Chaos himself was slowly turning the same bone-white, as before, though his eyes were still the same gleaming yellow. His white body fell, his wings no longer keeping him aloft, down, towards the planet. He let not a sound out, instead simply closing his eyes, finally, forever. He crumbled, his ashes flying through the air behind him, black as always, his soul nor his body ever reaching the planet.

All that was left was ash, until that too crumbled, becoming dead dust, before that whittled away into nothing as well.

∞EVERLAST

Chapter Fifteen.

"Thanks."---Yuffie Kisaragi

They had been searching for hours, looking everywhere they could think of, among the wreckage and the carnage, and yet still, nothing. Not a flash of red, other than that that dripped from beams and windows, the occupants inside deceased, in the most horrific ways. The city itself had suffered much damage, what had been considered a mess before was totally destroyed, and there was little left of many building in Midgar that were piles of rubble, cement blocks, shards of glass, thick wires bent and lashing out. Edge itself had suffered much damage, many of the freeways having collapsed, but there were some office and apartments buildings that had survived the cracks, primarily of the west and eastern sides. A state of emergency had been declared, and hundreds of volunteers, firefighters, police, anyone who was willing from the other surrounding cities and towns were pouring in. The wasteland surrounding the city had been covered quickly with the bright neon-orange polka dots of the safety tents, some people even living in cars and vans.

The AVALANCHE crew was doing everything possible for the citizens of Edge, while trying to keep up a consistent search for the lost gunslinger. It was entirely possible that he was still out there, in all that rubble and destruction, where the rescue workers hadn't searched yet. The two combined cities were absolutely huge–stretched over at least a few miles. They had barely even searched the out rings of it. And who knows–he could have already been found, one of the many injured and wounded, taken to one of the mini-hospitals, where nobody knew who he was. He might be alive, and they just didn't know it, though the chances were slim.

And yet through all the hope that they force-fed their minds, the one single, clear thought that lurked in the back of their heads, that doubtful, black little thought spoke out convincingly: "And what if he's dead?" What then? Were they wasting their precious time, looking for somebody, most likely, already dead?

But no one could deny that their time was more precious than those they found trapped beneath the rubble, gasping for breath, barely able to call out. Worse were those trapped inside the tunnels and buildings, the WRO's devices detecting slowing fading warmth, while they were unable to reach them. You'd think they would be able to–they were supposedly heroes after all. But it's true that sometimes, there is nothing anybody can do. The worse, Tifa had thought too many a time, was the family that shouted at them, begged them, cursed them, to do anything–anything at all.

They couldn't look for just Vincent–every block there was at least five people left, and they couldn't just abandon them, now could they? Progress was slow, making Yuffie restless. She couldn't get past the fact that somewhere out there, Vincent could be bleeding to death, while she helped somebody's grandma she didn't know out of her crumbling house. It was a battle of morals: go after her friend, or help those she saw first?

Little was known about what had ended up happening to him anyways. The few from outside the city was limited at best during a sunny day, and with the storm's hissy fit blustering about them, they had had no hope of seeing where Chaos had gone. All the had known was that where dark, bosoms of clouds had stuffed the sky, and poured down sleet and hail and rain, there was left only pale blue, clear sky.

It was almost after half a day, with no rest, that Tifa pulled her aside after she had finished her quick nap. Both of the women had tired, greyed and baggy eyes, their hair lank and dirty, bodies tired and aching, bruises decorating arms and legs. It'd only been a day since it had all began, and yet it seemed like a thousand years. The devastation that had happened in such a short amount of time…

"Yuffie…I need to talk to you." Tifa's voice was crackly and hoarse from yelling, her hand dirty and sweaty on Yuffie's shoulder. Had Yuffie been more awake, she might have cracked a joke about needing a shower and a few tic-tacs, but she didn't­–neither would have really bothered to laugh. "It's about Vincent…"

Yuffie perked up a bit, tired eyes full of hope, her body's stance obviously changing, becoming more alert. And yet there was wariness in her eyes–she knew that most likely, it wouldn't be good news. She nodded, her throat seeming too dry to talk with.

