Manor House
Chapter Ten

Rating: R for violence
Category: AU
Pairing(s): Cloud/Reno, Tifa/Barret, Aeris/Tseng, Zack/Sephiroth, Vincent/Cid, Reeve/Rufus, Yuffie/Elena, Charles/Nathan, Toki/Skwisgaar, Murderface/Knubbler.
Warnings: Some violence, minor angst.
Summary: Pickles is in a pickle, Loz and Angeal bond, the Healin Spa is crowded, and evil is afoot.
Notes: Getting into the second major plot of the fic, folks! Buckle your seatbelt.

Phoenix flirted. Pickles flirted back. It meant nothing. Phoenix flirted because he was young and he liked knowing he was pretty, and enjoyed the validation of having an older man acknowledge him. Pickles flirted back because he was a major celebrity and he was used to playing up to fans. The whole interaction lasted a minute at best and meant not a damned thing. Phoenix was far too young and both Pickles and Phoenix knew that. It was brief, it was innocent, and it was over. Angeal witnessed the entire thing and saw nothing to trip his ‘overprotective dad’ alarm.

Loz, on the other hand, freaked.

“HEY! That’s my boyfriend you… creep!”

“I am not your boyfriend,” said Phoenix, “we’re still in negotiations.”

“Yeah but you’re not supposed to be flirting with ugly geezers!”

Pickles raised an eyebrow, but held his tongue. Phoenix rolled his eyes.

“Loz you’re being annoying. Stop it.”

“But…”

“Loz, behave.”

“No! He has no right to….”

“What? Talk to me? Loz what did we agree to about not annoying each other?”

“We didn’t say anything about you flirting with skinny old geezers.”

Pickles growled. “I am naht a geezer, okay? Seriously. I’m thirty. That’s naht old.”

Loz strode over to Pickles, who barely reached up to his chest. “You’re too old to be bothering my boyfriend.”

“I’m your ex-boyfriend,” said Phoenix. “And to paraphrase Cid I’m getting exer by the minute. And he wasn’t bothering me.”

Cloud glanced over at Charles, who was standing beside him on Cid’s porch, sipping coffee, watching the interaction. It had been a week since he and the band showed up, and things had been peaceful. For the most part they were spending their time at Healin, where Skwisgaar was slowly recovering from his illness.

“Are you going to do anything?” Cloud asked Charles, referring to the brewing situation with Loz.

“If Loz wants to get his ass kicked that’s his business,” said Charles.

Cloud gave Charles a puzzled look. Angeal decided to intervene.

“Loz, leave Pickles alone. He didn’t do anything.”

“But…!”

“Enough,” said Angeal. “You can’t bully Pickles, just because he’s little and helpless.”

“Gee thanks,” said Pickles.

“You’re genetically enhanced,” said Angeal to Loz. “You’re a lot stronger than he is. Pickles is just a little musician, you can’t be pushing him around.”

“Seriously,” said Pickles. “Don’t stand up for me anymore. I’m getting a complex.”

Angeal turned to Pickles, looming over the little red-haired drummer. “Well Pickles he needs to learn not to pick on people who are weak and helpless.”

Pickles’ hackles were fully erect. “Dood who said I’m weak and helpless?”

Charles grinned, speaking softly, almost to himself. “Genetically refined super-warrior, meet small feisty drummer.”

Cloud laughed quietly. “He doesn’t back down, does he?”

“Pickles can be quite the little bantam when he gets a bug in his bonnet,” said Charles. “Though he’s usually smart enough to back off when he’s in over his head. Note I said ‘usually’. He’s certainly not afraid to stand up for himself.”

Angeal smiled at Pickles with warm condescension. “Pickles, no matter how tough you may think you are, you’re no match for trained and genetically engineered warriors.”

“Wow. Ego. Like… seriously.”

Angeal raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying you’re stronger than I am?”

“No. Hell no. I’m a drummer naht a soldier. But I am naht helpless.”

Angeal grinned, amused and somewhat intrigued. “Then show me what you got, little man.”

“No way, dood, because if I hurt you then you’ll flick my head off like a dandelion.”

Angeal chuckled. “I won’t. I swear. Just… show me what you have. Give me all you got.”

“Well… okay. But you’re naht allowed to laugh at me.”

Cloud glanced at Charles. “We really should stop this. Angeal could make paste of Pickles with one hit. He wouldn’t even have to try.”

Charles smiled. “Yes I have no doubt he could. He’s bigger, stronger and faster than Pickles, plus he’s had a substantial amount of training. But Pickles, much as he will deny it, is an adult. And I’m his manager, not his father. Frankly if I was his father... well… I’d probably need therapy”

Cloud snorted with amusement. He watched Angeal face off with Pickles, having mental images of Angeal accidentally turning the smaller man into puree. Angeal was used to training fighters, and went into a stance, assuming Pickles would… well... do something predictable, such as swing for his face. It was the usual attack of the uninitiated. This was what Cloud expected as well, and he watched as Pickles backed up slightly, as if uncertain what to do.

