The original chapter 12 I'd written was on my laptop, which I had to pack with my stuff for shipment. Since that shipment STILL isn't here, I finally said screw it and started rewriting the chapter.
I think... it came out better. It certainly came out alot different.
This chapter didn't exactly move the plot forward, at least, not where world events are concerned. What I realized after some soul searching (and several very indignant reviews to get my ass in gear. You know who you are.) Is that my style of writing is extremely character driven, and that I needed to let the characters tell the story. Give them a voice, if you will. What came out is either some of my best work, or some of my worst work. A person can't really judge their own work, I think. Not objectively. Sometimes, you just have to ignore that little critic in your head that tells you you have no business writing, and just give yourself permission to write the biggest pile of shit anyone has ever written.
The world will not end.
I don't THINK Yuffie or Vincent is out of character. The more I analyzed Yuffie, the more I realized that she had grown quite a bit during the course of this story. Her and Vincent have been in a lot of shit together, and frankly if she wants things to change, she's going to have to change them. Without giving the chapter away... well... just read it, and judge for yourself. I make no apologies. Like it or not, it's what I have to offer.
And I might mention, even the world's biggest pile of shit will occasionally sprout a rose or two.
Before you ask, I also had to pack my Playstation 2, so I haven't had an opportunity to play Dirge of Cerberus. Pardon me whilst I weep.
Two more little points I'd like to address. Someone pointed out that horses are never used in the Final Fantasy 7 world. I reply that it is not categorically stated that horses CAN'T exist, merely that they aren't commonly used. Some of the Materia summons do, in fact, have horses as I recall. Chocobo would be next to useless in a cavalry situation, because they don't weigh enough to trample, and they don't strike me as herd animals. They are, however, alot cheaper to feed, and a helluva lot hardier than horses are. They can also travel a greater variety of terrain. All of the horses portrayed in the story were ridden by noblemen, who have the time, money, and land to care for expensive, finicky animals. I don't see this as a full out break of canon, merely an exercise of creative license. If horses in Final Fantasy 7 is so much of a heresy that it makes you unable to suspend your disbelief and enjoy the story, I am sorry. I also wonder why horses break it but a meat cleaver the size of a small moon wielded like a butter knife doesn't raise an issue, but then, I'm funny that way.
The second point is about Materia. The mechanics and physics of Final Fantasy are geared towards enjoyment, challenge, playability, and oooh and awe factor. To make battle less boring, the effects used are completely spectacular and awe inspiringly pretty.
They are also rigoddamndiculous. Say it with me... Ri. God damned. Dic. U. Lous. HOW MANY TIMES does Sepiroth destroy the solar system during that fight? Right.
The reason being that the effects were intended to be less cinematic, and more animatic. My interpretation is as follows. Most of the fights that occurred in final fantasy 7 are objective, and most of the damage done is interpretive. As you may have noticed, characters didn't "die" in the game, they were knocked out. When Aeris died, they didn't throw a pheonix down on her to bring her back, she was dead. So I have to assume the damage done in battles is interpretive, and the actual fight is more physical, with the Materia lending strength in smaller ways than displayed. Cure materia cannot fix injuries, but they can rejuvenate and reduce pain. Pheonix down are like smelling salts on steroids.
Again, this is done to prevent the head ache and stupidity of describing every goddamn summoning and materia effect the game has to offer. Frankly, I don't CARE about the mechanics of the world, I care about the story being told, and I have continued that practice here.
Sorry if that bugs you, again... I had to make a judgement call here. So I did.
With that out of the way, I hope you enjoy it. So, on with the show.
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"It hasn't quite hit me yet, I know it will. They say when it rains it pours, I'm savin' for something I can't afford. All I see is me and you, eyes of pain hidden by blue. All I know is all I see... a part of me. It's over now, it's over... for now. Self inflicted, I'm addicted. All I see is me and you, eyes of pain hidden by blue. All I know is all I see... a part of me." -Blue, Anarchy Club
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A sudden shock of sound echoed across the morning sky. From a distance it sounded vaguely like a crack of thunder in the beginnings of a summer storm, so much so, in fact, that most of wildlife didn't even react much, since this area was prone to such things. Overall, the droning of a thousand thousand insects that reigned unobtrusively in this diverse environment was far louder anyway, and that had been background noise for so long that it faded from conscious hearing.
