, very important fact. You don�t mess with Turks.
Ever.
Period.
If this had been any other, normal, non-weapon wielding
person, I would have ventured out from behind my curtain and at the very least
eyed the situation over. The consequences would, at worst, have been a bit
humiliating, but I would have survived. Vincent was a Turk. He was the leader
of the Turks, which is a position you do not get by being a nice person. You
get it by being the most dangerous son of a bitch in the organization. Stepping
even a tiny bit out of the expected behavioral norms of scientist to Turk could
very well mean my ending up painfully dead, fed to the vlakorados
(maybe he�d skip the dead part and just move right on to the feeing part), and
my mother would get a brief, terse note that her son disappeared while on a
mission to Bone Village.
You don�t believe me? Just what do you think Shinra did when Vincent suddenly turned up missing?
I was not wallowing in self-depreciation. I was caught tight
in the knowledge that scientists, nerdy, homely scientists, were far more
likely to end up vanishing than to end up with their lips on a Turk�s popsicle.
Call me silly. I have a well developed survival instinct.
My communion with the curtain came to an end when a knock
sounded at the door. Vincent, popsicle probably still in hand, answered the
door, and I heard Dmitri�s delicate voice.
�I�m so sorry to disturb you.� Dmitri nearly whispered. �I
just thought you�d like to know that��
Vincent made a small sound, �Wait, I�ll be over in just a
moment.�
And he was gone. He only took enough time to dress and shrug
into his jacket and he was out the door.
I sat quivering, cursing Dmitri, and idly wondering if I
would ever be able to face a popsicle again. I really had never paid that much
attention to Dmitri before. I knew he was from the Icicle area and had moved to
Bone Village a few years before I arrived. He was quiet, preferred to stay
either in Davies� office cataloging the archaeological finds or in his own
place where he cleaned each delicate piece of history that was brought to him.
Even though he was well read, his nervous mannerisms such as twitching as he
talked and biting his finger tips, made my nerves shriek if I spent too much
time in his presence. However, he could come to the door and claim Vincent�s
time with nothing more than a few breathless words.
I would hate him, but I had no grounds. Vincent wasn�t mine.
He just liked to do strip teases by the fire for my viewing pleasure and give
blow jobs to popsicles at my table while dressed in no more than a well fitting
pair of blue pants.
I should have checked myself into a mental institution. I
was obviously oblivious to reality.
I ventured out from behind my curtain once my breathing
slowed back to normal and ambled around my skull. Vincent hadn�t brought the
sample back, probably worried that it would overheat, so I didn�t have much to
do. I searched, and after a half hour found, my music player. He�d tucked it on
the bookshelf.
I watched a movie of brave pioneers who with no more than
the clothes on their backs and a few sturdy, loyal chocobos
conquered the hinterlands of the western continent. After a chococo
pulled one brave, albeit dim witted lad out of quicksand and then ran with him
as the natives tried to earn a meal of chocobo stew,
I tossed the viewer down and sulked around. At dinner time, I poked around the
cabinets and came up with a meal of chocobo ramen in
honor of the movie, and proceeded to feel sorry for myself. Bettina was still
odoriferous, Vincent was out getting laid, all I had was a second rate movie,
some cheap ramen, and a group of sweaty archaeologists. It didn�t help that
when I went to get some ice for a glass of water, I found the rest of the box
of Rocket Pops.
In desperation, I shrugged into more substantial clothing
and went off to visit my new buddies. They greeted me with many a drunken,
slurred cry, and I took a big gulp of fortifying air and waded into their
midst. I listened to tales of dirt, more dirt, and the occasional chewed,
shattered remnant of bone. As I drank down more and more beer, the tales became
more and more interesting. By midnight, or there about, I was laughing
hysterically with one of my good friend�s arms around my shoulders as another
regaled us with a fascinating tale of finding the finger bone of some
prehistoric beastie, when Vincent prowled in to glare at the lot of us.
He waded through the still laughing diggers and caught me
away from my friends by the scruff of my neck. �You. Go home.�
I gave him a wobbly smile. �Don� wanna.�
I waved a beer at him as I dangled from his hand. � �ave
a drink?�
If I wasn�t so sloshed, I might have noted that he was more
rigid than usual and was snarling silently at my drinking buddies, who were
sidling away from him rapidly. My Turk was, unknown to me, beyond angry and I
was hauled out of the bar and dragged, sometimes not so figuratively, down the
street. I waved goodbye to my friends, calling a few slurred promises that we�d
see each other tomorrow.
Vincent tossed me into our overly cozy home with little ado.
�Go take a cold shower.�
I didn�t want to confess I didn�t know where the shower was
at that point, so I just sat on the floor blinking at him and grinning stupidly.
He was sort of a fuzzy blur of blue that kept wavering like a candle flame. It
was quite intriguing. I would have been more than happy to spend the rest of
the evening watching him flicker around like that. He had other ideas though.
�Planet, you�re drunk.� He hauled me up and pulled me to the
bathroom.
I thought this was hilarious and giggled the entire way
there. When he shoved me under ice cold water, I didn�t find that quite so
funny, and pouted at him. He let me go, I didn�t even know he was holding me
up, and let me fall into a heap on the tiled floor of the bathroom. He looked
down at me from slitted, angry eyes, then turned and
left me alone to drown or sober up by myself.
Now some die-hard, foolish romantics might think that
Vincent was acting in a fit of jealousy. Or, worse, that once I sobered up, I
staggered out of the bathroom to have delicious sex with my adorably irritated
Turk to make up for all the problems I gave him, after which we declared our
unknown until now feelings of love.
I always like those stories, but they rarely come true.
Truth is that once I got sober enough to stand up and find the door by myself,
I was a dripping, shivering mess, whose mouth tasted like the floor of a
brewery, and I had to face a furious Vincent who had to walk, at midnight,
through freezing weather to drag my intoxicated carcass home. These are not the
makings of an even tolerable night, let alone the prelude to a night of passion
and love. Besides, once I stepped out of the bathroom, I had to rush back in to
throw up. Hardly a sexually appealing move. If you must know, I nearly died of
humiliation the next day, after I crawled out of bed, threw up again, and tried
to kill myself by drowning in the toilet.
�What were you thinking?� Vincent�s voice snarled at me as I
wobbled my way out of the bathroom for a second time.