“Come on,” said Angeal, gently encouraging. “It’s okay. Just hit me with your best shot.”

“Well… okay.”

Angeal was taken completely by surprise when Pickles shot out one foot straight for his left knee cap, a shockingly painful move that caused Angeal to cry out in surprise and pain. He grabbed his knee, hopping in pain, and Pickles promptly hooked his other leg out from under him, landing Angeal on his ass. Angeal lay there, staring at the sky, astonished. Cloud looked at Charles, eyes large.

“How did he do that? Angeal is one of the best, it would take Sephiroth to put him down.”

Charles shook his head. “I don’t know, but if there is one thing I have learned it’s not to underestimate the boys. There’s something very strange about them - very strange.”

Cloud just raised an eyebrow, watching as Phoenix pounced on Pickles, taking his arm.

“My hero! Let’s go for a walk.”

“Walk?” said Pickles, with something akin to horror.

Pickles permitted Phoenix to lead him off, while Loz ground his teeth with a noise like steel wheels skidding on a rusty track. Cloud left the porch, walking over to Angeal and helping him up. Angeal rose to his feet and blinked at Cloud in utter confusion.

“How the hell did he just do that?”

“I don’t know,” said Cloud. “You should have smashed him like an egg. There’s no way he should have put you on your butt. But then again, he should be dead of mako poisoning, too. And you weren’t here when they first arrived and blew up my house by landing a helicopter.”

“Your house is cursed,” said Angeal.

“I like my house. I worked hard for that.”

“You should call it an exorcist.” Angeal glanced over at Loz, who was standing alone, lower lip trembling, blue eyes shimmering with tears. Angeal sighed and walked over to him, putting an arm around him.

“Loz, it’s okay.”

“No it’s not, Phoenix likes the skinny guy better than me.”

“He does not,” said Angeal.

“You like the skinny guy better than me!”

“Errr… possibly,” said Angeal. “Look, Loz, Phoenix is only sixteen, and you’re only seventeen. You are both too young to be so serious.”

“But Andy and Yazzy…”

“Are different people.”

Loz sighed. “Yeah that’s what Phoenix said, too. But I don’t want Phoenix to like someone more than me.”

“Loz, there is no one Phoenix likes better than you. He told me so.”

Loz perked up instantly. “Really? You’re not lying?”

Angeal gazed back at him. “Loz if I was going to lie about my son’s feelings to you do you honestly think I would tell you he really likes you?”

“No.”

“Well there you go.”

Loz gazed down the runway to where Pickles and Phoenix were walking together. They were talking animatedly, and laughing. Then Phoenix let out a screech of joy and pounced on Pickles, hugging him.

“Are you sure he likes me better than Pickles?” asked Loz.

“He better,” said Angeal. “Because if he thinks I’m letting him date a thirty-year-old lush of a rock star the kid is sadly mistaken.”

Angeal and Loz watched the itty-bitty red haired drummer play with the itty-bitty red haired teen warrior.

“They are awful cute together,” said Cloud.

Angeal growled as he, Loz, and Cloud watched and Phoenix and Pickles chase each other all over the grass runway.

“I’m getting a gun,” said Angeal.

Cloud rolled his eyes. “They’re just playing.”

“And if that was Kin out there?”

“I’d be amazed at how big she was for her age.”

“I’m getting a gun,” said Angeal.

“I’m helping,” said Loz.

“Have fun in jail,” said Cloud.

Phoenix suddenly came running up to his father, pouncing on him with a sound of pure glee.

“Pickles is going to show me how to play the drums! Won’t that be wonderful? Please tell me I can.”

Angeal made a sound of pain. “The drums?”

“Please say yes.”

Angeal sighed as his resolve melted. “Fine. BUT! Two conditions. One, that I am there for the lessons, and two… don’t tell your mother.”

Phoenix kissed his father. “I won’t. Thank you daddy, you’re the best daddy ever!”

“Is that code for idiot?”

Phoenix laughed and kissed him again, then bounded after Pickles. Angeal, Loz and Cloud watched as Phoenix and Pickles talked music.

“Look at it this way,” said Cloud. “You always wanted him to take an interest in new things.”

“I would like to point out that ‘new things’ does not include a thirty-year-old death metal musician named ‘Pickles’,” said Angeal. “What the hell kind of a name is Pickles anyway? Who looks at a baby and names it Pickles? That’s not a name, it’s a condiment.”

“I suspect it is not his real name,” said Cloud. “You know you could be overreacting.”

“I better be overreacting,” said Angeal.

“Pickles!” Charles called from his place on the porch. “We have to leave. We have an appointment at the spa.”

Pickles and Phoenix parted, Pickles heading for the house. Phoenix watched him go, then bounded up to his father, taking his arm.

“Father I’m going to be a musician when I grow up. I’ve decided.”

“Well your mother will be pleased to hear that.”

“I’m going to create a new genre of death metal. Genetically manipulated metal.”

“Cool!” said Loz. “Maybe I could be a musician too!”

Phoenix brightened visibly. “Oh I bet you would be wonderful at it!”

