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Chapter Text

"𝘐𝘵'𝘴 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘵𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬, 𝘝𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘢𝘯. 𝘠𝘰𝘶'𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘴𝘰 𝘧𝘢𝘳. 𝘓𝘦𝘵'𝘴 𝘤𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦."

Vivian emerged from the therapist's office despondent and defeated. The therapist was right. She 𝘩𝘢𝘥 come very far from the girl that had first arrived to Midgar all those years ago.

Yet, it meant nothing if she couldn't finish what she'd begun.

She marked her path to healing with milestones. Her first friendship. Her first amiable interaction with a man besides Veld. The first time she had consensual sex, during which she'd found the act could be pleasurable. She seemed to make real headway after that, the development of a personality, a life she could call her own.

There remained only one area she couldn't reach, choked with cobwebs of her past, of a trauma that still had her thrashing and screaming in the night. The past two years, she'd been struggling to figure out just how she could get over this last hurdle.

Until the day she happened to see a familiar face during a mission in the Sector 5 undercity. She distinctly remembered not thinking at all, her movements instinctual and automatic as she followed him, a predator weaving easily through the crowds as she closed in on her prey.

When she'd reached him, she'd put herself in his line of sight just long enough for their eyes to meet, the world continuing to spin around them as time and space slowed and condensed for them in this pivotal moment.

He'd had a smile, the generic mask that men used when seeing a woman whose look they liked. Her face had been that of a marble statue, smooth, flawless...cold. She watched with fascination as recognition registered. His smile faltered, then morphed into a grimace as she thrust a blade into a particular spot near his groin.

Then the world sped up again, and she rejoined it, mingling in the current, carried away by the crowd as she resumed her assignment, already a block away when the first cries of alarm began.

His death hadn't even made the papers. But that night, her sleep was dreamless and deep. When she woke, she knew, deep in her bones, exactly what she needed to do to bring peace.

Chapter Text

“I’m gonna head out for a bit, I saw a head shop in town I wanna check out.”

Emma was already in her bed, lying on top of the sheets, still in her suit. It had been a long flight.

“Want anything?” Vivian prompted.

The senior Turk, hands folded at her nape, gave a slight shake of her head with a sigh.

Vivian finished pulling on her boots, having changed into a pair of distressed black jeans, tank and flannel. She slid a baggy toque over her crown, shrugged on a leather jacket, the zippers and chains masking the sound of hidden blades. Lastly, she fetched her handgun, checking the clip out of habit before tucking it into her waistband at the small of her back. She’d rather not take the gun, but it was protocol to have it with her at all times while on assignment, and she didn’t want to draw suspicion from her partner.

They were due back in Midgar by tomorrow night. Vivian’s mannerisms were cool, relaxed–detached. But inside, she was a maelstrom. She gave one last look to Emma before slipping out the door of the hotel room.

This was her one window of opportunity. She had to act quickly. Failure was not an option.

She’d spent the last nine months waiting for a chance like this. Had taken steps to ensure she would be here, treading lightly so as to not draw suspicion from her peers. So many strings to pull to ensure circumstances were in her favor. So much left to chance.

No matter. She was patient. Should she get the outcome she desired, the effort would be more than worth it.

Less than an hour later, Vivian was back at the hotel, a brown paper bag with a local specialty liquor in one hand and a tissue wrapped souvenir, a hand-crafted obsidian dagger, in the other. Emma hadn’t moved from her spot, snoring softly.

She padded softly to the nightstand by her partner’s bed, quietly removing the liquor from the bag to place it by the alarm clock. Something to look forward to when their job was done.

Then she made her way to the bathroom, closing and locking the door.

She unwrapped the knife, the tissue paper sticking to congealing blood, then placed the weapon carefully in the sink.

Cursing under her breath, she ripped off her toque, hair sticking up in all directions, letting the accessory fall to the floor. Then she eased out of her jacket, biting her lip to keep from making any noise.

