Author's Note: Yay a new chapter. I posed a question over at Viva la Reefie (which, to any of you potentially teetering on maybe, still don't want to betray Yuffentine die-hards out there who are guiltily enjoying this story, is a really great community full of really great people and has a really great new layout with a really pretty banner) about whether these chapters are too short. I like to keep them about this sixe because it seems more reasonable for reading purposes as well as more frequent updates. But, of course, this is a question for you, so tellme what you think.

Anyway, on to the good stuff!

For the next half hour my attention was entirely on trying to hear the bar door open over the sounds of the horror film playing before me. My eyes watched the figures on the screen, but my mind was focussed on the fact that Yuffie would be here any moment. Would it be awkward? A piece of me said it wouldn't—she was still hurting, and would maybe be grateful for the time I set aside for her. Maybe she would come in here and curl up next to me and fall asleep half way through the next movie and I would let her drool on my shirt.

You're laughing at me: It's okay, I would be too. The larger portion of my mind knew it was going to be awkward. Why? Because even if Yuffie was grateful and traipsed in here on her best behaviour; I would have made it awkward. In fact, I intended to make it awkward. There was absolutely no reason for me to feel so refreshed after those three hours in the locker room with Yuffie.

If I had learned nothing else from my little stay in the bathroom, it was that I had hoped my desire to comfort her had come from a purely unselfish place; that I was simply being a supportive friend to another friend in a time of her greatest need. But if there was one thing I was never good at, it was lying to myself. I knew perfectly well of all of the suggestive thoughts racing through my mind.

Now, I'm not Reno. I wasn't thinking about taking advantage of her (although the fact that I'm bringing up this thought should cue you slightly otherwise) but I found myself questioning my purely platonic relationship with the ninja. It's just that she looked so sad, so beautiful. I wanted to say I could picture myself with her. To have the right to kiss away her tears, to hold her close to me the way I did whenever I should chose.

Of course, these were the reasons I was forced to make things awkward, to save myself from hoping for something that could never possibly occur. You see, Cid and the gang were about to stumble upon Vincent, which meant he would be coming home soon, alleviating the pain from the young ninja I found myself slightly enamoured with.

Besides... she's nineteen. I'm pretty sure a nineteen year old caught with a guy my age is illegal; and if it's not, it should be. It's not like I had time for a relationship anyway...

"Aunt Yuffie!"

I was torn from my train of thought by the kids' screech, and the fact that the DVD was quickly put on pause as they dashed to the door, greeting the ninja with excitement.

"Yo, kiddos," she returns, ruffling their hair. "Let's get this party started, shall we?"

I shifted on the couch to look at her, and she stopped dead when she saw me. "What're you doing here?"

"Babysitting."

"Oh."

"Yeah." I knew it. I knew it. I knew it. I'm old and gross and she's young and immature and it's awkward, awkward, awkward.

"Sweet!"

My eyebrows lifted in surprise.

"Hey Denny, go get me a cola, would'ya?"

I watched her as she circled the couch and plopped down next to me, picking the remote out of my lap with fingers so deft there was no wondering why she was once suited for materia theft.

"I see you finally made it out of the locker room," I muttered stiffly, trying to sound unsympathetic.

She didn't answer me. "What are we watching? Oh my gawd, Death in Gongaga? I love this movie!"

I exhaled sharply when she curled up against me, and remained rigid until she looked up at me with big round innocent eyes.

"It's really scary, Reeve. You're gonna have to hold me."

That bitch. "Get off," I hissed, half removing her myself as I stood from the couch. I could hear her tittering laughter as I resituated myself in an arm chair.

I stared directly at the television, for I knew even the sight of her smug face would drive me into the very depths of insane loathing. It was good to see that at least she was feeling a little more like the brat we all knew and... loved? Well, that said, at least she had some kind of a smile on her face, even though I knew it was really only a mask used for hiding the fear. Oh, if only Vincent knew what he was doing to her. If he were here to experience this horror-- this calamity, maybe he would see the error in his ways. No one really notices the ninja's ever-present smile until it was whisked away from us in one fell swoop.

