"Rufus' Twin"
By Jen

Chapter Twelve - I'll Take Today Over Yesterday

Elmyra stood at the door to her house, waving as Cloud, Tifa, and Cera climbed back into the buggy to be driven home. Until Barret got back, it would only be Aeris and Marlene.
“Marlene. It’s bath time.”
“Aw, man.”
“You have to go to school tomorrow, no arguing.”
Marlene sighed heavily, but trudged out of the room. Aeris laughed.
“You would think I was killing her,” Elmyra said, shaking her head.
Aeris settled onto the couch, and Elmyra came to sit next to her. With their company, they hadn’t gotten much time to be alone yet.
Elmyra heard the sound of water running and smiled fondly in that direction. “Barret’s worried that she’s growing up to fast. To hear him tell it, she’s already married with children.”
“He’s a good father.”
Elmyra nodded. “She always has meant so much to him. It reminds me of when you were first given to me. Ah well,” she added, waving her hand as though to chase away the conversation, “that’s just the meandering of an old woman. Let’s talk about you. I can still see it’s bothering you.”
It had been bothering her since she realized it.Especially today, after she had talked about it aloud. She tried to ignore the niggling feeling that something was horribly wrong and enjoy the company of her friends, but she hadn’t been able to. She just couldn’t find a reasonable explanation for why she could no longer hear the Planet, other than the one she had voiced earlier. The one which both Tifa and Elmyra had quickly vetoed.
“Oh, Mom, I just can’t come up with a good reason. I just don’t understand why they would leave me.”
“I don’t think they ever would leave you. It has to be something else.”
Aeris thought that if the determination in Elmyra’s eyes alone couldn’t make it so, then nothing could. She knew it wasn’t like her to be so pessimistic, but she had never been faced with something like this before. Always, she had the warm feeling of her ancestors and the reassuring hum of the Planet to guide her. Although she hadn’t always understood what it was they were trying to tell her, they had always kept her from feeling alone.
Because of her inability to discover what it was that had lost her contact with them, she had finally decided on a course of action. Although she knew it seemed too soon to travel, since she had only just arrived and gotten to spend so very little time with her mother and her friends, she could think of no other way to.
Folding her hands in front of her, she turned to look at Elmyra, her green eyes filled with earnest. "I’ve come to a decision.”
Elmyra’s silence prompted her to go on.
“I don’t think I can rest until I find out why this is happening. At least, I don’t think I can rest peacefully. There is only one place for me to go that will give me the answers that I need.”
At Elmyra’s sharp intake of breath, Aeris knew that her mother understood what place she was speaking of. “Oh, Aeris... you're leaving yourself open to so much pain if you go there.”
Aeris sought to reassure Elmyra, and she took her hand and smiled at her. “Pain is a natural process in the cycle of life. Ifalna taught me to accept that a long time ago. When we leave ourselves open to pain, we also leave ourselves open to joy. You can’t have one without the other.”
Elmyra sighed deeply. “You always were such a smart girl.”
“I think you know I’m speaking of the Forgotten Capital, the ancient city. Since Cid is sick and can’t fly me there, I’m going to ask Reeve if he minds taking me. He’s the only other one that can get me there quickly.”
“You didn’t listen to me when you were little, so I know you won’t listen to me now. And because your a grown woman and capable of making your own decisions, I’ll support you.”
Aeris reached over and hugged he quickly and fiercely. “I knew you would understand.”
Elmyra laughed and brushed a stray hair away from Aeris’ face. “I have no choice!”

*****

Vincent stared down at the soup he was stirring, watching the noodles swirling around in the whirlpool he had created. His eyes were on the soup, but his mind was far away. Instead, he found himself thinking of his days as a Turk, and one mission in particular.
And he was fairly certain it was the girl that had triggered it.
He lay in the shadows on a rooftop, watching for signs of his target. The night was so cold, that the icy steel of his gun bit through his leather gloves and stung his skin below. He pushed a lock of jet black hair from his face and ignored it, his remote gray eyes focused on the abandoned street before him. Through his high-powered scope, he could see the cracks in the sidewalk and even the maggots squirming in the food in the trash can.
His orders were simple: find the girl, and kill her. Shinra obviously thought her to be a huge threat, and he couldn't help but wonder just how big of a threat one girl could be. But he wasn't paid to think. He was paid to follow orders, and both Shinra and David Alexander, the Turks' leader, knew he was the best.