Tifa smiled softly, that little heart-breaking one that Yuffie knew everyone loved and hated a the same time, "We've found him." She continued on before the now ecstatic Yuffie could say anything. "But he's in very bad condition." Her large wine-colored eyes were serious and solemn, though obviously struggling to state the facts, and not comfort Yuffie with white lies.

"He was found on top of one of Midgar's building's…pretty close to the middle. He had been through a lot–he was really beaten up, internal bleeding, cracked ribs and bones…It was one of the rescue teams that found him, just a few hours ago, and took him to one of the doctor's, over in the second camp area."

Yuffie was already up, strapping on her pouches, grabbing her bag and zipping up her coat, slipping into her wet and cold shoes. Tifa smiled warmly, fervently wishing that she wouldn't have to see Yuffie's fragile hope be crushed, not for the first time. The older woman stood up, as much as one can in a tent, and followed Yuffie out the tent's flap, being sure to zip it up behind them.

It was midday, the day after, the sun beaming down happily above, in stark contrast to what had happened the day before. Some would view it as little less than a miracle–the storm had seemed like it had been there forever, swallowed them whole into its stomach, and would never let them go. And yet now the sun was back again, shining in its full glory, and many people, after being retrieved from the rubble, had shed tears at the sight.

Now, Tifa and Yuffie wove through the tiny towns of orange synthetic fabric, people of shapes and sizes, races and backgrounds working together, handing out food rations, pulling up more tents, treating minor wounds with little first aid boxes. Tifa wondered morosely if this was what it took to do something like that, the absolute worst. She saw Yuffie waiting impatiently for her to catch up, for she had been lagging behind, and jogged to catch up. She could tell Yuffie was barely restraining herself from running, and though she would and could have done so, she felt that she shouldn't. She could remember as a child, jogging to her father's room, all the way from her house on the other side of the village, and how she had imagined ghouls and beast nipping at her heels, making her run faster and faster until, when she finally reached her father's house, she was red-faced and sweaty, feet dirty, heart beating wildly.

Yuffie did not want to feel like that. She wanted to feel cool, calm, and collected, despite her already fast-paced heartbeat, how her legs itched to run, and her feet seeming to barely hit the ground. She looked over at Tifa beside her, who was still observing the other people around them, face creased with worry and stress. Yuffie mildly thought she shouldn't do it–she'd get wrinkles.

The trip to the second camp was short, as they were already close to the edge anyways. They continued for a while, and soon a larger, red tent came into view, sending Yuffie sprinting, finally. Tifa ran after her, stopping before she opened the sheet of the plastic fabric, and proceeding inside.

Yuffie had found Vincent easily–it was ridiculous, he was wearing red even now, in the form of bloody bandages. It was obvious the damage that he had taken, and suddenly she was reminded of how, weeks ago, was it? She had seen him get shot, and had panicked. That seemed like such a childish thing, a petty, little mishap, compared to his current state. His chest was bare, and though the many layers of bandages wrapped about his lithe form stopped most of the blood, she could just imagine what kind of horrible cuts, breaks, and tears would be there, for they were stained a horrible red.

His face was gaunt and pale, though his face was cool and dry to the touch, definitely a bad sign. His eyes were not open, as she had expected, but she still felt a tiny part of her sink deeper into despair. She let her hand come up to brush away his gritty, dirty noir locks, fingernails catching on the bandage that was wrapped about his forehead. He looked so odd, alien, in comparison to what she was used to, swathed in all this white and blotchy red. Nothing was sharp and defined anymore; all the colours seemed to blend together around her sight, as she refused to look away. She could distantly hear Tifa's alto, along with a higher one, perhaps one of the nurses. Eventually she felt a hand upon her shoulder, warm against her cold, damp skin, and forced herself to tear her eyes away from his form, bringing a sleeve up quickly to rub viciously at whatever might be there.