He’d been surprised, her prey, but he was big, and faster than she’d expected him to be. She examined her reflection, the tear in her shirt, the oozing cut that ran from her collarbone to her left breast.

A souvenir of another kind.

Black eyes stared back at her, a smile slowly spreading. It’d be days before his body would be found. By then, she’d be long gone. The cut would disappear with a Cure. The ruined shirt would be easy enough to hide. Exhilaration could make her careless. She needed to check herself.

Back in Midgar, she would celebrate.

Chapter Text

“A shame.”

Vivian stood near a makeshift workbench she’d fashioned inside a dilapidated warehouse owned by Shinra. Before her were strewn a variety of blood-soaked tools.

“Your friend didn’t last as long as I hoped.”

Her hands and arms were streaked with blood, as well as the coveralls she wore. She turned to smirk at a man chained to a chair, chained to the floor, the whites of his eyes showing, his cheeks stained with tears, drool and snot mixing on his chin. He whimpered pathetically, gagged, the only sound he’d really made since he’d come to an hour earlier, save for the occasional muffled scream.

Facing him was another man, newly dead, also chained and bound. The dead man was missing a shirt, along with most of the skin of his face and chest, as well as some more intimate body parts. She’d gotten a little carried away toward the end. Moved too quickly, and he’d bled too much. 

She’d take her time with this one. 

Black eyes perused her options, one hand lightly caressing the tools before quickly snatching one up, then another for her other hand. She moved away from the table, steps slow and deliberate as she approached her prey, who began to struggle, tugging uselessly against the chains that held him.

“I wonder,” Vivian mused, her voice calm and steady, “just what you’re feeling right now.” She leaned over him, mock concern on her face as she caressed his cheek with a set of pliers. “I bet it’s not half of what Betsy felt the night you murdered her. No matter.” She reached to his nape, releasing the gag roughly. 

“Please,” the man pleaded the moment the cloth fell away, his voice hoarse. “Please…”

Vivian stood still, posture straight, letting her head tilt back and her eyes fall closed, as though his pleas for mercy were a drug she couldn’t get enough of. After a moment, she took a deep breath, shoulders rising, exhaling in a languorous sigh as she focused on him once again. 

“Keep going,” she murmured, her tone seductive as a lover’s. “You can beg as loud and long as you want.”  She placed a steadying hand on the crown of his head as she brought her mouth close to his ear. “No one is coming to save you. Just like no one came to help her.”

Moments later, the begging turned to screams that lasted for hours.

Chapter Text

She watched the water run clear, then pink.

Noted spatters on her cheek, her chin, her brow. Red on porcelain. The artist.

Black eyes flickered to the gore reflected behind her, dripping crimson lines on white tile. Her canvas.

Ruby red grin. Blood on her teeth.

Her voice, slicing the silence like a perfectly sharpened blade through flesh.

“Happy birthday…to me .”

Chapter Text

Three days after the best birthday Vivan ever had, an emergency meeting was called for those in the DAR who were in Midgar. 

“I’ve just been informed that Heidegger’s nephew, his sister’s only son, was found dead early this morning.” Tseng’s face seemed even more serious and solemn than usual as his eyes perused his subordinates gathered around the conference table.

“Sounds like someone had a little too much fun,” Reno flashed a wicked grin to his comrades with a suggestive bob of his eyebrows. 

A projector lowered from the ceiling. Tseng shot Reno a look that had the redhead sobering quickly, the SIC’s attention turning toward the silkscreen with a shrug. 

“I don’t think what happened could be categorized as ‘fun’,” Tseng uttered, voice emotionless and low. Clicking a button on a small remote in his hand, a montage of gruesome crime scene photos began displaying in vivid detail.

Vivian felt her stomach clench at the first photo, breath catching inaudibly in her throat. Not because the images shocked her. If only it were something that banal. 

It was because she’d already seen it all. She’d been there. And not as a witness.

