A/N: I am officially insane. I started this several weeks ago without much intent of posting. But as you can see...heh. I had a horrible day and ended up adding quite a bit to it.

This story is AU. Vincent will turn out relatively the same (I say 'relatively' because I don't want to give anything away) as he did as a Turk, but will just take a different path about getting there. And yes, I know that Vincent is probably about 30 years older than Sephiroth, but for the sake of this story he's going to be younger than him. The whole Lucrecia thing where Vincent loved her, doesn't exist. Everything between Lucrecia and Hojo happened, just minus Vincent (Vincent will still get experimented on, however). I'll figure out most of it if I keep up with writing this story. There will also be differences with Hojo's employment, which I will explain in later chapters. The characters however, are not OOC (minus the slash...). I'm doing my best to make sure they remain as we know and love them, they are just in different situations. And I will make sure that when the slash does enter the picture it doesn't make Sephiroth or Vincent into something fluffy and...dumb.

If anyone is still reading, hallelujah. On with the story.

Sephiroth stood in front of the clear, bulletproof glass of the floor-to-ceiling window, vaguely taking in the voices of the men arguing animatedly behind him.

The was heat rising and distorting the far away buildings from Sephiroth's view, as it rose from the blacktop. Sephiroth was watching a group of Thirds doing drills out on the hot pavement below, their uniforms likely making them sweat from both the exertion and the heat.

He could just make out the figure of Zack Fair, almost...skipping...alongside the large, stoic figure of Angeal.

"General," one of the suits drawled, apparently aware that the silver-haired man's attention was directed elsewhere.

"You'll send firsts," Sephiroth replied curtly from his spot, his green eyes skimming over the rows of SOLDIERs, who were now marching in organized lines.

This statement was taken well by Lazard, who smiled slightly from his high-backed leather chair. President Shinra, however, did not appear pleased.

"These are simple reconnaissance missions, nothing more. We don't need to deploy firsts for something that simple," the man stated, his eyes on the form of Sephiroth.

Sephiroth turned from his place at the window, toward the head of the long meeting table, where the President was seated. He spoke in his deep, calm voice, directing his words at the President. "The Wutian guerillas have intercepted our efforts more than once, it would not be improbable for such a thing to occur again."

"Some of their members are highly skilled," Lazard added. "Why risk it?"

The argument had been going on for weeks. Half of the board approved of sending younger, less skilled SOLDIERs into zones that were known for occasional hostility. It was a bravado that Sephiroth knew had been built up from his own accomplishments as well as those of other Firsts. Though he was the General, President Shinra overruled him in power, and could decide whatever he wished, even if it was a choice that opposed Sephiroth's.

Though the two often reached agreement (Sephiroth was a favorite of the President), there were times that Sephiroth felt the man had become too comfortable with his overwhelming power. He forgot that though the SOLDIERs were the best the world had ever seen, they were not inhuman. They could die.

Though the war with Wutai was long finished, uprisings were commonplace. In recent attacks members of SOLDIER had been brutally killed. Though those instances were few, Sephiroth, as well as Lazard and others (Angeal being one of them, though he had not been included in this particular meeting), did not approve of sending Seconds and Thirds into such areas, regardless of the low risk for attacks. Sephiroth had a feeling that there was more to the attacks that anyone was willing to acknowledge.

"There are many more important missions for the Firsts to be taking, you yourself must acknowledge this," President Shinra retorted, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"Yes," Sephiroth answered. "But I will not see inexperienced SOLDIERs dying simply because there isn't an adequate amount of Firsts available to complete the missions."

The missions were nonstop. Sephiroth himself had barely been at the base in the past months, as he was sent off constantly. Though there were as many Firsts as ever, Shinra was expanding its influence, and that influence required more and more SOLDIERs, through territory that was far from 'friendly'.

The past had already shown to the General what could happen when inexperience met honed skill. He kept Shina's darker secrets, but he did not forget them. This was why he would not sway from his decision.

"Send the Seconds and Thirds to already well-established, controlled areas. It will be more beneficial than forcing them into a situation that may be beyond their skill," Sephiroth asserted.