He could make a clean kill from one thousand feet, and leave no trace of his existence. There were only a few men on the planet that could boast at being that good. And his talents secured him as Shinra's personal assassin. For most of the eight years that he had spent with the Turks so far, he had spent doing just that. Killing people.
He felt no remorse. He had no nightmares. He didn't remember their faces. To him, they were simply nothing but a walking target. To assign them a face and a name was far deadlier than killing them was. He couldn't allow his feelings to get in the way of his job. But for Vincent Valentine, Turk, that was not a problem.
Whatever feelings he might have, had disappeared along time ago when his mother had dropped him off at an orphanage because she couldn't handle being a mother. He was seven, far past the age when he would be welcomed into any home. People wanted little babies that they could raise and call their own. They didn't want an angry, withdrawn little boy.
Vincent really couldn't say that the time spent at the orphanage was all that bad. It was better than the dirty, bug infested hovels his mother had found for them to live in. And he got more attention there than he ever would have from her. Although it wasn't all a good sort of attention.
Fights seemed to have a way of finding him, and he did nothing to discourage that. Often, he went looking for fights himself to relieve the frustration and anger within. If it hadn't been for his social worker, he never would have discovered the joy of books and learning. After that, he spent most of his time in the library, reading anything and everything he could find.
In-between the times at the orphanage, he would be adopted by someone out of what he considered charity. Of course, with his record of fighting and his refusal to cooperate with the orphanage's psychologist, it wasn't often. And what few families that did take him in, took him back soon after. It seemed no one was equipped to deal with a boy who refused to let them into his world.
Through reading, he also found out about guns. He read every book on them until he knew how to take them apart and reassemble them in a matter of minutes. The only thing he hadn't done, was actually handle one.
When he was seventeen, that was all taken care of. He spent a lot of time on the streets and met a lot of interesting characters, shady or otherwise. One of them was David Alexander, leader of the Turks, and reputed to be ruthless. Vincent had always liked challenges, and the thought of managing to steal from the most feared man under President Shinra, was too fascinating to pass up.
So he tried it.
And got a busted lip and black eye.
For some unknown reason, David was impressed. He took Vincent back to his apartment cleaned him up, all the while prying things out of him that no one had ever been able to get him to tell. He found out that Vincent was far more intelligent than most street punks he ran into and surprisingly well read for a boy that grew up in an orphanage.
While at his apartment, Vincent took a keen interest in the collection of guns on David's wall. When David gave him permission to touch one, Vincent disassembled it and then put it back together in a matter of minutes. Ordinarily, David might have taken offense to the fact that he didn't ask, but Vincent wasn't showing off, he was merely fulfilling a dream that started the day he picked up his first book on guns. So David taught him how to shoot.
He found out that Vincent was far too excellent for an amateur. As time went on, he became so skilled, that he even surpassed David. And so, David convinced President Shinra to allow Vincent to become a Turk at the young age of 19 and there he remained. Shinra's own personal assassin. The best there ever was.
Vincent pulled himself out of his thoughts as he heard the soft sounds of shoes against the pavement. He was fairly certain this was his target. She had been watched for the last week, being trailed by others to insure that she had routines. Everyone had routines. They all liked to think that they were being smart and keeping themselves safe, but a good Turk could always find the routine within the routine. The one that they didn't even realize was there.
This girl happened to pass this way every Friday, and he was certain she didn't even realize it. It was amazing the things people forgot when their minds took over.
As was the usual case, he was given no information on why she was dead, he was only told that she was a risk to the future of Shinra Inc. and therefore needed to be eliminated. And usually, that was enough for him.
He moved his eye back to the scope and watched for her.
Relax.
Wait.
Focus.
And then he saw her.
Aim.
She couldn't be more than eighteen years old.
Squeeze.
What could she have done to cause Shinra to want her dead?
Fire.
But he didn't. He waited too long, indecision growing in him and causing his desire to fulfill his duties to wane. And now the shot was screwed. Weeks of planning had just been blown in one second.
"Dammit!" he muttered, leaping to his feet.
Nimbly, gun in hand, he climbed down the fire escape. The rusted, old ladder was supposed to be his escape when the job was finished. Now, it was a way for him to catch her before he lost sight of her completely. David would not appreciate her death turning messy.
Vincent moved stealthily through the shadows of the alleyway, his eyes following her movements. He had to grab her soon, or his one chance for completing this mission would be gone.
