A Midnight Clear

by BruHaeven

Of winter nights, spiked eggnog and the things that should have been said. There is no art to saying goodbye, and the words probably would've gotten stuck in Yuffie's throat anyway. Not as dramatic as it sounds. YxR of a squinty sort.

AN: This was written *ages* ago as part of the prompt challenge my best friends, Le Requiem and junealondra, used to do (and are hopefully starting back up again soon!). Longer AN with some explanatory stuff at the bottom.

Set in a post-AC future with established friendships between AVALANCHE and the Turks.

Prompt: Things Left Unsaid

.xxx.

Why is it that these things always seem to happen in the winter? It's like Da Chao, or Leviathan, or Aerith, or Jenova, or whoever is actually in charge of anything in this world just up and decides that, right as families and friends are getting all cozy-like, tucked away inside and safe as houses from the cold, that le sheet must hit the proverbial fan that you haven't actually turned on since August because Fall comes early in Edge and its gawddamned freezing outside.

...I think about these things sometimes, or at least I would end up thinking about this later. At first, I was just pissed that my new and fantasterrific suede boots were getting grossified from having to trudge through the giant snowbank that was central Edge, all because Tifa had forgotten breadcrumbs for her fried chicken, and little ol' Yuffie had drawn the short straw to go and fetch them.

But Gawd, it was one of those perfect winter nights, though. The sky was an endless pool of the blackest tar, the stars unable to stake their claim to the night against the city's light pollution, and the blackness stretched on and on and on until you thought it might have swallowed you, your beating heart, and foggy breath, and freezing eyelashes, whole and all at once.

And then the toe-numbing cold reared up and bit me on the cheek, and I stopped staring at the sky in favor of trotting my little Yuffie-butt back to the bar before I turned into an ice sculpture, plastic bag of breadcrumbs and all.

When I'd left the bar, it had just been me, Spikes, Tifa and Barrett, but sometime while I'd been gone, the rest of the gang had arrived.

"Well if it isn't the brat!" Cid growled out, dragging me into a hug that smelled like nicotine and engine grease. "We thought ya mighta got lost or buried in a snow bank or some shit."

I squirmed from his hug to poke him in his paunchy stomach. "Eh, you know me, Cid, I'm like a cockroach. It'll take more than some snow to get rid of me." I stuck my tongue out, waving a greeting to Nanaki, Reeve and Vincent as I made my way to the kitchen.

"Your breadcrumbs, milady." I bowed in Tifa's direction, flourishing the plastic bag as Cloud snorted and smacked me on the back of the head.

Tifa smiled gratefully as she took the bag. "My heroine. But really, Yuffie, you're a lifesaver."

I shrugged. "Nah, I just really, really like your fried chicken. This was all just for the greater good of my stomach, you see."

"Ah, of course," she shook her head, laughing, "well, you can either help me in the kitchen or go hang with the boys, but I'll give you fair warning: Cid spiked the eggnog and Reeve's about five mugs deep."

"Uh... isn't eggnog already alcoholic?"

Tifa gave me a look. "Not like this."

In the end, I split my time between the smoky heat of the kitchen with its easy comfort of girl talk, and bothering the menfolk in front of the fireplace. Only after Vincent yelled at me a fourth time for trying to slip some powdered Loco Weed into his drink did Tifa drag me away and make me set the table with Denzel and Marlene.

"Aunt Yuffie," the latter asked, "why are you always trying to get Uncle Vincent drunk?"

"Marlene!" I cried, brandishing a butter knife, "I thought you of all people would understand! I'm not trying to get him drunk, I'm just trying to give him explosive diarrhea so he can finally dislodge the giant stick from his as-butt. His butt." Barrett looked away, satisfied at my correction.

"I heard that." Vincent murmured, looking about as offended as it was possible for him to be, which wasn't very.

"Aww, Vinnie, what kind of friend would I be if I didn't try to help a vampire in need?" I fluttered my eyelashes at him to no avail. And then, with nary another poop joke from me, or curse word from Cid, Tifa declared that it was time to eat.

