II. Introducing the Lipstick
The night of the rendezvous, Yuffie found herself standing alone on a deserted WRO helicopter pad, feeling as foreign as she looked. She had to stuff her hands into her pants—pants!—to keep herself from scratching at her face, where a nerdy pair of glasses sat on her stub nose. In addition to her ridiculous get-up, her hair was tied back and her beloved feet were incased in horrifically sensible work heels. She looked like a librarian. Where was the helicopter? Where was Vincent? Not that she was really that eager, said the anticipatory clench of her stomach. She just expected him to be punctual, that's all. She glanced at the slip in her pocket again. Yep, this was the place. And it was already two minutes past.
Suddenly, she heard a faint whirring in the distance. She squinted into the sky, and watched with a mixture of queasiness and relief as her ride approached. She grazed her hand against the motion sickness medication in her pocket, knowing full well it would do little for the ride. She scanned the premises again. A figure was walking towards her. Not Vincent. All that mental preparation for nothing? She couldn't help but feel a little put-off that they had decided to replace him last-minute and not inform her. Did this guy even have the credentials to pull off an undercover operation? Had Vincent privately declined to go on this mission with her? Her lips faltered into a frown. Well, good riddance; she didn't want him, anyway! His sexy voice and impossibly hot eyes be damned! "Hi, are you Marc?" piped Yuffie, struggling to make out the man's features in the dark.
"Yuffie."
Yuffie nearly jolted out of her pants. Maybe Vincent's sexy voice didn't have to be damned. He sounded just like—
"VINCENT?" Yuffie almost took a step back as he came into focus behind her irritatingly glossy glasses. "HOLY SHIT!"
He sighed. "Yes, Yuffie. Try not to sound so stupefied next time. We do have appearances to keep up."
She openly ogled him. She tried to tell herself she'd been prepared—albeit shakily at best—to keep her cool around Vincent if, when, he showed up, but this was not what she bargained for. "You look so—not you. Where's your cloak?"
"Marc Conlin does not, to my knowledge, wear cloaks," said Vincent.
Yuffie could scarcely believe what she was seeing. His eyes, his face, and his voice were all there—but he didn't give off the same Vincent-y vibe. He almost looked like a Turk, the way he wore that fancy-looking suit. "Yeah, but I never imagined you would—I don't know—abandon it! It's like your third leg!" Maybe she had underestimated his ability to blend in and be one with the general populace.
"My cloak is not—"
"What the hell happened to your hair?" she yelped without letting him get a word in edgewise. Her hand shot into the air and grabbed at the locks framing his face. Granted, it wasn't all gone—there was still a shaggy quality to it, the way it draped over his eyes—but it was so incredibly short! His hand reached up to extract her probing fingers from his freshly-cut hair. "YOU HAVE AN ARM THERE?" She snatched up the appendage in question, positively gawking.
"Of course, I have an arm there."
"Well, how was I supposed to know?" she blustered, voice octaves higher from bewilderment. "You never went anywhere without that claw! Oh, wait! Is this fake? Like a prosthetic?" She opened his palm to face up and rubbed her thumb along the skin of his thumb.
He jerked his hand back. "Yuffie, it's real."
"I've never seen you in real shoes before! You look so normal!"
"That's the point."
"Wow." Yuffie's mind was blown.
"Yuffie, stand back. The helicopter is landing."
"I mean, WOW. Seriously, it's like you've been replaced by some kind of alien, Vince. "Actually, this assignment wouldn't be so hard now that he looked so unlike himself. She could simply pretend he wasn't Vincent, just some hot guy in a suit who happened to look just like him. She was debating the merits of this when her musing was interrupted by a grab at her blazer.
"Yuffie, stand back." Yuffie felt herself being jerked out of the way as the helicopter landed, sending the loose ends of her hair all askew and in her face. The pilot waved them in from the other side of the window. Yuffie watched Vincent climb abroad, speechless with shock. His butt looked amazing in those pants—
"Yuffie, get in," said Vincent impatiently.
"Right, right," she replied, pulling off her heels to climb into the vehicle. She set them on the floor and tried to stop herself from gaping at him. "You know, for a second I thought you weren't going to show. I thought you'd be too bothered to deal with all this with me, but you really pulled out all the stops for this thing! I'm impressed!"
The pilot suddenly turned around and handed them both a black leather briefcase. Yuffie's eyes darted down to it."Yours," said the pilot before lifting off. Yuffie felt her stomach lurch. She quickly popped a pill into her mouth. Her tolerance had gone up through the years. It usually took her an hour to start spilling her guts out. Hopefully two, this time, if the medicine worked.
Inside the briefcase, Yuffie found a passport, I.D., Koma Industries clearance card, and various other accessories she assumed were for her cover as Yuki Conlin. "Oh, what's this?" She picked up what appeared to be a stick of lipstick. "Some kind of secret laser or something?" She remembered getting a lock pick disguised as pen on her previous op. Yuffie popped the item open and her face fell with dismay. It was actually lipstick, in an odd rosy peach color. Vincent watched her with something that almost resembled amusement. "I guess this is just Yuki's make-up of choice," said Yuffie sullenly.
Yuffie insisted on pawing through—studying, she called it—Vincent's briefcase as well. Vincent could hardly keep the thing to himself in such a small space with nowhere to hide it from her. She found Vincent's supplies to be relatively similar to hers, except for the guns that were strapped inside. She hardly could have expected him to go unarmed. She hid a few of her favorite knives on her person, too. But Vincent got guns, and she got lipstick? Where was the justice?
"You know where we're going?" she asked the pilot, after several moments of staring out the helicopter into the shapeless dark, her stomach beginning to roll.
"Can't say 'til we get there. Be ready for the time change, though," replied the pilot with a shrug. "It's going to be a long ride, so you might as well make yourself comfortable."
