Final Fantasy VII Discover

**Discover**

**Summary:** Grimoire Valentine's research is stolen from the safe keeping of the WRO, but for means unknown. Reeve assigns Vincent to recover the data, and with Cid along for the ride they discover there may be more to Dr. Valentine's research that could be up for grabs.

**Pairing:** Cid/Vincent

**AN: **Written mid-2010. It's just been sat on my computer doing nothing. I have a planning set out for the rest of the story, but have only written out this chapter, so updating it will be slow. There's a lot of fan-speculation of Vincent's past/family, so no gripes about details you don't like. Written purely for fun.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own or make profit from Final Fantasy 7 and its characters.

/

As the last of the bright lights in the archives wing flickered off into darkness, the WRO officer gave the vast room a last look, casting his grey eyes around before closing the door. The electronic lock panel flashed red and the officer strode away, continuing his nightly round duties along the upper levels of Headquarters. He glanced over the wall railing, catching the eye of a fellow officer two levels down and flashing a smile before continuing on around the floor, checking his designated stops. The moon shone fully in the sky, casting its eerie glow down through the large skylights.

As the man disappeared from view around the level, the locked panel of the archive room fell into shadow, and a series of beeps followed the jabbing of sensor buttons. The panel flashed green and the door hissed, sliding open before closing behind. Inside, the computers and machines blinked dimly, awaiting their hacker…

/

Shattering the crisp, morning air the following day was the unmistakable beeping of the alarm clock. A large, tanned hand reached out and slapped the small box, cutting off the noise and allowing the fresh silence to return. Cid rolled back, sinking into the grooves of his pillow and mattress. On his right side Vincent shifted, on his front, and replaced his good arm over the pilot's belly, readjusting himself to his previous position, his face half lost in the sea of duvet that had twisted between them.

"I have _gotta_ remember t' turn that fuckin' thing off," Cid mumbled, snaking an arm over the gunman's naked back. Sunlight filtered in through the half closed curtains, chasing away the sleepy darkness that the drapes failed to preserve. Cid's blonde brow twitched against the interfering light and his blue eyes cracked open. He glanced down at his partner who was lazing contently – something he had taken a long time getting used to. Vincent had never been one to snooze in… until he'd shacked up with Cid.

"Do it now…" Vincent murmured.

"In a minute…" Cid replied, a quirky smile fighting the corners of his lips.

"Lazy."

Cid gave a laugh. "Look who's talking'. Yer used t' be up with the crack of dawn."

Vincent shifted, his eyes slid open to catch Cid's. "Then I guess you're a bad influence on me."

"Damn right," Cid smirked lazily as he pulled his partner over his body and pressed his lips to Vincent's. "There's no savin' yer now."

"Far too gone for that…" Vincent agreed thickly, and they kissed again. Away with the hormones, Cid rolled them into the mattress, gaining top position before rejoining their lips.

Another beeping interrupted them. It wasn't the alarm clock.

Cid growled, his head slumped into the crook of Vincent's neck. "_You've_ gotta remember to turn _that_ off."

Vincent stretched for his leather, which was folded on the chair next to the nightstand and pulled out his phone. He glanced briefly at the name and flipped it open, automatically answering with a clipped, emotionless tone he had not been using a moment ago.

"Reeve," he said.

"Vincent, good morning," came the commissioner's sophisticated voice. "I apologize for the early hour, but a situation arose at the WRO I think you might want to get involved with."

"Situation?"

"Late last night – or early this morning – our archives were broken into," Reeve explained. Having remained where he was, Cid stared down at his partner's red eyes as they both listened. "I can only assume someone impersonated one of my WRO officer and gained access to our storage room. It has taken my team until this morning to regain control of our systems. It appears they hacked into our archives and stole valuable research. I want you to stop by Headquarters as soon as you can, Vincent."

The gunman stared unblinkingly up into Cid's blue eyes. "Why?" He questioned.

"The files they stole contained information on an important research." Reeve replied. "Your father's research…"

Vincent stared. "…I'll be there in two hours."

/

The _Shera_ set down with graceful maneuvers for her size outside of the impressive WRO building, kicking up dust into the mid-morning air. The particles settled slowly as the airship's ramp lowered. Cid and Vincent descended a minute later, flanked by a member of Cid's crew who followed them down to the ground, but discontinued to conduct a routine check on the ship's outer hull.

Inside, the two men were escorted to Reeve's location by an officer of short stature, and a young, fresh face. However, disciplined he was as he respectfully saluted the commissioner before making a neat retreat to his post somewhere else.

