AN: Ah. AAAAH! By now all of you should be wearing glasses, so I guess you don't have to squint to see the Vincent x Yuffie.

- Formless -

"I didn't find anything, Valentine."

His internal wince does not translate into anything more than a slight narrowing of his eyes; he has been conditioned too well to express any sort of real emotion to others. In contrast, Yuffie's face is an open book. She does not look particularly sorry to be delivering this news to him. Then again, she doesn't look particularly pleased to see him, either. She looks dishevelled, tired and vaguely upset. He wonders if he should have waited to greet her; she has only just returned to Edge, and lines of weariness are beginning to draw grooves in her youthful face.

"I have to report to Reeve," she says, and this time he can hear the fatigue in her voice. It bothers him and he knows that she wishes him to leave. Honestly, he also wishes to leave, but he made a promise to Shelke, and it is one he knows he must keep. He steps into her path deliberately and for a moment, he can see that she is considering to punch him out of her way. All too soon it crumbles into resignation; a foreign look on the normally spirited ninja. He has never seen her direct that look towards himself before; with a start, he realizes she has given up on him in some way; another bitter reminder of just how much their relationship has changed. He had always assumed that capitulation was a foreign concept to her; he does not like the concept that perhaps he is the responsible for finally breaking her.

"Wait," he commands, and she does, though he can plainly see that she hates herself for listening to him. "… even if you had succeeded, it is already too late."

Instantly the tension drains from her tiny body; she was prepared for a confrontation, but is now suddenly faced with something much worse – resignation, acceptance and worst of all, failure.

"So then Shelke…" Her voice breaks as she tries to finish the sentence.

He nods to her. "Two weeks ago," he says, and his own voice is steady. He already said his goodbyes when she was still there to hear them. There is regret, of course, but there is always regret. He has more than a lifetime of practice to grow skilled in dealing with it.

"Oh," Yuffie whispers, and her voice trembles precariously. He knows they were not close; the two girls had nothing in common and even less to like about each other. But Yuffie has always been passionate about both life and death; he is not surprised to see the tears which had begun to build at the corner of her eyes spill over onto her cheeks. She cries easily, unlike Shelke; he has learned to devalue her deluge of tears, for he knows they are common.

"… Vincent, I'm so sorry," Yuffie chokes out between sobs.

He looks at her, surprised. She has used his first name, and this time without the usual trace of sarcasm. So these tears are for him? He cannot stop himself from asking out loud. "Why?"

Her sobs stop almost instantly, and the look she directs towards him would make him flush with shame, if his body still had the ability to flush.

"Didn't you love her?" she asks as though he is a simpleton, and he does not know how to answer her. The look she gives him is penetrating and uncomfortable, and he finds he has to resist the urge to flinch beneath it.

After a few moments, the stare lessens and turns inwards. "Even though we never… well, I mean I spent a lot of time with Shalua before she… I guess I felt like I knew her, y'know?" She takes a messy swipe at her face; it does little to dry her tears and only serves to smudge the dirt around the corners of her eyes. They regain their focus when she looks at him, sharp and accusatory. "Anyway, you'll never let on how you feel, so I guess I have to cry for both of us," she explains. She is resentful, he realizes; she does not want to have to carry his sorrow for a girl she never knew and did not like. But she is Yuffie, and she can do no otherwise.

"I... apologize," he offers uselessly, and she sniffs in annoyance at him.

"Yeah… whatever, Vince," she says finally, rolling her eyes even as a few more tears track messily down her face.

Inside, something inside of him unclenches slightly, and his breath leaves him in a soft whoosh. The weight which he carries remains heavy within him; no amount of smiles or tears will ever relieve him of its full burden. He wonders, though, at how much the utterance of a simple nickname can allieviate the overwhelming pressure. He has always thought of tears as harbingers of sorrow. Leave it to Yuffie, of course, to defy all convention.

"I will accompany you to meet Reeve," he offers, and she nods mutely, latching onto his arm for comfort. He did not offer it, but neither does he push her away. He pretends not to notice when she uses the edge of his cloak as a handkerchief, and silently resolves never again to think of her tears as common.