"Yuffie…" Yuffie didn't want to believe it, this wasn't happening. She had honestly, never dreamed about this happening, not in a million years. Vincent was eternal, forever, ever lasting.

"They don't think Vincent is going to…live."

And yet she knew Tifa was telling the truth, for she had large tears dripping down her own face. Good ol' Tifa, it was so typical of her, and Yuffie loved her for it. Somehow, it made it that much easier for Yuffie to ignore her own tears, which were much rarer than the martial artist's.

Yuffie sniffed noisily, almost comically, looking up into the other woman's eyes, who immediately gathered her up in a hug. Yuffie clutched pitifully, finding comfort in the simple warmth Tifa offered.

"Is…is there not anything we can do?" Yuffie's muffled question came, and Tifa felt her little body's suppressed shudders break through against Yuffie's better judgment. Tifa cooed and made shushing noises, rocking Yuffie back and forth a bit for a moment, as she had done countless times for Marlene. As ridiculous as it was, it actually helped Yuffie, and soon she had strung a watery smile about her features, pushing Tifa away a bit, chuckling.

Tifa herself smiled sadly, and murmured softly, "I'm going to get the others, I'll be back soon. You'll be…alright?"

Yuffie nodded, "Yeah, thanks." She assured her, though Tifa knew she was far from all right. Tifa smiled again, glancing once back at Vincent, before departing.

Yuffie felt very alone, all of a sudden. The air was filled with the sharp and soft rustling of fabric, the clink of sharp metal, the bubble of voices talking. The air was warm, though it smelled of medicine and that wierd, too-clean smell hospital's always carried. She wondered how many hospitals Vincent Valentine had been in. Though Hojo's lab definitely wouldn't have passed the health and safety test.

She found herself sitting there, hand loosely clasped about Vincent's cold one, the slow beat of his heart ringing through her ears via the heart monitor, the only real sign, she supposed, that he was still alive. She couldn't feel his…presence, anymore. None of that brooding gloom, or even that comforting aura that she had begun to feel around him. And for that reason, she felt alone. She found herself thinking over what he had done, and found that she had never really asked him what it was like, before AVALANCHE had woke him up, most rudely. She wondered what he remembered from his waking, in comparison to her account. She wondered and pondered about what a fascinating creature Vincent Valentine had been, and was rather irritated with herself–he wasn't dead yet. This was not the time to write his eulogy!

And she thought of, perhaps most of all, what he hadn't done. Or rather, what he hadn't done with her around. She hadn't seen him eat ice cream. She hadn't seen him swing on swings. She had never given him a proper tour of Wutai, complete with naming all her twenty-four cats, and introduced him nicely to her stupid father. Hell, she had barely ever had a descent conversation around something that didn't involve that stupid disease, what had been happening to him, and what was going to happen to them in the future. She would have liked to at least have a normal conversation, about anything at all, with him. Right now, she'd even settle with his pitiful excuse for one, containing more "…"s than when she had laughed herself silly at his snowboard adventure up in the Northern Continent.

And still, somehow it was totally unreal. She felt like she was holding the hand of a dummy on one of those murder mystery shows, or something, while the real Vincent was behind the control booth, making the techies piss themselves. She wondered what the very, very last seconds would be like. If he would do anything, if he might open his eyes, or his mouth to say something. Because hell, she couldn't remember his last words, though she could probably guess what it was.

Now that she thought about it, she supposed he was going to go where Lucrecia was, wasn't he?

She harrumphed, though tearily, and slumped forward, letting her cheek rest against his cold hand, not bothering with her backpack, which eventually fell off her back by itself. She didn't notice the distant chink, nor the bright glowing orb that made it's way away from her.

She raised her head a bit, taking another view of his face, and wondered what honestly was going to happen. For she knew there was no hope, now.

But something in her rallied against that thought.

"Miss? I think you dropped this?" A voice broke her poignant thoughts, and she raised her head warily, to find a young medic looking at her, holding a familiar looking rounded object in his hands, its golden depths glowing with a subtle brilliance. Her eyes seemed to come alive at the sight of it again, and her hands seemed to reach out to accept it of their own accord. The doctor looked at her sympathetically, realizing that she must have some connection with the obviously dying man in front of them, before turning to walk off.

