"Cid, its midnight, why did you drag me into the cafeteria?"

"First, cuz you’re the only one who’s awake other than me. Second, you haven’t eaten for forty seven hours."

"I’m still getting used to all this," Vincent said.

"Well, you’d better get used to eating. Here, start with this."

Vincent sniffed at he glass Cid handed him.

"It’s just orange juice, Vincent."

Vincent took a sip and suddenly started choking. "That’s orange juice? It tastes like battery acid."

"The carton’s not that old. It’s fine."

"Carton? When does orange juice come from a carton?"

"Well where did you think orange juice came from, for fuck’s sake?"

"Oranges."

"…"

"Pitchers?"

"Don’t tell me where you think Cheetohs come from."

"What are those?"

"Damnit, how long were you in that coffin?"

"Thirty years."

"But that’s—"

"Impossible. I know. So’s this," Vincent said, holding up his left hand.

"That thing work?"

"Well enough," Vincent said, flexing his fingers, then yawning. "It’s late. I’d hate to say it, but I want to get some sleep."

"Hey, you’re not going anywhere ‘til you finish your battery acid."

* * * * *

"It was nice of you to bother to invite me… to anything, really," Vincent said. He stared at the ice in his drink.

"Hey, I just wanted a drinking partner. I actually doubted this loony place would even have a good bar."

"So what are the other’s doing?"

"Beats the fuck outta me. Goofy kid stuff, probably."

"What about Barret?"

"Bettin’ on the races. Seein’ which sack of feathers is fastest doesn’t really seem all that fun, but at least I kept Yuffie from dragging me somewhere."

Vincent took a sip from his glass. The ice was melting enough to water down the taste.

"They had Chocobo races back… back when I was… not sure how to put it. They didn’t have any made up racetracks, though. Everything was indoors and dirt."

"Stop talkin’ about yourself as if you’re old, Vincent."

"That’s all I know of, though. I feel so stupid about it all, sometimes."

"Sometimes? You mope about that chick every single minute of every single damn day."

"Sorry."

"Nah, it’s fine," Cid said, taking a long gulp from his beer before continuing. "You keep the damn poetry to yourself, so it’s okay. ‘Sides, I understand."

"You do?" Vincent asked the melting ice.

"Yeah. She was your first right? I mean, love, not…you know…" Cid scratched his head and trailed off into mumbling.

"Close," Vincent said. He took a deep breath and stared at his ice as if he envied it.

Cid took that as a clue to put his hand over Vincent’s right hand, in case Vincent’s emotions got the worst of him. The only thing worse than carrying a crying drunk out of a bar was carrying a crying sober man out of a bar.

"She was… weird. I never thought I was like that. I mean, I never thought I’d swing that way, but she showed up and it confused the hell out of me. I’m still confused. She was the only woman I ever liked that way." Vincent finished the contents of his drink, ice and all. He didn’t notice as his hand wrapped around Cid’s, fingers interlocking. "I like men, Cid."

The glass fell from Vincent’s metal covered fingers and smashed on the floor. Vincent slowly turned to Cid, who just sat there, rather clueless. Vincent’s gaze watched Cid long enough to realize Cid had understood all the implications of what he’d just said.

Vincent’s gaze moved to their hands, his fingers still wrapped around Cid’s. All the color drained from Vincent. Cid wondered if that was what Vincent looked like for Cloud the second he’d woken up form the coffin.

Vincent was suddenly on his feet; his chair was suddenly sideways and on the floor. Vincent was suddenly across the room, disappearing behind the crowd.

"Hey!" Cid yelled, and charged off after him, barely remembering to pay.

Halfway across the room, his feet hit something large, and his face hit the floor. "The fuck?" He yelled, turning to see what he’d tripped over.

"For a pilot, you’re not that good at navigating through crowds," Nanaki said. "Did I miss something? You two were really hitting it off there."

"That was a private conversation!"

"It was? Oh. I was about to join you. Pity."

"Look, I don’t know how your guys do it, but when a guy starts hitting on another guy, it’s definitely a private conversation."

"Don’t tell me you didn’t know, Cid."

"What? You knew he was gay?"

"Well, I thought it was obvious."

"Look, I gotta go catch him before he tries something stupid," Cid said and took off.

Nanaki shrugged and found something else to occupy his time.

* * * * *

Vincent spent a long time in the bathroom. Originally he had been debating taking a shower and sneaking out of the hotel and never coming back or drawing a bath and just drowning himself.

What he’d wound up doing was sitting on the floor with his eyes closed, not moving, as he had a long talk with the demons.

They’d kept him sane, though not protected, and certainly didn’t keep him from being scared, while he was Hojo’s prisoner. But they were a definite help.

The problem was, they were all demons. It was harder to explain human culture to them than it was to Nanaki. Vincent had spent almost an hour explaining about closets and how he’d meant to stay in his to them.

