Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ I Know What Lies Beneath the Snowfields ❯ Chapter 70 ( Chapter 70 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

"I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields"
Chapter 70

"Davo..? Davo, wake up."

The gentle voice, at first very muffled, floated through Davoren's ears.
He opened his tired eyes half-way.

Light streamed in to fill his gaze. It bathed him whole in pleasant warmth
until he melted away to such peacefulness. Not even a ripple of trouble
disturbed him. Soon, he found himself flat upon his back, surrounded all
around by this glow. There was another presence closeby. Indeed, on looking
up, Davoren discovered a young man sitting nearby, peering back down at him.

Davoren could not move, nor cared he to even try. He simply stared up in
bewilderment at this youth. His very presence filled him with such
comfort...such security.

"You've slept a long time," smiled the young man amicably, "C'mon, Davo.
Wake up."

Strange enough, the smile looked just like Davoren's. In fact, the youth
bore a curious resemblence to him, especially those lovely honey-coloured
eyes. Davoren blinked- "Davo"? How long has it been since he last heard
that nickname?

However, as he gazed into this young man's kind face, a tired yet very
happy smile spread across his own.

"..ah..Donny..heheh," chuckled Davoren, rubbing his eyes to disperse the
fatigue, "I was having this awful nightmare."

"..a nightmare?"

"I dreamed...you were taken away, and.."

"Heh, silly big brother. You always worried about me, even when I was a
little kid. I'm right here. I've always been here."

"It doesn't matter," Davoren sighed all his relief up into the youth's
face, "It was horrible..I..I thought it was real. But it was just a
nightmare...just a bad dream."

His smile broadened as he felt this safety wrap him from harm. Davoren's
happy gaze clung onto the young man, who still beamed down in equal warmth.
It soothed Davoren to wallow on his back in such tranquility...just rest
here for an eternity.

It crept on him from behind. Through this silence, Davoren discerned
another voice in the far, far distance. He tensed, whereas the young man
continued to smile as if he could hear nothing. Steadily the voice drew
closer upon them until Davoren heard it clearly: it was someone crying out
his name.

Wild terror froze him in place at once. He recognized that voice too well.
Still the tearful wail grew stronger and stronger. Amidst this madness,
Davoren gaped up horror-stricken. But the young man still smiled down; a
smile full of gentle kindness, totally oblivoius of the insanity raging
around.

The scream hammered on...calling his name again..and again...louder and
louder...

Suddenly, Davoren's eyes shot wide open. He had regained
consciousness at last.

It was quiet here, and dark. The bewildered gunman did not twitch a
muscle, but remained thus flat upon his back. He stared emptily at the grey
ceiling, where just moments ago that youthful face had filled his eyes.
Though awake, Davoren seemed at best half-aware of his surroundings.

There was another presence very closeby, thoughtful and morbid. Vincent
sat bent over a bit, coolly peering down at this man. Obviously, he had
been waiting for Davoren to awaken.

Devil's luck; that's what Vincent attributed to their miraculous survival.
That massive explosion had cast them both into the abyss, along with a
shower of debris. Down, down they had plunged towards doom when Vincent
spotted a balcony just ahead: their only hope!

He still could not believe how he dared this crazy stunt, especially in
his ruined state. Then again, the urgency of the moment surpassed any
physical weakness. It had all happened during free fall, just as they
zipped down past the balcony. Vincent exerted himself to a fast recovery.
Somehow, he touched down onto the largest debris piece in reach. Using this
as a springboard, he had instantly rebounded straight across, over the
balusrtrade, and clear into safety.

From peril to impunity, Vincent had tumbled wildly across the room, still
holding onto Davoren, until he slammed hard into the concrete wall. Not his
most graceful landing, but it didn't matter. They were both alive, and
there was a floor beneath them.

It appeared they had crashed into a small surveillance room, now just a
squallid hovel for ghosts. Some mainframes occupied one side, with many
panels of screens running along, all dead and neglected. The air was stale
and quite chilly. Yet however shabby this sanctuary appeared, Vincent hadn't
refused its shelter. He needed respite to gather his senses again.

