Sunshine in Winter
the second month
A/N: Before I go on, I would just like to state that I must have some
of the coolest reviewers on earth. Without you bunch, I would have
crawled back into my tiny little hole and probably spent the rest of my
life writing Minesweeper fanfic or something (not that Minesweeper
fanfic is anything other than fascinating). This fanfic owes much to
those patient people who waited out the long months inbetween my
writer's block, and I'd just like to cheer you. Thank you all from the
bottom of my heart.
Oh, and as always, for my no-good worthless beta-reader Piett, who
waxed wroth loudly.
Usually, in fairytales, when somebody goes through a bad illness and
is later rescued from their own pugnaciousness from a knight in shining
armour, they immediately make an amazing breakthrough and get up the
very next morning all chipper and ready to continue on, because as
everybody will instinctively know, today is the first day of the rest of
their life!
In reality? I was bedridden for two weeks eating only very tiny bowls
of weak chicken broth as my shrunken stomach got used to being fed
again. Vincent used to sit there and spoonfeed me, and carry me to the
bathroom, and wash me. Yes, he saw me naked, and touched me naked,
and undressed and redressed me when the situation called for it. And quite
possibly it's the most humiliating and unromantic thing I've ever been
through. As a girl who'd been so fiercely independent as to wander
around the world with only herself and Materia for company, to now only
be able to move being carried by somebody else was not in any way fun
or exciting.
Vincent and I formed a parasitic relationship in those days. We
basically had to, for me to survive. And he was so good to me I think I
cried sometimes, as he tried to not make me feel bad about it, making
light of the fact that I was so helpless that he had to help me clean
myself in the bath. It wasn't even as if I even had ego left to be
grateful to him - the first time he did it, I was so horrified I couldn't
even talk at first, ashamed and hating him and hating myself even more
and wishing that the dragon had just eaten me.
"Yuffie." I still remember the warmth of his good hand, the other a
steadying golden presence on the side of the tin tub, as he worked soap
into my shoulders with a sponge. I hadn't answered him, so his only
words were a soft, "Pull your arms back."
I stubbornly refused, looking straight ahead, defiant in my
listlessness.
"Does it hurt?"
Again silence.
"Yuffie?"
"I'm not wearing anything," I eventually burst out, voice thin and
reedy and whiny.
"That's usually the case when bathing," Vincent said dryly, but
withdrew his hand. "Are you uncomfortable with me seeing you
naked?"
"I'm so ugly," I spat, "ugly and..." and I don't want you of all people
to see me like this but you have already and I hate it more than
anything.
"You're a bit thin," he commented lightly, "but not bad."
I rasped a little, my equivalent of a laugh, catching a bit of humour
around the lines of his mouth, relaxing slightly in his presence.
"Valentine, you lie like a cheap watch."
"And so do you," he countered cryptically, rolled his shirtsleeves
higher up on his elbows and filled a jug with the bathwater. I made a
slight mewl as he tipped it over my head and glared through dripping
bangs at him. Paying me no mind, he began to soap up my hair with one
hand, his fingers wiping the wet locks out my eyes, and making sure
none of the bubbles got in them. At first I had been half-crying in
humiliation, but now the tears that were threatening to drip down my
cheeks were those of desperate love that I couldn't even understand
properly.
I raised one hand, using all the effort I could, to grip the sponge in
my weak fingers. He cast his eyes away from my chest chivalrously but I
was already broken. I didn't care whether he saw my breasts or me naked
any more, it didn't matter; and in that I felt even worse, because what
little confidence I had about the way I looked went down the gurgler. I
think that Vincent, with his beautiful blessed sixth sense about me,
knew this.
"...I'm sorry about this."
"About what?" My fingers fumbled with the sponge and my arm hurt
already but I managed to use it, slight and clumsy.
"You being naked."
"I don't mind. Not any more. Not like... you're offending my sensibilities
or anything."
"It's immodest," he protested gently, "as we're both grown-up now."
He considered me grown-up. My heart leapt. If he had told me this
before, before all this happened, I would have had somebody tattoo the
quote on my chest, and possibly announce to the world news that yes,
Vincent Valentine considered Yuffie Kisaragi grown up, and by the way,
the apocalypse is nigh. "You're past it, anyway," I managed to tease,
voice crackling slightly but I was still able to smile. That in itself
was victory. "Can't appreciate young girls any more."