I am embarrassed to say it took me awhile to locate him. He
was sitting next to the fireplace flipping angrily through his book. He�d
turned off the heater and had built up the fire, so the room was nearly at
normal temperature. Snow was tapping in large flakes against the windows,
showing up briefly against the blackness then fading off as they slid down.
He didn�t even look up at me as I stood swaying and dripping
water by the bathroom door. �Drink that.� He pointed to a murky glass of water
on the kitchen shelf, �and go to bed.�
His voice wasn�t the most warm and comforting voice I had
ever heard. Actually, if I had been more sober I might have stepped outside to
warm up. Instead, I sloshed my way over to the glass on the counter, picked it
up (after a few tries) and gulped down the contents. It was relatively
disgusting, but considering what my mouth tasted like at the moment, I couldn�t
complain. I glanced over to where he was still vindictively reading (Yes, he
can vindictively read. I have never yet seen any other person who can make the
simple act of looking at and turning a page a menacing activity).
I found my bed �eventually- and collapsed in a soggy heap on
top of my covers, another brilliant day done. I just prayed to whatever deity
that was listening in to plastered scientists that my equipment would arrive
tomorrow. I didn�t think I could survive another day of my involuntary
vacation. I was actually thinking fuzzily that I could sit and do paperwork
tomorrow and what a relief that would be.
I got my wish, as the next day dawned horrifically bright
and it was snowing heavily. Vincent was once again gone, probably over to
Dmitri�s bed, and I was left with the comfort of my long ignored paperwork and
my overactive heater that Vincent had kindly turned back on. I made myself a
pot of good Wutain tea and settled down at my table
to plunge into the ever exciting word of writer�s cramp.
You, children of the computer age, don�t know the wide eyed
wonder that we experienced when the first computers were installed in the
science department. We stood around the technician, an old foul smelling man
that smoked more than Mr. Highwind, like acolytes
around a sacred alter. When our computer was finally left in our care, you
couldn�t imagine the tentatively awe-struck fingers that reached out to stroke
it as visions of computerized paperwork filled our minds. We then turned into a
pack of snarling wolves to be allowed to use it first and postured
territorially over any infringement on our time with our new god.
By noon time, I wrenched myself away from the tedium of it
all, and went to see Bettina. I, to win a few points in the game of winning the
female heart, brought over a tin of candies from a Midgar
confectioner.
�Hey there,� she shooed me in out of the snow that was
blowing in the door. �I hear you�re the newest and bestest
friend of a few of the boys.�
I shrugged, �I got a new hobby.�
�I never thought I�d hear you say that.� She took the candy
box as I offered it to her. �You always avoided the boys before.�
�I wanted to expand my horizons.� I sat down and almost
instantly had a bowl of thick beef stew placed before me. �How have you been? I
haven�t seen you for a few days.�
She laughed. �Fine, fine. Davies came over the other day. Can
you guess what he got me?� Her smile was wide and excited.
I shook my head.
�Here, sniff.� She held out one arm.
I tentatively gave her wrist a small sniff. She smelled
beautiful, like flowers.
Her smile grew dreamy. �He said you ordered some for yourself
and decided to place an order for me too. He�s so sweet.�
Vincent strikes again. I didn�t know that then, but that�s
what happened. He went down to Davies� office and sneaky, observant, overly
intelligent Turk that he was, gave Davies the key to his long time crush�s
heart �not to mention the solution to her herring problem.
I say again, don�t trust a bouncingly happy Vincent.
As I grimly smiled my way through my meal, I was regaled by
the wonder that was Davies. Bettina, I suppose, was even in more desperate
straits than I was, considering that she�d been celibate much, much longer than
I. I can�t blame her for pouncing the instant Davies, after a careful sniff,
showed interest.
When I was released by the one person Davies fan club, I
morosely went back to my overheated skull and threw myself at my paperwork. I
signed and noted and initialed till my fingers went numb. During my paper
marathon, I suddenly had an epiphany. I could call Gast
and explain to him that with the lack of equipment, I needed to come back to Midgar to study the sample at the main laboratory. I could
be back in Midgar and my little apartment, a whole
city of companions, and I wouldn�t have to deal with malfunctioning heaters,
male bonding rituals, or naked Turks.
The last was wishful thinking. Vincent once set on a goal,
doesn�t give up easily. He�d have found some reason to lounge around my
apartment with little to no clothes on and since we worked in the same
building, there was a good chance that he�d have shown up in my office doing
suggestive things to a Rocket Pop.
And people call me merciless.
I scurried off to find my phone and with a nearly hysterical
bubble of merriment, dialed Gast�s office.
�Gast speaking.�
I grinned like a maniac, �Professor Gast,
this is Hojo.�
�Hojo�� He paused, obviously
trying to figure out who I was. Honestly, the man thought so little of people
that he couldn�t be counted on to remember their names. �Ah�my boy, how are
you?�
�Oh, fine, fine.� I started pacing around. �I was just
calling to say that I really need equipment to analyze the sample. I ordered
it, but I haven�t received anything yet.�
He hummed a disinterested hum absently at me, but such was
my desperation, that I continued.
�I would like to return to Midgar
with the sample we have and begin testing. I think this could be a breakthrough
in gene research.� Actually, I didn�t, but it turned out to be so. �A new
gene!�
I have regretted saying that for years now. Someplace in Gast�s brain he twisted that innocent phrase around by
turning new into nova and gene into jen then
combining them into�Jenova.
Have I mentioned I hated the man? Trust me, if I was going
to sadistically trap someone in my lab and do horrible, unspeakable things to
them just for the joy of it, I would have chosen him. That of course would have
necessitated me having to spend extensive periods of time in his presence,
which of course makes me having him machine gunned to death the preferable
alternative.
�Yes, that does sound exciting.� His voice was bored.
�However, that is why we sent you there, so that you could be right on top of
things.�
What I was supposed to be right on top of, except dirt and
snow, I, to this day, don�t know.
�But, I need�� I felt my hopes disintegrating.
�Don�t worry, my boy� He laughed jovially through the phone,
�I�ll have that equipment sent right up to you. I can�t let my best and
brightest perish for want of supplies!�
That was a kiss off, if you couldn�t tell.