The conversation flowed as it always did; we all had to catch up on each other's lives. Everyone seemed fit to start a new year in happiness and good health. Except for Vincent who definitely could use some Vitamin D supplements, and Cid who for sure needed a lung transplant.

"Shera likes these lungs just fuckin' fine, brat."

"Yeah, but Shera also likes the blackness of your soul, so why wouldn't she like your shriveled, tar-crusted lungs also, old man?"

"Speaking of, how is Godo doing, Yuffie?"

"Speaking of black souls or of old men?" I made a small face as I shrugged, "He's fine from what I can tell. I tried calling him earlier, but the geezer wouldn't pick up. Just shows what kind of dad he is, ignoring his only daughter on Christmas Eve."

"The Festival of the New Year will be soon though, yes? Perhaps he is simply busy with preparations."

I shook my head at the dear, deluded vampire. "Ah, Vinnie my sweet, you should know the festival isn't for another six weeks! That's our weird, staggered calendar for ya."

"A festival? Will you have to go back for it, then?"

Tifa looked excited enough for both of us, and I frowned at her. "Don't remind me. Godo was already pissed that I was here for Christmas instead of staying home to meet suitors; I don't even wanna think about the earful I'm gonna get when I finally go back. That's why I'm putting it off 'til the last minute."

And just like that, the conversation moved on. Nanaki spoke about his new duties as Elder of Cosmo Canyon, Reeve slurred his way through an update on the WRO (apparently Cid had really done a number on the eggnog), and Vincent and I traded stories of our missions as part of the WRO's espionage unit. I blew everything completely out of proportion, and he let me get away with nothing, the jerk.

Eggnog and mulled wine flowed freely, and the lights grew warmer and hazier than they had been before. Denzel and Marlene were carted off to bed by Tifa and Barrett just as the plum pie was eaten down to the very last crumblies. The firelight cast the whole bar in a pulsing orange glow, and when Reeve dragged me and Vincent up to dance a ridiculous Wutaiian jig, the room spun pleasantly. Eventually I left the two men to converse in raucous (Reeve) and hushed (Vincent) tones, falling into a squishy chair beside Tifa. She grinned at me, cheeks flushed, and flicked my nose.

"Those're some moves you've got there, Yuff." I crossed my eyes and stuck my tongue out at her, and she laughed.

"I could teach you and Cloud sometime. Maybe then you two will stop dancing around each other and actually get to, ya know, the horizontal tango."

Sober Tifa would have squawked in embarrassment, but this alcohol-soaked version of my friend just winked at me. "What makes you think we haven't gotten there yet?"

I rolled me eyes. "Because Cloud's constantly pained look has got to be because of blue balls, not because of the tragedy of his poor, broken heart places."

Tifa laughed until she cried, and I laughed along with her until my butt met the hardwood with a painful thud as I fell off the chair. Even then, we just kept on giggling.

"It's Christmastime, Teef!" I rasped from my place on the floor, "You just need a step up from mistletoe. Like… like, sexletoe or something! But not cameltoe. Nobody likes cameltoe." Tifa shrieked again with laughter, and I grinned loopily up at her.

Time lurched forward, sluggish and uneven, as we stayed cocooned in the bar's muggy warmth. In a moment of drunk ambition, I leapt up to do a back handspring over two tables, only to slip in a puddle of spilled eggnog. I hit the ground, hard, just as the front door slammed open and a gust of frigid air tore its way through the safety of our hazy bubble.

Maybe it was the cold, or maybe it was because I'd never seen him look so serious, but the sight of Reno standing there, flanked by Rude's dark hulk, sent me back to sobriety faster than anything. His glance swept the room only to then zero in on me.

Nobody spoke for a few cold moments.

"…Tur… keys?" I finally asked. Rude stepped forward, shutting the door behind him with a soft click.

"Yuffie—" Reno started, concern etched awkwardly on his face, but Rude cut him off.