"Oh, I can hardly take my hands off you," Vincent deadpanned and gave
me one of his small smiles, quick and beautiful, the ones he gave so
rarely it was hard to believe he could ever put on such a facial
expression but when he did it was like the sun coming up.
"That's the nicest thing you've ever said," I told him, and then my lip
wobbled and I burst into tears.
After much effort I could use my hands again and move, albeit slowly -
and usually after too many steps I collapsed, exhausted, on the
floor in an ungracious heap. Noting this, Vincent confined me to my
bed, where I soon discovered that there's a reason us dying cripples
want to die so soon - there's nothing to do but sit and ache.
I remembered sewing lessons as a little girl and did it for the want of
something better to do, vengefully stabbing thread in and out of a
piece of soft cotton to embroider. I used to get my Conformer and just
hold it, in my hands, tracing my fingers across the shining metal and
wondering if it would ever sail from my hands again. I used to just
sit, watching the sunlight reflect off it, for hours. At first Vincent
got nervous when he saw me with something sharp, but what on earth
could I do with it? He never left me alone enough for me to be able to
commit anything other than violence crimes against my pillow. He was
with me almost every hour of the day, rubbing the toes on my injured
leg because the blood didn't go into them well any more, massaging my
withered body, telling me stories, brushing my hair.
Nonetheless, I was so bored I was bored beyond death. I was bored
into a state of zombie-like boredom. My boredom should have been
sleeping in a coffin for a gazillion years under a mansion, it was that
bad. So complete was my boredom it went around in an infinite loop and
eventually even being bored bored me. Lots of things hadn't held my
attention before, but now even movement seemed overrated and I stared
up at the ceiling and thought miserably about the days when I had
frolicked, happy as a clam, out in the wilderness.
Illness gives old memories rose-coloured glasses. I remembered thinking
about how fun it had been in the Northern Crater and how cuddly
Tonberries were.
"Yuffie," Vincent said briskly, one day, out of the blue. "I'm going
back to Gongaga for a while."
"You're what?" I asked, in obvious dismay. "You are? I mean - "
"It'll only be for a few days. There are some matters that have been
brought to my attention."
"Oh," I said miserably.
"Cid's coming in the Highwind. I have your things packed. It's the mild
part of winter so there isn't much danger."
"Oh."
I paused.
"My things packed?"
Vincent raised an eyebrow, as if ingenuous and quizzical, knowing full
damn well my surprise. My nurse was a teasing asshole, bless his
demonic little heart. "You don't want to come?"
My weak hand clenched itself into a fist and shot up into the air,
crowing. "Wooooohoooooo!"
"...I think I'll take that as a yes."
I sat up so quickly Vincent looked startled at the movement, my eyes
afire, attempting to push back my blanket. "I wanna go see what you
packed for me! Did you remember a bag for me to barf in? I always do
on Cid's airship. And did you remember my woolly chocobo? I can't go
without my woolly chocobo. And a scarf - it'll be cold there - and
mittens, and my medicine, and - "
"Yuffie, calm down." His fingers went to my forehead, then my cheeks,
checking my pulse. "You'll give yourself a fever."
"Screw fevers." I was practically bouncing; only the low thrumming
natural ache in my leg prevented me from getting up and cartwheeling
around the room. I did the next best thing, though, catching my arms
around Vincent's neck and kissing him exuberantly on the cheek. "Oh,
Vincent, thank you!"
He gently disentangled himself from me, but I knew he was pleased; I
could see it in the shifting of his mouth. I knew his face so well now;
sometimes I felt like a Yuffievincentoneonlyall mix-up. Too close to be
friends or lovers or different cells. One day I was afraid that I would
love him so much I'd be sucked into him, underneath his skin.
"You need movement, anyway. Asako's been afraid of clots."
"I can't believe Grandma Asa's le - "
"She was the one who recommended - "
"What about - "
"Godo's not happy."
Finishing each other's sentences? I hadn't even noticed. Screw just
getting under his skin. Soon I'd another aspect of Valentine along with
the Galian Beast, only less charming and piquantly cute as the
aforementioned.
"Dad can go screw himself," I said complacently.
"I warn you again - it'll be on an airship."