The air was still, almost expectant, and then it came, another crack of sound breaking the routine of the morning. Again, the local wildlife was used to such noises. No birds scattered haphazardly from their rousts, no larger mammals loped away from perceived danger.
Yuffie opened one bleary eye, not entirely sure what had woken her, and moved quietly with a sudden intake of breath. That one baleful eye searched around quietly, found nothing out of the ordinary, and closed blissfully.
The noise came again, and this time she groaned, sat up crosslegged, her hair in an almost willful state of absolute disarray. She groaned loudly, arched her back in a voluminous stretch (fanboys, avert your eyes) and muzzily mumbled something to the effect of, "Mazer megfiltiblin."
This bit of waking teenaged philosophy out of the way, she scratched her side, yawned, and eyed her pillow with the wistful longing of a young woman who has very low blood pressure in the morning and for whom wakefulness should arrive promptly at some time after noon, bringing with it a belated breakfast, coffee, and perhaps a pair of slippers.
At least, if it knew what was good for it, stupid wakefulness.
The sound which had inadvertantly roused her was repeated, echoing in the distance. She stopped, cocked her head as though listening, an expression of slight concentration on her features. Her eyes were closed, which was perhaps a poor management decision, because doing so caused her start slowly leaning backwards in an ever impressive display gravity defiance. Half asleep, her balance took a perhaps not so well deserved vacation, and as anyone who has attempted to do so will testify, leaning haphazardly in a metal frame cot is not the best idea.
She promptly tipped over backwards, and reality crowded in with expectant glee as adrenaline flooded her system, bringing with it a vivifying shot of blood to her sleepy brain. She yelped in what would have been a very cute manner, and flopped in what would also have been a very cute, if somewhat undignified, manner.
Fortunately for her, the cot had been very close to the CTTF(Couch That Time Forgot), and instead of introducing the back of her head to the cold, unforgiving floor (which would have been a most unsatisfactory encounter for either party concerned, considering the general hardness of skull and floor respectively) she instead sank several inches into an ugly, comfortable couch that smelled of Chocobo distress. Considering what Chocobos tended to do when distressed, this caused Yuffie to seek an upright position with undue haste.
Then the emptiness of the couch caught her attention, and she looked around confusedly. Vincent had stubbornly refused to be treated like an invalid, besides his rather miraculous position still among the living, which really pissed Yuffie off, because she had wanted to baby him with a decidedly embarassing amount of nurturistic glee. Vincent, in his passive-not-so-aggressive way, wasn't having any of that, although after nearly missing several close encounters of the third kind with the aforementioned floor, and a MOAB (Mother of All Bitchouts) from Dr. Teresa which had all the effect of a bb gun against a concrete wall, he had grudgingly (in his silent, somewhat disapproving way) allowed for a period of rest, though he (quietly) insisted that the period take place on the couch, which was in fact, actually too small for him.
Yuffie might have protested this, but she was caught in an unfair position of having to argue against Vincent sleeping (as I mentioned before, he didn't actually sleep, but he could fake it remarkably well) in a remarkably cute cat-like curl approximately ONE FOOT FROM HER OWN SLEEPING PLACE, and her hormones had gotten the better of her judgement.
Faced with such vicious opposition, Teresa had grudgingly allowed this, but only after having had it snidely pointed out to her by Yuffie that smoking near a patient who had been shot in the lung was probably not the healthiest of practices either. Teresa was willing to sacrifice many things, her white sticks of lovely nutritious nicotine were not one of them.
A compromise was reached. Cigarettes for couch.
Which didn't exactly help, if the pernicious bastard wasn't actually ON the gods bedamned couch.
