Child of the Night
a post-FFVII: Dirge of Cerberus fanfiction by Tripleguess
First in the Radiance collection
Possible mild spoilers for DoC
Genre: Drama/Character
Rated PG
September 1, 2006

Summary: Yuffie was never one to simply let things be.

The wind blew cold across this broken, sunforsaken landscape. A low fog obscured the sky, and tirelessly shredded itself against rock outcroppings thrusting from barren scree. It wasn't raining, but the mist-laden air was so damp that it hardly mattered. Moisture clung to every boulder, and drops meandered down every vertical surface, amassing ever more liquid until they fell to the ground.

Amid the thickening twilight, one man-made star winked into being, almost hidden within a tumble of massive boulders. No bigger than a teacup, it nevertheless danced merrily within its circle of rocks, defying the night with its cheery shine and casting a faint orange glow over its maker and the rough granite boulders nearby.

The man sitting by the fire was not looking at it. Doing so would destroy his night vision, and he knew this. But he wasn't looking at his surroundings, either. His head was bowed over one knee, as though in deep thought. A kettle of broth simmered on the grill; a cup of broth cooled beside him, untouched.

There was no apparent reason for him to suddenly lift his head. The wind sighed uninterrupted; the fog drifted on noiselessly. There were no sudden birdcries, for there were no birds, and crickets did not cease singing for the simple reason that there were none.

Yet look up he did, scanning the night fruitlessly. Perhaps the utter absence of telltale sounds told him enough, for after a moment he relaxed.

"How did you find me?"

Another silence; another drop in the ocean of quiet that blanketed this place.

Two moccasined feet stepped into the circle of firelight; a gentle invasion, neither invited nor entirely unwelcome. "Your tin footwear, that's how. Marks up the scree something awful."

She squatted to warm her hands near the flames, flicking bandana tails out of harm's way. "You would wear the only material that'd scuff rock."

He said nothing; instead, he produced a second cup and filled it with broth. She accepted it gratefully, nursing the cup with both hands. "Thanks."

Her expression was more serious than usual, he noticed. Perhaps because of her father's recent illness, and her subsequently increased duties as heir to Wutai. She too, child of the night that she was, refused to look into the flames, taking in his meager campsite instead; a bedroll, one supply pack, a small pile of semi-dry wood. This close to the mining town, he didn't need many supplies.

"It's a step up from the coffin, I guess," she remarked.

He flinched.

She held her cup out for a refill as though she hadn't noticed. "You need moccasins if you don't want to be tracked. Not," she amended with a smirk, "that they'll do you any good in my case."

She chattered on, sharing unasked the news from Edge and Wutai. Reeve had adopted Shelke, whose health was improving under cutting-edge treatments from the WRO. "She's starting to grow again -- should hit biological eleven soon. Still talks like a thirty-year-old, though."

Denzel and Marlene had taken it upon themselves to introduce the child-soldier to ice cream and recess, hopscotch and tag. The ex-Tsviet was altogether too serious about games, but was otherwise a quick study.

"She's taken a shine to Cait Sith, for some reason." A wink. "Must be the red cape."

Godo was slowly recovering from his illness, but he was getting on in years. "And, well, I used to think he'd live forever, but he's going grey..."

Wutai had had a plentiful harvest, a great benefit to the war-impoverished country. "Who knows -- another good year like this, and we might have rice to export next year. Extra manpower to work the pearl beds again, even."

She stood and stretched, working stiffness out of her joints. "Heaven preserve us from this damp! You'll go arthritic in this wretched weather, Vince."

He shifted. "I've been hired to safeguard the mines."

"There are monsters in the tropics too, you know." She stripped off a shoe, balancing nimbly on one leg to shake out a pebble. "Plus grass and sunshine and beaches and nice stuff like that." She tugged her shoe back on and sat down.

He studied his boots. She was right about them marking the rocks.

"Vincent." The question was abrupt, unexpected. "Do you think she really cared about you?"

His gaze jerked upward. He knew who she meant. "How did you --"

"Shelke," she said calmly, and sipped her broth. One thumb circled her cup rim slowly. "Well?"