"Greatest mode of transport known to man. Remind me to give Cid a
massive whopper on the lips when I see him. And to hug the railing."
"I'm going to have to put you out for the duration," he warned gently.
"Losing more fluid at this point in time could be a major setback."
"Yes, Doctor. Or should that be 'daddy'? You're like the two rolled
into one. Plus nurse. And chef. And general entertainment."
"And travel consultant," he said drily, but the fact that he had made a
joke about it sent my spirits soaring up even further into the sky like
fireworks. Oh, oh, happiness. Yuffie was da bomb.
I told this much to Vincent. He looked nonplussed, and in fact merely
took my temperature and told me to lie down again or I'd get the flu.
I didn't care about whether I got flu or whooping cough or Juggler's
Despair. I was going to Gongaga!
...Illness makes you lame. I am no exception.
"I love you, Cid."
True to his wonderful blessed word, Vincent and my ticket out of
Wutaihell arrived the weekend after he'd told me. Also true to his
word, I'd gotten the sniffles due to sheer excitement so palpable I
was practically peeing my pants (nice use of the letter 'p'). My bones
ached and my teeth chattered sometimes when I was cold, but the
thought of a change of scenery did me so good even Vincent relaxed
a little - enough to not watch me all the time. Hallelujah.
My ticket, who was smoking one of his cancer sticks and looking
distinctly unimpressed with both my beautific smile and the fact that
he could see my ribs through my shirt, looked at Vincent. "You ready?"
"I loved you from the day I met you."
"...yes."
"Talky as #&!ing ever, huh?"
"You were like some stubbly, grousing, mean, icky, old, not-quite-
dishwater-blonde god."
"You're lookin' healthy. Obviously hangin' around brats agrees with y'."
"Have I mentioned I love the grand majesty of airships? It was why I
was always, like, throwing up on it. I was blessing it. Sort of like
how people do with champagne but yuckier."
"...h'n."
"If you weren't married already, I'd ask Vinnie to bend my knee into
position and propose on the spot, you know."
Pained looks were appearing on both faces. Ah, unity through one
common factor - humiliation via me.
"Weird how I always horked up carrots. I never ate carrots."
"...least you know her &!#!ing voicebox still works."
"But anyway, the Highwind is like, the coolest thing ever. The time I
told you that it was an old bag of bolts that would be more useful
reinforcing Tifa's bra, I so didn't mean it. And she didn't have to
threaten to roundhouse-kick me either. It's an adorable old bag of bolts.
Isn't it, Vincent? Huh? Huh?"
"...when are you going to put her to sleep?"
"...soon."
"You two suck," I told them heatedly, and then, stretching out from
Vincent's arms, I drew the pilot into a clumsy awkward hug. He smelt
like gasoline and cigarettes. "C'mere, you big ol' lug. I knew I wouldn't
die without seeing your ugly face again."
"Hate !#&ing sentimentality," Cid growled, but his hand was equally
awkwardly patting my back, slipping as he brushed me forward and
letting out a string of vile expletives as he felt me shift in Vincent's
arms. "Goddamn it all to hell, kid. I can see through you."
"Do I have a sexy liver?"
"You never had a sexy anythin'."
"You only find things attractive if they have a joystick and a fuel
gauge, you chainsmoking old jerk."
He untangled himself from me carefully, as if I might fall to dust if
he moved too sudden. The look in his eyes was of abject horror and I
tried to puff out my gaunt cheeks. Don't feel sorry for me, Highwind.
Not pity from you. "Shut up and get aboard my damn airship," Cid
informed both of us, then stalked back up into the belly of his metal
monstrosity.
Vincent obeyed, with his curiously smooth walk that made for the least
amount of rocking when we walked, bad leg stuck out in front of us like
an ugly battering ram. I'd taken to wearing loose pants that I could
easily get off; not because I needed to keep the stupid thing warm, but
because I didn't like seeing it's malignant ugly swollen presence. It was
like it was pregnant with something I was straining to give birth to.
The same makeshift bed I'd slept on the last time was set up. I admired
the blankets obediently before raising my arm to Vincent, who was
already preparing the hypodermic needle. ("Can't you use Materia?"