Instantly, he was upon her, his gloved hand covering her mouth as he pulled her into the nearest narrow passage between two buildings. She didn't struggle or even attempt to scream, she was too shocked for that.
"Move, or make a sound, and I will kill you. Do you understand?" he whispered harshly in her ear.
She nodded furiously.
His other arm was looped around her chest, pinning her arms against herself and leaving her defenseless. He was fairly certain she saw the rifle in his hands. And the wetness on the exposed bit of his wrist just above the cuff of his shirt told him she was terrified enough to be crying.
"Do you realize what I am?"
She shook her head.
"Death. Someone wants you dead very badly. Can you tell me why?"
She shook her head again.
He tightened his grip. "Don't lie to me."
She shook her head again, this time frantically, and made little mewling sounds of distress in the back of her throat.
Again, Vincent wondered why Shinra wanted her dead. His instincts told him that she was harmless, and his instincts were never wrong. They was simply another aspect of him that made him such an asset to the company.
"I am letting you live, do you hear me? When I let you go, I want you to leave the city. I don't care where you go, just leave. If you don't, I will know. If you talk, I will know. And when I find out, I will kill you. Do you understand me?"
She nodded, now sobbing completely beneath his glove. He moved away from her then, his gun automatically coming up in defense of himself. But she didn't even look back. Instead, she ran forward, nearly tripping over her own feet in her haste to get away from him.
Oddly enough, he felt sick inside. He would never kill an innocent person, especially not a girl. But he had never before questioned his orders, and let a target go free. He knew why though. It was clear in his mind. One name.
Lucrecia.
Vincent was startled out of his past when the soup bubbled over and splashed onto the hot burners, creating a sheen of moisture just above the pan. He quickly lifted the pan up and onto a cool burner, turning the hot one off and reaching for the bowl he had set out.
It was a constant source of amusement to Cid that Vincent could cook nearly as well as Shera. At one time, cooking had been something he enjoyed immensely, something that had taken his mind off of his work. Because even though he was very good at forgetting the faces of those he killed during the day, sometimes, they would show up in the night.
It hadn't been that way at first, for some reason. They were easy to kill, and just as easy to forget. But one day, that had all changed. He had met a young scientist, whose view of life and death were very different from his, and because he began to care for her, those views began to clash with his own.
Pouring the steaming soup into the waiting bowl, he realized that, that was a long time ago. And he was not the same man. His dreams now, oddly enough, came few and far between.
Slipping the spoon into the soup, he stopped suddenly, hearing something in the distance. It sounded a great deal like footsteps, and whoever it was, was in a hurry. Listening and judging the footfalls, he gathered the person was female. Which meant, it was probably the girl.
Setting the bowl down, his hand resting on the butt of his gun, he moved silently to the doorway, scanning to the left and the right. She appeared to be breathing very heavily, and he wondered if something had frightened her.
Morgan ran as fast as her legs could carry her, feeling her lungs burn and protest the effort. But she was anxious to find out who she was beyond just her name, and thought that perhaps Vincent could help her. After all, in his quiet strength, she had sensed a keen intelligence.
He blended in so well with the shadows of the hall, that she didn't see him blocking the doorway, and ran straight into him. His arms went around her, and he uttered a little sound that indicated she had hit him quite hard.
She found herself once again within the folds of his cloak, and this time, her eyes fell to his gun. She knew he had one, because he had used it to stop those men from harming her. What she wondered though, was why he needed to wear it all of the time, even in his own home. What had he seen or done in his lifetime to cause him to keep his gun so close?
"What is it?" he asked quietly.
She looked up at him, green eyes clashing with crimson ones, her chest still heaving with the effort to breath. It struck her just then, that his face was so still. Regardless of the situation, he gave no outward sign of his inner emotions. She wasn't certain whether that fascinated, or frightened her.
"Were you frightened?" he prompted in her silence.
She shook her head. Suddenly realizing that she was still holding on to his waist, she stepped back and looked at his feet to hide the color that came to her face. He had the most interesting boots she had ever seen. They were black with pointed tips the color of gold.
Clearing her throat, she said, "I'm fine. But I remembered something! I remembered my name, it's Morgan."
Vincent said nothing in reply, but simply turned and walked into the kitchen. She followed, a bit frustrated at his lack of enthusiasm. For some reason, she had hoped he would share her excitement.
"Is that all?"