"Lady Kisaragi. Your father… Lord Godo. He is dead."

The silence fell upon us, soft as snow.

"Bu—what?"

"He took ill a week ago. He didn't get better."

My mouth wouldn't stop opening and closing like a fish who had forgotten it couldn't breathe on land.

Rude shifted, clearly becoming uncomfortable. "I'm… very sorry."

There was a quiet rustle off to my left, and Tifa stepped into view. "Why are you two delivering the news? Why didn't anyone tell Yuffie before this?" For how much she'd had to drink, her voice was soft and firm. I don't know why my brain focused on that, but it did.

"Ah, y'see, normally it would be Reeve's job to take care of this but… well…" Reno cast an acidic glance towards the corner where Reeve was passed out, drooling into his goatee.

I snorted a laugh before realizing that was probably inappropriate, then snorted again when I remembered that I'd never cared two farts about what was or was not appropriate. Reno looked at me, eyes narrowed like two green laser beams.

"You okay, yo?"

But I couldn't go down that path, not then. "You're here to take me back to Wutai, right?"

He nodded. "Chopper's outside."

And so, with a kiss on the cheek from Tifa and a bone-crunching hug from Cloud, I was bundled away like human contraband, away from the bar's warm glow, and out into that perfect, tar-black sky.

.xxx.

The flight to Wutai from Edge is about four hours in the Shera, but in Rufus' chopper it took us two. I sometimes think the guy just lives to stick it to everyone else (or Cid, in this case) that he's got more money to throw at the newest, fastest, shiniest, bestest toy ever, nah nah nah boo boo. I told Reno this once and he just laughed, but refused to confirm or deny.

"I could say something," he'd told me back then, "but either way, I'd be siding with the enemy."

"Turkey, I'm hurt! I thought we were friends!" I'd opined dramatically, batting eyelashes and wiggling eyebrows and generally looking like a spastic, noisy mime (so not much like a mime at all).

"We are friends, which makes you that much more dangerous of an enemy to have, yo."

I couldn't tell if it was because they felt bad for me, or because they knew I was less likely to puke in the front of the helicopter than in the back, but Rude let me ride shotgun while Reno flew the chopper. When I tried to thank him, he just put his sunglasses on and feigned going to sleep.

"He doesn't like it when people mistake him for a nice person," Reno murmured, and then grinned. "Me on the other hand? I love it, yo."

"Like you're ever mistaken for nice…" I grumbled, but I was smiling too.

About halfway through the trip, a large, calloused hand landed on my knee. I looked at Reno with one raised eyebrow. "If that demented brain of yours is thinking it's a good idea to seduce me now because I'm all snotty and grief-stricken, I will carve your eyeballs from your soulless, ginger face with a spoon and force-feed them to you."

He smirked and gave my knee a squeeze. "We just flew through the time zone, Yuff. I know it's not the happiest night in the world right now, but Merry Christmas anyway."

I flushed, looking down, immediately feeling a hard blob of guilt settle in my gut. "Merry Christmas, Turkey."

He patted my leg one more time before pulling his hand back. "Get some sleep, Yuff. Tomorrow's gonna be stupid."

I didn't sleep, not really. I kind of floated in that fuzzy, grey area where your brain hasn't fully lost consciousness, but your body has, where you can't seem to move but can still sense everything going on around you in a pale, muted shadow of wakefulness. I remember the jolt of the chopper touching down, the lurch in my stomach which was either airsickness or grief, or maybe some morbid combination of the two, and then I was on all fours, vomiting into the grass just outside the village gates.

Reno's boots crunched into view. "You smell like an eggnog brewery."

I hacked out a laugh, spitting up more bile. "I don't think those are a thing."

"Hey, somebody's gotta make the delicious holiday beverages."

I straightened up, wiping my mouth on the sleeve of my sweater. "Way to make an entrance, huh?"

He smiled wryly, and then the three of us turned toward the gates.