The kids were back on the couch, each sitting on either side of their 'aunt'. "Press play, Aunt Yuffie," Denzel said, passing her her requested soda.

"Thanks Denny," she said, pressing the button on the remote and proceeding to crack open her drink.

I submersed myself in the movie, although more than once I tried to excuse myself and go home. I knew Yuffie to be more than capable of taking care of the two children, and I had some paper work that needed to be finished before I took a long shower to cool my thoughts and then crawl into bed only to not sleep because of those same thoughts running circles in my head.

"But Reeve!" It was Marlene's big brown eyes and pouted lower lip that got me every time. There was just something so unspeakably evil about the way she did it that could hypnotize a grown man and make him prone to doing whatever in the world she wanted. And so I watched as the villain destroyed homes and families, and with a clenched jaw watched him rip out the throat of the main hero, whose best friend watched from a short distance, placed safely among the bushes by the hero himself so she would not come to harm. "It's my fault," he said. "If it means my life for yours..."

Yuffie pretended to be sleeping when the movie was over, but I could tell by the struggled way she drew breath that she was trying to keep back tears as she half laid on Denzel who had fallen asleep quite some time ago. Of course, I didn't say anything. We know what happened the last time I tried to comfort her, and apparently she didn't appreciate the help. That was fine; once I got Marlene and Denzel to bed I had every intention of situating her awkwardly on the couch where she could stay until either the morning's light or the unbearable pain woke her up.

Carefully I picked Marlene up and took her upstairs, careful to miss the creaky steps. Her bedroom was the closest, and it always made me smile how tidy she kept it. Her toys were in the far corner; all arranged in a neat row, and her bed was made with a stuffed chocobo placed on top of the pillow. I arranged her in bed as carefully as I could, and tugged her socks off. She stirred slightly, but only rolled over to hug her pillow and mumble something incoherently. I snickered and tucked her in, giving her head a little pat before leaving her to get the next one; flicking the light off as I went.

To my dismay I came downstairs to find Denzel had awoken and was busy poking Yuffie, who was now actually passed out on top of him, having fallen asleep sometime during her attempt to fool me. "Hey Reeve, you grab her arms and I'll grab her feet and we can drag her upstairs." As tempting as such an irresponsible mode of transporting the sleeping princess was, I smirked and shook my head. "Off to bed, young sir. Leave the princess to me."

I made sure he was in bed with all he needed before I went back downstairs, standing in the doorway of the living room and examining the young ninja sleeping in a twisted position on the couch. I wanted very badly (perhaps too badly) to leave her there, but the soft spot in my heart was seemingly unaffected by her annoyingness, rudeness, and outright coldness toward me ever since Vincent had disappeared. Ever since Vincent had, without a word, left. Ever since he left her. She had a right to be so cold, I figured, as I carefully scooped her up off the sofa.

She seemed weightless in my arms as I headed toward the stairs, my intention to put her into her bed just as I had done with each of the children. I smiled at the thought of how childlike Yuffie truly was: She was honest and giving, but had a streak of evil in her just like Marlene's pout. She dealt with things with simply clarity as well; she was either happy or sad, and she always knew which was which, even when the rest of us were unsure. I was reminded then how sad she really was, when her voice, soft as a breeze croaked out a strangled; "Vincent?"

"It's Reeve, Yuffie." She must have still been sleeping, lost in a dream, for she didn't acknowledge me, other than to grip onto the front of my shirt like a life-line.

"Vincent?"

I paused on the top step and waited, looking down at her as her features morphed in agony. My arms tightened instinctively and my brow furrowed. "Are you alright Yuffie?" Of course, my voice was soft, as I did not want to wake her, but it was filled with what I found to be (upon further examination) worry.

Her fist's grip on my shirt loosened considerably and her face relaxed, a sign, I assumed, that the worst of it was over. I made the rest of the trip to her room rather quickly, removing her boots and arm guards from her before tucking her under the blankets. She, like Marlene had done, curled up with her pillow upon contact, hugging it close to herself like a doll, whispering the name of a man against it.