Drawing her brows together, she found herself getting angry. "That's important enough to me!"
Vincent turned and handed her a steaming bowl of soup, indicating that she should sit at the table and begin eating it.
Morgan took her bowl of soup and sat down. She was far too excited to eat yet though, because she wanted to share her other discovery with him.
Looking decidedly smug, she said, "That wasn't all you know. I found something else out that might tell me the year."
Vincent handed her a glass of milk and regarded her with an expression that clearly told her to continue.
"I was looking in the mirror, and I had a flashback. I think the people in it were my parents. Anyhow, they mentioned that there was a parade to celebrate the president's son's birthday, he was to be fourteen. Does that help any?"
Vincent absorbed her words and realized that if what she said was true, then she should either be younger than she looked, or older. Something vicious twisted within him, as he realized that she might have suffered the same fate he had. Locked away in a prison while the rest of the world carried on without them, they wouldn't have aged a year since the day they were placed there.
"Do you have any idea of your age in this flashback?"
She stared at her soup and frowned. "I... I think I feel the same age I do now. But I can't be sure."
"It has been nineteen years since the President's son would have been fourteen."
She stared at him in shock, trying to comprehend what he was saying. "But-but if that's true then I should be... I should be older!"
"Not necessarily."
She glared fiercely at him to hide how much his words had frightened her. "Look at me! I saw myself in the mirror, I can't be older than seventee or eighteen! But nineteen years passing... I swear in my flashback that I was the same age I am now!"
Vincent regarded her calmly. "You said you weren't sure."
"Don't tell me what I said!" she snapped, standing up.
Vincent stared at her soup. "You haven't touched your soup."
"I'm not hungry! And you're no help! I thought you would be, but you aren't. And anyway, you don't even care, so why did you bring me here? You should have left me where I was so I could wander around and remember."
Vincent realized he had sorely misjudged her. Beneath her soft, friendly exterior, lay a temper, and he gathered that it had always been there. Now that she was becoming more aware of her surroundings and less afraid, she wasn't holding anything in. And she had now just asked him the one question he had no answer for.
"Well?" she demanded, her hands on her hips, her green eyes blazing, and her cheeks flushed beneath the ugly purple of the bruise.
To appease her, he said, "I thought you would be safer here."
She snorted and whirled away from him as if to leave the room, but then stopped and seemed to rethink her actions. Turning slowly, she asked, "Is that why you wear that gun?"
She missed little, this girl, and she seemed determined to make him answer questions he didn't want to. His reasons for keeping the Death Penalty at his side at all times were none of her business. He had no intentions of satisfying her curiosity. She was here to heal, so that he could help her find her past. Not so that she could delve into his.
"I wear it because I wish to," he replied evenly.
Morgan sighed. He wasn't going to answer any questions that came too close to personal. Her mother had always said she had a curiosity unmatched by any other, and the means to follow through on it. She was about to answer him when she realized that, that thought had simply popped into her head without any prompting. Deciding to push aside her questions on him for now, she returned to her chair, determined to make him help her somehow.
"Are you hungry now then?"
She tried to search his face for any signs of amusement, but couldn't find any. If he was laughing inside at her expense, she couldn't tell. Well, she would simply have to try and beat him at his own game.
"Maybe. You said nineteen years had passed, right? If I am around seventeen or eighteen, then I should be thirty-six or thirty-seven right now. But how can that be? What happened to me so that I was kept from aging? I wish I could remember!" she added, frustration coloring her tone. When he didn't reply, she said, "It just isn't possible."
"Yes it is."
"How? Tell me," she said quickly, latching on to his statement. "How do you know? Are you some kind of scientist?" He shook his head. "Tell me then!" she demanded, banging her spoon down onto the table.
He very nearly smiled. "Patience. Not so much at one time. Let me tell you how things have changed in the last nine years. Perhaps it will help you to remember."
"The last nine? Why not the last nineteen?"
It wasn't very visible, but she saw it. She saw the faint tightening of his mouth and realized she had hit a nerve. Maybe if she chipped away at it long enough, he would reveal something to her. For now, she would be agreeable.
"All right. Tell me about the world since I've been gone."

Er, this chapter was supposed to have a lot more people covered in it, but I got carried away with Vince and Morgan. ^_^ I can’t promise that it won’t happen again either, so chapter thirteen will be up in the air. I’ve got plans, but as any writer will tell you, those happen to change often as soon as you start writing.

Thanks for reading!