I'd whined at first. He'd answered quite curtly that he didn't trust
magic in any form when it came to medicine; looking at his long list
of various horrid things happening at the hands of Hojo, I didn't blame
him. "What about pills?" I'd whined even more plaintively. Short answer -
they weren't strong enough any more. You have to admire dragons;
when they want to infect someone, they really infect someone. Mad
props to all you fucking lizards.) I'd used to barf when needles were used,
possibly as some form of primitive substance-in substance-out ritual.
Now, I could whistle a couple of tunes as Vincent pried open veins
to use.
"You'll wake me wh - " I began.
"When the tranquilizer wears off and no earlier," he told me severely,
expertly flushing a lot of very nice substances into my arm. I immediately
got the happy, wonderfully numbling flush of drugs, always slightly
orgasmic as all the pain blurred out and just left dizziness. I lay
down, pulling the blankets up to my chin. "You need your rest."
"If sleep could cure me, I should've gotten over this thing weeks
ago," I muttered mutinously, voice going thick as my vision began to
dim. Vincent was rifling around in one of the bags he'd slung over his
shoulder, tucking me in efficiently, then placing my silly woolly
chocobo neatly next to my neck.
"...Vincent, not in front of Cid," I tried to wail, but I was out like a
light.
Death and rebirth.
They say sleeping's like that, you know. That and a bunch of other
things. Sunset. Sunrise. Vomiting. Sex.
(Not that I wanted to think of any of the latter lately; when you're
coughing up green mucus and even simple emotion makes you all
sweaty getting a twinge of arousal would've had me in a fainting fit.)
Vincent tucking me in at night, Vincent first thing in the morning.
Death. Rebirth. Vincent. As natural as breathing.
God, sometimes I wondered why, how this had goddamn happened.
Why would Vincent take care of a puking squalling dying ninja who he
had met briefly with (to save the world, no less, but that had no real
impact) and who he hadn't really liked anyway? Did he think we had
something in common? Him ageless, timeless, beautiful, unable to die.
Me tiny, newborn, screaming, unable to live.
It wasn't like he owed me anything. I'd saved his life a buncha
times, yeah, but he'd done the same for me and so had Tifa and Cloud
and Aeris (sweet Aeris what's happening when you gonna come and take
me away) and Red and Barret and Cid'n Cait and everything. Was I some
extension of his friggin' penance, something to do to wash away the sin?
I didn't like that idea. I wasn't good penance. If he wanted to get in
good with the powers that be he should've just put a pillow over my
face.
I think too much. Why the hell was I doing this to myself? I'd
stopped questioning Vincent Valentine's motives a long time ago.
Last thing I see at night. First thing I see in the morning. He's like
some twisted mother-lover-father-deity.
How gloriously grossness. Yuffie two years ago would have considered
this like water torture. I love it. Young Yuffie, where did you go? Are
you growing up or are you carkin' it just the same as I am?
When I woke up, it was back in Dr. Bannon's hospital in Gongaga with
Vincent sitting beside my bed.
Now, that made me start. Talk about déjà vu.
He was in one of those uncomfortable little armchairs, and, surprisingly
enough, had taken to his old wardrobe of God-Can't-You-Tell-I'm-
Depressed-Black. Now, let it not be said that Vincent doesn't
look hot in black, but I think it washes him out a little. Put him in
one of those vivid blue cotton robes and white pants that he used to
wear in Wutai, and yeah, yummy.
...Aw, c'mon. My body may be dead but my rrowr radar ain't. Let
me have my eyecandy.
He had a gun in his hands. Death Penalty. It was gleaming like new
silver and smelt just faintly of gunpowder; obviously he'd just reloaded
it. There was his familiar gunbelt around his waist, and as he saw
me wake, he expertly flipped it into his belt. I love seeing him with
his guns. They become alive in his hands, and he spins them
over his good fingers like they're another extension of himself, silver
against the goldbrass of his prosthetic hand and beautiful and deadly.
And liable to explode, just like him.
Instead of breakfast, this time, Vincent knew the score; immediately I
was handed water and a veritable cocktail of pills which I swallowed
hurriedly before the pain and the nausea started. He handed me some
orange juice afterwards, too sour for my taste, but cool and liquid
against my parched throat.
"...how do you feel?"
"Washed-up crap."
"Are you well enough today for me to carry you?"
"How would I get anywhere otherwise?" Make that not only lover, mother,
and deity, but mobile transport unit. "'Course."