Loz forgot about his concerns regarding Pickles. “You think so? What should I play?”

Phoenix’s eyes gleamed. “Guitar. Definitely. Can you sing?”

“Sure I can sing!” said Loz. “I sing really good!”

Cloud and Angeal, who had both been subjected to the nasal braying Loz called singing, bit their tongues in unison. Phoenix took Loz’s arm and blinked up at him adoringly.

“We’ll have the greatest band on the planet. Come on, let’s walk down to the music shop and see how expensive the guitars are.”

Loz and Phoenix walked away together, cuddling close. Angeal looked at Cloud.

“Do you think anyone would notice if Pickles and Loz went missing?”

Cloud just smiled and patted him on the shoulder.

***---***

Healin Spa had never been so crowded.

The band needed to be monitored for any issues that cropped up due to mako poisoning, but so far they all seemed fine, other than Skwisgaar. Then Charles decided that, since he had to be camped out in a hospital for the most part anyway, he may as well have the left eye that was destroyed during the fight with the masked assassin replaced with a robotic one that actually worked. Nathan had been in a knot the entire time Charles was having the eleven hour procedure, and now, as Charles recovered, Nathan still hadn’t calmed down, reluctant to let his lover out of his sight.

Charles gazed at himself in the mirror of the small bathroom of his hospital room, gently prodding at his left eye. It was strange to be able to see out of it once more, and it was so good to not have the constant headache that had plagued him since the battle. The nanites had saved his life that night, keeping him alive and mending the severe fractures in his face and skull. The doctors on Earth had made him a beautiful artificial eye to replace the one he lost, but Charles liked this one better. This one worked. And best of all it looked like an eye, not those strange round staring things Knubbler had. The nanites were busily healing him, repairing the damaged caused by the surgeons, but he still looked like he had gone ten rounds with a very angry boxer.

“How do you feel?” asked a quiet, rough voice to Charles’ left.

“Mph. Little out of it still,” said Charles. He studied the bruising around his eye. “I look like I was in a bar fight.”

Nathan walked over to him, dipping his head to nibble his shoulder, trailing his massive hands over Charles’ upper arms. “How’s the new eye?”

“It’s terrific. Works better than the old one.”

“I… uh… I’m sorry, you know.”

Charles turned his head to look at Nathan, puzzled. “Why on earth would you be sorry?”

“I should have got there sooner. I… I should have saved you.”

“Nathan…” said Charles quietly. “You did save me. You burned your hands to bits saving me. And you were not exactly out of danger yourself.”

“I know. I just wish… well… I wish I’d had a bigger chunk of flaming timber to hit him with. And I’d got there sooner.”

Charles turned to Nathan and pressed close to his enormous body. “It’s all right. I’m fine now.” He grinned. “You big bad-ass mother, pounding an assassin over the head with flaming timber. If I hadn’t been lying on the ground unconscious in a pool of my own blood with my face in pieces I would have been all over you.”

Nathan smiled. “That’s great Charlie, that’s fantastic. You should put that in the next press release. ‘Nathan Explosion, so hot even unconscious guys wanna do him’. I’m sure that will sell a lot of records.”

“No unconscious guys other than me get to do you.”

Nathan kissed him. “I don’t do unconscious guys, not even really cute ones.”

“Well you’re no fun.”

Nathan kissed him again. “I prefer to have my guys awake and on their backs, staring at the ceiling and wondering what possessed them to think that getting mounted by a mentally-dysfunctional and barely-literate rock god was a good idea.”

“Oh stop it. You know Nathan I hate to break this to you but you’re not stupid.”

“Well that’s what you keep saying.”

“You’re not. You have some cognitive difficulties and some learning disorders but you’re not stupid. You just think you are because nobody ever did anything to help you.”

Nathan shrugged. “It’s not so bad being stupid.” He grinned wickedly. “It gives me an excuse to get away with shit.”

Charles laughed. “Oh now I get it!” He stood on his toes to kiss Nathan. “Walk me back to my bed.”

Nathan walked Charles back into his room. Charles was not surprised in the least to see the rest of the band there, including Skwisgaar. He was bone thin and fragile as glass, but he was back to being a diva and a princess so they were sure he would live. He was lying on his side on Charles’ bed, Pickles seated behind him.

“How’s the new eye working out for ya, there?” Pickles asked.

“Fine,” said Charles. “It appears to be working perfectly. How’s the princess?”

“He is gettingks sicks of dats name,” muttered Skwisgaar.

Pickles grinned and stroked the long hair with both hands, then leaned forward and kissed him on his ear. “We only call you that because… well… you know… you’re a princess.”

Skwisgaar snorted. “Where’s my Tokis?”

“Getting you the vanilla ice cream you asked for.”

“Oh, rights. I forgots. Maybe he is findings my brain while is ats it.”

“Not a chance,” said Nathan. “No one’s seen your brain in years.”

Pickles kept stroking the long gold hair. “Yer okay there, pal. Just a little sick.”