I don't know how long I watched her, but it wasn't until long after her soft whispers and occasional cries had subsided that I found my feet were able to move.

So like a child, that woman.

I went home to perform my routine; three files of paper work lay waiting for me on my desk top, and I filtered through them mindlessly, signing this and that; vetoing the occasional proposal and tagging others for further discussion. There were several queries about the training program which I purposefully ignored, as they all stated what-if's surrounding my commander's potential demise. I did not throw them out, but they stared at me, unopened at the corner of my desk with a yellow post-it note attached that read "Valentine".

They served not as a reminder, but rather a taunting presence. There was no possible way I could forget the fact that Vincent was gone, and the implications this had for the program, but every night as I finished up my paper work I would glance at them and my mind would start rolling.

Torturous, I know, but somewhere inside of me I believed that if I analysed the situation enough ways, I might be able to discover some kind of alternative or solution that would make this whole thing better than it had been to begin with. That is of course what I wanted to believe, which does not necessarily mean that I did. Like I mentioned before, if there was one thing I was bad at, it was lying to myself. Maybe I could find a man with the correct amount of training and experience to harden an army of fresh meat into something capable of defending a republic, and maybe they would already have the understanding and knowledge of a past that only a select few truly witnessed, but this didn't solve everything. Even if I could find a replacement commander, I could never find a replacement Vincent.

Maybe it was watching the tears slowly soil Yuffie's pillow case earlier that night that pulled my thoughts beyond the WRO and into the personal, but as I stared into the down-falling droplets of water, beating down on me from the showerhead, I discovered that that was where my rambling notions seemed to wind up time and time again.

I shook my head, trying to toss my wet and matted hair out of my eyes. I succeeded only to have it fall back in place, and I sighed, lifting a hand to smooth it back. By the feeling of pressure constantly residing in my chest these days, I wouldn't have been surprised if half of it was grey, or suddenly fell out right there in my hand.

I snorted to myself. What I needed was to get laid. Find some broad as down on herself as I was and come together for an evening on pity sex that would amount to an awkward conversation over coffee the next morning and that was that.

I knew better than to think a one-night stand was going to fix anything other than to get my rocks off and meet my quota for the month... okay year. This wasn't about sex. It was about... about... well I wasn't sure what it was about. In my mind however, I kept hearing her voice saying his name, and kept seeing the little frown on her face, kept smelling the sweetness of her hair and the feel of her hand clutching my shirt. It was about Yuffie, I decided. It was about Yuffie and how I wanted to see her smile again. I reached for the tap and altered the temperature. It was about Yuffie and how she drove me insane. My hand tweaked the handle again. It was about Yuffie and how Vincent had left without so much as an explanation to a woman just out of girlhood who couldn't possibly understand the so called sacrifice that I was sure he didn't even entirely understand himself. It was about Yuffie and her bright eyes, and silky hair, and tall lean legs, and little waist, and...

If I had been that kind of guy maybe I would have found a bar yet that night and buried myself and those thoughts in the arms of a whore; or maybe I would have gotten off in the shower and gone to bed feeling slightly relieved. As it was I twisted the tap entirely to the right and stood in the cold for a good five minutes before all the thoughts of sex or something like it were gone from my head. (No pun intended).

I only wanted what I couldn't have, I decided, watching dismally as the cold shower worked its black magic. My forehead hit the shower wall and I sighed.

What I wanted was for her to be happy. What I wanted was for her to smile: that girl-woman who was sad but acted happy or angry or bratty or anything other than what she really was.

I snorted softly. Just like me, who was pretending not to be horny. Ah, two of a kind, we were, two of a... I lifted my head and squinted at the shower faucet.

Hm... idea.

Author's Note: Well there's another. It's personally one of my favorites. Like.. I like it a lot. haha. Do you feel the same? And don't forget about the question I posed earlier. I'm writing this for myself and my own enjoyment, but it's entertainment for you guys too- that's what writing is all about. So, as ever, I want to hear back from you.

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Til' Next time;

Lynn