Disclaimer: Final Fantasy VII is owned by Square Enix and whoever else has dibs on that property. I am not Square Enix, nor do I have dibs so I do not own it. I've just invited a couple of characters from it to come and play around in my world for a little while, don't worry I'll return them when we're done. I will not be making any money on this so please, no suing.

Hamlet belongs to Shakespeare. I'm sure it's in the public domain, but I thought I'd mention it anyway.

Any other characters and references to characters that obviously don't belong to me belong to whoever they belong to. Again please, no suing.

Author's note: This is AU and when I say that I mean severely AU. This is also a Yuffie/Vincent story and they will be the only two characters from FF VII to appear. If none of this appeals to you then please, bow out now. But it you'd like to give it a chance then I hope that it will entertain.

Apologies: I am sorry for the amount of Hamlet in this work, it was something I used that helped me to actually write after a long dry period and when I was done I found that I had made enough references to the scenes that I could no longer pull them out.

More Apologies: This story is a bit of a mess and my attempts to edit it into a readable story have not gone well. So now I'm trying to do it chapter by chapter, posting them as I go and hope that it will all make sense by the end.

Summary: Hamlet, hauntings and heartache. In an unusual theatre an actress named Yuffie catches the attention of dangerous things, things which includes Vincent an actor with the theatre who's recovering from injury and loss.

Rating: M for violence, language and some smut (not a lot, but some).

And In This Dream...

By Colleen

ACT 1

SCENE 1

The man, tall, with long dark hair that swayed to the ragged panting of his breaths dropped to his knees, his sword clattering to the ground beside him. Another young man, his face pale with horror and not yet fully realized grief dashed to him, mindless of the bodies that lay around them. He caught the swordsman before he could drop the rest of the way to the ground, cradling him in his arms.

The swordsman's pain filled eyes of velvet burgundy looked up into pained hazel and spoke.

"I am dead, Horatio."

With a glance to one of the scattered bodies he continued.

"Wretched Queen, adieu!"

With another shift of his attention he took in the many courtiers that watched the scene before them with no small amount of horror.

"You that look pale and tremble at this chance, that are but mutes or audience to this act, had I but time... as this fell sergeant, Death, is strict in his arrest. Oh I could tell you...but let it be. Horatio, I am dead, thou livest. Report me and my cause aright to the unsatisfied.

Horatio, for that is who the young man who held the dying swordsman with such care must have been spoke, his voice cracking as he attempted to form sentences around the sorrow that packed his throat.

"Never believe it," he said. A slight cough that came close to a sob was his attempt to clear his voice.

"I am more an antique Roman than a Dane. Here's yet some liquor left."

The dying man's eyes widened as his friend reached for the cup of poisoned wine that had killed the Queen. "As thou'rt a man give me the cup." Anger and desperation gave him the strength to fight with his friend for the poison. "Let go, by Heaven I'll have't. He wrested the cup from Horatio and threw it, tainted wine spilling across the floor as the cup bounced away from them with a clatter and a clang.

Panting from the effort the swordsman fought against his own body for the strength to continue his plea to his friend. "Oh God, Horatio, what a wounded name, things standing thus unknown, shall I leave behind me." He grabbed tighter to the man who held him up. "If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart, absent thee from felicity awhile, and in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain to tell my story."

The sound of cannon firing over the tread of a thousand marching feet stopped whatever reply Horatio may have intended to make.

With a slight frown and eyes that no longer appeared to have the ability to focus on anything more than a few feet away from him the dying swordsman looked off towards the sound and asked, "What warlike noise is this?"

Osric, a courtier that Horatio remembered watching his friend run witty circles around such a short time ago entered to bring the news. "Young Fortinbras, with conquest come from Poland, to the ambassadors of England gives this warlike volley."

"Oh, I die, Horatio," the swordsman said, reclaiming his young friends attention. "The potent poison quite o'ercrows my spirit. I cannot live to hear the news from England, but I do prophesy th'election lights on Fortinbras. He has my dying voice. So tell him, with th'occurrents more and less which have solicited... the rest is silence."

And then the swordsman died.

Horatio hugged the pale dead man tight to him for a moment then laid him gently down. He levered himself to his feet and looked upon the body of his dear friend with tears in his eyes. "Now cracks a noble heart. Good night, sweet prince, and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!"

'No,' the dead body thought, 'I don't get any rest until we get to the end of this scene.'

Really it wasn't all that long but playing dead was strangely one of the most difficult things he had to do as an actor. Give him twenty pages of dialogue and he'd be happy. Give him twenty pages that had him bouncing off of every surface strong enough to hold his weight long enough for him to jump from it and he would be ecstatic. Make him lay still for too long and he'd be ready to fidget in less than two minutes. Thankfully it wasn't too much longer than that before his and the other bodies were lifted and carried away by a procession of soldiers.

Then it was a quick jump to his feet and an even quicker straightening of his clothes and hair as he listened to the applause from the sold out theatre.