“Heidegger is furious, predictably.” Tseng spoke as the series continued to shuffle. Eyes began to shift apprehensively around the room. The director of Public Safety was volatile on a good day; the department was all too familiar with being the object of his misdirected hostility, particularly since the loss of Veld. “He's demanding all of Shinra’s resources be used to locate and apprehend those responsible.”

Fuck .

Vivian focused on keeping her breathing steady, her features impassive. She forced her gaze to remain trained on the presentation. When the open, unseeing eyes of the deceased stared back at her, she heard the echoes of his last words ringing in her mind: “You’re gonna fucking regret this, you little bitch.”

She hadn’t thought she would, at the time. Maybe she still didn’t.

At least, not yet.

Chapter Text

1.

He’d find the letter on the floor just inside his office, no markings or an envelope, just a piece of printing paper, folded into thirds. Routine meetings were on standby, and Shinra HQ was swarming with security, PSF and SOLDIERs. Word was that Scarlet’s home had been burgled.

The handwriting was barely legible.

𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘮𝘦. 𝘐 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱.

-𝘝.

2.

It was only mid-morning, but it felt like an entire week had passed. Sephiroth received the alert at 0400hrs, reached Mdm Director’s home by 0420hrs, and stayed there for a solid three hours combing through first Scarlet’s entire apartment building, then the surrounding blocks within a seven kilometres radius. It was fun. Not. 

By the time Sephiroth reached headquarters, the place was on amber alert. All of the board directors were placed on heightened security, and investigations were in full swing to find the culprit responsible for breaking into Director Scarlet’s home. Theories about eco-terrorists wanting to get their hands on Advanced Weaponry’s blueprints was discussed alongside the possibility of it being an inside job. 

The general slipped back to his office under the guise of wanting to pick up some materia, but the truth was he needed a moment away from the noise and the chaos. He thought it was too big a fuss to make over what was basically a burglary. And Scarlet was not even forthcoming about what was missing, if anything.

He almost stepped onto the folded note on the floor. Clicking his tongue, the silver soldier picked it up and started to read it while yawning. 

Then he stopped mid-yawn, and read the note again. 

And again. 

[TO:Vivian ]

>> Tell me what you need me to do.

3.

Vivian was sitting stoically at her desk when she received Sephiroth’s text. 

She was so on edge, she bit the inside of her cheek, startled by the buzz of her PHS. 

She had to suppress the urge to glance around her. Three of her colleagues were there, those who’d been in Midgar…those outside of the city were en route, having been recalled by Tseng that morning. She had to act as inconspicuous as possible. On a regular day, Turks were already observant, to the point of being uncanny. It was easy enough to fool people outside the department; fooling her partners was something else. 

So she continued as if this technological interruption was like any other ordinary occurrence, choosing to finish what she was typing, then reviewing it, before submitting the report and then casually retrieving her PHS from her pocket to glance at the screen.

𝘋𝘢𝘮𝘮𝘪𝘵. He was panicking already. 

She quickly powered down the device, then gave an exasperated sigh that ended on a muffled curse. 

The act got the reaction she was expecting, Laney peeking over the edge of the cubicle inquisitively. 

“Oh, sorry.” Vivian grimaced, holding up the PHS to show the darkened screen. “My phone just died. You think the director will mind if I go to the call room to fetch my charger?”

After receiving the blonde Turk’s reassurances, Vivian nonchalantly exited the office, taking the path to the call rooms, only to pick up her speed at the last moment, flying past to barrel through a door leading to a stairwell at the end of the hall.

A short time later, brow covered in sweat and breathless, she all but slammed into Sephiroth’s office door, her dark eyes vigilantly scanning the hall for anyone who might see her as she pounded the heel of her hand against it.

4.

Panicking? Who was panicking? Definitely not the silver soldier. The general of SOLDIER was not one to panic. Not even that time when a Third Class pissed off a pack of King Behemoths and led a dozen of them straight to the heart of the regiment. In the middle of the night no less. 