After that, though, the demons managed to convince him not to leave group. He’d talk to Nanaki or someone else and just say he and Cid weren’t getting along. Ever. Defeating Sephiroth was important and if Cid had any sense in him—though Vincent doubted it from the fact that Cid let Cloud fly the plane—he wouldn’t kick him out of anything until afterwards. He’d be mad, and Vincent would have to put up with the one person that made his pants too tight hating his guts, but other than that, they’d get along. He’d still kill Hojo and help against Sephiroth. Cid’s mouth couldn’t be that big anyway, the other’s wouldn’t know.

Right?

Well, maybe Cid wouldn’t be that mean. He seemed more clueless than angry. In fact, that was all he seemed. Maybe he’d imagined Cid knowing what he meant. Maybe Cid felt the same way.

And maybe Cid would turn into a frog.

Whatever Vincent’s mind came up with, the demons managed to convince him Cid wouldn’t hurt him, and neither would anyone else. They hadn’t for his connection to Shinra, so this wouldn’t earn him hatred either, just weird looks. The worst that would happen would be cold showers and avoiding being alone with Cid—and alcohol for that matter.

Vincent tentatively opened the door a crack and looked around, only to find Cid on the bed, completely clothed still, including boots, goggles, and gloves, and smoking a cigarette.

"We can still be friends, right?" Cid asked.

Vincent opened the door all the way and just stood there as Cid slowly finished his cigarette. Vincent tried to ignore the ‘I told you so’s from the demons.

Oddly enough, when Cloud wanted to save money for one project or another and bunked the two together, it was Vincent who insisted of separate beds.

* * * * *

Vincent was used to the demons. They weren’t the best of conversationalists, but they tried their best. They had actually kept him sane for the two years before he was thrown in a box and locked away.

For demons, they were amazingly nice. There were things they didn’t quite understand, not having any idea of human things, but they weren’t exactly stupid, either. The thing was, all they knew was from memories Vincent actively remembered, or things the experienced through Vincent’s senses.

There is a lot a person can learn in twenty seven years, and if you’re a demon in someone’s head and essentially born yesterday, despite having a matured mind—not to mention the person whose head you’re in is on the receiving end of many types of abuse and the only other human you know of is the abuser—you will have some catching up to do on society, culture and mannerisms.

Thankfully, since Vincent had spent thirty years asleep, the demons didn’t pester him for explanations much; Vincent had a hard enough time on his own with some things.

"… Goddamnit, I’m in the middle of something! It’s not like I’m against Shera having a boyfriend, but could he not take the only person I know who can do laundry away from me when I’m trying to save the world?" Cid yelled at a letter he’d gotten that day. Elmyra had not only been looking after Marlene, but everyone’s mail as well, and once Cid had joined, Shera had started sending mail there.

"Shera has a boyfriend?" Vincent asked.

"Hell, yeah. Shit, where were you when—right, you weren’t there. Sorry."

"I thought you and Shera…" Vincent said, gesturing pathetically. "I kinda got the impression you were married.

Cid burst into laughter and Nanaki chuckled.

"I gotta—I gotta tell that one to the crew."

Vincent smiled and chuckled. "It’s not funny, you three. Don’t you start laughing too!" Vincent said.

Cid and Nanaki exchanged a glance at each other. They were the only ones in the room. They shrugged and went back to laughing. Vincent had explained himself to Cid a long time ago, when Cid tried to cheer him up, using his Secret Stash of Beer. Vincent was starting to wonder if it was the alcohol, or being near Cid that kept him from keeping his mouth shut.

* * * * *

"No. No, guys, knock it off. I can’t explain things when you all talk at once," Cloud heard. That had to be Vincent. He continued down the corner, about to greet Vincent and ask for help at the Chocobo races, but then he realized Vincent was alone.

"No, that’s not what—Chaos, you aren’t helping!"

"Hi, Vince," Cloud said, hoping that the fact that no one else was around meant he wasn’t really interrupting.

"Nothing!" Vincent exclaimed, noticing he’d been caught talking to… not quite himself.

"Huh?"

"I mean nobody—I mean someone, I mean—I have to go."

"Go where? This is a plane."

"The… bathroom," Vincent said, and ran off down the corridor.

"He does know the women’s bathroom is in that direction, right?" Cloud asked himself. Cloud sighed and walked off down the hall to the women’s bathroom.

"Vincent?" Cloud asked opening the door, earning himself a pinwheel to the head from a screaming young ninja.

* * * * *

"Hey, anyone seen—" Cloud started as he walked into the cafeteria. Cid and Nanaki were still there.

"Utility closet," Cid said, loudly and angrily, not looking at Cloud.

"What’s he—"

"Hiding."

"From?"

"You."

"Why?"

"You scared him shitless! Fucking hell, would you leave him alone? Quit picking on him Cloud!"

"But I didn’t—"

"He’s gay. He was born in Mideel. He’s fucking allergic to fish!" Cid yelled, still not looking at Cloud. "There. Now stop prying into his business!"

"Shellfish," Nanaki corrected calmly.

"Cid, what’s with y—"

"I don’t have time for this!" Cid yelled, and stormed out of the room.

"Wow. I knew he and Cid were friends, but he’s acting like he found out about the scratch I—I mean, uh, never mind. Is Vincent okay?" Cloud asked Nanaki.