Charles got back into his bed, still a little woozy after surgery, but not about to ask Pickles and Skwisgaar to move. He was part of the pack now, and that meant sharing his personal space with them, though he still insisted on certain boundaries. They didn’t understand it, but at least they respected it. Charles glanced over at Murderface, who had fallen asleep on a neighbouring bed, currently unused by any patients. Lydia was snoozing on his chest, and Knubbler was dozing beside him. But they weren’t gay, nor were they a couple. Murderface wanted that clear.

Charles would never admit it out loud, but he’d been seriously concerned about adding a baby to the mix. The boys were not known for their emotional stability. But in the three months since Lydia had been on the planet she had never known a moment’s loneliness or fear. There was always someone there when her tiny hand reached forth. Charles had been worried about doing all the child-raising himself, but nothing was further from the truth. In fact there were times he had to actively seek her out, and usually she was with Pickles or Toki if she was awake, or Skwisgaar or Murderface if she was asleep. Murderface really had no idea whatsoever as to what he should do with a wide-awake baby, but a sleeping baby was a great excuse to do what he was best at – be lazy. After all he was babysitting, right? Can’t do anything if you are babysitting. And Skwisgaar just packed her around to whatever part of the house he was heading to, usually the studio.

Charles trusted Skwisgaar with Lydia, but it did say something about his lack of parenting skills that Charles had found his infant sleeping in drum cases, guitar cases, bass cases, and in one instance a keyboard case. He had a photo he treasured of Skwisgaar seated on a bench in the studio, playing guitar, and Lydia, only a few days old, asleep in his guitar case beside him. Granted a guitar case wasn’t the most appropriate place for a newborn, but the fact that she was in the case told Charles something profound – Lydia was not just a small satellite to the main group, she was part of it. And that meant she had the right to wee all over the case for a ten thousand dollar Gibson. That was also when they learned something very important; using a hose to clean crushed silk velvet lining is not a wise move.

Meanwhile, down the hallway, Tifa, Barret and Cid waited as Vincent was checked to see if he would make a viable surrogate for Tifa’s baby. When doctor Gaywell emerged from the small room where he was being examined, Tifa hopped to her feet, brown eyes large.

“Well?” she asked in a hopeful tone.

“I have bad news, good news, and good news,” said Gaywell. “Bad news first – there is no way I can recommend Vincent as a surrogate.”

Tifa uttered a gasp of pain and horror. “No! Oh please don’t say that!”

Barret drew her close, comforting her as her eyes welled with tears. “Well why the hell not?” he demanded.

“Because the little twit has a uteral infection that would cripple a dragon. I don’t know how he did it but he’s got an organ full of pus. He’s going nowhere, he is staying here and getting hooked up to an IV. Of course he is in a total flap over that… literally. Good news is it’s treatable and it’s not likely to result in sterility.”

“He’s sick?” said Cid, surprised.

“He’s very sick, he just didn’t know it. Why he did not know it is a mystery for the ages. But… on the other hand, he is dead and that tends to make things like major infections irrelevant. Someone needs to have a word with him about dodging his doctor’s appointments.”

“I’ll strangle the silly shit!” said Cid, warring between anger and worry.

“Yeah well until you get that cold steel thing rammed inside of you and your parts cranked open for examination, don’t be so quick to judge,” muttered Tifa. Barret quietly convulsed in the background.

“So what’s the other good news?” asked Cid.

“The other good news is Tifa and Barret may not need him.”

“What do you mean?” asked Tifa.

“Well,” said Gaywell, “Sephiroth definitely cut you, and he definitely did some serious damage. But the wound was neat and fine, and healed with no serious scarring.” Gaywell walked over to a diagram of a uterus on the wall and traced her finger across it. “This is the path the sword took – diagonal and down. Your first doctor thought Sephiroth chopped your womb in two, but he didn’t. The blade was further to the side, and he hit right here. He missed your womb. He hit your fallopian tube, causing scarring that blocked off the egg’s ability to travel. You may not have even noticed except you only have one functioning ovary, and that’s the one he blocked.”

“Well you always did have to be different,” said Cid.

“So what are you saying?” asked Tifa, her brown eyes fixed on Dr. Gaywell.

“I’m saying we can go in and clean out the scar tissue, restoring a pathway for the egg to follow, and in a year or so, after everything is healed and ready, you can have a baby naturally anytime you want, without the aid of Flappy McGee in the next room.”

Cid watched Barret duck and cover, and wished he’d followed his example as Tifa suddenly began shrieking like a madwoman and leaping around the room. Cid darted into the examination room to escape her, finding a huge cranky creature with dark grey skin, wearing a hospital gown and brandishing wings too large to fit in the small office. Cid grinned at him.

“There’s my little mouse-angel. Have we been skipping our gynaecologist appointments?”

Vincent hissed. Cid walked over to him and cuddled the angry demonic creature.

“You are so fucking cute.” He kissed his nose. “But seriously, babe. You’re sick. You have to take better care of yourself.”

The winged thing growled and snarled.