So, no. Sephiroth was not panicking. He was merely… pacing, yes. In deep thought. Trying to figure out how Vivian featured into the mysterious burglary of the Madam Director’s place. Pacing, pacing, just pac—

Upon hearing the shuffle outside his door, the silver vaulted over his desk and was ripping open his door before Vivian’s hand made contact with it for the third time. 

Wordlessly, he grabbed the Turk by an elbow and yanked her inside. He kicked shut the door as he did a quick once over, making sure Vivian had all limbs attached and internal organs intact before he crushed her into his arms. 

“What the flying fuck,” he mumbled into her hair. “Did you really break into her house?”

5.

Eyes squeezed shut, Vivian nodded frantically against Sephiroth’s chest.

“I’m sorry, I don’t have time to explain,” she answered shakily, gently extracting herself from his embrace. She held onto his jacket as she stared up at him with anxious eyes. “Everyone’s on edge, and if I’m gone too long, I’ll be missed. But listen–do you have any assignments outside of Midgar coming up? Tseng is making everyone stay in the city, but if you requested–”

She trailed off as she watched him expectantly.

6.

The silver soldier raised an eyebrow quizzically, a dozen questions on the tip of his tongue. And he had a hundred more when he saw how shaken Vivian was. But there was no time for that, not yet at least. 

 “Don’t apologise. Outside of Midgar? I’m sure I can figure something out, Tseng is not the boss of me. What’s the plan, Vivian? Do you want me to request for you to accompany me? Find out something for you?” 

He cut himself off then, reminding himself that he needed to give the Turk time to share her thoughts. It was his turn to look back at Vivian expectantly, as he ran his fingers through her hair.

7.

In that moment, seeing the concern in her lover’s face, she wondered if she made a terrible mistake in revealing anything. 

She didn’t want to lie, especially to him. But pulling him into this meant she’d have to tell him the whole truth eventually. She dreaded how he’d react. She wondered if he’d even want to be with her anymore.

She had run out of choices. Though the idea of losing him upset her, even more than the idea of being caught, she had no one else she trusted more. Even if this ended their romantic relationship, she knew that he’d never turn her in. Still, she’d never intended on anyone at Shinra ever knowing about…

“I’m going to need an alibi,” she blurted, determination in her voice instead of fear. “For what I’m going to do next.”

8.

“Well, doesn’t that sound ominous.” Sephiroth kept his tone teasing, an easy smile on his face, but the gaiety did not quite reach his eyes. He still had no idea how Vivian was involved in the break-in at the Madam Director’s home, and now she was asking for an alibi for something that she was going to do. And Vivian did not seem to have the time, nor inclination, to explain anything in detail. 

𝑊ℎ𝑦 𝑑𝑖𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑔𝑒𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑀𝑎𝑑𝑎𝑚 𝐷𝑖𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑜𝑟 ? The question was on the tip of the silver soldier’s tongue. For that was the singular complication in this issue. If it was anyone else, such as the director of lard or the professor, Sephiroth would have volunteered thrice over to provide all the alibis that Vivian needed. But no, it was Scarlet, the one executive officer to whom the general had an 𝑒𝑛 with. 

Then again, the issue was really as straightforward as this: Vivian trusted him enough to make this ask of him. And his options were to agree to help, or not. 

Sephiroth cleared his throat, still holding the Turk close to him. “So long as it does not involve hurting the Madam Director, you can count on my help.” Like Vivian, his reply was short and to the point, without volunteering any details. Maybe they could be honest with one another later, after it was all over. But now, they had to focus on what needed to be done right in this moment.

9.

“I have to go back.” Vivian kept her face impassive, focused on getting back to the office and keeping her shit together, despite everything. Sephiroth’s conditional comment had her wondering, though. Her feelings regarding the Head of Weapons Development were hardly neutral, and certainly 𝘯𝘰𝘵 benign. 