His immediate attention had been to check Davoren for any injuries. Much
to his relief, the gunman had only lost consciousness. Vincent had then
lain Davoren flat upon his back, and since then sat still, watching over
him, dreading what may follow once this man would reawaken.

Weakness and pain had finally caught up to Vincent with a vengence. It had
required much effort to subdue his gasps, and even then he could not abate
the agony burbling inside.

He had been glad to discover the bleeding in his side had stopped. With
luck, it would heal enough to hold him through. Vincent dared not even
think about the other injuries; he thought himself better off not knowing.
Yes, his battered appearance testified how much damage his abnormal body
had endured so far. But if strength ever depleted, he knew the image of
Aeris would hold him up.

Still, Vincent had had plenty of time to contemplate his many thoughts
while waiting: he spent a long minute wondering about Rufus' fate- had
Professor Hojo killed him, or..? What significance had that boy borne? An
ominous cloud of mystery still surrounded "Genesis Retrial", but try as he
may, all his questions amounted to frutration.

He caught a stray thought of Aeris. The more time that passed, the greater
he feared for her. He yearned to wisk her out of this nightmare as much as
the Professor yearned to keep her here. On the other hand, he would not
leave Davoren unattended.

Not surprisingly, as he gazed upon the unconscious gunman, Vincent's mind
had drifted upon the past. He marvelled at how well this man had equally
proven himself a true friend and a deadly enemy. He still grappled with the
truth: old ShinRA had "donated" them to this experiment, while the new one
had brought it to its final stages. Both presidents had worked in cahoots
with the professor towards the same goal.

And now the goal shone almost within reach. But to Davoren, all truths
would fly past except one: Donal, his beloved brother, had been used as the
"dummy" test subject. Professor Hojo had cruelly crushed this man's heart
before attempting his life.

It was at that moment when Vincent had noticed Davoren stir to life again.
He edged closer, just as the man awakened.

Davoren still lay there upon his back, listening to something else above
this heavy silence. His blank stare rested upon the ceiling, while Vincent
waited all the more gravely. Both men lingered long in the stillness. Even
a breath would have sounded too loud.

"I didn't hear him, Vincent," mumbled Davoren tonelessly.

Vincent said nothing.

Nor would Davoren have listened. The gunman spoke in a numb stupor as if
lost between two nightmares, "He cried all the time. He was in pain and so
scared. He screamed my name out, over and over," his voice trailed farther
into hushed sorrow, "..that's what he's been doing all these years..calling
my name.."

Despite his feebelness, Davoren somehow managed to sit himself up unaided.
Slouched thus into a hunched posture, he stared vaccantly into space, "But
I didn't hear him, Vincent. I didn't hear him."

The simple sentence chewed on Davoren's sanity. The more he repeated it,
the lower he sank into dull shock. The world around faded away, including
Vincent who sat nearby. He was alone. Just him and the truth.

That man was your brother.

Vincent studied Davoren from the side in particular thoughtfulness. Never
had he beheld such despair..such misery weigh so heavy as upon this man.
Davoren seemed quite old now. His face, dirty and wan, showed the ruins of
someone scrubbed to utter degredation. His clothes were torn, with the
double-holster harness still in tact and tie loose half-down. He cut such a
pitiful figure now, more so because he himself did not relaize it.

The silent truth still echoed out: that man was your brother...and you
served both his murderers.

Vincent could have spoken, only it seemed so useless. Would his voice even
reach the gunman through his grief? Besides, what could he possibly say?
Davoren, it's okay. They played you for a fool? I'm sorry? He rummaged
through words, but found no comfort.

"..Davoren..," Vincent hesitated, unsure how to continue. However, Davoren
didn't flinch any response. Strangely, something else far more wonderous
occupied his attention. He gaped straight ahead, blank eyes wide with awe.

Most puzzled, Vincent glanced askance towards the source of such
fascination. Just a short distance away, he spotted his own gun discarded
upon the floor. It had probably slipped unnoticed out of its holster during
that crash-landing.

Both men silently beheld the black gun. It filled their eyes, singing a
song of dark temptation to those who'd listen. From the weapon back to the
entranced Davoren, and Vincent understood: suicide.