My small, pathetic hopes in ruins, I mumbled a few polite
responses, and hung up. I dragged myself back to the never ending pile of
reports and forms. My fingers rebelled a few times and I had to go run them
under warm water, but sometime between eternity and forever, I finally
initialed the last form and collapsed face down on the table. My head ached, my
back ached, my fingers felt like they were crippled for life, and my stomach
was snarling complaints. Lovely what paperwork, disappointment, excessive
drinking, and stress can do for one.
I sprawled on the table a few more minutes then got to my
feet, went had a shower, and after considering making myself another tasty meal
of ramen, I went to bed. I remember waking up to toss off my blankets then
waking up to pull them back on again. I had strange dreams of becoming frozen
into the permafrost and sweaty diggers would use me to lean their shovels
against.
Morning was a relief when it came. Vincent was still
missing, but the sample, which unknown to me at the time was now named Jenova, was placidly oozing about in its pickle jar on my
table. I lay in bed trying to find one even halfway decent reason to haul
myself fully into the waking world. My choices were hardly appealing: play with
the sample, which I had already done; go visit Bettina and hear more about
Davies sexual prowess; sit and watch a movie, which I could just as well do in
bed; or go sling more mud and drink more beer. I chose to pull the covers over
my head and go back to sleep.
It lasted all of five more minutes till a loud knock at the
door dragged me back into the waking world. Cursing Vincent for not being there
to deal with this, I stumbled my way to the door, moaning at my aching
shoulders and back.
�Hey, Hojo, we found some more of
that ooze.� One of my digger buddies greeted me. �You should come. We�re trying
to catch it now.�
I mumbled a few half coherent words and nodded. He sauntered
off towards the fields of muddy holes the diggers liked to fancy excavation
pits and I staggered around getting dressed. On the way out the door, I grabbed
a package of uncooked ramen and chewed on that as I trotted over to the field
with the pickle jar containing the sample under one arm. A few of the villagers
were standing around shouting encouragement to the people in the pits as I
approached. The diggers were all scurrying around swinging their shovels.
�Over here!�
�No. I�ve got it.�
�Damn.�
�Here!�
They all scampered as a small dark blob zipped quickly
through their legs.
�It�s a fast one.�
�Got it!�
�There!�
�Watch out, it�s coming your way.�
It took awhile but finally one man managed to slam his
shovel down on it and stun it long enough to drop it into the pickle jar I
helpfully held out. I never told Gast about that
little scene. For some reason the fact that his beloved Jenova
had to be chased around by sweaty archaeologists in a mud pit and smacked with
a shovel just never managed to get added to conversations.
Everyone cheered and I was hauled down into the pits of mud
to look at where they found the newest bit of the sample. It looked like any
other piece of mud to me, and since I didn�t have any equipment, not even a
tiny Petri dish, I could only nod knowingly and say how wonderful it was that
they�d found it. This of course was the beginning of another spectacular day
slinging mud, which of course was just the prelude to more drinking, which led
to me stumbling home frozen, covered in muddy slime, and literally stinking
drunk.
I didn�t even bother with the shower. I just fell into a
chair, put my head on the table and passed out.
I woke up to the wonderful sight of Vincent glaring bloody
death at me. I had, in my inebriated stupor, done the unforgivable. I got the
floor, the chair, and the table dirty, not to mention I was a reeking mess. I
felt horrid, I felt like I had been taken out and beaten with a shovel, my
stomach felt like the sample was oozing around in it, my head was pounding, and
my throat felt raw. I could only guess by Vincent�s loving gaze that if my
stomach did rebel, he was probably going to shoot me and bury my body under a
dung hill.
�Where is the sample?� His dulcet tones ripped holes in my
head.
�Sample?� I croaked.
He just gave me a warm, adoring look that made me want to
run back to Midgar. �The sample.�
Honestly, at that moment I didn�t have a clue what he was
talking about and it showed on my face. He snarled a few encouraging comments
and stormed out of the skull. I dragged my aching self out of my chair and
staggered off to clean up, vaguely wondering what sample he was so upset about.
He came back in less than a half hour. I was bundled up in
layers of warm clothes and was scrubbing up the mess I had made the night
before when he came back in with the pickle jar. I still felt awful and, for
some reason, now the heater wasn�t putting out enough heat, but since I had
aspirations of living till at least noon time, I was down on my knees cleaning.
He set the sample on the table, gave me a warning glare,
huffed a sigh at me (Translation: leave me alone now or die), and went over to
his cot to do some intensive brooding. Relieved that I wasn�t going to be the
target in some ad hoc firearms practice, I finished my chore and retreated to
my own cot and my trusty curtain.
I dozed off to the sight of him pulling out his cell phone
and talking to some unfortunate on the line. His irritated snarling followed me
down into my dreams. I woke up shivering to see him crouched in front of the
heater inspecting the controls. When he noticed me peering around the curtain
at him, he scowled at me then turned to look dolefully down at the heater.
�It�s dead.� He looked as if his best friend had just been
hit by a car while holding on to his beloved pet and now both were road kill.
He�s a great actor because, unknown to me, he killed it. I
sometimes wonder if, after fulfilling an assignment, he ever stood over the
corpse and looked despondently down at it pronouncing it dead. He does have an
odd sense of humor, so I could see this happening.
I dragged my aching, shivering self out of bed and over to
stand in mourning over the heater. �Lovely.�
My voice had the sweet, soothing tone of an underlizard in mating season.
�Catch a cold?� He almost seemed amused, which for Vincent
in stoic mode means the perma-scowl was slightly less
intense than usual.
�The drinking is catching up to me.� I choked back.
I hate drinking. The whole idea of cloning Sephiroth in the attempt to see if I could get one right
�as in not psychotically butchering villages- was conceived while I was
drinking. -I will have to privately admit that Cloud, who I term a failure, was
actually the only success of that mindless idea of mine. Take note that he is,
when not trying to kill me, everything that a father would be proud of. And I
am proud of him. But don�t tell him I said that, he�s delicate and needs to
hang on to the belief that he�s the original Cloud Strife.- The notion of
making a digital duplicate of myself was an idea I found at the bottom of a
bottle of rum while on the beach of Costa del Sol. �I should say, since I am in
the mood to explain these things, that I blame a programming error for the
whole Deepground incident. I never did get the hang
of those things much past word processing, so I had a so-called expert do it
for me. What a mistake that was. Who was to know that all he copied was the
worst and most broken parts of my psyche? If it helps, there was some poetic
justice to the whole affair. He was one of the first people to disappear in Junon. I only hope that Weis got to snicker at him a bit
before he got tossed in for demon chow.- The depressed and suicidal act of
injecting Jenova cells into myself was also the
result of an all night binge of vodka and tequila. Why do I keep doing it? It�s
one of the mysteries of being a man, I suppose.