It was a bleaker winter in Wutai; not a flake of fluffy snow to be found, just the hard edge of a late-December wind biting into us like cold steel. It was somewhere between one and two in the morning, but when we reached the palace, Shake and Chekhov were waiting for us with puffy, bloodshot eyes.

"Lady Yuffie…" Chekhov murmured softly, and I suddenly couldn't take the pitying looks, their need for me to share in their grief.

"I'm going to bed. We'll talk about this in the morning." I turned stiffly, heading in the direction of my little house on the hill, stopping a few paces down the path. "These Turkeys are good guys. Make sure they've got somewhere nice to sleep tonight." I didn't turn back, I just kept walking until I was safely inside the little red house on the hill and, once there, I didn't even turn on any of the lights, but stumbled blindly into the darkness of my bedroom and collapsed into soft, clean sheets that smelled like home.

.xxx.

The next day was a special kind of hell, reserved for royalty and idiots and idiot royalty. I think I fall into all three categories, but I'm not quite sure.

"Lady Yuffie, how are you feeling?"

"Lady Yuffie, are you quite alright?"

"Lady Yuffie, may we get you anything?"

LadyYuffieLadyYuffieLadyYuffieLadyYuffieLadyYuffieLadyYuffieLadyYuffieLadyYuffieLadyYuffie

And I finally lost it.

'SHUT UP, CHEKHOV!"

"Yuffie!" Shake looked at me disapprovingly across the long table.

"Shut. Up. Shake." I ground through my teeth. "I don't care about the New Year Festival. Hell, Godo didn't care about the New Year Festival! I don't understand why this is the first thing we are talking about, when what I would really like to talk about is the fact that my dad was alone and dying for a week, and NOBODY TOLD ME!"

I was panting like a spastic puppy by the time I was finished, but at least I'd bled some of the anger from my system. That is, until Shake fixed me with a look that could've boiled sand.

"Do you feel better now?" She simpered mockingly.

"Not particularly."

"We are talking about the New Year Festival, because it is what Lord Godo was in the middle of planning when he passed away. You may not care about it, he may not have cared about it, but guess what? The people care about it; your people. Would you not care about their happiness at a time like this?"

Before I could pick up the nearest vase and chuck it at Shake's head, an obnoxious—and clearly faked—coughing fit interrupted us.

"Reno…" I growled, not even turning to look at his stupid face.

"Oh, I'm sorry, am I interrupting something?" He drawled. Chekhov and Shake started to say that, yes, he was very much indeed interrupting, but he didn't let them get that far. "No offense to you lovely ladies, but I think you better let me handle the princess."

I whirled on him, snarling and ready to punch the idiotic look that I just knew was sitting on his face, but he caught my fist, and then the other one after that. By the time I came back to myself, all the fight going out of me as I fell from my anger, back into tired sadness, Shake and Chekhov were gone, and Reno and I were sitting on the floor. My back was pinned to his chest and my arms were drawn almost painfully tight, crisscrossing across my body.

"For the love of Leviathan, Reno, do not call me that right now." The words came out much softer and more defeated than I would've liked.

"Sorry, Yuff. I wasn't thinking, yo." He sounded sheepish.

"'S'okay."

"Nah… it's not."

"No… it's not."

There was a long pause; only the faintest sounds of the town bustling to life wafted through the palace walls. The quiet was nice, though, like we were in a tiny bubble, fragile and filmy, as the sunlight streamed through the window, slightly ajar, across the room. Little by little, Reno relaxed his grip on my wrists, but didn't let go completely.

"I never knew my Ma. Knew my Pa a bit, but he took off when I was four or five, I think… Can't really remember."

"Oh gawd, is this the part where we bond over shared life experiences? Because if so then I'm going to vomit all over you." I rolled my eyes.

Reno chuckled and I felt the vibrations all the way down to my toes. "I just told ya, Yuff. I didn't know my parents from Jenova."

"If Jenova was your mom, then Sephiroth would be your half-brother and that would be grossness."

