Yeah. It was a bad habit.

A bad habit that couldn't be kicked. A dreadful custom that destroyed lives on a daily basis. A disgusting form of relaxation that, if not treated, could and probably would eventually cause one's death.

Not that death was an issue for Vincent Valentine, anyway.

Sure, there was the constant smoky breath, and then there was the loss of that glossy sheen of his pearly white teeth. Each one of those problems was fixable. Yet the whole 'death' bit to Vincent was ruefully laughable.

Smoking had never been an issue with his relatives – it was a common tendency among the family. In fact, he'd been offered a drag more than once as a young boy, on many different occasions. He'd always decline, though, thinking it was unnecessary.

That idea, of course, lasted about three seconds after he joined the Turks.

Normal, though. It was the norm. Who wouldn't light one up with that monstrosity of a career? He was one of the lucky ones – thank Gaia smoking was his only bad habit, between his knack for homicides, abductions, thieving, having to keep undercover, the love affair that ultimately caused his demise…

So not wanting to go there, Vincent Valentine decided to aimlessly stroll the streets of Edge. Needless to say, he was bored shitless out of his mind. With no new threats of disaster and the whole 'I'm a creepy loner' act, there was really nothing better for the now-idle gunslinger to do. Lucky for him, the sky was nice and cloudy, so it wouldn't hurt to sit himself down in a remote area of the newly built park and have a smoke…

…only to reach into his pocket and realize he was fresh out. Thus rolling his eyes and shoving the empty carton into his back pocket, Vincent stood from his seat and looked around for the nearest convenience store.

Within a few blocks of walking, a he came to a small yet suitable shop, glowing from its corner and blissfully free of patrons. The door chimed cheerfully as the gunslinger entered the store, and he was already reaching into his pocket for his wallet. Vincent strode up to the counter and, while maintaining his cool and confident composure, simply stated "Pack of Red Lites," to the cashier.

The clerk, seemingly undaunted by the intimidating male before him, looked up from his magazine and retorted, just as simply, "Identification?"

What?

"Identification, man," repeated the salesman, as in Vincent didn't hear him the first time around. "Yous got a driver's license or something?"

Driver's license? This – this kid can't be serious.

"I don't drive." Vincent stated flatly.

"Well," started the cashier again, "howza 'bout a library card? Ya carryin' one of them?"

Library. CARD?

"No." snapped Vincent.

The cashier was still very much disobliging and (still) very much undaunted "Sorreh, dude. Can't sell yousza pack wit outcha carded." He then looked Vincent dead in the face and snickered, "Howza 'bout ya try some gum, man?"

Annnnd this is about the time when Vincent took out Cerberus and began shooting the young male in the face.

Unfortunately, Vincent didn't have his dearly beloved (and much needed) murder machine so he settled for leaving the store abruptly and muttering a few colorful words under his breath.

So now that he was just harshly stripped of one of the few joys in his life, Vincent began a vital mission. He was going to buy some [beep] cigarettes even if it meant he needed to shave his head.

Well, actually, whoever is reading this story knows Vincent would never sink to that level, but you get the point. Moving on.

Vincent was quickly approaching store number two, despite the fact it was thirteen blocks away from store number one. At least genetically altered legs were useful for something. Thankfully, this store's door was automatic, so it didn't cheerfully chime. Also thankfully, hundreds of packs of cigarettes were obnoxiously lined up behind the counter. Not so thankfully, there were four people waiting in line.

Vincent could handle that. He took his place with the others and waited.

The first person bought milk and eggs. Not so big of a deal. The second person purchased a sandwich, a diet soft drink, reduced fat chips, and an ice cream cup. (Since when did he become so interested in other people's purchases?) Patron number three decided to go with four cans of stewed tomatoes, two boxes of brown rice, a gallon of milk, three sleeves of paper cups, and a package of Band-Aids. (This is when Vincent's foot starts tapping.) And finally, just as Vincent started grinding his teeth, the fourth customer's request was simple: "One pack of Red Lites, please?"

"Do you have I.D?'

Shit. Not this again.

"Would you like my license or my library card?"

"Either one is fine, sir."

The purchaser took out his wallet and began flipping through the various bills and plastic documents. "I can't believe this new carding system. Is Shinra serious with this?"

"Yep," replied the cashier. "The president wants to cut down on young kids smoking and pollution, so he initiated this new I.D. system. It just went into effect today!"