"Ah, Cid," Reeve clasped the pilot's larger hand in greeting and gave Vincent a nod. He knew better than to offer his hand to the gunman. "You most likely heard the phone conversation, so I shall assume you know why I called in Vincent." Reeve offered a rare but polite (if one could possibly be described as such) smirk at them both, wise to their relationship. He turned and guided them to the nearest stairwell as he spoke. "As you know we collected all data from the Shinra Manor to prevent any … _more_ misuse of the research conducted there…" He paused, glancing back at Vincent who shared a look. "Hard copies are stored in an isolated location underground, beneath this building. Digital copies, however…"

Having reached the top level Reeve showed them to a door, outside of which were posted two guards. Reeve keyed in a code and the panel flashed green. The door slid open and the commissioner guided his two friends inside, to a room of isled computer units all blinking patiently.

"I hate to say it but our defenses were obviously insufficient, although I am confident in the fact they found lesser odds gaining entry to our hard copy storage room." Reeve looked about before fixing his gaze on Cid and Vincent. "Whoever it was touched nothing else, though… their target was the research files."

"I take it we're talkin' _serious_ research here," Cid said, hands on hips casually. "Seems to be the only kind worth stealin' lately."

Reeve nodded and turned his brown gaze to Vincent. "Did you ever know what research your father was involved in?" He asked, leaning against a computer unit on which sat a slim folder. He picked it up. Vincent stared before shaking his head slightly, silent as always. "His work related to the Lifestream and its many conditions and states. Specifically stagnated Lifestream," Reeve paused, as though choosing what not to say. "His work was published and recognized, and unfortunately gained the attention of Shinra's scientists, who used his data in numerous immoral experiments… Not unlike the Jenova Project…" Reeve cast Vincent a searching glance, looking for any reaction. He received none. "Stagnated Lifestream was injected into a certain number of unborn babies using Dr. Valentine's research, however only one was successful. Nero the Sable."

Vincent's brow twitched as his eyes unfocused from Reeve, letting this new information sink in. "Nero's… darkness was the result of that research…?" His mind began connecting broken links together. He looked questioningly at Reeve. "Chaos…"

Again, Reeve nodded. "…Shares that darkness, because Chaos was born from the stagnation of Lifestream." He was unsurprised by Vincent's ignorance of this information, as the man had never had the chance to find out.

Cid looked between them, frowning. "I thought Chaos was created by the Planet."

"It was," Reeve answered. "But its non-corporeal form laid dormant before someone... _activated_ its birth from the Lifestream stagnation."

"Yer quite savvy in the ways of Chaos," the pilot observed, squinting an eye at the commissioner.

"Let's just say I've been through most of the documents the WRO have archived. A little bedtime reading," Reeve smiled. It disappeared though as his business mode returned, and just as Vincent drew breath to ask something else, he interrupted. "I want you to check out this location for further information, it's relevant to this assignment."

"Assignment?" Vincent asked as he took the folder from Reeve.

"I want you to find this thief, retrieve the stolen documents and uncover their motives… There's a strong likelihood of more research that was never publicized. If the hacker knows this, they may already be on their way to that location," Reeve indicated the document in Vincent's hand. "Hopefully… if it took them as long as it did me to dig out that knowledge, then they won't get there before you."

Curious that Reeve seemed sure there was more to be had for the hacker, Vincent opened the folder to find a Midgar address with printed and illustrated map directions. He raised his eyes to Reeve's strangely intense ones. "This address was of the Upper Plate of Midgar… it would be nothing but rubble now."

"About one year ago I had a team performing salvage operations along what parts of Midgar were accessible," Reeve started, locking gazes with his pale friend. "They discovered a section of Sector One that had survived somewhat, purely by luck. Higher structures had collapsed above it, but it was never crushed. Merely…_buried_ beneath hundreds of tones of concrete." He paused. "Not unlike Deepground. Amazingly, your target location is in this section."

Vincent studied the man for a long second before giving a single nod. Without another word he swiftly left the room, leaving Cid exchanging looks with Reeve.

/

Sector One looked like the victim of an extreme earthquake, split into several jagged plates disappearing beneath one another and the mess of crumbled buildings. Unable to land, the _Shera_ soared above the Sector and out of view, looking for a suitable place to set down. Vincent craned his neck up and watched it go, feeling Cid's presence fade with it. The pilot would catch him up when his ship landed safely, guided by their mental rapport.