Next blink, then Hell broke loose. Davoren suddenly dove in like a maniac
straight for the gun, just as the alarmed Vincent pounced on him, and
managed to grab him in time.

"LET ME GO!!" roared Davoren savagely.

"No, Davoren! Don't!!" he begged aloud.

It escalated into a violent struggle. Vincent strove by any means to stop
him. In desperation, he tried pleading for sense. All in vain. No effort or
entreaty could match the lure of that gun. Frantic beyond reason, Davoren
angirly crawled across the dirty floor, despite Vincent's every attempt to
pull him back. His outstretched hand groped around until at last it gripped
the weapon.

One bullet; that's all it would take. Pain had spawned an endless cycle of
bloodshed...crimson red to blot over Donal's memory. Now when it
overwhelmed him, Davoren would still spill more blood. This time his own.

But damned if Vincent would let any bullet be fired. Davoren's rage
tripled when this man suddenly pinned him down upon his side, then reached
over to grab his hand with that claw. The delirious madman struggled wildly.

"Let me go!! His face..his voice are in my head!! I can hear him screaming
my name now!! I can't bear it!! Let me go!!"

In Death, he'd find shelter from the storm. He fought more firecely, even
thrashed his legs about. No good. Vincent would not release him, nor would
he stop until he had wrenched that weapon free, "Drop the gun, Davoren!"

"Let me GO, damn you!"

"Drop it!!"

"Argh!!"

When reason failed, Vincent resorted to brute force. He forcefully twisted
Davoren's hand around, disregarding his painful cry, then ruthlessly
pounded it hard against the ground several times until he let go. The
disppointed gun fell out, whereby Vincent immediately flung it away into a
corner.

His attention returned to the distraught gunman. Out of caution, Vincent
still held down Davoren, who by then had dissolved into another tearful
defeat. Gone all strength, all dignity, even the choice to die had been
denied him. Davoren didn't resist anymore. Instead, he languished weakly
sprawled upon his side, held prisoner thus.

One could only wonder how much sorrow this pitiful wretch had borne.
Again, a storm had swallowed him, and nobody could reach deep enough to
pull him out.

Still, that wouldn't deter Vincent. He bent over to speak very, very
gently into his ear, "Davoren.."

Davoren burried his face away into the dirty floor. Sounds of rage seethed
up his thraot. He squeezed both eyes, gnashed his teeth, anything to
repress it; or maybe to block out Vincent's voice. He obviously didn't want
to listen.

Nevertheless, Vincent persevered, "Davoren, if your brother could see you
now, he wouldn't want you to do this to yourself."

"IF MY BROTHER COULD SEE ME NOW, HE WOULDN'T RECOGNIZE ME!!" bawled
Davoren in one passionate outbusrt, "I've changed so much, even *I* can't
recognize myself anymore!!!"

The bitterness quaked his very depths, casuing him to tremble like mad in
Vincent's arms. But the same grief swamped over again, and his belligerency
died into a long-drawn moan, "While we were fighting..w-when Rufus saw
me...those eyes..that's EXACTLY how Donal would look if..he saw me..n-now.."

Pain, shame, anger. They all flooded him until he could no longer suppress
it. Davoren feebly curled upon himself as misery gushed out. It choked him
breathless. So much anguish, from a broken heart onto the floor, just pour
it out for all to hear.

Vincent let him cry. No doubt, these were tears bottled up for a long,
long time. Throughout this ordeal, he sat huddled up against the man's
backside, holding him down to the floor. Outside his face showed no emotion,
but inside, he felt so angry at his own helplessness- he could find no
words to comfort this devestated soul.

All he could do was offer Davoren silent reassurances of his presence, and
wait. Once, when the agony sunk to such lows, Vincent even hugged him
against the shoulder for comfort. Here he held the shattered pieces of one
man together; and he feared that if he let go now, it would collapse again.

More than thirty-one years ago, Davoren lost his brother. It cut a wound
into his heart, and he bled alone in the shadows, concealing the agony from
the world around. He yearned to forget this pain. So, he walled himself up
in grief, then built another person around that foundation.