I could childishly blame Vincent for those brilliant moments
since he used to be the one to talk me out of my crazy alcoholically induced
thoughts, but in reality, it is her. After what she did, instead of silly
little schemes, like how to make my barbeque briquettes light faster (1), my
thoughts turned dark and I had much less control over them. They seemed to
devour my life, dragging me down into some pit in my mind where I couldn�t
always get back from.
He turned back to the dead heater. �We should get another.�
�Back ordered.� I pleasantly croaked at him, as visions of
him turning blue while sucking on his Rocket Pop danced behind my eyes. Vengeance, sweet vengeance.
�Hmmm.� He turned and caught up his jacket. �I�ll talk to
Davies. Perhaps we could borrow one.�
I nodded and figured he�d talk to Davies then disappear into
the warmth of Dmitri�s home and, more likely, bed. I went over to brew myself a
pot of tea and check the firewood situation over. We seemed to have enough for
a few days, but I made a note to make my own trek over to Davies and get some
more delivered.
I glanced out the windows and noticed that the sky was
darkening and the snowflakes that had been lazily drifting around the village
were starting to seem a bit more purposeful. I looked worriedly at my woodpile
then checked our food supplies, and despite the agonized cries of my abused
self, bundled into my outdoors gear and headed out to the store. I�ve lived
through many a week trapped inside my skull with dwindling firewood and food
and no way short of risking dying in Bone Village�s temperate climes to get
more.
�I met Vincent as he
trudged back. He arched an inquisitive eyebrow at my miserable self.
�Firewood and food,� I warbled with all the beauty of a vlakorados clearing its throat.
�Ordered them when I talked to Davies.� Vincent eyed me
carefully as if expecting me to do something interesting, like die in the
middle of the street. �It�ll be delivered in a half hour.�
I should have known he�d have noticed things like that, but
I was still dealing with the fact that Vincent was both observant and
intelligent. It was a hard transition since he didn�t talk much to display what
was going through his mind. I also had over a year of conditioning by less than
brilliant Turks to overcome.
When I didn�t fall over dead, he shrugged his coat closer
and went back to the skull. I blinked after him a moment, half surprised that
he didn�t go over to Dmitri�s, then followed. There was no point standing out
in the middle of a snow storm. Besides, visibility was starting to get limited,
so I hurried back in as fast as my aching body would allow.
He was already sitting by the fire reading when I stepped
inside and took off my recently donned outerwear. I found my book on astronomy
and settled down at the table with a pot of tea and a large glass of soda bicarb to counter the festivities of the night before.
Another exciting day loomed ahead, and I didn�t even have
the exquisite joy of paperwork to tide me over, just tea and stars. The
temperature of the skull was chilly. The snow swished softly against the
windows and the fire crackled pleasantly.
�In all, it could have
been worse. It could have been hot and Vincent could have been doing a strip
tease with a Rocket Pop. I mentally slapped myself when my bored brain decided
to provide visuals of that event. I glanced over at Vincent, who seemed half
asleep, and then quickly looked back down at my book fighting back a physical
reaction.
The food and firewood arrived and that provided a small
amount of distraction. After, I decided to play with the sample. I had a few
emotions I wanted to try out, mainly out of boredom. I decided to try out the
wonderful emotion of sexual arousal, since I seemed to have an unfortunate
excess of that floating around my system. It also entertained me to think of
writing THAT report for Gast. The sample actually
started forming small spikes when exposed to my libido and I wondered what
would happen if I handed it over to Vincent. I figured it would probably fall
asleep. How wrong I was�
By lunch time, the temperature had dropped enough that I set
the sample down, picked up my book again and went to perch on the other side of
the fireplace from Vincent. He barely glanced at me and returned to his
reading.
Add to the things one should know about Vincent: he is
patient. He can calmly, quietly wait for an eternity for things to fall into
place. Even though I didn�t know it, I was doing exactly what he wanted me to
do and he was more than pleased that through the afternoon I was shifting
closer and closer to the fire. He didn�t even seem aware of my steady migration
towards warmth. He just calmly flipped pages, read, and occasionally would get
up to put more wood on the fire. He even got up and cooked dinner with no more
than a brief look at me as if checking to see if I was hungry.
Dinner disposed of, we settled again to our reading. The
wind has picked up and now there was nothing short of a blizzard outside. I
unconsciously snuggled even closer to the fire, nearly sitting on top of the
grating.
�Cold?� Vincent arched an inquisitive eyebrow at me.
�I�m fine.� I got to my feet and went to dig out a heavy
woolen sweater out of my things.
Vincent was back in the world of his book when I returned
and settled back in my place. I shivered, despite my sweater, and� wondered if I should get more wood. I also
noted, joy on top of happiness, that my throat was starting to feel even worse,
and my nose was beginning to run.
Just what I needed.
I wrestled the knowledge that I was sick out of my head,
childishly thinking if I didn�t acknowledge it , it wouldn�t be true. I
sniffled quietly, telling myself that it was just the ash from the fire
tickling my nose. I passed the sore throat off as nothing more than a byproduct
of my drinking binge and swore off drinking for a month. When my stomach gwirbled at me, I blamed Vincent�s peanut butter and banana
sandwiches, and swore off them for a month. Aching shoulders, blurry vision,
growing headache, and a few sneezes all were pushed firmly into the murky
depths of denial. Until someone spoiled it all for� me.
�You have a cold.� Vincent was looking at me like I had just
rewrote the Turk regulations and instituted a policy of their having to wear
pink tutus to staff meetings.
�No, I don�t.� I wheezed through a sore throat and stuffy
nasal passages, while trying to convince myself I had wood ash allergies. Funny
how I had never had them before, but that�s the way things go sometimes. ��s all�gies.�
Vincent sighed (Translation: bonehead). �Go to bed before
you infect me.�
�I�m not sick.� I coughed. Damn those allergies.
Another sigh. (Translation: Would anyone miss you if I killed
you?)
�My mother would.� I muttered. �She checks up on me every
week.�
He frowned at me. He has never liked it when I translate his
sighs.
�Go take a shower.� He scooted away from me.