She felt the warmth, a familiar yet different warmth of the materia, the light that shone in warped pattern across her dirty palms. It was the very same materia that the doctor had extracted from Vincent's chest. She must have put it in her pocket, or something, and had carried it all through the action, to here. Now. She wondered at the silent feat, her upbringing directing her thought's to that of the fate and gods, silently thanking them. It made her feel, through the ache in her heart, through the muffled grey in her mind, clarity. Things came into sharp focus, her mind finally processing things at a faster pace, her mind no longer foggy. It reminded her of a bright, brisk morning, after the sun had burnt away the remains of the fog, leaving the sun to shine down upon her, sending its warmth to soak into her skin.

Indeed, the materia in her hands was growing hotter and hotter, though she felt no need to release it.

"I wonder," she muttered to herself, her eyes clear, no longer doused by the sadness and death that reeked, seeping through the air. Suddenly she felt warmer, and, though strange enough as it was, as though she wasn't alone anymore.

Vincent wasn't dead. She could still hear that blasted beep of the monitor; see his chest rise slightly, a subtle shuddering go through him each time. He wasn't gone yet, and there simply wasn't any reason to give up all hope for him, then, now was there?

She regarded the materia orb in her hands, which spun it about; their nerves familiar to the touch of the flawless mako, and her ears listened intently as her eye stared into its depths, listening for its song. She hadn't even tried it, she supposed. It might not even do anything. It was Everlast, though, wasn't it? The very thing that had tried to kill, Vincent. Of course, he couldn't get any worse than this, a part of her mind reasoned.

She stood, determination filling her eyes, pulling out a simple band of silver with a materia holster on one side, fitting the materia into place easily. She took a few deep breathes, knowing that if it was ever to work, she would need all of her energy. If it worked, she repeated in her mind. There was a chance, though she was sure it was miniscule. And she felt the warm, overflowing heat of hope through her heart.

She cast it, letting her arms follow through the graceful movements with practiced ease, having done it countless times in and out of the heat of battle. The light from the orb intensified, shining brightly so that it almost blinded her, as her hair whipped about her head, blown by a sudden warm wind. She felt the familiar heat of the spell, the whoosh of tingling magic drawn up through her feet from the dirt floor, up and up to her heart and then out, through her. To Vincent, she thought, pretending to nudge the exhilarating whoosh of magic through her, and into the almost lifeless body in front of her.

She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the rest of the sizzling magic travel through, rushing through her body so that when it had finally gone, all that was left was a very tired, aching in her body, the aftermath of the spell. She felt her limbs return to her jellified, limp against her sides, as her body slumped back into the chair she had been sitting on. She sighed, her body heaving upwards, and then she opened her eyes.

Nothing had changed. She saw that immediately, for her was still lying there, still as ever, eyes closed. That great burst of magic had done nothing, though it had physically made her weaker. Frig, Yuffie thought angrily, what kind of a materia was that?

But then something started to happen. It was small first, so that she barely caught it. The ease in his breathing, the twitch of a finger, the colour returning to his face. She snatched his hand, checking for a pulse, and finding a steady one, along with warm flesh. She gasped, perhaps in disbelief and surprise, and she dared to believe it–that he was going to live.

The rest took place in under a matter of seconds, the popping and silent mending of bones squeezing back into place, muscle matter and insides forming in their usual patterns and shapes, cuts and wounds, even bruises disappearing, all beneath the bandages. And finally, her opened his eyes.