"Focus, yo. I don't know what you're going through. Hell, those two broads I just threw out of here think they do, but they don't even know what you're going through. The only person who does is you."

"Thank you, Reno, for making all of this seem even lonelier than it already did."

"Now hold up a second, I'm getting to the less lonely part. I might not know what you're going through, but that doesn't mean I'm just gonna take off and leave you to deal with it. I'm here to help, until you don't need my help anymore, yo."

"And Rude?"

"Rude'll do his thing. Head back to the WRO, keep an eye on Reeve, make sure he doesn't get into the eggnog anymore. And Reeve'll understand."

I sighed and hung my head. "You're nicer than I'll ever give you credit for, Turkey."

"Yeah, but that was already decided after I didn't kill you the first time you used that dumbass nickname."

Slowly, Reno let go of my wrists, letting my arms flop back in front of me, but I didn't move away from where I was curved against him, like a nesting doll.

"Can… can I tell you the worst part?"

"'Course you can."

I sighed again, tracing my pointer finger along a rough knot in the wood floor. "The worst part is… nobody here gave me a chance to say goodbye, you know? They didn't give me a chance to say anything to him. I can't even remember what the last thing I said was, but I'm sure it was something bratty, and awful, and... and meaningless. Andandand, there are so many things I would've wanted to tell him! I wanted him to know he wasn't a sucky dad, even though I told him he was all the time. And that I liked his stupid traditional music! And that his dancing was actually not lame, even if he did look like a drunken Tonberry. There are all these things I never said, or should've said, and now they're just things left unsaid. And that sucks. It's lame, and it sucks, like, a whole bunch of dick knobs."

Reno didn't say anything at first, just reached one long arm around to draw invisible pictures in the hardwood beside me. "I'm sure… he just didn't want to take you away from Christmas with your fellow do-gooders, ya know? I'm sure he just didn't want you to worry that frizzy little head of yours off, and I'm sure he knew all those things you wanted to tell him. And if he didn't, then I'm sure you're pretty little flower girl is right there with him in the Lifestream, telling it all now."

I snorted. "You know you could be considered one of those 'do-gooders' now too, right? And… I'm pretty sure he just thought he'd live forever… Dammit, Reno, he was supposed to live forever." And then I was laughing, and crying, and hiccupping, and making all sorts of lame noises, and Reno didn't say anything until I was all done, just laid his hand next to mine on the floor. He didn't try to hold me, or touch me, or anything awkward and comforting, and I was eternally grateful.

"You know if you stick around, you're gonna have to help me with this stupid festival, right?"

"I'll help with the stupid festival, yo."

"You know you'll probably have to dance, right?"

"I promise that I will dance, and that I'll be better than a drunken Tonberry, yo."

"You know I'll probably kill you if you keep saying 'yo,' right?"

"Yup, yo."

"As long as we're clear."

"Clear as the clearest river, running down the ancient faces of Da Chao, blessed by the Holy Leviathan and all his little fishy minions!"

"Oh, shut up, Turkey. And learn some history while you're here."

"As you wish, milady… yo."

And still, neither of us had moved our hands.

TBC…?

AN: So, as I said, I wrote this months ago… I think back in October? I've wanted to post it for a while but held back because a) I wanted to get Burning Alive back on track before diving in to anything else and b) I kind of feel like something is still missing from this, but can't put my finger on what it is. Anyway, as of right now this is considered complete, but if there was interest in continuing this into a whole planning-the-festival, fleshed-out Reffie romance, I would also be happy to continue. I supposed I'm a bit worried because the whole Godo-dying, festival-planning, illicit-romance-having has maybe been done to death? But that wouldn't stop me from writing it, if readers were interested in more *saucy wink*

Anyhoo, if you read this little ficlet and had any particular reaction to it—good, bad, neutral, squicky, hungry, sleepy, confused—I would love to hear it in a review! And, if not, then I will just have to keep all these cookies I baked to myself, nomnomnom. 'Til next time!

Bru