Okay, so uhm. I guess this whole thing came to be because of "The Ocean", "Runaway" (Mae) and "She Will Be Loved" (Maroon 5). Half of the Creative Writing group I'm in groaned when I told them that I'm writing fanfiction but they calmed down when I confessed that I do have a real story for the meeting next week. (It's more than 10 pages - so proud.)

Anyway! Enough of that crap...

What if Vincent realizes Yuffie's alone with her misery on the anniversary of her's mother's death? What if he drove all night just to be with her, just to ease the pain? Will he figure out this girl's more than rainbows and butterflies? -AU-

**Disclaimer: I don't own Final Fantasy VII, Advent Children, or Dirge of Cerberus. I'm just a fangirl, really. So pleasepleaseplease, don't sue me for things I've never claimed to own.**

Rated T for now, but I'll probably end up changing it later because of Vincent's devastatingly good-looks...

Review = love, hope you enjoy!

(Pleasepleaseplease don't kill me...)

The penthouse was quiet enough that she thought she could hear her heartbeat over Leviathan's tears. The blood rushed behind her ears and she could've sworn she heard that, too, even over the blare of the TV. TNT was doing a special showing of one of her all-time favs, The White Oleander. And it made her cry every time…

Maybe it was more than just the fact that Astrid's mother didn't know love.

Maybe it was the fact that her own mother wasn't around, the fact that every letter she'd ever sent to Aya would never get anywhere. Because somehow, she doubted the Lifestream had a P.O box.

Yeah. Maybe that was exactly it.

He'd spent a decent half-hour arguing with himself, hand held in a state of suspended-animation over his phone the whole time. Demons' whispers flitted through his brain, desolate nightmares of what could've been in comparison with what should've been. She wasn't here and she said she'd be, which was a problem because she wasn't the type of person to go back on their word.

His heart beat rapidly under the skin and it wasn't likely to slow any time soon. The room was dripping with shadows, save for the soft blue-glow coming from the little TV across from the bed. He'd thrown himself there and lay on his stomach, just staring at the screen and getting nothing from it, watching just to watch. The White Oleander…he racked his brain for why that was so familiar and it took him a minute or two, but he had the notion that the flower was rather toxic if consumed, though beautiful still.

And then a thought occurred to him.

It was the anniversary of the day her mother died.

And he wasn't there for her. Because he, he was a forgetful kusotare. A forgetful bastard, that's what he was. By the time he hung up with the Chinese food place, he'd already grabbed his helmet, shrugged into his jacket, and locked up behind him. This bastard wasn't going to let her down, crush or no crush.

Either Heaven's light itself was streaming through the window or she'd had more shots of Grey Goose than she cared to remember. She got up from the couch and realized she'd moved too fast for her wasted brain to comprehend. Her eyes threw the world around and she held fast to the coffee table as the floorboards rearranged themselves under her feet, faded polish glittering up at her like little stars, silent tears shining like liquidized diamonds as they trailed down her cheeks.

Why'd you have to die on me, Mom? Why couldn't you have fought for your life, like I used to fight for mine? It took a moment to get used to the wicked case of vertigo but the little ninja finally made it the window. Gazing down at the cityscape below, her eyes were drawn to a bike across the street. The light of the moon was caught in its rearview mirrors but the bike itself seemed to be drenched in the deep, dark of night.

She'd known only one man with a motorcycle, and the very possibility of his presence erased all thoughts of her mother. Because they'd had a date planned for tonight, or they were supposed to have had one, anyway. But then she'd remembered about Aya and-

"Yuffie?" He sounded a little breathless on the other side of the door, like he'd just ran up four flights of stairs. "Please, baby...I've been driving all night and the Chinese is probably cold by now, but…could you let me-"

She unlocked the deadbolt and whipped the door open, revealing a dripping, if not delicious, twenty-seven year old in acid-wash jeans, a faded leather jacket, and a pair of rather trashy Docs. A shiver ran down her spine as she realized she'd called him delicious. He had a helmet in one hand, and with the other, he cradled several boxes of food that smelled as spicy as he looked.

"Did you just call me 'baby'?"

"Well, I didn't mean to suggest that you were-" He let out a soft sigh and leaned against the doorjamb, looking him he'd run a hand through his hair if he could've.

"That I was what?"

"I didn't mean to suggest that you were a child, or even childish. Because I know you and I know that you're not as immature as you present yourself to be. But nevertheless, I thought you'd make a face if I'd called you 'sweetheart' or 'my little rose' or 'sexy-" He had his tongue over his teeth at this point and bit down hard enough that he was sure he'd cut the thing in half. He did not just call her that word. He'd never used that word, not once in his life had he thought of any woman in that way, not even Lucrecia. . .

But this girl, this woman, he reminded himself, was different than his ex.

"I'm sorry, little white rose. I-I don't know what came over me," Their faces had drifted closer while he'd tried to explain himself and now he found that her eyes weren't so simple, after all. He'd thought they were gray, like lead, like rain. . . .

But those eyes that held sadness and laughter, those eyes that gleamed with intoxication, called to him, urged him to take a step closer. They reminded him of the calm before a storm. . . .brilliantly gray, lightning as it strikes a tree down. . .but strikingly violet, the first hint of dawn as the sun bleeds across the sky. . .

He'd trailed off in all his staring but was soothed by the fact that she'd been gazing up at him in that same way. And oh, did that fact jumpstart his heart.

"Apology accepted," The little thing that beat time against his ribs had found a way to launch itself into his throat and it felt like his heart wanted nothing more than to throw its bloody self into the girl's hands. The pieces were like shattered glass in his mouth, they tasted metallic and sickeningly-sweet all at once. . .

"You deserve so much better than me, Yuffie," He looked down into those incandescent eyes of hers, lifting the wall he'd built up so she could see the shame, there. "You deserve so much more than I could ever, ever give and I-"

"Need to shut up before I do it for you," She giggled and played with the zipper on his jacket while wrapping an arm around his neck. Pulling him infinitely closer, pulling him against her and into the apartment, and releasing him only when they were facing each other on the plushy black couch.

"And there are lots of ways to do that," The girl said this matter-of-factly as she reached over for one of the bright red cartons of food and pulled her hand back almost instantly, pork fried rice spilling all over the carpet.

"Do you want me to kiss it?" The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could control them, before he could remind himself that this was just dinner with a friend. Nothing more than dinner with a beautiful, though drunk-out-of-her-mind, friend.

She was grinning now and held out the injured finger in the space between them, daring him to come closer still. His crimson eyes strayed only once, trailing down to her slender wrist. There, along the blue-green veins of her warm, chocolate complexion and half-hidden by a tarnished charm bracelet, he swore he caught a glimpse of an open wound. . . .

The problem was it looked self-inflicted, to him.

I know, I know. Not a very original plot, right? Well, I tried. I hope I did okay cause I seriously love these two!

I'm sorry a thousand times if it's complete rubbish, though. (I'm not British, I promise.) I'm still kind of new to this fan-fiction thing, but I'll get better at it in time.

And ooh, just to make sure I reallyy don't get in trouble, I forgot to mention: **I do NOT own the title "The White Oleander", it's a movie/book and I wasn't the mastermind behind either so! Don't sue me, please. Thanks.**

Anyhoo!

Next chapter up soon? (Hopefullyy!)

Review = love, cookies and endless appreciation from moi