He couldn't see anything at first, for the lights of the tent blared brightly in his eyes, scaring his retinas, so that he was seeing dots for the first few seconds. He could definitely feel, though. He felt like a thousand-pound weight had been dropped onto his chest, even more so when he felt something launch themselves at him, boney arms strangling his neck in a tight hold. He coughed a bit, wheezing very un-Vincent like, and tried to set himself up in a sitting position, wherever he was. The person (for it was warm, and he knew that scent) that had been clinging to him desperately suddenly pushed him back down, rattling off in a shaky voice about his health and what-not, falling on deaf ears. He blinked a few times, trying to regain his sense of sight. After a few moments, he could now see it was indeed Yuffie who was hugging him again, face buried in his chest, which felt like hell.

"…Ow." Came the rusty voice, crackly and out-of pitch from disuse. Yuffie nearly let out another massive flood of tears at it, and instead raised her head, mouth arranged in a desperately happy, yet very soppy, smile, her wet grey eyes meeting with his bleary red ones.

"Are you okay, Vinnie?" Normally she would have smacked herself for letting her voice sound like a five-year-old's, but she didn't think she could do any better at the moment. Vincent nodded, his face close to hers, unemotional as ever. She wondered what he felt like–for she could feel her heart bursting with joy and happiness, for she was certain he would live. Her eyes were brimming, and she was grinning, as wide as her mouth could possibly go, and she felt that warmth of hope and love flow through her.

She nodded, though Vincent didn't know why, and pressed a quick kiss against his lips, smiling. It wasn't romantic, but rather full of happiness and relief. It was gone before he knew it, dazing him yet again. She laughed loudly, shaking her head, "You need a tic-tac, mister Valentine–your breath stinks!"

∞

The others were jubilant as well, when they arrived, saddened, grey faces flashing with sincere surprise when they saw the two, Yuffie sitting right beside Vincent on the bed, smiling sunnily and yattering non-stop, as if nothing had happened. After the happy reunion, they set about talking to the doctor, who kept insisting that something must be wrong with him, for nothing could heal him that fast, and transferring Vincent out, to their tent.

Vincent was quite aware of the irony. He had been saved by Everlast ­the very thing that had been killing him. He, like the others, didn't know how it would have happened. But he was grateful; in a way he had never thought he would be, to be alive. Death would not have been very fun, he presumed, especially with a pissed Chaos there.

Later on, after weeks and weeks of work and determination, Edge would be righted, once again, and the sea of orange tents would slowly disappear, each one popping out until the wasteland was a wasteland once more, and the city was a bustling hive of activity, still severely damaged, but on its way to better health, much as the planet was. The awful disease that had ravaged both plants and animals alike was gone, as was the erratic weather, though that was slow to go. They never found the doctor, and presumed him dead in the crash, for there was barely anything left of his manor.

Vincent still had a few questions to be answered, but he knew several things for sure: Chaos was gone. How and where he didn't know, for then how was he still alive, when Chaos himself had said that neither could live without each other? But he knew Chaos was not with him, for there was not a scalding heat, nor the freezing absence, nor the cacophony of voices that had rung about this head. He felt indeed weaker, but had a 'clean' feeling about him, his mind and sight clear for once, in quite a while.

And Everlast was gone. How so, he wasn't sure, but he had quite a few ideas that included Chaos. He thought, and the other's agreed, that Chaos had taken it from Vincent, perhaps in thanks, payment, or perhaps punishment (for he was no longer immortal, not that he minded much). But Vincent knew that it was no longer with him, of which he was glad.

Chaos had left a mark behind, though. His army, those that had sealed the Planet's wound shut, had left a scar on her. In the center of Midgar, surrounding the huge area of where-ShinRa-once-stood; there was a slope, filled with the tar-like, solid forms of the dead soldiers. Their faces were ingrained into it, some screaming in pain, others in fury. The people of Edge regarded it with a serious mind, thanking them, yet staying as far away from the unnatural landmark.

