Disclaimer: Not my characters. (Sadly)
Warning: Implied necrophilia.
Authors Note: This was the first final fantasy fanfic i ever wrote. Also, it is slightly AU as it implies that Vincent, Lucrecia and Hojo were friends when they were younger (I thought this was the case, but now know that it wasn't )
Hojo paced the room slowly. He was running out of ideas, the experiments should have succeeded by now. He stared at the corpse laid out on the autopsy table, the pale lids pressed closed over the once beautiful crimson eyes. Stronger now than in life, but still lacking reality. He remembered their childhood. Sitting there, laughing, playing. Two sides of the same coin. He walked closer, brushed the jet hair from the ivory skin. His best friend's mouth was open slightly, the result of a shocked gasp as he realised that the one person he used to trust most was the one who had pulled the trigger. Before he even realised what he was doing, the scientist leant down and brushed his lips against those of the man he had killed. In their younger years he had occasionally dreamed of the day Vincent would love him. A child's hope. Vincent loved Lucrecia. So did Hojo, but even though he would never tell, he loved Vincent more.
Sleeping beauty. It was easier to think of him like that. Asleep, not dead. If he was asleep he could wake up. He wondered how Vincent would feel to wake up here. Did Vincent know how hard he was trying to get him back, that he regretted firing? Such thoughts would drive him insane if he kept wondering. His sleeping beauty. He had tried everything else. Woken by a kiss? It had worked in the childhood tales that Lucrecia would tell. His hand gently stroked Vincent's hair, his tongue slowly entering Vincent's mouth. Not enough. Tears streamed down Hojo's face. He missed Vincent. More than anything. He would die to save him. Another thought surfaced in his brain. A kiss wasn't enough. Maybe, just maybe... If there was even the slightest chance, Hojo would have to try. He stepped back for a second, wondering if he was doing the right thing. There was a chance it could work. That chance was all he had.
He slipped off the lab coat and sat on the edge of the table. Looking down at the dead body, trailing his hand to the bullet's entry wound, marring an otherwise perfect stomach. An otherwise perfect body. He would kill his unborn child, his life's work, to get Vincent back. He could do this. He pushed the last of his remorse aside as he unbuttoned his shirt, one hand aimlessly stroking his friend's lifeless flesh.
Hours later. He was lying there, over the body. The body that still hadn't responded. Still hadn't woken up. He could still smell Vincent's scent, imagine his chest rising and falling the way it would have done in life. How it should have now. Tears were soaking his face, glistening from Vincent's hair. It had only been a slight chance, but it was all he had and it hadn't been enough. He stood, bending down for one last kiss. "I'm sorry."
Tomorrow, the experiments would start again.