She hated that woman with every fiber of her being. 

But Seph didn’t need to know that, and with his statement, she was determined to never tell him. She hated that she’d been forced to rope him into this at all. The less he knew, the better. 

She reached for the door, her words coming quickly in a hushed, urgent tone. “If you 𝘢𝘳𝘦 going to help, you’ll need to act soon. I don’t know what Tseng has in store for us, but he and Reno are being very shifty.”

Slipping out into the hall, she poked her head in one last time, gloved hand gripping the edge of the door. “And don’t worry. I’m not planning on anyone getting hurt.”

She could plan all she wanted, but she knew, in situations like these, so many things could go wrong. She wasn’t about to throw out promises she couldn’t keep.

10.

The soldier noted that the Turk had been very careful, very specific in her reply to the one condition that he voiced out; that she had no 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑠 on anyone getting hurt? Her lack of intention to harm did not prelude her deliberately letting someone get hurt, for one.  And he did not ask about anyone, he specified one particular individual, yet Vivian side-stepped the issue entirely.

Sephiroth sighed as Vivian slipped away from sight. He could have called her out on it, but what was the point? The issue would remain unchanged: either he trusted her, or he did not. And it was not so long ago when Sephiroth had told Vivian, in no other uncertain terms, that she was to go ahead and fulfil her professional duties without worrying that he would get hurt in the process. The silver had said so as much, that he was not going to take it personally in such a situation. 

Time to put his gil where his big mouth was, evidently. 

With another sigh, the general picked up the phone on his desk and dialled the extension for the Leader of the Turks.

Chapter Text

The cafe was busy, but not too busy. Just enough to blend in. She’d spent the past three days put up in a little town situated in the middle of the Western continent, among lush farmland and photogenic landscapes overshadowed by a majestic, snow-peaked mountain range in the distance. It was perhaps the most scenic assignment she’d ever been given, and yet, she couldn’t enjoy it.

Her espresso was growing cold, her croissant untouched on the bistro table. Her every thought for the last several weeks had been held captive by the one person who was currently projected on the dirty screen of an out-dated portable television visible on a shelf from behind a countertop across the room. Two waitstaff had paused to watch . She could see the captions, but the volume was too low to hear.

She knew hearing his voice transmitted through the ancient low fidelity speakers wouldn’t compare to the real thing, but right then, so acute was her longing that she’d take anything. Most of what she’d been getting had been snippets online, occasional Shinra-sanctioned, Shinra-focused articles manufactured and released to outlets by Shinra PR. She knew he hated being on camera, hated the attention of the press, but there he was, in black and white. She’d likely not get another opportunity like this until she was called back to Midgar, and then, he’d be able to see her, too. Here was a moment to watch unimpeded, without the consequences that would come from capturing his attention.

She struggled with the idea of moving closer or asking for someone to turn it up, reluctant to call attention to herself. In the end, she didn’t have to. Another employee appeared to crank up the volume while they hovered with those already congregated. The sight and sound of him, poor in quality as it was, still elicited goosebumps on her skin and a tingle up her spine. She was suddenly so overwhelmed, she felt the burn behind her eyes that heralded the formation of tears. She didn’t care. She’d gotten used to crying since leaving Midgar. Seemed it was all she knew how to do, outside of the busy work given to her by Tseng.

The world around her seemed to disappear as she stared at the staticy screen, her entire being so focused she missed the appearance of a handsome, young, auburn-haired man, casually lowering himself into the chair across from her. One might think, by the way he acted, that she’d been expecting him.

“It really is a small world,” he observed as he leaned back to leisurely cross his legs, one ankle propped on the opposite knee. “You’re the last person I’d expect to see outside Midgar, Vivian.”

Reality came crashing in, her spell broken. She whipped her head around to face her unexpected guest, dark eyes wide.

“Did I startle you?’  He gave a short, amused laugh, brows raised. “Didn’t think that was possible.”

