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    How much did it take to restore a broken heart?

    Long, silver hair.

    A pair of electric green eyes.

    Vincent could still remember the first time he looked at Sephiroth and saw something besides the young boy he had protected and helped raise. How he felt the yearning inside him, the want, the need. How he had dreamt of him, lips meeting, clothes shedding, skin to skin, together as one. He remembered how scared he was to feel that way.

    But Sephiroth had something he couldn't put his finger on and couldn't ignore. Suddenly the sex of him didn't matter in the least. Vincent's heart sang out it's lonely tune, and it was Sephiroth who answered. They cured each other, healed each other, loved each other. And nothing would ever drive them apart. Vincent had searched too long and hard for this...all hope, long since lost, was restored.

    Now Hojo was away and they lay together in Sephiroth's bed for a change, fully clothed but hiding under the covers. The blinds had been opened for once, letting the golden sunlight spill across the pair. Sephiroth looked all the more beautiful and angelic with the sun on his shoulders.

    "You have to return to work soon, don't you?"

    The Turk snapped out of his Sephiroth induced haze. "Work? Oh yes, angel. I must. But when I'm done...." he leaned forward to let his breath caress the younger man's forehead. "I will come back here...." he pressed his lips to the cool skin, extracting a pleased moan from his lover, whose green eyes fell closed as well. "And be with you."

    Sephiroth wrapped his arms around the older man, drawing him close. "It's all right. This is all I need."

    "Mmmmm....." Vincent agreed with a pleased moan, nuzzling his cheek against the other man's crimson eyes closing. "Yes, just to see you, angel. It's plenty."

    "I'm so glad Hojo went away...." Sephiroth whispered.

    Vincent froze momentarily. He hated to hear Sephiroth bring up the professor's name. How desperate he was to admit his hatred for the man, but doing so would force him to tell about the Jenova project.....and he couldn't do that. Not yet. Slipping his fingers under Sephiroth's shirt and tracing patterns on his skin, Vincent changed the subject. "You're so beautiful, angel."

    The young man had quickly untucked his lover's uniform shirt and was exploring skin he was so familiar with. "You're more so, my Vincent. So much more beautiful." His volume dropped and he became reflective as he concluded, "you don't have any scars..."

    The Turk made a displeased noise, bringing the young man closer and easily sliding his shirt over his head. His hands traveled down to lightly brush over the mentioned scars before he shifted down entirely, bringing his lips close to Sephiroth's tight stomach. "No, angel." He continued speaking between open mouthed kisses pressed to the clean cut discolorations. "These don't matter. Not at all."

    The young man groaned happily, arching up to the touch of that warm mouth. "Oh yes, Vincent....you are too kind...."

    "Nothing's too....good....for you....angel," he continued, still speaking between kisses, "you've....done so much...for me."

    The young man reached down, taking his lover's face in his hands, bringing their foreheads together. "Vincent," he whispered, "I am this way because you made me this way."

    "Never change," the Turk pleaded, letting their lips touch lightly. "Always remain this gentle, if only on the inside."

    Sephiroth promised, "anything for you."

    Vincent lingered, reluctantly pulling away to check the time. "Aw, damn. I have to run, angel." He stole one last kiss. "Stay just like this, and I'll hurry back to you."

    The young man smiled faintly. "I'll be right here."

    The Turk stepped out of bed, straightened out his rumpled uniform, blew his lover a kiss and went back to Heidegger's office.

    Vincent knocked on the door to his boss' office. The only reason Heidegger, who was younger than Vincent, had risen to such a high position was because he had invested a vast amount of money in the corporation. As if that thought didn't make him sick enough, the man himself made him sicker.

    "Come in."

    He slipped inside, carefully closing the door.

    "Right on time as always, Valentine," Heidegger praised with an annoying chuckle. "That's good, because I have an important assignment for you."

    Vincent stood at attention. "What would that be, sir?"

    "As you probably know, Professor Hojo has been called on business elsewhere."

    "I do know, sir," he confirmed with a nod.

    "Yes. Well, since Hojo is absent, there is no one to observe the specimen."

    "Excuse me, sir," he interrupted, stepping forward, "the specimen?"

    The heavyset man froze and looked at Vincent strangely. "Don't play dumb, Valentine. You know it's Sephiroth I mean when I say specimen."

    Vincent twitched at the word specimen being used to describe his angel. That's all he was to them, and no matter what ranks he rose to in SOLDIER, he would never become anything else to them.

    "Someone needs to document the boy in the Professor's absence," Heidegger was saying. "You've been elected."

    The Turk felt his entire being twitch, body, mind and soul. For a moment the world spun, a sick feeling overtaking him. The words didn't taste good, and he refused to swallow them. For the first time in his years as a turk, Vincent Valentine held his head high and said, "no."

    Heidegger's eyes narrowed. "No? That's an *order*, Valentine. You haven't got a choice."

    "I have," he replied coolly, "and it's no."

    "How dare you defy me!" Heidegger's voice rose sharply, and his hand came down hard against Vincent's cheek.

    He flinched, his skin stinging with the after shocks, but still he remained emotionless. He would never bow down.

    He would sooner lose his job or die even rather than betray his angel.

    "Have you changed you mind?" Heidegger challenged, picking the heavy metal name tag off his desk.