Yuffie made an incoherent gurgling noise as she leaned back against the seat, her panicked eyes sweeping over to Vincent. "Reeve told me this wasn't going to take longer than an hour and a half!"
Vincent had clearly heard differently. He pulled the business book from his briefcase and began to read it. "There's a bucket behind you," said Vincent helpfully.
"Why didn't you tell me?" she squawked, clutching the bucket to her blazer.
"It would have been pointless to worry you over something you can't control."
Yuffie opened her mouth to throw another angry demand his way, but only ended up throwing her beef-and-pepper dinner up into the bucket.
Yuffie awoke in a groggy haze, her throat raw from vomiting all night and her joints aching from ill-timed slumber. Her glasses were askew on her face, and she pulled them off completely out of annoyance. It's not like there was anyone to see her, besides Vincent and the pilot. Vincent was staring out the window, into the warm, orange glow of sunset outside as the helicopter sailed over the sea. She sat up and rubbed her eyes. "How much longer?" she croaked.
"Almost there," said the pilot, giving her a sympathetic smile. "We'll be landing in twenty minutes."
Yuffie couldn't help the relief that flooded her voice. "Great." She popped another pill into her mouth, if only for the placebo effect and sat back, trying not to think about motion or puking or—
The sound of retching could be heard for the last twenty minutes of the ride.
Yuffie practically crawled out of the helicopter, heaving grateful gulps of air into her lungs. Vincent stood silently beside her as she recovered herself enough to walk out of the airstrip. Sitting out in front of them was a slim, black car. The driver side door opened, and Yuffie immediately straightened, trying not to look like a sick dog. A middle-aged man in a pressed suit and white gloves stood forward, nodding at them politely. "Mr. and Mrs. Conlin, glad to see you made it back without incident. How was your trip to Mideel?"
Yuffie's eyes slid to Vincent, entreating him to take the initiative. She was not up to playing her part just yet. She could still feel the ghosts of careening haunting her mushy insides. "It was lovely," said Vincent. "Thank you." Yuffie carefully arranged her face to conceal her utter astonishment. Vincent saying "lovely"? Who was this person?
The chauffeur smiled and opened the back door for them. "After you, Mrs. Conlin."
Yuffie coughed into her hand and picked up her briefcase. "Thank you." She slid into the car and realized belatedly she was sitting in a limousine. Vincent slid in next to her, and she scooted over to give him some room. He effortlessly closed the distance. She stared at him, at the way their legs were touching.
"Do you get carsick?" he murmured into her ear. She stiffened from the unexpected proximity.
"Depends on how smooth the ride is," she managed in equally low tones.
The driver glanced back at them, smiling. "Any detours before we go, sir, madam?"
"No, no, we're fine," said Yuffie perhaps a little too hastily.
"Yes, madam." He stuck the key into the ignition and it purred to life. A black window rolled up and closed him off from their line of sight.
The car lurched forward and Yuffie's stomach kindly reminded her they were in a moving vehicle. She stuffed a hand against her mouth. "Stop sitting so close to me! I'm going to puke all over you!" hissed Yuffie, scooting all the way to the other side of the enormously large car, where she thankfully found a bucket for the deed. She emptied out the ice and champagne into the other bucket and sat the cold tin between her legs. She leaned over the bucket, trying to affect slow, deep breaths. Stupid methods never worked but she had to give it a shot.
Vincent stood up and crossed over to her side, sitting right next to her. "Appearances, Yuki."
Oh, right. She stared at the bucket. Did Yuki get carsick? Yuffie waited expectantly for the vomit to rise, but it never came. She cautiously stared at the car. It rode on smoothly. Yuffie held herself stiffly, assaying the situation. It took her several minutes to ascertain that it was, indeed, a barf-free zone. She leaned back against the leather seat, sighing happily. She was going to tip their driver very generously. She cracked open an eye. "So," she tried the name on her tongue, "Marc." Vincent did not reply, or even indicate that he had heard. Yuffie straightened up; that was going to be a problem. "Marc?" He popped open a bottle of champagne and poured out two glasses. He handed one to her. "What are you doing?"
"We like champagne, apparently," he said quietly. "Otherwise, it wouldn't be here. Take a few sips so it looks like we've had some." Yuffie drained the glass. It was divine. The quality of it was unlike anything she'd ever had. Vincent took one sip out of his and did not touch it for the remainder of the drive. But then, Vincent never actually liked drinking anything other than red wine. Figured, because he was secretly a vampire.
Finally, the car stopped, and moments later, the door opened. The chauffeur beckoned them out. "We're here. I hope you enjoyed the ride."
Yuffie decorously took the man's proffered hand, although she could have easily somersaulted out of the car. "The ride was excellent. Thank you." She stepped out of the car and slid him a generous tip. He bowed.
Vincent stepped out after her, placing a hand on her shoulder. Yuffie's features tightened from shock. "Thank you for the ride," he told the man.
The chauffeur's eyes twinkled, jumping from face to face. Yuffie forced her facial muscles to relax. "It was my pleasure."
Vincent maneuvered them up the path. His hand did not leave her until the elevator door closed. Yuffie released something between a sigh and a wheeze. She hadn't been expecting him to touch her like that. But then again, he hardly could have treated her like a foot fungus in public. Yuffie took a deep breath. Wives did not freak out every time their husbands touched them. People with crushes did. But she wasn't Yuffie right now; she was Yuki.
To be continued.
A/N: Chapters 1-3 have been revised as of 08/03/11 in an attempt to provide a smoother story and a more consistent narrator (i.e. Yuffie). Some things have been added, some things have been cut, but nothing major has been messed with. I hope the pieces have improved, even if only a little bit. Comments are welcome; critique is encouraged. Thank you for reading.