That sounded like a good idea. It would definitely clear
away any lingering allergens and I would also warm up. I got to my feet,
ignored that my head felt like it was going to burst, and tottered off to the
shower and steamy goodness. I was in heaven, but since all good things have to
end, I came back out and promptly collapsed on my bed in a soggy, towel wrapped
mess, my symptoms worse than before.
Vincent appeared at the edge of my faithful curtain with a
steaming mug in his hands. �Drink.�
It was some kind of herbal concoction that tasted like mowed
grass, seaweed, and bug killer. If Vincent hadn�t been standing over me idly
playing with the hilt of his gun, I would have quickly wobbled over and poured
it down the drain to clear the pipes of any lingering tree roots. As it was, I
choked the stuff down and tried hard not to let it come back up.
Vincent, now done intimidating me into drinking the stuff,
sat down next to me. �Turn around.�
�Huh?� I wondered what other torture he was about to
inflict.
�Your hair�s wet.� He motioned for me to turn and scooped up
the towel. �You�ll get sicker.�
The towel�the one I had come out of the bathroom with around
my waist� that towel� Oh� Good thing I had a cold� everyone knew people with
colds were prone to be flushed�
He never even noticed �well, actually he did and took a lot
of pleasure noticing, but I didn�t realize that then.- He just motioned for me
to turn around again, which I did since it presented him with a slightly less
interesting prospect � Much later I was told I had an adorable back end and he
enjoyed the view.- He then gently started drying my hair.
Few people recognize the innate sensuality of letting
someone dry your hair. To do this, the other person has to sit very close to
you, close enough that you can feel the heat of their body, yet far enough away
that that heat is only a taunt. The other person is also touching a very
vulnerable part of your body. Consider, most people when in danger, throw their
arms up to protect their heads. Only if their head is in no danger will they
protect other areas of their body. Letting someone who is sitting so
tantalizingly close behind you take such liberties is both exciting and
relaxing. The smooth firm stroke of Vincent�s hands, the soft rough texture of
the towel, the brush of his arms against my shoulders, if he had planned it �which
he had while I was showering- it couldn�t have worked better.
Too bad I was sick. The virus, combined with my new routine
of drunken stupidity, and the ups and downs of the heating situation all
combined with his ministrations. I fell asleep sitting in the circle of his
arms, my head resting against his shoulder.
Romantics would probably like me to say here that I woke up
in his arms and we made love in the morning light. That didn�t happen. I know,
you keep hoping, but face it, things just don�t happen like that. A cold is a
cold and believe me, you don�t wake up with amorous thoughts in your head. You
wake up wishing that you could breathe and wondering if small evil elves sand
blasted your throat while you were asleep.
Vincent was gone, probably to less germ infested climes, and
I and the sample were on our own. I crawled my way out of bed, stumbled over to
the kitchen to find that he�d left me some more herb tea and a threat dire
enough that I gulped the stuff down quickly while glancing around wondering if
he was spying on me from some hidden vantage point. He was also kind enough to
leave my little music/video player on the counter next to a plate of toast and
a glass of juice.
I spent the rest of the day in bed watching a movie about a
heroic team of heroes that searched the Western Continent�s desert for their
lost friend who had been viciously kidnapped by a man with a facial twitch and
a habit of laughing at inappropriate moments. By the end of the movie, I was
half cheering for the bad guy, hoping he would triumph and do away with the
idiots and their heartfelt, platitude filled speeches about how their
friendship and love would win the day. I was actually disappointed when those
moronic speeches proved true.
I took a nap, woke to find that a dish of scrambled eggs and
toast was now sitting on a small table next to my bed being kept warm under a
cover.� Another cup of that oh-so-special
tea was sitting next to it, with another cheery threat. I didn�t even bother
reading what he�d do to me if I didn�t drink the concoction. I just gulped it
down and then, once my stomach settled, ate my meal.
I won�t bore you with the details of the rest of my days of
illness. They weren�t all that spectacular. I drank that fowl stuff every eight
hours. Vincent left me meals and kept as far away as he could without totally
abandoning me. I used up my small store of movies and had to watch reruns. I
read my books, fiddled with paperwork, poked at the sample, called the office
and was told the sample was now called Jenova, cursed
my boss, updated my r�sum�, and idly planned how to grow my own herb garden on
the patio of my apartment in Midgar when I returned.
In all, I was nearly crazed with the need to escape when Vincent finally
appeared, looked me over and pronounced that he wouldn�t shoot me if I stepped
outside of the skull.
I took that as a sign of freedom and bundled into my things
and escaped into Bone Village. It was beautiful. The snowstorm had dropped
about three feet of snow on everything and it still had a pristine, festive
look to it. The mud pits had finally frozen over and the diggers were now
putting their skills to use by digging out the streets and walkways, creating
mountains of snow. Davies and Bettina waved to me as they dragged a sled off to
a local hill where the kids could already be heard shrieking in glee. I would
have joined in, but my personal cloud of doom chose that moment to slither by
and give me a warning look.
No sledding.
I didn�t let it slow me down for long. I went over to the
store and chatted with a few temporarily out of work archaeologists. We had a
fine time and in the continued spirit of male bonding, they invited me over to
the bar. Seeing that I had been sick, I forwent the alcohol and while my
buddies got plastered, I drank hot cider, which was a good thing since my
gloomy self-appointed guardian angel came over and inspected my drink then bent
over and whispered a few sweet nothings in my ear about what he would do to me
if he caught even a small whiff of alcohol on my breath.
No drinking.
After watching my friends descend into the realms of
inebriated idiocy. I went home and found Vincent back in his place by the fire
and the whole skull freshly cleaned. He barely looked up at me as I came in,
just nodding and returning to his book. I cheerfully went over and pestered Jenova with happy thoughts for a while, then called the
office to see when my equipment would arrive �between next fall and never.
�If you aren�t doing anything tomorrow,� Vincent looked over
the top of his book at me. �We are going to the City of the Ancients.� He
looked down again. �You might be useful.�
Oh so casual. I might be useful... We are going�
And I fell for it.
�Okay.� I had always wanted to see where the Ancients had
lived. I had a small fascination for them ever since I was a boy. �What time.�
He didn�t even bother looking up. �Early.�
I nodded and returned to my puttering. When I realized there
was nothing left to putter at, I grabbed up my coat and headed outside.