She scowled, and her eyes took in the evidence before her. The covers and sheet he used had been meticulously folded, and a tangle of crusted, bloody bandages had been disposed of discretely in the waste bin next to the couch. Atop the small waiting table was a capped, slightly used bottle of disinfectant, a small tin medical kit with the lid still open, and a half used roll of medicated bandages.
She also noted that Vincent's boots were missing, along with, ominously, his revolver.
Another crack of mysteriously familiar thunder echoed out.
"Is he INSANE?" She exclaimed to the skies above.
Said bit of scenery's subsequent silence was telling.
She stood up suddenly and picked up a borrowed fuzzy robe, thrusting her arms into it sullenly and muttering to herself. She had gotten into the habit of removing her clothing and changing into another borrowed item, a nice little pale white nightie. Since it had actually evoked a reaction from her stoic companion when she'd tried it, she continued the practice.
Even if said reaction en toto was the stern raising of one eyebrow and a pregnant "..."
Picking her way across the grassy field, with its stickers and various small rocks made her regret not putting on her sneakers, at least. Thoughts of Vincent doing something that might put his healing body under undue stress made thoughts of her own comfort take a sideline, however.
Damn, she had it bad.
She found him, and for a moment she had to stop and stare. She couldn't help it. He'd found an old white dress shirt, removed one of the sleeves for it, and had in his characteristically neat manner, tucked this into his black slacks. An empty leather holster rested on his left side. Seemingly unaffected by the muggy summer morning, he stood in a classic one handed shooters stance, gleaming metal hand clasped behind him, feet at a forty five degree angle, arm, wrist, and revolver in a graceful line pointed toward the targets. The targets in question were several empty medicine bottles set up on the wooden fence posts, very small ones, like the sort used for filling perscriptions.
His only concession to the heat was the transferance of his headband to his pocket, and a small black ribbon tying back his hair. He looked surprisingly elegant, like a nobleman from ancient times preparing to fight a duel.
The revolver cracked again, and one of the perscription bottles exploded in a shower of tiny plastic shards. He slowly lowered his arm, smoke curling sullenly from the barrel, and turned his head to the side, staring at her with one impassive red eye.
"Are you fucking nuts?" She demanded crossly, legs akimbo, her hands planted sullenly on her hips. A lock of hair dipped toward one eye and she blew it out of her face irritably. It might be time for a hair cut again.
He turned slightly and cracked the revolver open with one flick of his wrist, the shells popping out automatically as he did so. Reaching casually into his pocket, he removed a speed loader and pushed the shells into place, dropping the speedloader into his pocket, he snapped the revolver closed.
She scowled. "Well?"
"You're awake." He noted dryly in an offhand manner.
She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, let it out, and opened her eyes. He had turned around and was taking aim on the perscription bottles again.
"Damn it Vincent, will you stop being an idiot?" She thundered advancing on him.
His answer was a crack of thunder. The perscription bottle wobbled and fell off the post. He frowned, adjusted his aim a hair, and blew it apart before it hit the ground.
Her scowl deepened.
He took no notice, he simply aimed at the next bottle.
She snapped.
"Stop it, you ass!" She grabbed his arm and pulled down hard.
He winced at the sudden unexpected pressure on his wounded shoulder and involuntarily dropped the revolver, which hit the ground and went off with a loud bang. One of the posts exploded at its base, and the fenceline wasn't quite enough to support its weight. The fence sagged slowly in that spot. She stared at it, her eyes little pinpricks from surprise.
"Whoa..."
He rounded on her grabbed her arm with his golden claw, staring at her intently. She froze and stared up at him, captivated.
"Never, EVER, do that again." He hissed intensely.
"Don't put me in a position where I have to do it again." She countered fiercely.
He stared at her intently, his expression on the verge of something dark. She should have been frightened. Vincent didn't display his emotions outwardly like this. Not ever. Strangely, she was exhilerated by it. She'd finally evoked something in him.
She stared at him intently, not backing down. "You're hurting me, Vincent." She said calmly.