She wasn't asking out of spite, but...

Honesty struggled with resentment as memories burned, angering him on more than one level.

"Because if she did," Yuffie continued matter-of-factly, when the silence had stretched out unbearably, "she wouldn't want you rotting away in a place like this. And if she didn't..."

She trailed off, giving him a chance to object. Vincent, still wrestling his thoughts, was silent. Yuffie met his gaze full on, assessing him carefully.

"...well, that's a stupid reason to bury yourself alive, don't you think?"

She downed the rest of the broth. "Thanks for the snack," she said, and tossed another stick on the fire. Sparks scurried upward like frantic fireflies. She set her empty cup next to his and patted him on the shoulder. "'Night, Vincent."

He listened to her tuneless whistle as she moved off into the night, following some unmarked path back to town. He vowed not to think about her words, which only made them whirl faster through his mind.

-- stupid reason --

The whistling faded as the wind picked up, carrying with it the faintest ghost of a laugh.

He jolted upright and felt his belt. When had she --?

His breath came out in a sharp, wordless exclamation. His wallet was gone.

X X X

The mining town had little to offer him when it wasn't payday. Narshe was higher than the monster-infested wilds, and so saw more of the sun, who often broke through the fog to pay a visit. It was also sheltered by cliffs to the north, and so wasn't as windy or cold. But he practiced a stoic indifference to such comforts.

Still, the town now held one item that interested him very much: his wallet.

He knew she wouldn't leave town with it; doing so would strand him with few supplies and no money. That wasn't what she wanted. He avoided speculations as to what she did want, reflecting that, for such an outgoing person, the shinobi could be surprisingly enigmatic.

He was equally certain she would not revisit his camp to return her prize; hence this unplanned visit to town.

The landscape here was still rugged, but the townsfolk had made efforts to brighten it. Colorful lichens grew over whimsically arranged rock gardens; hardy annuals swayed within freshly painted white picket fences. Seasonal garlands bobbed on lamp posts and doors, and the town's main drag had been gravelled to tame the mud. Cheerfully patterned marquees fluttered over shop awnings and patios, and there were flowers on the cafe tables -- flowers wired to stone vases to keep them from blowing away in the frequent gusts of wind.

The flutter of white-bordered black silk beneath a cafe awning caught his eye. Yuffie, it seemed, found the flowers agreeable company.

She was studying a menu when he strode into the cafe. He commandeered the chair opposite her and fixed her with an expectant gaze.

She looked up from the menu, eyes laughing. Vincent kept his face stern with an effort and held out his hand.

His timing could not have been worse. A waitress arrived with two steaming bowls, one of which Yuffie placed in his conveniently outstretched hand. His lip twitched in spite of himself.

"It's curry," she coaxed, and dug in. He followed suit resignedly, as he had no other plans for breakfast. It was good. Narshe's perpetually cold weather was one reason for its storied hot recipes.

Only when his bowl was empty did she proffer the wallet. "I already paid for breakfast."

He raised a brow; she rolled her eyes. "With my money, of course!"

He riffled through the bills. Sure enough, none were missing. He slid a five under a salt shaker for the waitress. A puff of wind worried at the loose bill end; Yuffie put the pepper shaker over it.

"Why?" he asked finally.

Yuffie shrugged, then flashed a grin. "Just to remind you that I can still rob you blind." She winked, then turned serious. "Remember what I said, Vincent."

He looked across the street, away from her piercing gaze. "Yuffie --"

The menu flapped in the breeze and sailed away, tumbling end over end as it soared through the air.

She was gone.

-The End

No flames, please. Constructive feedback is welcome, and I really appreciate hearing reader reactions.

Acknowledgements: This story was influenced by Nagia's Yuffietine essays; the links are on her FFNet profile.Yes, I know Narshe is a FF6 town. Humor me?

Disclaimer: This story not created, acknowledged or endorsed by Square-Enix, to whom all relevant characters and trademarks belong. Child of the Night itself is fan domain and may be freely recopied and archived.