His leading lady, who had played Ophelia to his Hamlet, hugged him suddenly from behind and he smiled back at her as he intertwined his arms with hers. His desire to turn and kiss her was interrupted as the curtains parted and the actors stepped up to take their bows.

When it was his turn his elegant bows hid the shakes of excitement as he took in the sight of the packed theatre giving their performance of Hamlet a standing ovation. He took the hands of the actresses who had played the Queen and Ophelia and gave them each a quick kiss on the cheek before they all turned to the audience for their final bows.

SCENE 2

Backstage was pandemonium.

Actors held court with friends, fans and family as dressers attempted to retrieve costumes and the crew dodged those members of the audience that had managed to make their way backstage to get a look at how the world of the theatre appeared from the other side of the footlights.

The biggest crush of humanity centred around Vincent Valentine and Lucile Chandler. The two actors clung to each other, obviously very much in love and happy to show it. They chatted with friends and theatre patrons the two of them still witty and bright even through they both were swamped by the exhaustion that comes when the rush from performing gives way to fatigue and muscles sore from the extended time on the stage.

During a brief lull in the action Lucile gave a devilish little grin and whispered into Vincent's ear. "By the way, Happy Birthday old man."

Vincent snorted slightly. Vincent was twenty-seven to Lucile's twenty-four which was nothing now but when he had been a very grown up (at least in his own mind) teenager of thirteen she had been a mere ten year old. She was never going to let him live down that time in his life when he hadn't had any time to pay attention to his younger next door neighbour.

"I know that playing Hamlet at your advanced age is probably one of the best presents you could ask for," she continued. "However, once we get out of here I hope to give you an even better one."

Vincent could hardly stop himself from scooping her up right then and there and leaving with her in a flurry of goodbyes. However he managed to hold out for the rest of the congratulations and after seeing the last of his well wishers off he quickly closed the door to his dressing room and gathered up Lucile in his arms.

"Ummm." She said as she snuggled in deeper and he breathed in the scent of grease paint not yet removed and whatever it was that she used in her hair that always smelled so good.

"Maybe we should just stay here," he said with a smile. She gave him a little mock frown and a slight swat to the arm before untangling herself from him and heading to the door.

"Give me about twenty minutes to do a quick change and then let's go home," she said. Home being his place. The large echoing house that would be permanently filled with her presence in less than two months.

Sometimes just thinking about the two of them, finally married and together forever sent shocks of pure joy through Vincent's body.

"Knowing you I seriously doubt you'll manage to do that in twenty minutes," he said with a smile. "But don't take too much longer or I'll end up walking in on you." He wiggled his eyebrows and leered in a manner that got a laugh from her as she headed out to get changed.

Now alone Vincent pulled his long hair away from his face using a strip of red material as a head band and took a quick swipe at removing his makeup. He changed to his street clothes, leaving the costume laid out for his dresser to put away latter. This only took him about ten minutes so he sat at his makeup table idly playing with the pistol that had been a Birthday present that Aaron, Horatio to his Hamlet, had given him before the start of the play. The two men had known each other for about three years and even though the other actor was six years Vincent's junior it hadn't stopped them from becoming good friends.

Vincent held up the old duelling pistol, admiring the play of light across the metal of its surface. Not many people knew he collected old guns and he looked forward to trying it out as soon as possible. As he repacked the weapon into its case a book that sat on the edge of his makeup table caught his attention and he frowned slightly. He picked it up and flipped through a few pages, shaking his head as he did.

"I thought I put this away last night," he said, slightly perplexed.

Book in hand he stood and walked over to what appeared to be an unbroken blankness of wall at the far end of his dressing room. He moved his hand across the surface until he found what he was looking for. With a sudden push on the wall a small panel snapped open, exposing an twelve inch tall, ten inch wide and 16 inch deep space that was easily big enough to hold the slim volume in Vincent's hand. He placed the book inside and gave the wall another tap to close the panel. With a slight smirk and a shake of his head he thought back to when he had first found the book.

It had been weeks ago. Vincent remembered sitting in the dressing room, slumped in his chair. The days rehearsal had been gruelling and he had begun to wonder if they would ever be able to pull the separate bits and pieces together to make a whole play. With a sigh and a rub to his tired eyes he'd creaked to his feet intending to find a few of his fellow players and go out for more than a few drinks.

Crunch.

Either his back was worse than he thought or something else was in here with him making noise.

Crunch...crinkle...crunch.

He followed the noise to the end of his dressing room, listening closely. It seemed to be coming from inside the wall, or perhaps from outside the building itself? He was certain that there wasn't another room that shared the wall so it had to be one or the other.

Crinkle.

He put his ear up to the wall. Did they have mice maybe? Not something they needed that was for certain. Just the thought of suspending rehearsals while the theatre was pest controlled made him cringe.

Crinkle...crunch...SNAP!