His eyes flicked to her arm, where the sharp points of his golden claws had penetrated the robe and the nightie, drawing several small, widening spots of crimson. He released her arm suddenly, his expression hollow. He bent down and picked up the revolver, spun the cylinder to the now empty, safe chamber, then holstered it in one smooth motion.
With his face down, focused on picking up his empty brass shells, he paused.
"I'm sorry." He said quietly.
She sighed. "I know it was dangerous jarring your shooting arm like that, Vinnie. I'm sorry I hurt your arm, but doesn't it seem more than a little obsessive to be out here practicing when you've only risen from your near deathbed THREE DAYS ago?"
He finished picking up the shells, and stood gracefully, pocketing the small bits of metal.
"No." He said cooly.
"Well it is-" She started.
"No, it isn't." He interrupted calmly. "You've decided on a course of action, and I'm holding you back from that. The longer you wait for me to heal, the longer the resistance in Wutai is without a symbol to fight for. More people die, and the opposition will get more and more entrenched."
She lost her cross expression. She hadn't been expecting a rebuttal quite so eloquent, or you know, at all, and that stopped her short.
He closed his eyes. "Jaeger is out there somewhere, don't think for a minute that he's given up. I will have to deal with him, eventually. If it were just him, I'd simply leave... that would draw him away from you. It's not however, he's got that girl with him, so the only chance you have is for me to be ready, competant, and attentive."
She shivered. If there was anyone who could go toe to toe with Vincent, it was Jaeger. The strangely accented psychopath was frighteningly competent, and that blind shadow that followed his orders was so skilled it was unreal.
"You'd leave me to keep me safe?" She whispered.
He opened one eye and looked at her directly. "If you weren't in so much danger, I'd have left you already."
That hurt. She winced and turned fiercely towards the hospice, throwing up her hands. "That much of an annoyance, huh? Thanks, Vinnie, you really know how to make a girl feel wanted!"
He followed her quietly, a large, looming, thin, pale ghost drifting along with her. A hand touched her shoulder. She stopped, completely floored by this unexpected human contact.
"I didn't mean it, that way." He said quietly, his hand dropping down to his side when she stopped.
She frowned and turned, looking up at him. "How did you mean it, then? How else was I SUPPOSED to take that, Vincent?"
He stared down at her. "You asked me if I'd leave you to keep you safe." He answered.
She raised an eyebrow.
"I would." He finished.
"You don't frighten me, Vincent." She answered calmly.
He frowned. "I know."
His eyes flicked to the spots of red on her arm.
He turned and started back towards the house. "That's what worries me."
"Vincent wait, stop... I want to talk about this." She called after him.
He didn't stop.
She followed him inside the Hospice, and it was much cooler. He paused oddly at the door way and wobbled slightly, before leaning against the doorway. She shook her head, but said nothing.
He breathed heavily for a few moments, then turned his head and looked at her.
"You're spotting." She said quietly, pointing to his side.
He looked down at the tiny spots of red dotting his shirt. He looked back at her, still breathing hard.
"So... are you." He said, looking at chest.
She looked down and realized that sweat had plastered her nightie against her unbound breasts quite revealingly. She immediately pulled her robe over them and tied it, blushing fiercely.
"You Perv!" She muttered, embarassed.
He blinked slowly. "I'm not the one wearing the nearly see through nightie."
"It gets hot at night!" She said, a tad defensively.
He raised an eyebrow, then pointedly turned and walked to the couch, sitting a trifle heavily on the far side.
She sat down next to him, grumbling. "Well it does..."
He slowly began to shrug off his shirt, grimacing as he did so. In another time, this would have sent her into the other room, blushing fiercely. However, she'd gotten used to the reality of his injuries, and the semi-nakedness that sometimes required, and instead she transferred herself to just behind him, seated on the back of the couch, her legs on either side of him before he could protest. She grasped the sleeve quietly.
"Let me help you, before you tear something open." She said patiently.
He eyed her in what might have been considered suspicious, if he wasn't so deadpan, then lowered his arm and let her begin to help him with his shirt. The wound on his shoulder had bled only a small amount, not even penetrating the shirt, but the exit wound in his side was a large damp spot.