It took her a moment to recover, her heart in her throat, her breath trapped in her lungs. She blinked, and the tears that had welled earlier spilled over her cheeks as she whispered his name reverently.

“Jonathan.”

Chapter Text

“What are you doing here?”

Vivian had not known what to say when seeing Jonathan after months of no contact, and in such a remote location. It seemed uncanny.

She’d been instantly suspicious, once she’d recovered from the shock of the tidal wave of emotion she’d been experiencing.

He didn’t answer her, deflecting her question with one of his own. “Why are you crying?”

He seemed genuinely concerned. She knew it was likely because he’d never seen her cry before.

Abashed, she bowed her head, until then unaware of the tears streaming down her cheeks. Fingers hurriedly swiped away the wetness, surprise and embarrassment making it difficult to find her voice. A choked laugh escaped instead.

When she felt prepared to face him, cheeks dry but chapped, eyes a bit red but no longer welling, he was no longer scrutinizing her but was instead looking over her shoulder at something behind her. She didn’t have to look to know what that something was; he’d found the television.

Pale blue eyes flickered back to her, a smile threatening his parted lips, a pensive line between his brows, discernment shining in his gaze. She’d learned long ago that he was as good as any Turk at reading people. She forced herself to return his stare, her features as impassive as she could manage. 

He took the hint.

Breaking eye contact, he folded his hands in his lap, foot bobbing on his knee as he ignored her silence, a kindness on his part. “Would you believe me if I told you? I know you’re quite skeptical of coincidences.”  His voice was airy, amiable. Familiar, like the way he sat, the way he dressed, the way he smelled, a hint of cologne drifting in her direction. Soothing. Almost like–

She dismissed the thought before it had the chance to take hold. She’d never felt that strongly about Jonathan. She was upset. This was nothing but nostalgia, a comfort in the chaos. She wasn’t so vapid as to believe it to be anything else.

She sniffed, her confidence returning as the sadness abated, offering him a slow smile. “Try me.”

He grinned in return, the atmosphere suddenly lighter. “I’m a kept man. On a little vacation with my sugar mama.”

She couldn’t contain the laughter that bubbled up, the kind that shook her whole body and came from her belly. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed like that, uninhibited and wholly genuine. He kept smiling, but wasn’t laughing along. She blinked, suddenly sober. “You’re fucking serious ?”

He turned, taking a moment to look out over the street, then pointed. Her eyes followed the direction, past the wall of windows and outdoor eating area, landing on a tall, lithe, long-haired blonde wearing a wide-brimmed hat and admiring flowers at one of the few street vendors that appealed to tourists. She wore large, dark sunglasses, but Vivian could still see that she was arrestingly beautiful. Hearing how Jonathan had referred to her, Vivian had expected someone older, but this girl looked no more than thirty.

Just then, the women noticed them, and began waving and smiling. Jonathan waved back, compelling Vivian to give a slight wave herself. She waited until he turned back around before she leaned forward and blurted, “How did you manage that?”

“Viv, you wound me,” he replied with mock hurt, one hand pressed to his chest as he reached for her untouched croissant. Reclining as he tore off a bite, he spoke with his mouth full. “I’m a real catch, you know.”

She folded her arms on the table and cocked a brow. “She’s married, isn’t she.” It was a statement, not a question.

He shrugged and answered immediately, completely unashamed. “Yep. Trophy wife number four to some crusty old dude that owns a chain of grocery stores. I don’t mind being her sidepiece. Cushiest gig I’ve ever had.”

She ran her index finger lightly over the rim of her demitasse, giving a slight shake of her head. “You best be careful with that.” She smirked and glanced at him from beneath her lashes. “You are a catch, though.”

There was a sudden tension as her eyes locked with his. She broke it off first, glancing at the table; he lowered his gaze and finished off the croissant. Several pregnant seconds passed before he ventured to speak. “I’d ask what you’re doing here, but I doubt you’ll tell me and I don’t think I really want to know.”