�Where are you going?� Vincent�s voice could have stopped a
rampaging Materia Keeper. �It�s dark.�
I had been planning on going over to see Davies, but I
suddenly had a change of plans. I took off my coat. �Nowhere.�
He was glaring at me over the top of his book. �Go to bed.
We�re leaving early.�
Oh the choices. Stay up and experience great bodily injury
or go to bed and visit the City of the Ancients. I went to bed.
When Vincent means early, he means early. I was hauled out
of bed in the wee hours of the morning, bundled into my heaviest clothing, and
nearly smothered by a thick scarf and hat. He shrugged into his jacket and
grabbed his Lunar Harp. We slipped, literally since there was now a slick patch
of ice on the step, out the door and stood looking around for a few minutes.
�Let�s not wait.� Vincent headed off towards the cavern that
lead to the Sleeping Forest. �It�s warmer in the forest and it�s not
dangerous.�
Not dangerous as long as you have a Lunar Harp. I�ve heard
some rather ghastly stories about that place. Yes, yes those lost clones made
it their base, Vincent loves to prowl around it, and the failure waltzes
through it now and again to pay his respects to the Ancient, but they aren�t
exactly normal are they? Speaking as a normal, or close to normal, person, that
forest is a nightmare without the harp. It was created by the Ancients to guard
their city from intruders, namely Jenova. The trees
are sentient and their roots, branches, and leaves are all deadly. To make it
even more special, those damn plants can cast high level spells like petrify,
ice, aqualung, and bolt. Death by tree has never been high on my to-do list.
We entered the forest and loitered around under the glowing
trees listening to them hum to themselves. Where it had been winter where we
had just been, it was now only cool and slightly spring-like. Vincent and I
disposed of our layers of clothes. Vincent merely dropped his at the entrance
to the cavern, so I took that as an indication that the weather up ahead was
probably going to be mild. I couldn�t imagine my delicate, heat addicted, city
boy abandoning his one means of staying warm if there was any chance that the
weather would turn nippy.
Vincent leaned against one trunk strumming the harp and
drifting off into quiet thoughts. I inspected the trees and pondered asking
Vincent to bring me back after the equipment arrived. At that moment, I felt
the trees were far more interesting than Jenova.
To this day, I still think the trees would have been a more
fruitful avenue of study. Yes, Jenova did turn out to
have quite a few interesting applications, and when combined with mako, the results were rather spectacular. However, early
in the research, I realized that Jenova had quite a
few drawbacks as far as side effects were concerned. Gast
brushed them aside as trivial and ordered the research to continue. As time
went on, and my sanity became shakier, I started agreeing more and more with Gast�s viewpoint. I also noted that my proximity to Jenova also seemed to influence my outlook on Jenova�s viability for scientific research.
That always worried me. Again I say, I am happier on another
continent.
The loitering continued for awhile. Vincent�s harp playing
improved a bit. I got whapped by a tree when I tried to break off a twig. The
trees twinkled and whispered amongst themselves. I vaguely started wondering if
I should head back into the village and grab some food. Breakfast had been
rather sparse, which if you consider my dietary habits is really saying
something.
We waited a bit longer then Vincent straightened up and gave
the cavern a sigh (Translation: I�ve waited long enough.) and started through
the forest.
�Keep up, or the trees will get you.� He called encouragingly
over his shoulder.
I scampered after him rubbernecking around like a hick from Gongaga visiting Midgar for the
first time. We wove through the trees and came on an area that seemed more
barren, the trees laying in broken pieces on the ground. Vincent stopped and
motioned me to be still.
�There are monsters here.� He nodded to where a couple of
shimmers slipped through the blasted forest.
They slipped through the broken trunks of the trees looking
a lot like huge oversized seahorses. They seemed to just drift aimlessly
around. Every once in a while they dipped down to the ground where I could see
something else moving.
�Just wait.� Vincent was watching them carefully. �When they
go over there,� he nodded towards a rocky outcrop, �we�ll run. Just follow me
and keep close.�
I tensed and waited for Vincent to move. The creatures took
their time, but eventually, they drifted over to the rocks and started dipping
their heads as if eating something that grew on the rocks. Vincent caught my
hand and ran, zigzagging through the dead trees. In a few breathless moments,
we were on the other side, standing on a path of what looked like crushed
seashells leading down into a misty area.
I was about to head down when Vincent yanked me back.
�There�s always a monster here.� He held out a spell.
I didn�t recognize it, but since I was never very good at
those things, I wasn�t surprised. For some reason, magic irritates the hell out
of me. It�s just completely illogical. I suppose that I got over it to some
extent while raising Sephiroth. The boy leaked magic,
which wasn�t surprising either, if you think of the things his loving mother,
and I�m not talking about Jenova, did to him. I was
saddened and I felt I had failed my son when he went insane, but I wasn�t
shocked. In some ways I expected it. What was our entire time together except
my desperate attempt to save him from her manipulations?
I never learn.
�Vincent stepped
forward and started towards the path. I saw a faint blur then Vincent tossing
something.
Have you ever seen the third level bolt spell? I certainly
hadn�t. I got a rather nasty surprise as the area exploded in brilliant light
and thunder, but mine was not nearly as nasty as the monster�s. It didn�t even
have time to squeal before it became ash. Vincent barely bothered to
acknowledge the kill, just turning away and walking down the path calmly. For
all I could tell, he blasted small beasties into dust everyday just before
lunch and was getting a bit bored by it all.
�It should be safe now, but stay close.� He nodded towards
the misty area. �We�ll wait for the others there.�
I blinked at where the ashes of the monster were still
floating to the ground then at his receding back.
I repeat, don�t mess with Turks.
The rest of the path was smooth and clear. When we got to
the city, I stood and gaped at the giant seashells for a bit, then noticed the
etchings on some of the walls, which led me to the interiors of the shells,
that showed me the lighting system. I bounced around for a bit like a tyke on a
sugar rush, nearly running from one interesting thing to the next. I had
brought my notebook and a few small plastic baggies �bought from Davies� store
since I hadn�t received anything from Shinra yet- and
put them to use collecting small scrapings from the shell houses and recording
what images I could.
Vincent ambled around seemingly ignoring my existence. He
would stroke his hands over the shells and kneel down to look at the dead
gardens, sometimes running his fingers through the dirt as if testing it to see
if it could still grow anything.