She clucked seriously. "I hope you didn't pop a stitch again. Teresa'll skin you alive if she has to sew you up again, Scarecrow."
Vincent sighed quietly. He didn't voice it, but she knew that Teresa's strident fury at his repeated patient offenses severely irritated him.
"She wouldn't yell at you if you'd give yourself time to heal." She mused. The shirt came off his back easily but stuck to his side for a moment and he winced when she deftly pulled it loose. She placed it next to him on the couch. He was hunched forward, avoiding her bare thighs studiously. She grinned to herself where he couldn't see it. At least he was conscious of her body.
He eyed the medical supplies, but didn't reach for them.
"I'll do it." She announced in a tone that brooked any argument from him. She leaned slightly over him and to the side, reaching for the bottle, and the bandages. This caused some very nicely formed parts of her to contact his back.
He started slightly and shivered involuntarily. She grinned again. Ninja "accidental" skin contact seduction technique #2 (she'd made that up) was working nicely.
"Yuffie..." He started.
"What's wrong, Vincent?" She asked innocently.
Right.
Neatly boxed in, he blinked, then lapsed into uncomfortable silence. She had him trapped, she knew. He couldn't admit that their closeness bothered him because that would be acknowledging that her body affected him, and that would just about break his paradigm. She did a mental victory dance... she was finally starting to understand how his mind worked.
She picked up the bottle, bandages, and medical kit, (of course, she took her time) then set them next to her on the back of the couch. She reached into the kit and pulled out a pair of surgical scissors.
"Lift your arms up, please." She said quietly.
"I can-" He started.
"Not as tightly as I can, Vincent." She replied, a little to quickly. "You don't want it to come loose do you?"
He sighed, then lifted his arms. His fingertips accidentally brushed her knee as he lifted his injured arm awkwardly and he jumped again. She fought back a giggle. Damn it was cute when he was like this.
He paused. "Sorry."
She grinned. "I'm not."
She could almost feel the silent waves of mortification flowing off of him. He lifted his arms the rest of the way, choosing to ignore her comment.
She deftly cut the bandages down his back, then carefully manuevered the dirty cloth away from the wounds. His chest and back were healing nicely, leaving only very small stains on the inside of the bandage, but his side stubbornly refused to close. The stitching hadn't popped, thank Leviathan, but it had bled profusely. She opened the bottle of disinfectant, put a bit of gauze to the opening and upended it, wetting it slightly. She reached down and began to swab his wounds with it.
She liked how his skin jumped slightly around the areas she touched. Since this wasn't an astringent antiseptic, and she was being very careful, she knew it wasn't because of the pain.
He sighed.
After swabbing the wounds, she carefully placed a fresh pad over the stitches and held it in place with the side of her leg so she could start the bandages. She didn't HAVE to do this, of course.
She could SWEAR that his eyebrow started to twitch, but she could never quite catch a glimpse of it.
Finally (much to her silent disappointment) she finished cleaning and dressing his wounds. She plopped down next to him on the couch and grinned sweetly up at him.
He looked completely placid, but she figured he was about ready to bolt.
"So... are you going to do me?" She asked archly.
He did a doubletake, blinking. "Excuse me?"
She lifted her injured arm and gave him an innocent look. "It's only fair, Vinnie."
She grinned again. "What did you THINK I meant?"
He stared at her for a moment.
She gave him an expectant look.
He broke eye contact first, picking up the medical supplies quickly. He efficiently laid them out in front of him like a master surgeon, the movement of his hands smooth and sure. He kept his face intent on what he was doing.
She shrugged out of the robe and artfully rolled the sleeve of the nightie back over the small wounds on her arm. In doing so, the other side of the nightie slipped a little, revealing a generous but not ENTIRELY unappropriate amount of her chest.
He shook his head without looking up at her, took hold of her wrist and stretched her arm in front of him. His fingers were gentle and strong.
Now it was her turn to shiver.