“Yeah I know, Tifa feels the same way about it as you do. I can’t imagine any woman likes it. They probably feel the same way about it as I feel about getting the finger, but baby if we don’t do those things we get sick. Just calm your cute little self down and we’ll go see how Toki’s princess is.”

Vincent eventually did calm down; returning to his natural form, though his feelings about being stuck at Healin until his infection cleared up remained unchanged. He walked with Cid down to the large room where Dethklok were staying. Cid looked around, seeing the entire group, including Lydia and Knubbler.

“Were you people born conjoined or did it happen later on in life?” Cid asked as he entered the room. He was pounced on by Toki, and hugged him in return, then Cid’s blue eyes fixed on a man he didn’t know, but was sure he had seen before. He was dressed in a brown suit, standing by Charles’ bed, and Charles was looking through a collection of papers.

“What’s going on over there?” asked Cid.

“Oh we is gettings invited to play big concert in Midgar,” said Toki.

“Oh yeah,” said Cid. “Who’s the jerk in the brown suit?”

“Dat’s Mr. Dirk Hood.”

Cid rolled his eyes as realization struck him, then looked at Vincent. “Dirk the Jerk, former head of Shinra Inc. public relations.”

Vincent watched the man, saying nothing. Charles read through the contract he held, then passed it back to Dirk.

“Well it’s a very generous offer, and we’d love to accept it, but I’m afraid we can’t. The boys don’t play ‘Awaken’ publicly anymore.”

“Yeah that’s for sure,” said Pickles.

“Well surely you can make one little exception,” said Dirk. “The man sponsoring this event would very much love to hear it live.”

“We don’t play ‘Awaken’ publicly anymore,” said Nathan, firmly echoing Charles.

“I assure you we can make it worth your while,” said Dirk. “We can offer you a substantial amount of money.”

The band roared with laughter.

“Uh… buddy?” said Pickles. “We’re Dethklok. You don’t have that much money.”

“I see,” said Dirk. “Well, is there nothing I can do to persuade you to change your minds?”

“Our position in this matter is firm,” said Charles. “I’m sorry but we cannot sign this contract as it stands. The boys simply do not perform ‘Awaken’ publicly.”

“Very well then,” said Dirk. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you.”

Cid watched as Dirk left, then turned to Charles. “So why don’t you play that song in public?”

“It summons things,” said Pickles.

“Yeah, big things,” said Nathan as Murderface woke from his nap, yawning.

“The lyrics came from a Finnish book of necromantic spells,” said Charles. “Specifically it summons Musta Krakish, the Lake Troll. But we have since discovered it will summon… pretty much any monster indigenous to the area.”

“Yeah like… Wendigos,” said Nathan.

“Banshees,” said Pickles.

“Vetters,” said Toki.

“Barghests,” said Skwisgaar.

“And little… pink… unicornsh with big dewy eyesh and little rainbowsh on their buttsh and big fluffy tailsh,” said Murderface, and shuddered.

“What’s wrong with pink unicorns?” asked Cid.

“They perch on your chest at night and enter your dreams to devour your soul,” said Charles.

“Anyway,” said Nathan, “we don’t play that song anymore outside of a soundproof recording room booth. Once it’s recorded it doesn’t seem to have any power, but when we do it live…”

“Shit comes running,” said Pickles.

Cid looked at Vincent, their eyes meeting, and Cid could tell that Vincent and he were having the same thought.

“I have a very bad feeling about this,” said Cid. “It can’t be pure coincidence that the ‘sponsor’ loves that song and just has to hear it live.”

“A song like that could summon some pretty impressive monsters on this world,” Vincent agreed in his quiet voice.

“Well I don’t know what plan they have in mind,” said Charles, “but we’re not participating. If they want monsters summoned, they’ll just have to find another way. Listen, Cid, I was wondering if I could ask a favour of you.”

“Sure go ahead.”

“Lydia is going back with Pickles to the Kopter in a bit; could she stay with you while I’m here? There’s not really a place for her here.”

“Yeah sure, I don’t mind. You want me to Pickle-sit as well?”

“No he’s stopped drinking bleach and he hasn’t licked an electrical outlet in days. I’m sure he’ll be fine. Pickles could look after her but with all the mako in his system I would just rather he got some rest.”

“Well I’m gonna be with Vincent for a while, but yeah he can drop her off at my place,” said Cid.

“Thank you, Cid.”

“No problem,” said Cid. “She’ll be fine there.”

***---***

“Vin? Baby you’re keeping me awake.”

“Mph. Sorry. I just can’t get comfortable.”

“It’s just this damned hospital bed. Snuggle up.”

It was a little past eleven at night, and Vincent was in a hospital bed in his own room at Healin, connected to an antibiotic drip to deal with his infection. Beside him was Cid, and Vincent was grateful that Healin permitted couples to stay together in most cases. He cuddled up to his husband, then almost immediately sat up, restless and uncomfortable. Cid sighed quietly.

“What’s the matter?”

Vincent shifted, red eyes blinking in the darkness, hand on his abdomen. He was clearly miserable. “I dunno, feels a bit like I’m in labour.”