Leaping down to some lover levels, Vincent found access to the caverns of concrete below, slipping from the bright glare of the sun into the darker shadows of architectural tombs. Below the surface level was an underground city of destruction. Vincent's crimson eyes scanned the vast Sector, letting his eyes fall on some buildings still standing on their intact section of the Plate. Streams of sunlight filtered in through the many cracks above.

Finding his bearing in the turmoil, Vincent proceeded down from his high vantage point until he hit the Sector's ground level…of what little ground he could see. He made his way over, around and under various obstacles in his chosen path, following the mental map he had committed to memory. He passed a building, still miraculously intact aside from a few missing roof tiles where a column had fallen on it. Vincent passed it, coming across several more buildings still standing, some in worse wear than others. He realized this had been a neighborhood, and he was picking his way along a row of spacious housing settlements. He came to a stop two buildings along. This was his target location. He gazed up at the house, taking in its dark, stylish color, its chipped roofing and crumbling right corner wall. Aside from that and many dusty blemishes, the building was intact.

As he stared up at the high building, something indescribable nagged at the back of Vincent's sub-consciousness. He would have accused his demon host, but he knew that it was not Chaos. Ignoring it, Vincent proceeded to the front door, passing along a once neat, white-stone path through the front garden. He could hear nothing of any would-be intruders, and was confident the WRO thief had not visited this one abode…yet.

The door creaked open with the sound of aged, neglected wood and hinges, opening the way into a dark, dusty house. Dirt crumbled from the top of the door as Vincent lowered his hand and stepped through. It slowly swung half-closed behind him, but he paid it no attention. His mind was whirling, telling him something he didn't understand as he stood in the hallway, looking around him as though everything shouldn't be there. The nagging attacked him again, increasing in strength with everything his eyes fell upon. The staircase to his right – the dust-encrusted blanket draped over the banister – the wind chimes hanging oddly from the edge of the ceiling, where the stairs rose into the darkness…

Vincent's brow furrowed and twitched, he was confused. He couldn't decipher the feeling in his mind, yet he knew he should understand it. He looked to his left, through the archway into what had once been a living room. His feet remained rooted to their spot as he stared soundlessly around him, becoming frustrated with the sensation plaguing his brain.

And then he froze. It was as though his mind had clicked before he himself had realized. His eyes were drawn to the space before him as something shimmered, emerging from thin air. He found himself staring at the back of a man, a transparent form of which he could not look away.

The figure began walking away, through the hallway to the room at the end, short black hair bounding softly with every silent footstep. Vincent followed automatically, focused entirely on the figure as they crossed the threshold into a small kitchen – and like stepping out from a barrier, silence shattered as all sound returned.

"You're not done with your research?" The man spoke, his voice young, like a blade cutting though the quiet air. He leant against the kitchen countertop to face the island table, allowing Vincent the opportunity to see his face, his framing bangs and burgundy eyes…

A soft laugh startled Vincent and his eyes snapped to the table, where sat a man he had not seen in many, many years. Across the table were notes and papers piled and sorted into neat sections. The surface of the wood was barely visible.

"I doubt I will be for some time," the man said, his mature features kind and wise, his eyes the same shade of red, his goatee trimmed neat. "The extent of information is overwhelming…"

"Well, take a break. Let's grab dinner, we haven't seen each other in months."

Vincent stood at the doorway, frozen in a dazed stupor as his eyes soaked in the scene, wide beneath furrowed brows. He stared at the man sat at the table, studying his every detail with intense attention before tearing his eyes away to that of the younger man's while they continued to talk. Something was flaring inside him as he gaped, the nagging in his mind had changed its tune but remained just as strong. He noticed the healthy complexion, the once short hair, the expressive features, the Turk suit…

"Vincent… "

The gunman snapped his head to the man at the table, even though he was not the one being addressed.

"…Don't give me that look."

The younger man sighed and stood up from the counter. "I just don't understand why you don't look for a bigger place. This old house doesn't accommodate you anymore… I sort of think its holding you back somehow…"

At his table, the older man smiled softly and watched his son. "I would never move out," he told him quietly. "Far too many memories…" His red eyes drifted along the walls, as though he could see random events that had occurred within the walls of his home. "You were born in this house, it's been with us for that long at _least_. And your mother loved this place."

The younger man gazed at him a second before sighing softly and turning around. He reached out and picked up a framed photograph that was sat on the kitchen windowsill. "Maybe she would want you to move on…"

Grimoire smiled. "Maybe…" He answered. "But I'd still stay," he joked.