He built the opposite of himself. Someone strong, brutal, who would not be
affected by emotion or pain. But deep within, the foundation was weak. Now
the wall had crumbled, and they found his heart in the rubble, still
bleeding after all this time.

What to do with such pain? Keep it hidden, or show it? Everyone must bear
his cross upon his own shoulders, but where to take it? And the longer one
carried it, the more burdensome it became.

Vincent's face darkened: how could he offer any comfort, when he himself
didn't know the answer?

"..w..why did you save me?" a hoarse voice suddenly broke into his
thoughts. Before Vincent realized it, he felt a violent force shove him
off, hard enough to send him landing on his bottom.

Davoren's new strength exploded like a volcano, whereby he scrambled onto
both knees in a rush for fury. He almost pounced on Vincent to grab him by
the collar. In return, Vincent found himself staring back into the eyes of
a madman; harsh and bloodshot with tears.

"We've spent this whole time trying to kill each other...and then you! You
have the gall to save me?!" Davoren snarled outloud, "BASTARD! What the
Hell do you gain by saving me?!!"

The ravaged gunman fumed with hard-grit hatred, even suspicion: one man's
death meant the other's victory, so why? Why would Vincent rush in to save
him? This man, just an hour ago his enemy, why would he push Death away,
when Davoren should...no, *wanted* to die?

What does he gain?

Such questions hung open in the hostile air. Amazingly however, Vincent
maintained a most serene visage. Nor did he try to break free of Davoren's
grip. He answered, "I gain the friend I lost thirty-one years ago."

At first, the reply caught Davoren off guard. There was no hidden meaning,
just a plain truth: below the ruins of a hateful demon, Vincent had found
his friend again. And for that friend, he'd gladly rush through fire and
fury to save him.

It all shone so clear for Davoren to see. But the longer he beheld those
solemn crimson eyes, the greater swelled his irritation until he suddenly
spat back at full scorn, "Your 'friend' died long, long ago. Don't you
know, Vincent?" he rattled the man hard to shake the words through,
"I died when my brother died! They murdered *ME* when they murdered him!!"

Vincent absorbed this belligerency unruffled, even as the insane Davoren
roared clear into his face, "What can you say now?! Do you know how it
feels to live your whole life just for someone else?..to be dirt-poor..
but sacrifice yourself to give him a better life...raise him from a little
child...love him and watch him grow... only to have him snatched away!! Do
you even understand it?!!"

He shouted, but the bitterness only echoed back upon his wounded heart. It
stirred a flood of memories and emotions: Donal and Donal again. Anguish
strained Davoren's face to distortion until he could speak no more.
Finally, he flung Vincent away, just as he himself crumbled into bleak
despair.

"..aah..your friend..," he lamented weakly, "..your friend is long
dead..there's just an empty old man here.."

Outside, he appeared young, but inside there ached an broken, old heart.
He sat slouched forward with both legs folded up, hiding his agony in one
hand. The storm had left him lonely and desolate; no strength to even cry
anymore.

They had murdered his soul. Now he languished for Death to take the rest
of him...take this hollow body..this breathing prison of flesh...it was
dead and empty.

After being released, Vincent sat himself upon both knees again. As he
beheld this pitiful wretch, his eyes darkened into thoughtfullness. There
was still more to say.

"Davoren," he challenged gently, "Doesn't the fact that you care so much
for Rufus...prove you wrong?"

The gunman peered askance, where he met Vincent's meaningful look. When he
found no counter-argument, Davoren just scoffed back, "The boy's a lunatic."

"No. That boy is Rufus ShinRa, the ex-President of ShinRa Inc. He's a
criminal, just like us. You've given your kindness to someone you *know*
does not deserve it."

He delved deeper inside, "You care dearly about Rufus, just like your
brother. And he was right. All this time, you have been trying to hide him
from punishment. You may try, but you can't bring yourself to hurt him or
watch him suffer."

Davoren listened in a tired daze. This time as Vincent spoke, he didn't
drill through him for the core. Instead, he invited him to dig it out by
himself.

"My friend Davoren is not dead. He's right here, the same man I knew
thirty-one years ago. I'm sure because only HE could give such kindess to
someone everyone else would shun."