Cid reached out to gently rub Vincent’s belly, or lack thereof. “Maybe it’s trying to push out all that gunk. The doctor did say there would be cramping. You want to go for a walk?”

“I thought you needed some sleep.”

“Ah I can sleep later. C’mon.”

“No I’m not really up for a walk. Damn doctors. I felt fine until they began feeding all this crap into my system.”

“That’s not true,” said Cid softly. “You’ve been a bit off since that incident at the Manor House.”

“Don’t remind me,” said Vincent, pulling at his cropped hair.

Cid sat up and gently drew Vincent close, kissing him softly, grinning as Vincent nipped his lower lip.

“None of that, now, I don’t want to get shit from the doctor.”

Vincent nibbled his jaw. “I’m not up for it anyway. But… I was just thinking. Those cursed bricks in Tifa’s house. We never did find out where they came from or who stashed them there. And now Dethklok is getting an invitation to play that song live in Midgar.”

“You think the two are connected?”

“I don’t know,” said Vincent. “But it makes me uncomfortable. I wonder if we missed something?”

“I don’t see what,” said Cid. “Seems to me we got everything. Hojo is gone, Lucrecia is out of commission, as is Kadaj. Jenova is dead, Sephiroth, Loz and Yazoo are tame as kittens, Rufus has disbanded all the dangerous branches of his company… I can’t think who would be causing trouble.”

“Emerald Weapon is still cruising the seas.”

“Yeah but Weapon is a force of nature, it doesn’t plot. And now that the planet isn’t in danger it’s been no trouble either, other than to that one pleasure yacht that rammed it a few months back, and if the captain had been paying attention that would not have happened either.” Cid gently kissed Vincent. “It is possible we’re seeing monsters where there are none.”

“I suppose. But who poisoned Skwisgaar? Mako doesn’t occur in liquid form on Earth. Someone had to spike his wine with it intentionally, it doesn’t just flow around in rivers, looking for things to get into. And they had to have known Charles would take him here to Gaia to be taken care of. We may not have any enemies left, but Dethklok has the Tribunal, who are trying to force them into bringing about mass destruction. Is it possible they are trying to wipe us out so we can’t help Charles and the band anymore? We are powerful allies.”

“And summoning Weapon out of the seas to go on a rampage would certainly make a mess,” said Cid. “We could probably defeat it, but not without some of us getting seriously hurt, if not killed.” He glanced at Vincent, concern in his eyes. “Babe I think you’re onto something.”

“I hope I’m wrong.”

“I hope you are too,” said Cid, getting out of bed and beginning to dress. “But just in case you’re not, I’m gonna get my ass home and make a few phone calls.”

***---***

Aeris opened the door to the house, and found herself looking at a small wet drummer, carrying a guitar case. It was eleven-twenty at night, and Pickles was wet, implying he had likely been prowling around in the dark and the rain for at least a half an hour. He blinked big green eyes at her, lower lip protruding, his breath smelling faintly of beer.

“I’m cold and lonely,” he pouted.

Aeris melted. “Oh you poor little damp thing! Come on in. Why are you out wandering around by yourself? Come along, I’ll pour you some tea.”

“Ah I couldn’t sleep,” Pickles said. “Nobody’s home and I hate being alone.” Pickles walked into the stone house, heading into the livingroom after Aeris. He set down his guitar case, then seated himself on the floor.

“Where is everyone?” she asked, pouring him some tea.

“At Healin,” he said, opening his guitar case. “Nathan is with Charlie, who is recovering from eye-replacement surgery. Toki is with Skwisgaar, and Murderface decided this was a good time to take Knubbler skiing up at Icicle Inn so they can have a totally absolutely in no way gay weekend together.”

“What about all those roadies?” she asked, giving him his tea.

“They’re not allowed to talk to us,” said Pickles. “They’re bodyguards as well as roadies. We’re not allowed to get attached. There are exceptions, of course. Badger has been my roadie since I started Snakes ‘n’ Barrels, and he… kinda raised me, I guess. Then there are Simon and Trotter. Simon’s job is to act as liaison between the band and the roadies, and Trotter is the official Dethklok nerd, who keeps all our expensive electronics running.”

“Simon,” said Aeris thoughtfully, seating herself and picking up her embroidery. “He’s the big fellow with the insane Pekinese.”

Pickles grinned. “Yeah, Spartacus, the only animal officially on the Dethklok payroll. She’s even got her own Cog; it hangs from her collar. Simon and I taught her to windmill to a couple songs. It’s funny as hell, she looks just like Nathan when she does it.”

Aeris laughed, resuming her embroidering as Pickles took his guitar out of the case. “Sounds adorable.”

“Yeah she’s kinda the band mascot, we love her, poor little ancient thing. She’s something like five years older than the average Peke, but she just keeps on going. She even comes on tour with us, bringing patch cords and stuff. And we all taught her tricks. I taught her to windmill, Toki taught her to speak, Skwisgaar taught her to play dead, Nathan taught her to do a little dance, and Murderface taught her to piss into shoes on command.”

