Disclaimer: Weepily not mine.

A/N: Written as part of the Final Fantasy Kissing Battle on Dreamwidth, which can be found at ff (dash) exchange (dot) dreamwidth (dot) org (slash) 17789 (dot) html. Wallwalker asked for Cloud/Yuffie and the prompt 'Special treats from Wutai'.

Barely Breathing

© Scribbler, February 2012.

Once upon a time Cloud met a princess with a big mouth and an even bigger heart. After everything was over and they went back to what was left of their lives, limping and scarred but victorious, she went back to Wutai with a wave and a smile far more cheerful than they deserved. Afterwards, he wondered about that girl. Would she stay that positive forever? He doubted it. She would be eaten up by politics and time, most likely. Even super-duper ninja-tastic world-saving heroines had to grow up and re-join the real world sometime.

It was one of those times he wished he was wrong. Like when he first remembered Zack, or that Sephiroth wasn't a complete bastard, or that Aerith had always been trying to tell him more than he was willing to hear until it was too late.

One night he pulled open the back door of the bar to reveal a rainy night and a bedraggled figure. Her fist was still raised, mid-knock. She blinked like a morphine addict in the kitchen light; shivered and smiled wanly.

"Howdy-hey-hey, campers. Special delivery of the sweet-treat kind from Wutai."

"Yuffie?"

"Most people say 'your majesty' these days. Or not." She staggered forward and he caught her, feeling every protruding bone. "You have real pretty blue eyes. I forgot how … dang … pretty they are …" she murmured before she passed out.

A coup, he learned afterwards. Wutaians desired freedom more than ever after Shinra fell. All it took was an itty-bitty revolution and they had one brand new republic and one deposed royal family. They tossed away the bodies produced by short memories of people who had forgotten what their princess did against Sephiroth and Meteor. Technically she was Queen Yuffie now, but even more technically she was just Yuffie Kisaragi and would always be.

"Hated the crown anyway," she mumbled, curled into a foetal position under his bedclothes. "It didn't fit right. Hurt my ears. Dug into my scalp. Horrid thing."

Cloud could have put her in Tifa's bed, or on the couch, but instead he had carefully pulled off her wet things, tended her wounds with the first aid kit and nestled her in his quilt before heading down to the bar to make Tifa shut down for the night.

Tifa was typically competent. Sometimes he wondered how he could have survived without her. She knew what to do, though she was complimentary when she saw his medic work and only cursed once when Yuffie flipped her the bird and refused to come out from under the covers.

Yuffie had stowed away on a series of boats and aircraft to get this far. Her smile was too bright when she told the story. Her eyes shone as she gobbled up whatever food was put in front of her and asked in an untrustworthy falsetto whether they had any material she could steal. When Tifa went to make some calls she used the cutlery off her tray to play target practise on the ceiling.

"Yuffie," Cloud said.

"That's my name; don't wear it out."

"Yuffie," he said again, even quieter. "Stop."

"Stop what? Stop being awesome? Stop bouncing on your bed and giving Tifa the wrong idea about what's going on up here? Stop talking so loud? Stop being so jittery? Stop breathing? Stop …" She froze. Twitched.

"Yuffie. Stop."

She slumped. "H-He stopped breathing … right in front of me. He's … I mean, I kept saying 'drop dead', but I never … y'know … I didn't mean it … who does with stuff like that?" She sniffed. "Nobody tells their dad 'Drop dead!' and expects him to actually do it. Right?"

Cloud reached for her. For once, she didn't dance away or huddle under the covers. She allowed him to pull her down and hold her to him like the kid she pretended not to be. Sixteen years old and all alone in the world. He knew that story. He had watched his mother burn and been powerless to save her.

Yuffie began to shiver violently. On impulse, copying a move he had seen Tifa do whenever Denzel or Marlene had a nightmare, Cloud pressed a kiss on top of her head and held tight until she was ready for him to let go.

Fin.

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