President Shinra's brow furrowed, both in thought and irritation. The General remained impassive, his strange green eyes focused on the President, his arms loosely at his sides. He showed no open hostility nor anger, though from the intensity of his stare it was easy for anyone who knew him even slightly, to discern that he would not change his opinion.

There was a short silence before someone spoke.

"A vote then?" one of the suits suggested, his eyes going from the President, then warily drifting over to the silver-haired General, who the man admittedly was somewhat frightened of.

President Shinra nodded. "That would seem the only solution; we know both sides to the issue." His gaze was steely as he returned the General's attention.

Sephiroth still showed no outward reaction, but simply shook his head of silver hair, already knowing of the outcome of the vote. He was by far, outnumbered (many of those who sided with him were not present, which was likely done purposefully), and in such political situations, no amount of skill would change the tide. Opinions were set. So was the way of those in power.

The President rose from his chair, placing both hands on the glossed wood of the table to steady himself. "All in favor?"

After a moment, several members raised their hands, including Rufus Shinra who had remained quiet through most of the debate.

"All opposed?"

A few hands were raised, far fewer than the previous vote. The General did not raise his hand, nor did he need to, as he instead walked quietly away from the window, his gloved right hand clenched at his side, lost in the black leather of his trademark coat where it could not be seen. His eyes caught the President's again, in silent warning. The President seemed to acknowledge this, for he inclined his head slightly before he spoke.

"So it is done," President Shinra said, sitting back down. He accepted that the General Sephiroth was opposed to what he was doing, but in the instance, he felt he was the one who was right. They were SOLDIERs after all, and the chance of one of their platoons being attacked by a group of rebels was highly unlikely. He felt the General was being far too cautious.

Sephiroth's blank expression did not change, even when Rufus gave him a rather smug look from across the room. Lazard was notably irritated, likely because he had just been outvoted by his father and half brother.

"I'll see to it they are deployed when needed," Lazard said monotonously, watching the General, who was already moving toward the door.

Vincent Valentine was a new recruit. He'd come to Midgar only three months prior, after having served for 6 months in the standard military. Being accepted into the SOLDIER program had not been what the youth had expected, in fact, it was surreal at times.

He was young, barely fifteen. Quiet and aloof, he had first appeared to be an easy target for his peers. They learned quickly that as sweet as his name might be, Vincent Valentine was brooding and intelligent. He was not to be beat in the academic arena, and as far as training went, he was the most quick and agile of his comrades. What he lacked in physical presence and strength, he overshadowed with his shooting accuracy and quickness of foot. He could outrun some of the older, more experienced SOLDIERs, though he was only a Third.

It was in hand-to-hand combat that Vincent was both blessed and plagued by his abilities. The SOLDIER program valued strength before most other attributes, thus many SOLDIERs were brutish, less graceful than Vincent. Even so, Vincent did not have that same horse-like power that came to the others naturally. He used his speed to outmaneuver them, but this tactic could not be implemented in many situations, as close quarters made evading much more difficult; he could not use space to his advantage. He knew that only with extra training would he really be able to hold his own with them in close quarters.

His penchant for long range and close range combat with guns, was considered highly unusual in the SOLDIER program, where most donned swords. His sword skills were also only mediocre, and given the focus of the SOLDIER program, he wasn't often given ample opportunity to be noticed for his skill with guns.

Perhaps it was his differences that made him doubtful of himself at times, as he did not easily fit in with the other members of his squad. 'Friends' were not something he was too familiar with.

As a loner, Vincent had received his fair share of bullying. It had tapered off after the first few months, becoming mostly harmless. But there were still times that he found himself in an awkward situation.

"Valentine, come here please," the Drill Sargent said offhandedly, crossing his massive, veined arms behind his back. He was grinning in a way that meant trouble for certain.

"Sir?" Vincent asked, falling from his place to stand before the man, after he saluted hurriedly.

"Do you feel it necessary to show off your...ballet skills while doing drills?"

Several of the SOLDIERs behind Vincent snickered loudly while doing their jumping jacks, apparently all listening in on the conversation for any snippets they could use against one of their less-favored peers.