“He did not!” exclaimed Aeris.

“Yup. He did. Just never ever look at her and say ‘it’s pee-pee time’ because she will head straight to the nearest piece of footwear and fill it.”

“That’s awful! What a horrible thing to teach a small dog!”

“Which is why he taught it to her, I mean come on, it’s Murderface.”

Aeris sighed and shook her head. “I’ll admit, he’s the only one of you I haven’t warmed up to.”

“Yeah well he’s not really the warm and cuddly type,” said Pickles. “He’s a good guy though, just… kinda defensive. His life has sucked almost as bad as Toki’s. He was… two?… I think? Or maybe a bit older, when his dad killed his mother and then himself, right in front of him. So… yeah that’s gonna leave a mark.”

“How horrible,” Aeris said, her voice almost a whisper. “Oh that’s so awful!! So who looked after him?”

“His grandmother. And she’s a nice enough lady but, y’know she already raised her kids, and her husband from what I gather was never in great health and that’s before he had the stroke that made him a vegetable. She had her hands full. So I don’t think Murderface ever got any real attention or love. I know he was never treated for what he saw as a baby, and whether he really remembers it or not it screwed him up. I’m sure that’s why every now and then he’ll just turn on a person. Usually the better he likes you the faster he is to go after you. Doesn’t like anyone getting close.”

“Well then how does Knubbler put up with it?” asked Aeris.

Pickles laughed. “Knubbler won’t take it, not for a moment. I’ve seen Knubbler back Skwisgaar down, and that is naht easy, if Skwisgaar has an issue with you he’s not exactly afraid to let a guy know about it. Knubbler doesn’t take crap from anybody, certainly not from Murderface. They’ve been good for each other, they balance each other out. But of course they totally are not a couple and they’re definitely not in love.”

Aeris giggled. “Well why do they care if anyone knows they’re a couple?”

“Ah who knows. All I know is they’re happy together, and I’m not gonna mess with the only stable loving relationship Murderface has ever known… though not a day goes by I’m not thankful it was Charles who got hit with Sephiroth’s blood, not Knubbler.”

“Pickles you’re awful!”

“Oh come on! You trying to tell me we could let the poor kid out in public?! Look at the parents!”

Aeris tossed a ball of soft yarn at him. “Pickles Nichols you’re awful. How do you know the imperfections wouldn’t balance out?”

“How do we know it wouldn’t be Murderface’s head on Knubbler’s body?”

“You’re terrible. Look how beautifully Lydia came out!”

Pickles glanced over at the sleeping baby, face down and clutching her toy lamb. “Yeah well, Nathan has some pretty people in his background, and Charles… he’s got cousins that are just stunning. So they each have decent genes to contribute. But I’ve seen Murderface’s family album. I have no clue how any of those people were allowed to breed, or found someone who wanted to breed with them. And there’s not one of them without those thick bones, the massive jaw and that squashed-up nose. I tell ya… I would know each and every one of his relatives on sight without having ever met them before.” He reached out to rub Lydia’s back. “So what’s with the baby-fest here? You’ve got Lydia and Rhiannon and… that’s Kin, right? And who’s this little bug?”

Aeris nodded. “Well Nathan and Charles thought having Lydia up at the hospital during his recovery would be a bit too much to handle, and Rhiannon lives here. Kin is here because twice a month Reno and Cloud drop her off so they can have some time together, what with their house being filled to the rafters with people. And the forth and cutest baby is mine. That’s Anise.” She glanced at Pickles. “Are you going to have a family some day?”

“No,” said Pickles with firm finality. “Not a chance. No way. Not even if I wanted one. There’s a lot of mental illness in my family, and my brother was once jailed for… well… cannibalism. He should be locked up, but mom and dad keep moving heaven and earth to get him out. He’s criminally deranged and they just keep bailing him out. If I had a baby it would either end up his disciple or his victim and I’m not having it. Nathan and Charles can have the babies. They’re the most calm and sane.” He grinned. “Besides they’re the alphas of the pack.”

Aeris stopped hearing anything he said passed ‘cannibalism’. “Your brother ate someone?”

“Yeah. Well… pieces of her. Young prostitute, like a girl who is a whore doesn’t have troubles enough. She’s okay, I mean as okay as you can be after something like that. I had Charles get her a job in the Mordhaus library, because Seth said if he ever found her again he’d get her for sending him to jail. Like of course this is all her fault. And my parents can’t believe she was rotten enough to press charges against their precious baby. So… yeah no kids for me. None. I ain’t putting no more crazy-fish into the Nichols family gene pool.” He shuddered, shaking his head to clear away the images, then strummed his guitar. “So what do you like to listen to?”

She smiled. “You won’t like it.”

“Try me.”

“Cat Stevens.”

Pickles mimed a coronary. Aeris laughed.

“Oh stop! We can’t all be metal-heads.”

“Blasphemy!”