Okay, so when did Mr. I'm-going-to-suck-all-the-life-out-of-the-planet become Mr. I-want-to-benefit-the-planet-and-all-those-who-inh abit-it? And why the hell did he choose today out of all the other days to initiate this extremely dumb and obviously irritating program?

Vincent knew it was a losing battle. He coolly stormed out of the store.

Now at a loss of what to do, the gunslinger numbly leaned against the store's glass windows. He idly wondered if he could, in fact, meet sweet death just from nicotine withdrawal. Abusive mad scientist? It toughened his skin. Controlling Chaos? Cake, just a piece of cake. Crazy Sephiroth clones? Nope, not a problem.

Identification system? Shrina's freaking cigarette-and-alcohol-too-probably identification system? The very rule that's preventing him from breathing in the dulcet, fragrant, husky black death smoke into his lungs and savoring the moment?

He contemplated pointing Cerberus to his head and shooting.

At that moment in time – just as Vincent was drumming up various macabre methods that might possibly end his miserable life – something called out to him, breaking his sulking mood and concentration. Eyes narrowing, Vincent looked at the godforsaken culprit.

Marlene.

"Hi, Vincent," the little girl greeted sweetly.

Marlene was a cute kid, Vincent could admit that, despite the oncoming stroke he was sure would happen. Cute, intelligent, and wise beyond her years. But, dammit, of course, not of age.

"Vincent, Tifa and I just came from the library. Do you have a library card, Vincent? Do you read?"

Now he was certain Minerva was laughing at him, from her happy little place in the clouds.

"Marlene, sweetie, what are you Vincent Valentine chatting about?"

Chatting was hardly what Vincent would call it. He looked up and saw Tifa Lockhart, looking as fresh as a daisy despite the gloomy weather and his gloomier state of mind. She took Marlene's hand and looked up at her old friend. Her eyebrows knotted in concern. "Vincent, are you…" she paused for a moment, as if hesitant to continue her question. Yet she did go on, "Are you alright? You don't look so good. Your brow is covered in sweat."

Is it? Vincent wiped his gloved hand over his brow. Indeed, it held little beads of perspiration. Well, look at that. Vincent didn't realize he had any biological reactions left in him.

"Tifa, how does one acquire a library card?"

Tifa's knotted eyebrows shot up. Shock: that was the look on her face. Tifa looked at the gunslinger as if he sprouted a second head. (It's been how long since he took a puff? For all he knew, it might have actually happened.)

"I asked him if he read books!" Marlene chimed happily. "I did! What's your favorite, Vincent?"

Tifa then added, "Vin, are you sure a library card is going to help you here?" She held Marlene just a little closer.

Vincent thought about Tifa's question for a moment. His answer could go one of two ways. The first option was to calmly state that yes, a library card could help him. Not only would it provide a reasonable and civilized way to be identified in this city, but it would also help him gain access to the wonderfully wide world of reading books. That was the adult answer; that was the right answer.

But this is Vincent Valentine we're talking about here.

"Yes, Tifa," Vincent grunted through clenched teeth. The lack of nicotine was making his mind unravel. "Yes."

Marlene simply looked up at the gunslinger, innocent confusion adorning her young face. Tifa, equally puzzled, began running scenarios through her head. Vincent was never a socialite – hell, he rarely showed any emotion at all. What could have possibly brought on this sickening look and sudden urge for a library card? Usually, when Tifa saw Vincent about the city, he was calm, collected, and willing to converse, even if he always did smoke when he was out –

Something clicked in Tifa's mind.

"Vincent," Tifa started again. She wondered if his eyes were going to roll in the back of his head. "When was the last time you smoked?"

"Too long ago," was the terse reply. "Is it that obvious?"

"Well," Tifa considered her words accordingly, "Whenever I see you in the city, you're always smoking. And I remember once, when we were out in the field, Cid had this urge to punch a hole in his airship. Then he punched an actual hole in the airship. You remember that?"

"Yes, I do," Vincent stated blandly. "Yuffie hid his stash."

"Right," replied Tifa. "And, considering you are leaning against a storefront window, with a sweaty brow, looking as if you've been infected with Mad Chocobo Disease…" Tifa cracked a small, but well-humored smile, "…you haven't had your fix for a while?"

Another piece of puzzle fell into place. "That's why you want the library card – because it'll give you ID to go and get them."