The panels sudden opening startled Vincent so much it almost sent him through the ceiling. Giving his chest a couple of thumps to reassure himself that his heart was still beating he peered into the open section of wall and reached in to pull out a small leather bound book. He flipped through the pages, noticing the small and tightly written words within. The handwriting was in a style decades old, the calligraphy well-formed and fairly easy to read. A quick look at what could be considered the title page brought a hmmm of surprise as the author claimed to be Clyde Blackwell, the man who had originally built and ran the Marionette Theatre over half a decade ago.

Vincent shook himself free from the memory. It had taken him a good hour before he had figured out how to work the panel and every spare moment he'd had between rehearsals he'd spent reading that book.

It was certainly a strange one.

Actually he supposed he should pass the book on to the management. As odd as it was it was a piece of history connected with the theatre. Of course he might just consider finding a way to not mention the little secret panel he'd found it in as it could be handy for storing a few items that he didn't want to see go walking off. If everyone knew about it then it would be the first place anyone would look, but if kept secret...

Ok, so he didn't really need to keep anything that safe, it was just the idea of having his own secret panel tickled him in that childhood place that liked secrets and nifty spy items.

'Ah yes,' he thought. 'Just call me Bond, James Bond.'

With a snort as his own silliness he pulled his makeshift headband off and tossed it at the makeup table, giving the thing an annoyed look when it managed to fall into the never to be seen again space between the mirror and the table. He shook his head for a moment over his lack of aim with anything other than a gun before grabbing up his trendy red trench coat and the gun case. He'd just go see how much trouble he could get into walking into his fiance's dressing room unannounced.

SCENE 3

A lot of trouble as it turned out. One hand on the wheel of his car Vincent surreptitiously rubbed at his still stinging right shoulder and smiled. The pain had definitely been worth the moment. He glanced over at Lucile where she sat beside him; still slightly huffy about being caught in a half dressed state.

"Does this mean I don't get my birthday present?" Vincent asked her, whiny sadness in his voice.

"Humph!"

Switching hands on the steering wheel he made to slide his right hand across her shoulders, but she brushed him off, though not without cause.

"Both hands on the steering wheel Birthday Boy," she told him in a teasing voice. "Driving in this weather isn't something to be attempted without your full attention."

Pouting slightly in answer to her teasing tone he otherwise agreed with her. While the day had started out crisp and cool, dark clouds had rolled in sometime during the performance. Now they shed equal parts snow and rain, elements that were both being whipped about by a wind that just didn't seem to want to pick a permanent direction to move in.

Vincent slowed down a little as he felt his summer tires starting to lose traction. Better that they take a little extra time to get home rather than not get there at all. And if the weather was going to continue like this he had better get the car into the shop for a tune up and get his winter tires on. The trip from the theatre to his home was just long enough and difficult enough that you wouldn't want something that didn't grip the road. Not for the first time he wondered if he shouldn't get a second car, one that would run better in the winter than the little sports model he was currently driving.

He felt Lucile snuggle up beside him and even though he would really, really, really like to get home as soon as possible for that birthday present he slowed down again when he realised that he couldn't see more than a few feet in front of the car. Thankfully there wasn't much traffic out at this time of night in this weather...

The sound of metal tearing through metal almost deafened him as a truck slammed into the back panel of the little sports model's passenger side. Vincent fought the wheel in a futile attempt to stop the car from spinning as they careened out of control across rain slicked streets until, in a heartrending moment they suddenly and abruptly stopped.

If you can call wrapping a car around a tree stopping.

They'd hit the tree on the driver's side. The car buckled inward to meet the steering column and only the fact that Vincent had been going so very slow to start with was the reason the damage wasn't worse. As it was Vincent could tell that something was beyond wrong with his left arm and his side and head ached in time to his heart beat. Breathing hurt something fierce and he only vaguely registered the noise of a truck with recent engine damage attempt to burn rubber on the wet street as whoever was driving peeled away from the site of the accident.

A whimper from the woman beside him galvanized him to crawl through drifts of broken safety glass and the now empty windshield in an attempt to get to her door and open it. His usual grace was lacking and he skidded off the hood to drop in a boneless mess by the side of the car. There he spent a few pain racked moments learning how to breath again and trying to ignore the fact that it hurt even more to do so than it had a few minutes ago.

The smell of gasoline was what got him moving again. Even it if was only to his knees.

Really he knew that just because the car was leaking gas didn't mean that it was suddenly going to explode, things like that usually only happened in the movies. However it didn't mean that it couldn't. He tugged on the door handle, belatedly thanking whatever gods there were that Lucile hadn't locked the door when they had taken off.

He attempted to pull her to him with his good arm and came close to cursing as he realised that she was seat belted into the car. A few fumbling moments and he had her unlocked and once again attempted to pull her from the wreckage.

He just didn't have the strength.

The sound of a car stopping and running footsteps was too quiet over the crashing pain of his heartbeats and he almost snarled at the hands that reached in to help. Strong hands thankfully, they lifted Lucile out of twisted metal and towards safety while Vincent staggered to his feet to follow.

He'd gone three steps when the car blew up.

He saw whomever it was that had pulled Lucile out of the car drop and cover her with his body. Then he felt himself thrown through the air, darkness taking him before he could land.