    "Absolutely not," replied the Turk, eyes focused and intent. "And I won't. No matter how bad you beat me." Crimson eyes narrowed. "I will not assist Hojo in anyway, and, if it comes to it, I will not assist you either."

    Blood trickled down his cheek as the metal slashed him across his face. Vincent stood and took all the abuse as Heidegger cursed and beat him into the ground. He simple remained silent, absorbing the pain for Sephiroth. He could take it.

    He grunted as Heidegger's foot connected with his abdomen.

    He blocked out the horrible curses streaming from Heidegger's abusing throat.

    He just thought of Sephiroth sleeping soundly, safe in his bed, not worrying about a thing, not being scared of anything. Vincent would take any abuse to protect that image.

    "Never stand up to me again!"

    He was kicked.

    "I should have you fired for this!"

    He was punched.

    I'll show you who's boss!"

    He was smacked.

    Despite the pain, he almost smiled.

    Later he dragged his weary and battered body back to Sephiroth's dark room. Night had long since fallen, but he had promised to return, no matter the hour.

    He must have looked terrible, standing slumped in the doorway, his uniform rumpled, his skin a collage of bruises and strands of drying blood.

    But Sephiroth.... Ah...he looked beautiful, silver hair spilled across white pillows, soundly asleep with a peaceful look upon his angular face.

    Every blow I took to protect you was worth it, my angel. And I would do it again a million times over, just to make you happy. The Turk nearly burst into tears looking upon the perfect vision. They say a picture is worth a thousand words, but this one was also worth a thousand emotions to Vincent, and they flooded in, overwhelming him.

    He stumbled forward, over to the bed, toeing off his shoes and sliding his jacket off his shoulders.

    The young man stirred slowly, an arm coming over his forehead. Electric green eyes opened and blinked. He spoke, voice weak with sleep. "Vincent...."

    The Turk slipped in besides him, arms taking him in an embrace. "Angel."

    Sephiroth looked him over with a frown. "Vincent....you're...you're covered in blood." Hands wandered through black hair. "What happened?"

    "I had a battle," Vincent muttered. Technically, it was not a lie. And it had been a winning battle, even though Heidegger received not one physical blow. "But let's not talk about that."

    "Let's not," Sephiroth murmured his reply, pulling Vincent closer. Pale pink lips covered his mouth and tasted him slowly, probing at his lips before straying. Sephiroth's tongue darted out to lick the cut on his cheek, and soon he was lapping gently at it, fingers unbuttoning Vincent's shirt and dropping that aside.

    The Turk moaned, hands coming up through silver strands of hair to gently cup Sephiroth's face. Every last punch was for you, my beautiful, darling angel. "Sephiroth," he whispered, head bending back to allow easier access to his neck. "I love you beyond compare."

    Sephiroth sucked softly at his lover's neck before looking back up into crimson eyes. "What I wouldn't do for you, my Vincent. There's absolutely nothing." Then again he took Vincent's mouth.

    I'd die for you in an instant, even if it was exquisite torture. The older man moaned, drawing his love deeper into the kiss. Their chests met, and they pressed up against one another, heated skin fusing together, hearts beating rapidly.

    Reluctantly they broke for air, panting as they stared at one another.

    "Sorry to come so late," Vincent apologized.

    "I'm glad to be with you any time," Sephiroth purred, nuzzling his cheek against the older man's. "I'm sorry to see you hurt."

    He assured him, "I'm all right."

    "Mmmm....." he rubbed against his lover, a kiss pressed gently to his ear. "I promise to take your pain away, my darling," he promised, his spine, "I'll heal you."

    His crimson eyes blinked closed and he concentrated only on Sephiroth's voice and his fingers on his skin, cool and fleeting. Extraordinary.

    And so it was on into the night. The two of them, pressed closely together in that tiny bed, holding one another, whispering terms of endearment.

    Sephiroth trembled, panting in the after shocks of pleasure. Vincent kissed his forehead gently and lay him back on the pillows.

    "I....I don't," Sephiroth panted, trying to get the words out.

    "Shush...." Vincent quieted him, a finger to his lover's lips. "Don't think about that." Hojo is the person I want furthest from my mind.

    The young man smiled weakly. "Ai shiteru, Vincent. My soul."

    The Turk echoed the words, and added, "my life."

    They slept together in one another's arms, and Vincent did not awaken until he felt warm rays of sunshine fall across his face. He rose slowly, so not to disturb Sephiroth, and climbed out of bed.

    He dressed, watching the peaceful slumber of his angel as he did so. You gave me hope, my love, the least I can do is protect you

    Vincent checked the time and knew he had to leave, had to go back and face Heidegger again. Though his body ached from his brutal beating, his heart was strong with determination. Never would he back down.

    He leaned over, pressing a feathery kiss on his angel's forehead. "I'll see you later," he whispered. With a last lingering look, a pleased smile on his lips, he left his angel alone, carefully shutting the door behind him.

    A new day, but an old promise to keep. There's nothing else I need but to see you. I'll fight for you.

    He came to the door of Heidegger's office and checked his watch. Precisely on time as always. He knocked.

    "Is that you, Valentine?" Heidegger's voice was gruff. "You'd better have a different answer for me today."

    Vincent smiled faintly, turned the knob, and stepped inside.

The End

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