Vincent gave me a bowl of warm water as I struggled out of my clothes,
and soap and a sponge, and sat me on another chair to wash myself. He
turned away out of love, but I knew that he was probably watching me
anyway to make sure that he was there the moment something went
wrong.
I began to dab the warm water on my joints, making little indrawn
hissing noises as I tended to my swollen leg. The flight hadn't done it
much good; it was redder than before. The marks of poison had spiralled
themselves now completely up my thigh, to my hip, around my stomach,
small and quiet and lethal. They were almost beautiful, really. If I
lived through it with everything I was so going to get it as a tattoo.
"Why've you got your gun?"
"Found my ammunition," he shrugged. "It needed cleaning."
"...hey, Vinnie?"
He made a little noise in the back of his throat that meant he was
listening.
"What's gonna happen when the poison gets into my brain?"
"You won't feel it." I felt sorry for him. Usually I only started my
Morbid Death Questions at midday.
"Oh." I suddenly got a bad feeling about that, and I scrubbed my ribs
aimlessly. "...Why?"
"When it reaches your spinal cord you won't be feeling much of anything
any more."
I dropped the sponge in shock. His voice was almost coolly sardonic, as
he came over to pick it up and give it back to me, eyes as mild as
sunrise. "I'm gonna be paralysed?"
"Don't worry." Almost unconsciously he flipped my hair behind one ear
to scrub there, down my neck. "I imagine you'll be comatose by
then."
Looking back up at him in horror, I wondered why he was being so openly
quietly cruel. I was going to let loose a long string of vile cursewords
at him, but I stopped dead once I saw his eyes.
He was crying, red eyes liquid like blood, tears on the lashes as he
saw me looking and realized, blinking them away furiously so that I
didn't have to see. The palpable hurt in them was even worse than him
crying; stunned to the core, I stared back down at my feet and realized
that for a long time I hadn't been able to move the toes on my bad leg.
"When's that going to happen?" I whispered.
"Dr. Bannon thinks a month or so." He should have been an actor, should
Vincent. If he was crying his voice was still butter-smooth, unemotional.
"Will I be awake?"
"Yes."
I turned around and opened out my arms to him. I'd stopped caring a
long time ago whether I was naked or not. Vincent had too, obviously,
as he accepted me without question, drawing me into an awkward soapy
embrace. My arms locked around his shoulders, stroking my hands through
his hair, face at his neck as my body shook. There was a tremor
underneath his skin where my cheek lay, pale creamy skin and his only
means of screaming. Maybe ageless, Vincent Valentine, but everything
still works inside you. Including your heart.
"I don't want to die, Vinnie," I whispered and I meant it.
His good hand found my right, curling into it protectively. He could
have shattered the bones if he'd wanted to, pressing his strong slim
fingers down and crushing mine into dust. "You won't."
I could have believed him, then. His warmth and his protectiveness and
this emotional side of him that he only showed me, how alike we were
inside, flesh and blood and human despite the fact that he was an
ancient trained Turk and I was a young barely-out-of-my-teens ninja.
My dearest, dearest, stupid-ass speaks-too-quiet friend.
But, colour me cynical, I didn't believe him this time around. Love him
as I do I know that he's no God, and has no power over who lives and
who dies. "I want you to kill me before it reaches my spine."
"..." His body stiffened.
"Take Death Penalty. Boom. I know you can make it painless..."
"Yuffie, damn you." His voice was so tired, no anger in it. I
began to realize how old he really was. "Ask me anything but don't
ask me to kill you."
"I'm sorry," I immediately said, contrite and bursting into tears right
along with him, both of us rocking together in one despairing huddle.
There was a knock on the door, not breaking the spell but letting it
down quietly, Vincent untangling himself from my arms to go and speak
to the knockee. I dipped my sponge in the water and began to rinse
myself clean, dabbing my face so that there could be no sign of tears,
dampening my luckily-clean hair so that it didn't sit up in a big spiky
mess on my head. Proud of myself, I managed to get the clean clothes
Vincent had set out and wriggle my way into them, rocking back from the
chair to the bed so that I could sit on it and wait.
Eventually, he closed the door and looked back at me. There were
soapbubbles on his shoulders, making me giggle slightly as he reached
up to brush them off.
"Are you ready?"
"As I'll ever be," I said grandly, lifting my arms up for him to securely
pick me up once more.