Yes, Vincent could recall that day so long ago when they stormed a Reactor
full of terrorists. Orders were given to kill them all, and they obeyed.
But after the slaughter, only Davoren offered pity and prayer to those
terrorists, while everyone else scorned them away. He didn't even regard
them as "terrorists". Just "poor, illiterate men" duped into violence.

And now, thirty-one years later, he had done the same thing. When everyone
else would disdain Rufus ShinRa, Davoren alone sheltered him. Professor
Hojo considered this being "prone to petty emotion". To Vincent, this was a
quality far superior to any other.

He fidgetted to add something, however awkward it made him feel or wistful
it sounded, "..I..always respected and admired you, Davoren. I see matters
as they appear square before my eyes. But somewhow, you can reach deeper
and see things in a completely different way...the more..'humane' way. I
suppose I..wish I had that type of insight too."

Davoren expressed some surprise. Indeed, they had never spoken heart to
heart like this before. Yet as they beheld each other, Vincent could
perceive his plain words sink into Davoren's consciousness, slowly but surely.

So much had happened since the day they first met. Mysterious Fate had
twisted their paths from warm friendship to bitter enemity. Now as they sat
here again, it all entangled together into a jumble, and neither man knew
how to unravel it.

At last, Davoren broke away to rub his temples, whilst his sad eyes mused
upon empty space. After some difficulty, he wearily confessed, "..when I
first saw Rufus, it was during one of his spasm fits. I..I found him
huddled there like a wild animal...raving mad, clutching his head and
shivering in the cold."

Vincent knew the rest. The gunman had then wrapped him in his trenchcoat,
and lulled him to sleep with some fairy tale. Yet did he even once consider
who this boy actually was?

"I knew who he was..of course I knew," Davoren sighed as if admitting a
heinous crime, "All those things I shouted at him..about him deserving
punishment..that's what I should have thought of him. But that night, I
didn't see 'New Age President Rufus ShinRa'..," he turned to Vincent in
desperation, "..I just saw a frightened lunatic. And he was so alone,
Vincent. He didn't even have anyone to cry out for! Who was I to judge him
for his crimes?..me..with my own hands so bloody..?"

Vincent watched anguish gnaw this man alive. He said nothing.

"..maybe..there's a hole inside of me I needed to fill..I don't know..for
all the boy was, I still took him in," his tired voice quivered. Weak,
devestated, the gunman burried this sorrow into his hands again, "..I just
want to forget Donal..oh God..he's still screaming my name, Vincent..I want
to forget him..."

He was doomed, forever a prisoner of his own pain. He'd shed blood to blot
out one face...one face burned into his mind like a curse. But the more red
he spilled, the more desperate he became. For no blood thick enough could
ever cover that face completely.

In the silence, these two men waited for nothing. Between them there stood
a wall of misery, so high Vincent saw no end to it. He could have
withdrawn. But no. Of all barriers, he wanted to break this one the most.
If never again, he wanted to reach out for Davoren just once...truely reach
out for him past this wall of pain.

He had no clever arguments, just a handful of feelings and a steady voice.
With these simple tools, Vincent edged closer to the forlorn gunman, and
there placed one firm hand upon his shoulder. Surprised, Davoren lifted his
head to look at him.

"No, you are wrong," Vincent stated, "Donal isn't crying out your name.
Right now, he just wants to return to you, because that is where he belongs."

His grip tightened a bit on Davoren's shoulder, as if he'd imbue him with
enough strength to build a new dignity. Vincent whispered solemnly, "Don't
taint your brother's memory with blood, Davoren. It's far too precious for
that. And don't shun him out in the cold. Take him back in, just like you
took in Rufus, and keep him warm inside."

These words touched the wall at its most sensative stone. Vincent himself
could not quite explain where they had originated. But from afar, he could
almost discern a strange aura linger about. With eyes ever benevolent, it
seemed to smile back upon him, as if to thank him for being its true voice.
Had that been his silent aid?

Strange. It seemed this presence had loitered here all along ...observing
these two men...listening to them speak. Was it....Donal?