Finally, Vincent thought, someone was making sense. "Yes," was his response, "The fu – I mean, the stupid identification policy started this morning."

"I'm aware," Tifa's smile grew wider. "I'm about to lose some really good customers at the bar – we can't even serve them a beer without swiping their IDs now. But that doesn't help you now, does it?"

Tifa looked down at Marlene; she noted the girl's face still held confusion. She then looked up at her gunslinging friend, eyes ablaze, and leaning against the window like a lost puppy – and felt really, really bad for him.

"I'll buy them for you, Vincent."

A sigh – which was really more like a dejected groan – escaped Vincent's lips as he straightened his posture. For the third time that day, Vincent reached into his pocket to grab his wallet. He handed Tifa neatly folded notes. "Just one pack of Red Lights, Tifa." A moment passed. "And thank you."

"It's okay," Tifa said. She remained smiling. "I don't smoke, but I don't want you pulling a Cid move – we don't need any more destruction around here!" She passed the young girl to Vincent. "Just don't light up in front of Marlene, okay?"

With that, Tifa was instantly swallowed by the automatic doors of the convenience store.

A moment later, Vincent felt a rain drop plop on his forehead. The quiet, gloomy day would soon turn into a summer storm – no matter. He was almost at the finish line.

The man looked down at Marlene who, he noticed, had become oddly quietly throughout his whole ordeal. She sternly studied Vincent, looking the gunslinger in the eye while her brows crossed. Her hands moved to her hips.

"Vincent, did you know that half of all people who smoke will die from it?"

No. Not this. Not this betrayal.

"Did you also know that cigarettes cause black lungs, and lung cancer, and you can lose your voice, and they make your breath stink?"

Nope. Not hearing it. Maybe if he stayed quiet, she would ignore him.

"Daddy says that anyone who smokes turns out crazy like Cid. Are you going crazy, Vincent? Your teeth are starting to look like his."

Thank Ifrit's fiery balls of hell, Tifa chose that exact moment to exit the convenience store. She slyly looked at Vincent as she held up the pack like a trophy. "There was no one in line," Tifa said, satisfied. "The guy at the register asked if that 'lumpy shadow man' was getting these, since he knows I don't smoke. He knows you don't have an ID, either, but he'll let it slide this time."

Vincent reached out a trembling hand. The one true thing that would make today victorious was a mere flame and breath away…

"Vincent," Marlene started again. Dammit. His open hand paused. "I want you to know that cigarettes kill people. And we don't want you to die, Vincent. We don't. We love you. Please try to stop your smoking."

Tifa hastily looked up at her old friend, shock and sympathy gracing her features. What a weird mix. She started her lecture, "Marlene, sweetie, if Vincent wants to smoke, that's his business..."

Tifa handed Vincent the pack with a look and the two started walking, Tifa still muttering to Marlene about tact and this and that. Marlene turned around once more to give Vincent the nastiest look he had ever seen graced on little girl's features, but she continued her pace down the block. A small piece of him allowed Marlene's annoying – but thoughtful – words to sink in. They struck a small chord. Just a small one, though. He was still going to smoke his cigarette.

Maybe he would try to milk this pack long enough to last the week – long enough, in fact, so he could get that library card.

It was drizzling now, and Vincent admitted the pit-pit-pit of the cool rain was kind of pleasant. His ordeal was over. His pocket held 20 reasons why he should be mildly content. The sun was even beginning to poke out of the clouds.

He found the park he started in, and his usual bench was unoccupied. As the rain slowed down, Vincent did too, and allowed himself to sink into the wooden seat take a breather.

Finally. Cigarette in hand, pleasant thoughts in his head, Vincent began lighting up – which is kind of funny, considering Vincent didn't have one.

…Vincent didn't have a lighter.

…

…

Oh shit.

Maybe he should stick with gum next time.

Author's Notes:

Years ago, this little idea popped into my head after playing Dirge of Cerberus. After reading several Vincent-related fictions, I came to the conclusion that he would totally light one up, especially during peacetime.

I tried to create a certain tone with this humorous piece. Hopefully it came through in the writing.

I also hope you enjoyed laughing at Vincent's expense.

I'm one of those people who attempt to live a healthy lifestyle. Although I don't smoke, once in a while a get a terrible craving for fast food.

If you've ever had those moments when you're just dying to get your hands on something, this story will be relatable. If you've had those moments where it seems as if the world is against you in pursuing said something, then this story is dedicated to you.