"...let's go back to my house, then. I think there's something there
you may want to see."
"Should I close my eyes?" I asked him when we were at the door to his
little house, almost beside myself with excitement.
"If you want."
"You have no sense of fun," I complained, but closed my eyes anyway,
to prolong the feeling for myself. "Tell me when I can open them."
I felt myself being carried, a door being opened, then another door and
me being sat down on something soft and vaguely fuzzy. A couch. There
were barely suppressed voices. "Vinnie? Can I open my eyes now?"
There was a grin in his voice. "I suppose."
I opened them, and was stunned into silence for at least .8 of a second
before I managed to shriek, "Tifa! Cloud!" in a voice that probably
scared away all nesting birds from the village for twenty years.
There was an immediate babble of movement. I felt myself being pulled
into arms, patted on the back, sprinkled with kisses - Tifa - having my
back rubbed - Cloud - in an immediate confusing bright noisy babble
where I couldn't understand a word being said out of the rushing
hellos.
" - Oh, Yuffie - "
" - been treating you well? - "
" - so glad to see - "
The simple nostalgia of being with those two again was overpowering;
I would have wept had I not been laughing so hard. Tifa smelt like
perfume and like woodsmoke and like herself and there was Cloud,
bright-haired and wide-eyed, eyes like a sea on fire, two pairs of
calloused hands on mine and two equally amazing slow smiles. However, a
look of chagrin came over Tifa's pretty face, placing me carefully back
on the sofa from where they'd both been choking me with hugs and
rounding on Cloud immediately. "Be gentle!"
"You were the one thumping her back, Tif," he said mildly, scratching
his neck. "Oh, and hey again, Vincent," he added as an afterthought.
"Ohmigodohmigodohmigod," was all I had managed to say from that point,
stunned, looking at both of them grinning like idiots and staring back
at Vincent. "How - "
"I told them you were going to be in the area," he said softly.
"Haven't seen you in years, Yuff," Tifa said. "God, you look - "
"Shitty?" I suggested.
There was a brief silence.
"We didn't know how sick you were," she said awkwardly. "How come you
never wrote?"
"I didn't think to," I said honestly. "And I'm not that sick, Lockheart."
"Nuh-uh," Cloud said easily, bluegreen mako eyes fixed on my leg.
"'Course not."
I glared at him. "I'll be fine, okay? I just look all icky."
"They know what's wrong, Yuffie." Vincent's velvet-soft voice floated
out from the kitchen, where he'd disappeared to.
"Oh." I looked up at them. "Is this some sort of Last-Chance visit or
something, then?"
Both winced a little at that.
"Going to die, huh?" Cloud said kindly, as if he was just talking about
the weather.
"Looks that way, Strife m'boy."
"You realize I'll be very pissed off if you do."
"You can take it up with me in the Lifestream."
"You bet your scrawny little ass I will."
"Have you been taking lessons from Cid or something?"
"Can we not talk about it?" Tifa said, slightly desperate, one of her
hands slipping into mine. "I want to catch up with Yuffie, Cloud."
A Look passed between them. So many words unsaid; I could practically
feel them mentally locking horns about the subject. They obviously had
the same problem Vinnie and I had - the innate ability to speak without
words. Eventually, however, Cloud backed away and sat down on the seat
opposite.
Funny, really. I never expected Vincent's little house to have
something so ordinary as seats. It was furnished just like any
of the other Gongagan houses in the area tiny and warm with hangings
on the walls, though a little more austere.
"I like your hair," Tifa said by way of conversation, tugging gently on
one of the dark locks hanging down on my shoulders.
I made a face. "I should ask Vincent to cut it. It's getting way too shaggy."
"Have you and Vincent really been living together?" That was Cloud.
"Been driving him up the wall, I imagine?"
"For better or for worse!" Grinning at him, I folded my hands in my
lap. "And no, he's been driving me crazy. I can never get him to shut up.
All day long, all he does is talk, talk, talk. I say we should've left
him in that coffin and bolted him down."
Vincent made a rude noise from the kitchen.
"You two've certainly changed," the brunette martial artist laughed.
"Really?" I asked immediately, charmed. "How so?"
"You seem older."
"Don't look it, though," Cloud noted. "You look about twelve."
"Thanks ever so, you ass."