Vincent frowned, his maroon eyes hardened slightly, in a way that would someday become characteristic to him. His voice was quiet, almost shy, but it came out calmly. "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean, sir."

"Oh, but I think you do." Stanley Johns walked a few steps so that he was facing Vincent from the side, his smile becoming Cheshire. "You like to show off. I'm saying that I don't need you doing your drills twice as fast trying to impress everyone..."

"I never—" Vincent interjected, only to be cut off by Johns's sickly sweet voice.

"Are you going to deny it to my face, SOLDIER? And since when were you allowed to talk to me without saying 'sir'?"

Vincent's normally loose posture stiffened visibly underneath his blue uniform. Fortunately for him, he did not end up having to say anything.

"Is there something wrong, Sargent Johns?"

"Commander Hewley..." Johns said, turning. His entire demeanor seemed to change almost instantaneously, as the First Class SOLDIER approached, followed closely by the Second Class, Zack Fair.

"Hey," Zack said, giving a nod of his head in the direction of the Thirds, who had nearly stopped doing their drills to overhear what was being said.

Angeal looked over Johns, not bothering to hide his suspicion. Johns was one who often needed to be "watched". He trained SOLDIERs well, but was known for showing favoritism.

"Your name, Private?" Angeal asked Vincent, after Johns stumbled over his words and did not speak.

"Vincent Valentine, sir," he stated, thankfully, upon seeing Angeal. Vincent's eyes wandered curiously over to Zack, who scratched his mane of unruly spiked hair, then smiled at him.

Vincent had seen Zack Fair before (though they had never spoken), and heard many rumors of him, yet he was somehow still surprised by the Second's obviously easy-going nature. It was something rare in a SOLDIER, and in some ways made Vincent relax slightly even in the presence of the huge, strong figure of Angeal Hewley, which often sent younger members gawking in awe.

Angeal gave Johns a disappointed look, one that seemed to tell the man to keep quiet and allow the Private to talk, before he himself asked Vincent another question.

"Do you know why Johns pulled you out of the line?" Angeal enquired.

A few tactless Thirds who were not as impressed by Angeal, or any form of authority besides the legendary General Sephiroth, giggled lowly. Vincent glanced back at them, for a moment, not even bothering to glare.

Angeal shot them one of his famous looks of disapproval in response, which quieted the boys immediately. "I'm speaking to Private Valentine. The rest of you continue on with your drills," he said loudly to the others, before focusing on Vincent. "Go ahead Private."

"I'm not sure, Commander Hewley," Vincent replied truthfully, feeling the hateful gaze of Johns burning into him.

Johns seemed to recover finally from his cowardice, to defend himself. "Private Valentine thought it would be funny to show off, so he was interrupting our drill line by rushing through his exercises." Though Johns's words were assertive, his body language declared otherwise. He was severely unnerved by Angeal.

"I see," Angeal said cryptically, his voice edged with suspicion.

The lines of Thirds seemed to straighten suddenly. Their exercises, which had been satisfactory, but not perfect, quickly became studied. All heads, however, were turned in the same direction off to the left, rather than forward.

Johns's posture became rigid, as a look of panic took over his dull brown eyes. He swallowed nervously, as Vincent stood awkwardly in front of Angeal and Zack, the latter who didn't bother to suppress a grin at what the Thirds were so interested in.

"General," Angeal said, with a small smile. Everyone saluted, even those doing the exercises (who stopped briefly to do so), as the man in the black leather trench coat finally stopped within a few feet of Angeal.

"Commander Hewley," Sephiroth said softly while inclining his head, his lips curling up very slightly at the corners, enough that only Angeal could see that he had smiled. "SOLDIERs." His slit- like pupils were tiny, nearly invisible lines in the direct, overbearing sunlight, as they assessed the Thirds quickly.

"Am I interrupting?" Sephiroth asked, addressing Angeal.

"Not at all. I'm just having a discussion with one of the Privates, and Johns, here," Angeal replied, to which Johns seemed to visibly let out a tremendous sigh of relief.

Johns had been warned once by the General to not bully his charges; it was not a discussion he would ever wish to repeat. If anything, the General's calm, steady voice and flashing eyes were far more frightening than being yelled or raged at by the biggest, most intimidating authorities.