As for the rest of AVALANCHE, Tifa's bar had remained for the most part unharmed, except for the need of several new set of glasses, and was housing for most of the team for quite a while as they, not for the first time, rebuilt. Soon Red XIII was heading off back to Cosmo Canyon, Cid back to Rocket Town to return to Shera, while Barret took Marlene back to Coral. Yuffie eventually remembered to go home and help Wutai, though she soon realized that Edge was just as much her home as the West Coast, and so returned, the next summer, to the city. Vincent was left, as usual with little much to do. He started working for the WRO, helping around the city, renting out an apartment a little ways away from Tifa's bar (for he had no coffin to go back to), refusing to live there without paying for keep, which Tifa refused to accept. On the day Yuffie arrived with Cid on the Shera, all of them came out to the airport and greeted them, exchanging hugs and kisses, loud and quiet hellos. Soon they piled into Cloud's car, double to a seat, and sped home, laughing and chuckling at new brought by the two arrivals.

They arrived home and rushed into the house, and after a little while sat down to dinner, outside, the dark night be-speckled with stars, little candles and lanterns lighting up the back porch as Tifa, Cloud, and Yuffie managed to carry out all the plates and dishes of delectable food. Soon chatter broke out among them, as they ate and feasted, enjoying the warmth of the summer.

Vincent sat in his chair as everyone finished up, silent as always, and looked around, eyes lingering longer on a certain little ninja than on the others. Around them the crickets chirruped, and the busy city's night sounds of cars and people were wafted away with the warm breeze, a comfortable blanket of comfort settling upon them.

He reflected, as he did often, though this time about what had changed.

He was happy, and content, though in a vague sense. For over the span of a year he had finally learned, much through the princess, what happiness again felt like. He now acknowledged the warm, comfortable heat in his heart as it, as he looked at his friends. He no longer felt heavy, and burdened, though there was still much he could, and hopefully would do.

The events of last summer felt far away, a distant memory, full of rain and thunder, of disease and doubt. And he could barely remember what it felt like, to have a hell's demon wrestling with his mind. He supposed he was quite different, compared to the Vincent from before Everlast came.

He took a sip of his wine, noticing that the others were grabbing empty trays and plates to bring back inside to clean, leaving him and Yuffie alone, sitting on the long picnic table's bench.

He looked at her, seeing how much she had grown and changed, both physically, and in his eyes. She was slightly taller, for she marked it every time she came visiting to Final Heaven, but there was also maturity about her. She caught him looking and waggled her eyebrows suggestively, but let a grin break out on her face, instead.

She saw the familiar look in his eyes, and the crease-less fabric of his bandanna, and though she could not see the tiny smile, she could picture it just as well.

∞

∞

∞ THE END

∞

∞

AHHHHHHH!!! HOMG, its finished!

:is pelted by rocks: I know, I know, I should've finished it sooner. But really, it's more commemorative this way–dedication to all the procrastination that happened during the production of it.

That being said, the production was so much fun, a huge learning process for me, and such an accomplishment, for little ole' me. But I could never have done it without you, all you fantabulistic reviewers! Flowers and love and chocolate to you all!

Y'know, whenever I finish a chapter, I honestly have nothing left to say, even though while I'm writing, I'm always making notes in my head, to talk about certain things in the chapter, etc. But I'm a notorious short-term memory-loss victim, so I basically have nothing left to say.

Except…that writing this, and finishing it, has made me want to write even more, in both original fiction and fanfiction. I will definitely (there I go, making promises again , ) be writing more of both, so I hope that you might be either super nice, or super bored, and go read some of it.

I've been playing with the idea of continuing Everlast, on into a sequel, but I've never really been a fan of sequels (they usually suck, compared to the original), or series for that matter. I have been, however, totally inspired to delve into the messed-up mind of Vincent Valentine, and the equally, if not more so screwed up mind of Yuffie Kisaragi.

Also, I'd like to say that their relationship, at this end, is mostly platonic, though think what you wish. I'd like to think, that in some very cute and well-written epilogue that does not exist, they find that really are made for each other, blah blah blah, yadda yadda yadda. But as for this ending, I kinda like it, their real friendship. Really hope I didn't make them OCC in the beginning part, though. '

:'D Love you all, and hope to see ya round,

cheesynoodle

aka. Katherine Rae D.

aka. the sniffling authoress

∞ xox