With his clawed hand he dapped daintily at her injury, swiftly disinfecting the area. He then bandaged her efficiently and quickly, closing up the medical kit when he was done. He set the supplies on the table next to the couch and started to stand up, but she laid a hand on his metal shoulder.
"Vincent, you've practiced enough today. Seriously, give it a rest. Besides, we need to talk."
He wouldn't look at her.
She refused to let this needle her. She had to be patient, and not lose her temper. If she lost her temper, he'd control the conversation until she gave up, not because he was that domineering, but because the conversation was too intimate for him. If she didn't give him anything to be cool and distant about, he had to be honest with her. It was how he worked.
Again, she felt a thrill of realization. She really WAS starting to understand him! The moment was alive, sexually charged, and it just seemed... right. She decided if she was going to lay her cards down, it was going to have to be now, before they got so busy with the business of chaining her to that damned throne and surviving the ensuing storm that they'd never have an opportunity to talk. She knew what would happen then. When she was safe and safely attached to Wutai at the hip, he'd disappear, and she wouldn't see him again. The damnable thing was, he'd think he was doing her a favor.
He wasn't just wrong, he was deluding himself.
"I've been essentially on my own since I was eight years old. My mother died when was barely five, and I'd already been in martial arts training since I could walk. Literally, since I could walk. My father sent me on that stupid quest when I turned eight, and I spent most of my time away from home."
He watched her silently. She took that as a sign to continue.
"I've been around the world so many times I can't count the number of times. As you may have noticed, I get sick at any kind of sea or air travel, so I tend to avoid it when I can. I walked most of the places I went, fighting monsters all the way. I've killed people in self-defense, and sometimes I regret the necessity, but I CAN kill someone when I have to. If I had to kill to survive, which I suspect, Vinnie, given your background and what little I know of it, is the reason you STARTED killing."
His expression flickered a bit, but he didn't interrupt.
"What I'm getting at is that you may be a lot more powerful than I am, Vincent, but I'm not exactly a babe in the woods. I might not be able to take you down, but I could hurt you very very badly, and if it really came down to that, I could at the very least get away from you. So from a realistic point of view, you could say that I'm not afraid of you because I can take care of myself."
He narrowed his eyes as though searching for a way through her logic. She didn't give him a chance.
"That's not really important, though. The real reason I'm not afraid of you is because I TRUST you. You've never let me down, and I've given you every damn reason in the book to drop me like a hot potato. You went through trauma, serious physical, emotional, and mental trauma that would make Cid, Barret, even Cloud shrivel up and die, and they all have people they can lean on to support them. You had NOBODY, and you came through a little dinged up and scratched, but still basically decent."
He opened his mouth to say something and she put a finger on his lips. He blinked.
"Decent, Vincent. Maybe not entirely good, maybe even a little cold, but not entirely bad either. Despite that, you've done some things that anyone would be proud of, hell, you helped save the world! It doesn't matter WHY you did it, Cloud gave you an opportunity to walk away, no questions asked, after you had already fought with Hojo, and you came back. That makes you a hero, at least in my book, and that's the only one that really counts anyway." She grinned a little.
He finally changed expression, his features turning a bit troubled. She continued.
"I know you don't think I'm a little girl, but I'm also not a blushing maiden, either. I might overreact at times, but that's because I came from Leviathan bedamned WUTAI... propriety capital of the world. I lost my virginity at the age of 13-"
"Yuffie..." He protested quietly.
"Shut up. I lost my virginity at 13 during a martial arts exercise involving a full extension over the head kick, and it didn't even hurt, it just bled alot. In fact, it freaked my dad out more than it did me... he freaked out so bad he fainted. I moved around alot so I haven't had a real boyfriend, but I'd be lying if I told you I never fantasized, and yes, Vincent, it may shock you, but I DO, upon occasion, masterbate. I enjoy it immensely."
She had to prevent him from leaving again. She kept her arm on his shoulder, stood up, and looked him in the eyes. He looked away at first, but she kept still and waited until he realized how ridiculous this was and met her gaze. She smiled very softly.