The younger Vincent slid a wry smile at him before setting the photo down. Both he and his father faded into the air and disappeared, taking with it the sound of their conversation, and the light of the memory.

Vincent walked to the counter and reached for the photo on the windowsill, half aware how loud the silence now was as he thumbed the layer of dust from the image in his hands. Staring back at him was a woman in her early thirties, with long brown hair and blue eyes. She was beautiful, smiling almost deviously at the camera. He stared at her, unaware as someone approached the house and slipped in through the gap of the door, avoiding the noisy hinges. Only did he realize when the back of his mind tingled in recognition, and he whirled around.

"Find anythin'?" Cid asked, his blue eyes meeting Vincent's before looking up at the high kitchen ceiling.

Vincent lowered his gaze pensively, disappointed that his partner had interrupted the silence so soon after recalling the memory. He felt depraved of alone time suddenly, needing to dwell in the mood that had accumulated. However, reluctant to brood, Vincent was subconsciously glad Cid had come before he could have lost himself.

Noticing the photo in Vincent's hands, the pilot approached him to take a look. "What's this?" He asked, taking the picture from the gunman.

"A photo…" Vincent responded distantly.

Staring at the image, Cid's blue eyes studied the woman's face for a long moment, and then rose to stare at his partner, a small crinkle in his blonde brow. "... Vince, she looks just like you…"

Vincent stared at him, feeling a little dazed still. "You mean, _I_ look just like _her_."

Frowning deeper, Cid didn't understand. He looked back at the picture, at a woman who was, in the frame, only a few years older than Vincent looked now. His blue eyes rose to find another photo frame, sat among trinkets on a shelf against the far wall. He picked it down, curious to find his own answers rather than ask.

In the picture was a man and the same woman. It was a candid shot, they were both grinning happily against what appeared to be the mountains of Wutai. Cid was about to voice a question when his eyes caught a detail that gave him his answer. The man in the photo, whose arms were around the woman in a loose embrace, was looking at her lovingly. Had he been looking at the camera, Cid would have dismissed it as red-eye, the light reflecting the blood cells at the back of the retina. But it was no light reflection.

"This is your dad," he realized, staring at the man in the photo. His eyes switched to the woman. "She's yer mom?" Looking up, he found Vincent's more vibrant red eyes and then cast his blue ones about the house. "This is yer _house?"_ He asked, incredulously.

Vincent looked about as well, slowly. "My father's…"

Cid watched him, silent for a moment as his lover gazed around, eyes flitting over various objects. "Didn't yer know?" He asked the gunman, sensing some conflicting, confusing emotions rolling inside the man. "The address that Reeve gave yer?"

Vincent looked distantly at the wall. "I didn't remember it."

Cid was quiet for a few seconds. He looked back at the pictures in his hands, trying to image what sort of people his partner's parents had been, studying the woman's features with amazement. Vincent's resemblance to her was uncanny. Cid stepped towards the gunman and pressed the picture of his parents into his hands. Vincent looked at him. "Yer mom's beautiful," Cid smiled. "Just like you." He set the other picture down on the island table. "What was she like?"

Vincent stared at him, offering an unusually blank expression before turning his eyes down to the picture, lifting it higher. "I don't remember her…"

Cid was faintly surprised. "Not at all?"

"…No." Crimson eyes gazed down at the image, trying to conjure any memory in the deep recesses of his mind. He found none.

Unsure what to say further, Cid simply watched him sadly. How must it feel to have no memory of someone that important? Vincent wasn't exactly experienced with the range of normal emotions, would he even feel anything towards a mere picture? Cid realized he was probably intruding now. He touched Vincent's arm, leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss on his lips.

"I'll wait outside," he told the man, before turning away and leaving.

Part of Vincent wanted Cid to stay, didn't want to be left alone with these feelings. He felt unfamiliar discomfort, an unease he had never felt before. But part of him was glad of Cid's consideration. This building was extremely personal, and although he felt a certain detachment, something inside him was drawn magnetically to everything in the house.

Setting the photo in his hands down on the table, he moved into the living room, stepping over fallen furniture and upsetting the carpet of dust. A three-seat sofa sat at an angle on his left, and the tingling nagging at the back of his mind flared up again. He knew what it was now… his mind was trying to recall memories it had once had, but was failing. The memories were no longer there, only the faint imprint of their existence. It was frustrating…

His red eyes glanced about, searching. Mold had accumulated on various objects and surfaces, damp patches stained the dust-encrusted walls, some things were broken, laying scattered under particles and shrapnel. Vincent reached down and pulled another frame from the rubble in front of a stone fireplace. He wiped the dirt from the picture and found himself staring at a young man, no older than twenty, against what looked like a lush, green park. Vincent stared at himself for a long time, trying to recall the memory, but he couldn't. He dropped the picture and turned away, suddenly feeling angry and not understanding why. He paused and calmed himself. Anger was a dangerous emotion for him to express; it was often followed by a forceful metamorphosis into Chaos, and this building might not survive such an event.