I have heard the failure and his dimwitted companions
worrying about Vincent when he disappears. The little brat ninja even thinks
that he returns to the mansion and his coffin. He wouldn�t. He despises that
place as much as I do. I�ve always known exactly where he is when he�s not
flamboyantly saving the world. He�s there, in the Ancient�s city. It�s the
place that he fits the best.
Oh, he loves Wutai, but there is always a barrier between
him and that place. For him, it�s a nice place to visit and unwind, but it
isn�t his home. The City of the Ancients is his home. As I watched him
fingering the dead soil, I could almost hear the click as his jagged edges
slipped into place in that city, like the last puzzle piece snapping into place
in a complex pattern.
If you ever wondered, I only partially lied to Sephiroth. It wasn�t his mother who was the Ancient.
Looking back at all that happened, I should never have left
Vincent to sleep in Nibelhiem. I should have brought
him to that city to recover from her perversions. It would have been better for
him. Perhaps there, those demons would have left him in peace and he could have
regained his strength. I can only claim that my own mind was in too many
shambles to think clearly. By the time I realized my mistake, it was too late.
He was conscious and would have killed me instantly if I dared to try to move
him.
He looked up from the dirt and nodded towards the east.
�There�s a house over there that�s quite interesting.�
I looked over and saw a large conch shell house with a lake
in front of it and a bridge like path skirting the edge of the lake. My feet
were already drifting me closer as I took in the details. It was larger than
the other houses and in better condition. The bridge, which I was already
stepping on, was also in good condition, with only a few broken rails and loose
boards.
Vincent trailed closely after me running his fingers along
the railing as he walked. When I glanced back to take in the expanse of the
lake, he was almost dreamily looking over my head at the house in front of us.
He lowered his gaze and blinked sleepily at me.
�Did you see the fish?� He gestured with a lethargic hand
towards the water.
I, na�ve innocent that I was, scampered over to the edge of
the bridge to look, leaning against the rail excitedly. I didn�t see anything
and frowned down at the water.
�Try over there. The water�s deeper.� He nodded towards an
area that the railing had come away from.
Clueless, I scurried over to it and looked down into the
water with Vincent trailing after me. The water was deeper here, and I peered
eagerly in, searching for movement.
That�s when Vincent, evil, ruthless, conniving Turk that he
was �and is- made his move.
�Hojo! Get down!�
I didn�t even have time to look around when I felt his hand
shove me firmly forward into the lake. As I was submerged in the icy water, I
heard a blast from another spell going off behind me. I floundered around
wondering if I should do something, but seeing that all I had on me was a few
plastic baggies and a now sodden notebook, I wasn�t all that sure what I could
do to help a trained Turk. I started worrying when the silence after the
spell�s detonation stretched out.
�Vincent?� I called softly as I swam closer to the bridge.
He appeared dusting monster dust off his clothing. �I don�t
see any more, but stay put for a moment.�
He disappeared again and I could hear his footsteps tapping
softly on the bridge planks. That should have given me a clue. Vincent is
absolutely silent if he feels the need for caution. Only when he�s relaxed does
he let people know where he is. I didn�t know that though, so I stayed quiet in
the frigid water, clinging to a support piling of the bridge.
He ambled around a little �the jerk- then deigned to come
back. �All clear.�
By this time I had turned blue. He casually reached down and
hauled my numb body out of the water and back onto the bridge. There was a
large burn spot on the bridge from where the spell had exploded, but no trace
of the monster.
Not surprising since there was no monster in the first
place. I remember when I learned about that. We were eating lunch at a caf� in Junon. He�d been sent there to deal with a string of
break-in murders that was frightening the local populace. He�d tracked the
loser down to an apartment in one of the nicer sections of the city and spent
an hour or more �he�d never clarify that point- explaining why senselessly
killing people for money and thrills was a bad idea. He used a short bladed
knife to do the explaining and had called me afterwards to come visit him
there, which meant he was stressed out, unhappy, and his nerves were in shreds.
He hated wet work.
So there we were in a caf� when he casually mentioned that
there had never been a monster on the bridge.
�No monster?� I frowned at him swallowing a bite my chocobo salad sandwich.
He shook his head. �No. I made it up.�
I took another bite of my lunch, thinking over those happy
moments in the water. �You mean you left me there treading water while you
strolled around letting me freeze.�
�Pretty much.� He had already devoured his lunch, a prime
rib sandwich, and was now snitching potato chips from my plate and eyeing the
other half of my sandwich. For such a thin person, he eats an extraordinary
amount.
�Why?� I slapped his hand away as he made his move on my
defenseless lunch.
He sulked at me, knowing that I wouldn�t eat that half of my
meal �my appetite was never a match to his- then waved for the waitress. �I
wanted you out of those clothes, and letting you swim around for a bit seemed
like the likeliest way to get that done.�
�You could have just asked!� I glared at him as he ordered
more lunch.
Unrepentant wretch that he is, he just grinned. �But it was
so fun to watch you squirm.� He settled back in his chair, smiling. �Besides,
it worked didn�t it?�
Jerk. Why do I have to be in love with him?
I stood shivering on the dock as he looked around, as if
keeping an eye out for more unexpected attacks. The area seemed safe, but he
didn�t seem in the mood to take chances. He glanced over at me then started
hurrying me towards the shell house we�d been heading for.
�Get inside.� He kept one hand on my lower back, pushing me
forward.
Not wanting to meet anything that Vincent had to blow to ash
(again), I stumbled quickly into the house. He briefly left me to scout the
rest of the rooms. I stood shivering violently and dripping on the floor, not
even interested in the light that gleamed next to me. I leaned against the wall
trying to listen for anything sounding like Vincent using another spell. I
couldn�t feel my feet, my hands were tingly and clumsy, and I felt exhausted.
And it wasn�t even noon yet.
He came back and nodded. �It�s safe.�
That depended on your interpretation of safe.
He looked me over then pulled me away from the wall.
�There�s a bed up ahead with blankets. You can get out of those wet things
there.�
I barely had enough sense to chatter, �Clothes?�
He shrugged, �We�ll have to wait till they�re dry.�
I was hustled up the spiral of the shell past what looked to
be a stairway leading down through the center of the house, and up to the very
top. As he promised, there was a neatly made bed with a clean blanket. I
grabbed for the blanket, only to have it pulled out of my reach.
�Wet clothes off.� Vincent tossed the blanket back to the
bed.