"He’s not going suicidal, if that’s what you mean."

"No, I meant… I guess people aren’t really okay if they’re hiding in a utility closet, are they?"

"I wouldn’t know about humans, but I think it’d be a safe assumption to say no."

"Is this about him talking to things that… well, they were there, but… Is he possessed?"

"No, he’s not possessed."

"So those things he turns into… They just hang around in his head? I mean, I knew there had to be something weird, ‘cuz he never remembered what happened when he limit breaked, but… he can hear them?"

"Cloud, sometimes you’re not as dumb as you look."

"Thanks. Hey!"

"I believe you have a closet you need to help Vincent out of."

"Yeah, I’ll get him out of the close—hey! That one was on purpose!"

* * * * *

"Vincent? Vincent are you in there?"

No answer.

"Vincent, this is the only utility closet on the entire plane, you’re in there!"

"No, I’m not!"

"Vincent, this thing opens from the outside, you know!" Cloud said, pulling on the handle.

The door moved forward slightly, then Vincent yanked it back.

"Okay, so you do know. Would you let go? I want to talk to you."

"I wasn’t talking to anybody… I mean, I was…"

"Look, get out of the closet, first of all."

"No."

"Fine. Stay in there. Look, I’ve known you too long. I am not going to kick you out of the plane or the group or anything!"

The door opened. Vincent stood in the doorway and watched Cloud dodge a falling mop.

"I thought Cid said he broke this thing! Look, Red explained everything."

"You seem pretty casual about all this."

"Look, I’m running around a plane with half naked women on the sides. I’ve got a… some sort of dog-cat thing, a robot, and I had some sort of personality disorder! We’re following someone who took his mother’s head off—that part must be optional—and I’ve been chased by exploding robots. Do you really think I’m going to kick you out of this group for being weird?"

"Well, I thought you might think I was… Septhiroth was talking to…"

"And he flies! Look, you haven’t shot us; you don’t fly through walls. You’re not throwing materia at us, and you have yet walk around with a severed head."

"What about the others?"

"Well, I was going to tell them. I mean, they should know about this; I don’t want them thinking you’re talking to yourself."

"But you want them to know I’m talking to monsters in my head."

"Look, I want them to know you’re not insane. You’re just weird. Hell, everyone’s weird. Just do me a favor. If Cid asks about a scratch on the left wing, I didn’t do it."

* * * * *

Something was wrong.

Everything was wrong.

The doctors wouldn’t tell him, though. There were no nurses, and the only doctor that came to see him had been accompanied by armed guards. There was no TV. There was no intercom. The door was always locked and guarded and had ‘QUARANTINE’ written on it.

They said they couldn’t give him morphine because of what he was. The only thing he knew he was was in pain.

His side still hurt. After weeks of lying on a bed with nothing to see, no one to talk to, and no way out, they’d finally taken him off the IVs.

The doctor had adamantly refused to let him use a phone, and he was really starting to wonder why no one had shown up to discuss insurance with him, especially considering he’d been officially dead for thirty four years.

Now they’d changed him into some crappy white clothes—his insistence that he could change himself into them had gotten a gun pressed against his head—and he’d been put in manacles and left alone in the room for the last five hours.

They’d put an ID bracelet on his right wrist. All it said was ‘SPECI. No. 5: UNCLASSIFIED.’ The thing didn’t even list his name; he found it very unnerving that his ID bracelet didn’t really identify anything about him.

He’d been left to ponder what had gotten him into this position and cry about it and the pain from surgery. What the hell was going on?

Finally, a man entered the room, escorted by two armed guards. He looked more like a squadron leader who had put on a labcoat than a doctor, and between the three of them they looked like they had little compassion and no patience.

The doctor looked unhappy with Vincent.

Vincent silently said it was mutual and looked at the floor.

"You said your name was Vincent Valentine. Is there any other information you have for us about you?"

"I was born in Mideel. I’m allergic to penicillin and shellfish. My feet are cold," Vincent answered, not looking up.

"Are you sure that’s all? Vincent? Are you paying attention?"

"It was just a window."

"This isn’t about any windows. Or insurance. Stay calm or else."

"Or else what? I don’t understand."

"We don’t need you to understand. We need you to cooperate. If you have nothing else to say about yourself, please come with us."

"But—"

"Please comply with us or one of the guards will have to use force."

"Where are you taking me? Can’t I call a lawyer? Oww, let go of me!" Vincent yelled, as a guard grabbed his arm roughly and dragged him out the door.

"Unless you have something useful to say, we’d rather you stayed silent until we have you in isolation."

"Isolation—Oww! Leave me alone! I didn’t do anything! It was a window! I said I could pay for it! Will you at least explain to me what’s going on? What did I do?"

"I think it thinks he’s human, sir!" the other guard said.

"I am! I…" This was what Hojo did to him, wasn’t it? Hojo had lost his own humanity and he’d taken Vincent’s away just for fun, or torture, or out of boredom. "…Was."

He was screwed.

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