No one except Davoren could say how deep those words had sunk. He gaped at
Vincent in certain awe, for a moment too tired to speak. He dwelt long upon
his own shattered thoughts. Maybe he too sensed that gentle presence
somewhere about. Whatever happened inside, Davoren's face soon relaxed into
pensive menalcholia.

"..you've changed, Vincent," he remarked dully. His wistful gaze dug deep
into the crimson brilliance, "But tell me...is what you do with *your* own
pain any better?"

This time, Vincent was caught by surprise, as if Davoren had read deep
into a place even he himself had never seen before. Those pink eyes
mirrored the image upon his conscousness. The reflection filled him with
contemplation, but equal dread. In order to reach Davoren, Vincent reaziled
he had bared parts of himself..parts he never knew existed before. If he
stopped to think, had he really..."changed"?

In a way, he and this man were both similar and different. Each one
dragged his own pain across an endless desert of suffering. But Davoren
channelled his outward. Vincent reverted his inward, towards himself. Was
that really any better? Could there perhaps be another way? If so, where?
He couldn't find it anywhere.

For some very strange reason, the image of those snow fields crossed his
memory, with Aeris standing there alone amidst their whiteness.

Davoren, however, interrupted his reverie, "You'd best go now. Your little
girl is waiting for you."

Vincent was aroused back into hard focus. Yes. Aeris. He'd have to shelve
these many questions. For now, he must hurry. Instantly, Vincent scuffled
onto his feet again.

"One warning," added Davoren, "Professor Hojo has this
crazy...'infatuation' with her. Find her before he does, and get out of
here. Most likely, he's already given you a brain-fever attack...it's just
a matter of time before it starts."

The grave-faced Vincent nodded in acknowledgement, then struggled to stand
again. Davoren remained slouched on the dirty floor. He sat huddled upon
himself, legs drawn up, with his heavy head in one hand.

Vincent limped over to the corner, and picked up his discarded gun.
Concentrate. He must concentrate on reaching Aeris. The last he saw her was
when she ran away through the southern entrance. That path led down to the
lower levels, around here. Then she was close. From this surveillance room,
it would take him a while to reach the main hall, especially since he
intended to search every corridor. But he could probably manage it.

He glanced quizzically towards the miserable gunman, whoose mind seemed
stranded miles away. Vincent thought he should stay here a bit longer. But
then, nothing remained to be said, and somehow, he knew Davoren wouldn't
re-attempt suicide. In fact, maybe it was best to leave him alone.

Besides, there was no time. After a final check, he quietly made his way
to the door.

"..Vincent?" called Davoren.

Vincent stopped, his hand frozen upon the doorknob. He peered over his
shoulder back towards the gunman.

Without looking around, not even a tinge of emotion, Davoren said, "Goodbye."

Though he realized the meaning of that word, Vincent did not respond.
Instead, he took a final moment to study this man. So this would be how
they part. This was how he'd remember Davoren last: a wretch sitting upon
the floor, with his head in his hand. How ironic. This same man could raise
an invinsibility level to shield himself from...pain.

Then the moment passed. Vincent opened the door, and marched out before
gently closing it again. He never looked behind.

********************************************************
The silence here resembled a tomb's. In the darkness, Davoren sat a long,
long time. His hollow eyes hung down upon his shoes, simply because he
hadn't the strength or interest to lift them. Around him loomed
sorrow..more pain...more bitterness. They all crushed his shoulders with
their inconsolable weight.

"We're all soaked in sin..but tell me, Donal..," he whimpered, so lost in
a blind daze, "..up there..is there any room up there for bloody
demons..like us?"

No voice replied. Slowly, Davoren huddled back into utter dejection. Fresh
tears welled up despite his every effort to suppress them. Inside, he had
reached a point where he just did not know what to do. All roads were grim,
with no solace in sight.

He sat by himself, but not alone. Indeed, if (for just a moment) logic
were suspended, one could have sensed a peaceful spirit descend by
Davoren's side. It lovingly embraced him into a loose grip, letting him
languish, but always reassuring him of its presence. Though two worlds
apart, man and spirit sat huddled together on the filthy floor, around them
the grimness of a nightmare.

Perhaps this was the answer. After an eternity of wandering, perhaps Donal
had finally returned home to his brother.