She didn’t look at him. Remained silent, toying with her cup.

“When I saw you just now, I couldn’t quite believe it.” He snorted, causing her to glance up quickly to see him still staring at his lap and shaking his head. “At first, because you’re so far from Midgar, and then…you just looked, I don’t know. Lost .”  She bit her lip, looking away once more, afraid to give him anymore than he’d already deduced. She felt so exposed, ashamed that she’d let him read her at all. 

He sighed then, and she was tempted to steal another glimpse, but she held fast. From the corner of her eye, she saw his forearm resting on the table as he leaned closer. “I know we never talked much. I know you liked it that way. But you should know by now that you don’t have to say anything for me to…to just know .”

She could feel it again, the burn, the beginning of tears. Godammit. I don’t want him to see! I don’t want anyone to see!

“Whatever’s going on, I have a feeling it’s why I haven’t seen you in so long. I also get the feeling that you’re running from this something–” He paused, and she felt her heart fluttering in her chest when he continued. “--or someone. I know I’m stepping way over the line even saying anything at all. We were never close. You never let me. Probably for the best. Doesn’t mean I can’t worry about you.”

She bit her lip, willing herself not to cry, the pain a welcome conduit to vent her pent up emotion. She saw his arm slowly shift on the table, reaching out, palm upturned. Cut off as she was, longing for some kind of connection after so much loneliness, she hesitated only a few seconds before placing her shaking hand in his. He gave it a reassuring squeeze, and she could no longer keep from meeting his reassuring gaze.

His eyes were so soft, so warm, so open, so sincere. His other hand reached over, his thumb brushing away a lone tear that had escaped. “I think, when you’re done here, you should go home. You...you shouldn’t be alone.”  Her gaze lowered again, and he ducked his head to keep her from hiding. “Everyone deserves the chance to be happy, Vivian. That includes you. Okay?”

There was a time when she would have cut a man’s hand off for touching her, would have gouged his eyes out for looking too long. Yet, here she was, holding his hand, leaning her cheek into his palm, letting him look as long as he liked. Even allowing him to give her advice. When had she ever listened to someone who wasn’t a Turk? She found the situation so illogical, for this man to be saying these words at such a time.

Maybe it was a sign.

He was still watching her, his face hopeful. She gave a quick, watery smile, then whispered, “Okay.”

“Jonathan!”

He grimaced, turning to look over his shoulder. The blonde was walking over. Vivian’s cheek and hand were suddenly cold with the loss of his touch. He faced her once again, gesturing towards the approaching female with a nod of his head. “Duty calls,” he quipped. He stood and, without hesitation, bent forward to bestow a quick kiss on Vivian’s forehead before casually exiting the cafe.

She didn’t watch him go. He didn’t turn back to get one last look. Just as easily as he’d appeared, he was gone. His words, however, lingered.

…Go home.

She sat thinking for several minutes, eyes staring but unseeing. Eventually, she fetched some money and placed it on the table, then stood to go, exiting the cafe much like Jonathan had, but walking in the opposite direction. She felt as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders, reaching for her PHS and typing a brief text to her boss.

>>Objective completed. Permission to return?

The reply was immediate.

>>Permission granted. 

She smiled down at the screen. She knew what awaited her back in Midgar. For the first time in weeks, she finally felt like she was ready to face it.

Chapter Text

Vivian stepped from the train onto the platform, having just arrived at the terminal in Costa del Sol. She’d been traveling by train since arriving on the Western Continent over a month ago. Getting back to Midgar would require her to fly or sail, and Costa was the largest and closest international port. After notifying Tseng, she took the first available passage to the world famous seaside resort, intent on snagging a seat on whatever boat or plane she could find.

She slowed to a stop in the sea of other passengers, glancing up to look for a sign that would direct her to a taxi. Panning to the end of the platform, she did a double take, disbelief causing her breath to hitch. 