“Well if it makes you feel any better, Cloud and Reno listen to you, and my husband does as well. But I like quiet music. The whole time I was growing up in the Midgar slums I would listen to his music and tell myself some day I would live in a place like the one in his song ‘Into White’.”

“I don’t know it. Never much cared for Cat Stevens.”

She smiled softly, and sang a line. “‘A simple garden with acres of sky, a brown haired dog-mouse, if one dropped by…’ When you’re a little girl in the worst slum in the city, and there are people all around you living in abandoned sewer pipes and shacks made of corrugated tin, an image like that is very appealing.”

“Yeah I guess it would be,” said Pickles.

They fell into a comfortable silence, Pickles working out a basic tune with the acoustic guitar, which Skwisgaar would craft into something complex and brutal, while Aeris embroidered. After about an hour, the phone rang, and Aeris set aside her work to answer it. She spoke briefly with someone, then hung up, sighing.

“Well that was Cloud, turns out he and Reno won’t be home tonight. Apparently they got a flat.” She began putting her things away into their wooden sewing basket. “Right.”

“You don’t think they got a flat?” said Pickles.

“I think they got drunk off their asses and ended up in a mosh pit. Well I don’t mind, it’s not like they wouldn’t do the same for me. And it’s not as if they do this every time they go out. But I am going to bed. You can stay here if you like. In fact I would prefer it if you did. It’s only Serafina and I here. Cid and Vincent are at Healin, Teddy and David are at Icicle Inn on their honeymoon, and Tseng is still pretty weak. I feel a bit creepy with so few people here, and seven small children. And it’s a bit of a creepy night with the rain falling.”

“Oh sure,” said Pickles. “Get the little skinny rock star to guard the place. I should warn you that my combat skills consist of dishing out a sucker punch before shrieking like a little girl and running away.”

Aeris laughed. “Well I sincerely doubt anything more dangerous than Cid is going to come through the door, and if the babies wake up before he gets back you can just tap on my door. Good night, Pickles.”

“Night Aeris.”

Aeris went to bed. Pickles sat on the carpet with his acoustic guitar, quietly composing, as beside him the four babies slept in their softly padded play area, something Cid referred to as the ‘puppy box’. It had four low sides, padded heavily, and a deep soft floor made of down and flannel. It was a perfect place for a baby to either play or take a nap, and after seeing it Nathan promptly ordered one built for Lydia. Her puppy box, however, was large enough to hold five metal heads and one lawyer. At the moment, though, Lydia seemed content in the smaller version with Rhiannon, Anise and Kin, all four bundled in their jammies, surrounded by small toys, and so deeply asleep they looked like a collection of dolls.

Pickles told himself he didn’t think any of them were cute in the least and he couldn’t imagine why anyone would want one. He heard the door open, but assumed it was Cid coming home and did not look up from his guitar.

“Dood thought you weren’t coming home for a few more hours yet. How’s Vin…?”

The blow caught Pickles by surprise and sent him rolling. He scrambled to his feet, dazed and shocked, staring at the three men in black robes before him.

“What the fuck are you three supposed to be?” he demanded.

One man strode towards him, raising a machete. Pickles looked around wildly, uncertain what to do. It was one thing to play with Angeal but this was life and death, and he had no idea what he should do with himself. He pounced on a fireplace poker and swung it, fending the man off, then lunged after him, forcing him to retreat a few paces. Pickles dodged a second attacker, but the third managed to land a violent blow that staggered him, forcing him to drop the poker. Pickles fled, trying to get away from the robed assailants, then spied one of them heading over to the play area where the babies were sleeping.

“Oh hell no!” he said, and tore after the man, hitting him with his full bodyweight, small fist crashing into the man’s temple with force enough to break his hand. The man dropped like a stone, and Pickles wheeled to face the other two. He was met with the fireplace poker he had dropped across the upper arm, screaming as the bone broke. The cry awoke Kin, who sat up, blinking sleepily. She made no sound as Pickles fought with the assailants, but her eyes were huge.

Pickles, with a skill he had no idea he possessed, leapt up and kicked the man in the face, smashing his nose. The man staggered back, swearing, and Pickles turned on the third man, who seemed to be thinking they had underestimated him. He ran, and Pickles almost went after him, but stopped, turning on the man with the broken nose instead. He grabbed up his guitar and clobbered him, smashing it to splinters. The man swore.

“Fuck! He’s tougher than we thought!”

Pickles dodged sideways, guided by some instinct, and missed having a killing blow from a sword cleave him in two. Where the hell had he learned this shit? The few fights he had been in had been dust-ups with his brother Seth, and neither of them were exactly skilled combatants, and the one hair-ripping match with Skwisgaar was pathetic at best. It was as if someone was guiding him, and he went with the flow, darting and dodging between the pair, landing blows, avoiding hits, letting the external force control him. It was going beautifully, until there came the loud blast of a handgun, and a violent burning pain in his side. Pickles hit the carpet like a discarded towel, crumpling into a pile, aware now that all four of the babies were awake and screaming. Serafina was shouting from the upstairs, and Benji and Aiden were in full voice. Then the world fogged over, and everything went dark.