Though Johns was considered a First, he was at the very bottom of the pecking order, not even sent on missions except when there was dire need for extra hands. He was more of a teacher than an authority, due to his past mistakes. He no longer was permitted to receive Mako injections. He walked a thin, dangerous line on the edge of the SOLDIER program.

Vincent, like the others, could not take his eyes off of Sephiroth, who seemed painfully unaware of the effect he caused just by being near.

Many of them had seen the General only once in the past few months, right upon their initiation into the SOLDIER program. He had spoke little then, only introducing himself and giving a brief lecture upon the importance of SOLDIER. He had stayed in the room for only ten minutes, but had caused complete unrest amongst all the new recruits who were meeting a living legend, one printed over thousands of posters and idolized by any boy who wanted to be involved in war. Many had grown up with his face plastered across the walls of their bedrooms.

Sephiroth did not provide the reassuring, yet stern atmosphere of Angeal, nor did he at all make a room loosen from his mere presence (quite the opposite), as Vincent guessed Zack Fair would be able when he would someday became part of the welcoming ceremony for new recruits. No, he was an entirely different personality, one that was both overwhelmingly intimidating and utterly unapproachable. And what was worse, was that the man seemed to be completely unaware of how eyes followed his every movement.

His androgynous looks, which seemed able to appeal to most anyone, and his long flowing hair, made him seem like the perfect representation of an angel. It was his sharp, intelligent eyes, however, that seemed both foreign to his soft looks, yet some how suited to his more introverted personality.

Sephiroth nodded, not fooled, his eyes still on the Thirds who were working overly hard to impress him.

"Why did you feel the need to pull this soldier aside, Sargent?" Sephiroth asked, looking over to Vincent for the first time.

The boy's ebony, chin-length hair hung about his face like a protective veil, while maroon eyes—a sharp contrast to the black—looked out from under it. He was visibly shaken, though to give the boy credit, he caught the General's gaze. Red locked with green.

Vincent did not look away, which caused the General to laugh nearly inaudibly, from deep in his chest. Johns, who was standing fairly close to the General, took a step back, caught off guard by the sound. The laugh frightened Vincent as well, at first, as assumed that he had done something wrong. His eyes darted to the ground quickly, pointedly averted from the General.

Johns gathered his voice, and spoke. "He was not doing his exercises correctly, sir," Johns said, his voice shaking slightly.

"How so?" Sephiroth demanded, all serious again, as his penetrating, unblinking stare focused on unremarkable brown eyes.

Johns faltered under that trademark gaze. "H-he...I mean, he was.... He was showing off, sir," Johns stated stupidly, stealing a glance at Angeal, who did not step in. Zack was no longer smiling, but listening intently, his arms crossed in front of his chest.

"Hardly. I saw them performing drills," Sephiroth dead panned, his eyes holding accusation. His eyes narrowed as he spoke his next words: "It is not wise to lie to me, Sargent."

He didn't even wait for Johns to reply, before saying, "Come with me, Johns." He motioned abruptly for Johns to follow, causing the Drill Sargent to blanche considerably.

"General," Angeal cut in, taking a few steps forward.

"It's quite alright. I believe Sargent Johns and I have had this discussion before," Sephiroth answered, looking back to Johns and giving a very meaningful smile that had nothing to do with being happy or amused. His eyes held a swirling anger.

"Commander Hewley, would you mind helping these Thirds finish their drills?"

A look of understanding had crossed over Angeal's face. "Of course," he said, turning away from Johns, with yet another look of 'where's your honor?'.

"Private, may I have your name?" Sephiroth questioned, his sea green eyes back on Vincent.

Again, the boy did not allow his nervousness to get the best of him. "Private Vincent Valentine, sir."

Sephiroth nodded curtly in acknowledgment. "Fall in, Valentine."

"Yes sir," Vincent answered. He hurried back to his place without question, and for once did not even have to ask the others to move aside to give him room.

Zack smiled a little, seemingly glad about the turn of events. He was well aware of what it was like to be singled out by authorities and peers. It was nice that there was some redemption for a change.