"Yes, I'm deliberately trying to shock you, poor proper Vincent Valentine, but I DO have a point. You seem to think I need to be protected from you, that I can't be trusted to make decisions for myself, and that while I'm not a child, I am too young to be involved in a serious relationship. Not only is that wrong, it's insulting, and it's just an excuse. I know you're attracted to me, and I know that you know I'm attracted to you."
She looked down for a moment, almost balked at what was the most important part of her plea, but that wouldn't work. She had to make him understand her sincerity, and there couldn't be any pretenses between them that he could hide in, and become comfortable. She didn't like taking him out of his comfort zone, but if she didn't, he'd never...
She looked up at him.
"I won't say I'm in love with you, Vincent... because sometimes I can't fucking stand you... and because sometimes I think I don't know you as well as I think I do. What I will say is... well, I'm falling in love with you. I know that's about the last thing you wanted to h- happen..." She faltered a bit, and a tear escaped her. She wished she could stop it, but she just couldn't. It was too raw, too real. She felt like she was pleading for her life.
In a way, she was.
"Yuffie..." He stared at the tear, and his features softened a bit.
"But I can't help it. You didn't try, you were just you... and in a way doesn't that m-make it more real?"
He continued to watch her.
"I know you haven't really said goodbye to Lucrecia, and that you still love her... I know that you're hurt, and sometimes you're lost, and that there are parts of you that scare you to death. I'm not asking for an ultimatum... I'm just... just asking for a... well, for a stay of execution."
She watched him, and the tear slid to her cheek bone and wobbled there, tremulous. He reached up and brushed it carefully back from her face, his expression soft, but still neutral. The sensation caused her to close her eyes. She sniffed.
"Lucrecia... said goodbye to me." He said quietly.
She opened her eyes and look at him.
"She loved me, but she needed to move on. To... to join the Lifestream. I realized... that I was holding her here. I never..."
He stopped, looked to the side and sighed, hesitating, but his hand cupped her cheek.
Finally he looked back into her eyes.
"I never wanted to hurt her. So... I let go. I was never very good at letting go, Yuffie. I cling to things because I've never had much... and because, frankly, I don't really deserve much."
Yuffie swallowed, and started to speak but he brushed his thumb over her lips and she stilled.
"My turn. Yes, I think you're too young for me. No... that's not right. Not too young. Too..." He searched for the right word.
It hurt.
"Too alive." He finished. "I'm dead inside, Yuffie. I didn't weather those years as well as you think. Cold... nothing but... dust, and memories... memories that I'm afraid were never as pure or beautiful as I thought they were, living them. I relive them every night, and they get a little more dark each time."
He closed his eyes. "Leave dead things where they lie, Yuffie. You can't bring back the dead. Trust me, I know."
"You aren't dead, Vincent." She whispered. "I'll show you."
Then she kissed him. Hard. So hard it almost hurt. It wasn't perfect. His head was slightly down, so she bonked her forehead against his somewhat harder than either of them was prepared for. In a way, the imperfectness of it was what salvaged it. The sudden pain of contact made him jerk his head up and inhale, opening his mouth, and when he did so, she was there... and she was full of him... and he was full of her...
And despite himself, his fingers curled from her cheek into her hair, and despite himself, his hand caressed the back of her neck tentatively, and she sighed...
They slowly drew apart, and she waited for a moment her eyes closed, letting it be perfect, not wanting to see the reality of his expression. His hand dropped from her neck, and she felt him pull back a little further.
She opened her eyes slowly, and focused on his face.
He watched her, a somewhat confused expression on his visage, but his lips were slightly parted, and he looked, if anything, a little scared.
That would have to do, for now.
"I'd like..." She started. It came out a little breezy and she steadied herself with a deep breath. "I'd like to say we have time to take it slow... but we probably don't do we?"
He looked away.
She nodded. "We don't... but we have to."
He turned his expression to her, but lowered it, not meeting her eyes. Still, the gesture had meaning.
"You can such be a gigantic pain in the ass, Vinnie." She sighed.
He looked at her. "I know."
And despite herself, she laughed.
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