I managed to wiggle out of my sweater, but the cotton turtle
neck was beyond me since I had trouble feeling my fingers. I didn�t even want
to consider my pants. Vincent watched me struggle for a bit, then sighed at me.
(Translation: You are such a burden.)
I shot him an irritated look.
�Here, let me help.� He reached out and grasped the hem of
my turtleneck then pulled it over my head in one smooth move.
I swayed slightly and stumbled backwards as I came free. He
reached forward and caught me by the shoulder, his hand deliciously warm
against my skin. He steadied me a second then reached down for my pants�
zipper. I blushed and tried to bat his hands away.
�Stay still, the cloth�s wet.� He muttered, his hands back
on my pants.
�I�I�I�� I stuttered.
His clever fingers worked the button free and slid down the
zipper. �There, got it.�
My pants hit the floor with a sodden thump. I was going to
sit on the bed, dressed in nothing by my wet, now see-through boxers, when he
shook his head.
�It all comes off.�
�Wha�?� I barely had time to
process that when my boxers followed my pants.
He pushed me to sit on the bed. I instantly grabbed the
blanket and pulled it around me as he knelt down and pulled my shoes, socks,
and the rest of my clothing free. He tossed them over to the side of the room
and looked me over.
�Blue is not your color.� He sighed. (Translation: The
things I do for you.) �Move over.�
I didn�t move. My brain had shut down again for
recalibration as he kicked off his shoes and nudged me to move further onto the
bed.
�Hojo, you�re recovering from a
cold. I do not need you to catch pneumonia.� He scooted back on the bed and
pulled me over to him.
It was completely unfair. There I was, with Vincent�s body
pressed against mine, and I was a shivering, blue wreck.� Vincent leaned back, laying us both down on
the bed. For a relic of the Ancient�s it was amazingly comfortable, firm where
it should be firm, soft and yielding where it should be soft and yielding, and
it smelled like fresh herbs in the springtime dusk.
If Rufus really wants to put Shinra
back together, he should travel up to the City of the Ancients and figure out
those beds. He�d be back on top of the world in a matter of months as sleep
deprived people learned of this wonder bed.
My sliding decent into relaxation was interrupted by
Vincent.
�Hmm. This might work better if�� Nice of him to give a
warning.
The blanket was yanked away, and was then wrapped around
both of us. He pulled me closer, snuggling me against his body, my body draped
over his, my cheek resting against his collar bone. He was heavenly, warm and
smelling faintly of cedar smoke. I nuzzled closer and let my eyes drift shut
imagining what it would be like to do this when he wasn�t just trying to warm
me up after being attacked by a monster and being shoved into a freezing cold
lake. As I drifted closer to sleep, I could imagine what it would be like to
have his hands caress along my back as my lips and tongue played along his
throat. I wondered what sounds he would make, what it his skin would feel like
beneath the palms of my hands, what I would feel like to him as we moved
against each other.
My mind started trying to nudge me awake, insisting that I
needed to get my thoughts out of sleepy, impossible dreams and pay attention to
something. I told my mind to shut up, that I was enjoying myself, but it kept
demanding wakefulness. I forced my eyes to open and realized why my mind was
being such a bother. Unknown to my conscious mind, by lips had been doing just
what I�d been thinking of and Vincent, instead of grabbing another spell and
turning me into so much ash, was making a soft pleased hum in the back of his
throat and gently stroking my back.
He�s allowing�
I stopped what I was doing and looked up at him warily. He
looked down at me, his eyes shadowed and revealing nothing, but his hands
stroked lightly up my backbone.
�Yes?�
�I�uhhh�� I desperately tried to
get my mouth to say something intelligent.
�Shhh� You think too much.� He
rolled us both over and trapped me under him.
His clothes were dropped to the floor a few minutes later,
and keeping me warm was not an issue for long.
People, mostly the same people who watch me with thinly
veiled hatred in their eyes, sometimes ask if Vincent was a nice submissive. I,
who perpetrated such torture on him, must, by definition, have been the
dominant one in the relationship. I generally just walk away from them, or if
I�m in one of my less sane moments, find something to keep them occupied. All
they really want is hear how I sadistically humiliated Vincent, thereby
fulfilling some sick, perverted fantasy they have of doing the same. The fact
is that neither of us was consistently the submissive or the dominant one. I
preferred being the submissive during sex, but Vincent also enjoyed it on
occasion, and sick fantasies of our lives aside, I could never bare to deny him
what he wanted.
It really all depended on our mood. Vincent liked to be on
the receiving end when he was under stress. He liked feeling protected and
cared for. I preferred being on the bottom, unless I�d had a really trying day
at work �such as a long meeting with Gast about his
latest insane project- then I�d want to be on top, enjoying the feeling of
being able to do something good that day for at least one person.
In everyday interactions, Vincent was the one to set the
pace, and I was more than pleased to let him. He was far more organized than me
and didn�t get lost in hazes of research or, much to my continuing
embarrassment, after work drinks with my coworkers. He was conscientious,
loving, and, when not mischievously pretending to be �moody Turk� �and yes, he
did that deliberately- very caring.
I am not too proud to admit that without Vincent my life
turned quickly into a black hole. I often would wake up in the morning without
a clue as to what I had done the day before, so I would go to the office and
check out the security footage from my lab. (Which should give you a hint about
just how bad things got.) I would be shocked to see myself babbling crazed
endearments to experiments, or perhaps performing a pointless experiment on
some poor thing without remembering such small niceties like anesthetic or
scientific protocol. When I checked my paper work, it would be half coherent
and would sometimes inform me that I�d been wandering around like that for
weeks.
It was sometime the next day before we managed to pull
ourselves back through the cavern and return to Bone Village. Nobody really
missed us. Jenova was still slithering around her
jar. Bettina was lost in the wonder that was Davies. My digger buddies had
found a skull of some kind and were all on a nonstop drinking spree to
celebrate the find, and Dmitri barely nodded to Vincent as we bundled our way back
into our cozy little skull, closed the door behind us, and went tumbling onto
the nearest bed to continue our newfound past time.

Author�s Notes:
(1) There actually is a group of scientists that have a
barbeque briquette lighting competition. Some of the plans and results are
really funny. Try picturing a barbeque exploding into a mushroom cloud,
instantly incinerating the briquettes, and you have a good idea of what the
results are like.
- 4
- 5
- 6
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Once a Man