Tseng stood watching her, dressed in a touristy get-up of linen pants and a short-sleeved collar shirt, his hair and tilak concealed by a fashionable cream-colored beach straw hat. One corner of his mouth lifted, and then he was walking toward her, his stride leisurely and his posture relaxed, as though greeting an old friend, and not his subordinate. 

Vivian wasn’t buying it. Tseng wouldn’t just leave Midgar without a reason. She didn’t think it was a good one, either. Not bothering to try to disguise her unease, she tentatively began moving to meet him halfway. Once the distance between them narrowed to less than a meter, they turned as one toward the exit.

She did her best to sound calm, falling into step beside him, her gaze fixed forward. “This is unexpected, sir.”

“I’d have thought you’d have learned by now,” Tseng murmured cryptically, and Vivian could feel him staring down at her. “Expect the unexpected.”

He led her to a shiny black sedan with tinted windows, opened the passenger side car door for her. They rode in silence for several minutes, Vivian refusing to be the first to speak.

“Someone came to visit not long after you left Midgar,” Tseng began, his movements smooth as he drove. Her teeth dug into her bottom lip, hands balled into fists on her lap. 

Fuck.  

She thought she’d been ready, she’d thought it had been enough time, but maybe she’d been wrong. She didn’t think she could talk about Se–

“Veld had some interesting things to say about you.”

All pretense forgotten, she whipped her head around to look at her boss, dark eyes wide, jaw lax. “The Commander ? He was in Midgar?!”

Tseng glanced sidelong before nodding, veering to the left and pulling up to a manned security gate. He didn’t even have to stop before he was waved through by the armed guard. Vivian’s attention drifted to their surroundings, in a daze. They were on a private airstrip, a single hangar, one helipad. Both bearing the Shinra logo.

Tseng pulled to a stop next to the hangar, turned off the ignition, and sat back in his seat. “I suspect your request for assignment outside Midgar was for more than just…personal reasons.”

He removed the hat, placing it on the console between their seats. His hair was in a neat topknot, and she was reminded of the way he looked when she’d known him as second-in-command: younger, but no less intimidating. She averted her gaze, anxious and uncertain.

“Heidegger’s nephew…”

Vivian’s breath caught in her throat, the color bleeding from her face.

“...Veld says that’s your work.”

Her eyes closed, the air leaving her lungs in a long, weary sigh. All that effort. All that time away. It all amounted to nothing .

“Did you think no one would find out?”

She couldn’t be sure, as dumbfounded as she was, but she thought she detected amusement in Tseng’s voice. Still, she knew the question was rhetorical. She also knew she had to be in very deep shit.

The director clicked his tongue. “I have to admit, you very well might have.”

For the third time, Vivian felt the rug pulled out from under her. “Sir?”

“I’m not turning in one of my own.” She turned to see him looking at her, a mischievous gleam in his eye. “And Veld’s a ghost, right?”

Vivian couldn’t help the choked laugh that erupted at his words. “So–”

“So this is the last time we will talk about it. And it will be the last time you go rogue.”

The edge had returned to Tseng’s voice. She turned towards him, crestfallen.

“Turks take care of their own. If nothing else, you trust me ,” he growled, anger replacing amusement as he jabbed his thumb at his chest. “Do you understand?”

Chastised, Vivian bowed her head, a lump forming in her throat, making it difficult for her to speak. “Yes, sir.”

“Very well.” She heard him unbuckle his seatbelt. “That’s the end of it, then. Now, hurry up.” She watched as he climbed out of the driver’s side, ducking his head down to look at her. “Lift off is in five minutes.”

Dizzy from the whiplash of rotating topics, she nodded mutely, clumsily shouldering her bag and stumbling from the car to follow after him. She had the four hour flight back to Midgar to process all that had been said and what it would mean for her going forward. 

One thing was certain: she would never look at the director the same ever again.