Once under control, the gunman stepped out of the room back into the hallway, facing the stairs. He looked up at the steps ascending into darkness, and stared as a figure floated into view, watching as another vision of his father climbed the stairs, accompanied by the muffled sound of words long past. He faded from view, and Vincent approached, resting his gauntlet on the banister. He started at it before raising his crimson eyes up to the second floor. He hadn't realized it, but his heart was beating just a little bit harder, and something vague was fluttering around in there.

He took the stairs slowly, and with every step the strange feeling in his chest increase. Apprehension? Did he really need to dive into the past now that he has finally found a future? Reeve had sent him here on purpose, not just to recover possible research data.

The hallway was dark as he stepped onto a dusty carpet from the wood steps. Walls were cracked and crumbling, and the floor was home to things that didn't belong there, Vincent saw another image though, a brief flash of a clean, cozy hallway met his eyes, illuminated by dim mood-lights on the wall. The vision disappeared, throwing Vincent into the darkness of reality. He pushed his foot through debris and dirt, making his way to the first of four doors in the hallway. He pushed open the old door on his left, and it promptly fell over, lifting up a cloud of thick dust. When it had settled, the gunman cast his eyes into what looked like an office. An old computer unit sat against the right wall on a long desk, long outdated. Bookshelves and a file unit took up most of the space, but they were barely recognizable. The room held no further interest, and Vincent turned away, continuing until he reached the one room he had been looking for. He gently pushed the ancient door open as he stepped inside, looking on with detached emotion. It was a small, cramped room. The double bed took up the majority of the space, in the center, while various bookcases and draws sat against the wall. Vincent lowered his eyes to the long, low unit that ran against the left wall. Books and papers, encrusted with dirt, sat on the shelves.

Sitting down slowly on the low bed, ignoring the layers and layers of dust, Vincent reached down and brushed the heavy dirt from a row of books, picking one at random and pulling it out. A sheet of brown filth fell from the cover as he opened it, finding images of rocks and minerals staring up at him on aging brown paper. Notes had been scribbled on some of the pages. He put it down on the bed beside him and picked out another. This one was a reading book. He set it down and was about to retrieve another when he noticed that one book was sat on top of the unit. It was different to an average book, longer and thinner. He picked it up and opened it, and paused. Two pages of handwriting stared up at him, and after a brief read, cautiously turned the page to find cutout pictures that had been glued in, accompanied by more writing. His father's journal. The date scrawled at the top told Vincent it had been written just months after he had joined the Turks. That, at least, he could remember.

A dull, muffled thud echoed quietly in the foundation of the crumbling building, bringing Vincent out of his reverie. What followed almost immediately after was an alarmed call from somewhere outside.

Cid.

Vincent closed the journal and set it down before dashing back downstairs, stirring up a trench of clouds in the hallway. He rushed outside onto the dirty stone path to an empty garden, eyes darting about.

Movement to his left drew his attention to see Cid chasing after a figure. The gunman immediately began following, flitting over fallen slabs of wall and debris, crimson eyes locked on the fleeing figure. He gained distance and soared over Cid, leaping from the crumbling structures until he had overtaken his charge and landed heavily in his path. He rose to his feet menacingly as the figure, a man, skidded to a stop two meters before him. He glanced about wildly, panting for breath, but after eyeing up his adversary, seemed to realize he had no chance of escape, especially as Cid had caught up from behind.

"Looks like we caught ourselves a thief," Cid called to his partner, eyes on the man as he approached. "You the guy whole stole from the WRO?"

The man said nothing as he glanced at Cid before Vincent, nervously. He was a young man, around mid-twenties, with a five O'clock stubble and sandy brown hair. Cid knew the type.

Cid sighed. "Nothin' to say?" His answer was silence. The pilot shook his head. He stormed forward before the man could decide what to do, brought back his fist and slammed it into the guy's face with a solid thump. The thief went down, out cold before he hit the floor.

Vincent cocked his head at his partner.

Cid opened his palms to the sky. "What?"

/


End file.

Final Fantasy VII, Adventure