"Can I see..." His eyes rested on my leg.
"It's done up in bandages." I reached down, wincing slightly, to draw
the cotton covering up off my leg, showing the linen-swathed swollen
limb to him. "You won't be able to see anything unless I take 'em
off - "
Vincent gave me a Glare as he came into the room to hand Cloud and Tifa
steaming cups of coffee; I withered immediately and he handed me a cup
of my own foul poisonous-smelling herbal tea. "...which I won't."
"It must hurt so much." Tifa's hand squeezed mine and my heart
fluttered; I'd forgotten how lovely she was, how comforting,
wine-coloured eyes soft as she looked me over. "You're incredibly
brave."
"Nah," I whispered, so that my constant companion couldn't hear;
"Vincent's been doing all the 'brave' business for me."
We talked, then. Vincent didn't; he stayed in the corners of the room,
then moved off to others, presumably to look over things; I almost
didn't notice, wrapped up completely in the easy chatter of Tifa and
Cloud. They'd come over by chocobo from Junon, which was apparently
now a bustling center of warmth and tourism and happiness instead of a
pollution-clouded rat's nest, where Tifa ran an inn-cum-bar and both
helped out clearing off monsters and odd jobs and helping Reeve,
and both were very happy. In their late twenties by now, Tifa was still
one of the most beautiful women I've ever met in my life apart from
Aeris Gainsborough, hair down to her hips and in a tight braid from the
nape of her neck; the only lines on her face were around her mouth from
smiling too much. Cloud still had all the youthful exuberance he'd had
at twenty-one, as blonde people tend to do, looking younger than the
rest of us; his hair was unashamedly an air hazard of long spikes,
though he was beginning to grow it longer at the back. He was still a
warrior in every aspect of the word, right down to the way he sat. I
told them stories about what it was like living with Vincent, leaving
out the blood and the pain and the vomit, and managed to have Tifa in
veritable fits.
I caught them looking at me, wide-eyed and confused at times, as if I
was a mental patient and had said something I shouldn't have. Had I
changed so much? Or had they? Was it because I was no longer cute and
bouncy? I still had my exuberant cheerfulness, I knew that much.
However, it was tainted by the hollows in my cheeks and the racking
cough that came whenever I laughed, which was often, and the exhaustion
that pinned me back against the cushions of the couch. I was many
things still, but I was no longer a child. Illness aged me, physically
and most likely mentally.
Funny thing, that. I still felt sixteen.
Vincent came back in, eventually, saw my feverish cheeks from happiness
and frowned. Spoilsport. "I think Yuffie should get some rest now."
"Yes, Nursey," I sighed. Tifa raised an eyebrow, that I'd caved in so
quickly.
"Cloud and I should probably head back," she said softly. "To make it
back before nightfall, at least. It's been so wonderful to see you, though,
Yuffie."
"I'm sure it was boring as hell to talk to me, Tiffster. Thank you
for taking the time to pat me on the head."
"We missed you, Yuffie." That was Cloud, surprisingly enough, eyes
serious.
"Are you trying to flirt with me?"
He reached over and noogied me very gently. "Get healthy, Yuffie.
That's an order."
"Yessir." I held my arms out to be hugged by Tifa again, warm and soft,
then felt myself lifted into the familiar warmth of Vincent. "You
guys'll write, won't you? And PHS?"
"Promise," they chimed together, and Tifa drew back to kiss my cheek.
"Keep yourself safe, Yuffie. Though it looks like Vincent's doing a
good job of that already."
Vincent looked gratified.
He let me wave to them from the doorway as they disappeared out over
the town, to the edge of it where their chocobos were tethered, before
he moved me back inside. "How on earth did you make them come?" I
demanded.
A smooth ebony eyebrow was raised. "When they heard about you, they
wanted to come. Tifa wrote me quite a while back; however, you were
going through a bad patch and I doubted you'd want to see anybody
during it." We moved off down a little passage, to his bedroom, a
simple thing with a bed and a closet and not much else except a mostly
empty gun rack. The bed was downy and made me sneeze as he laid
me down in it. "I figured you'd want to see them."
"They were nice," I said drowsily. "I'm glad I got to see them."
"Thinking it might be your last?"
There was an awkward silence between us. I suddenly didn't want to
sleep any more.
"I don't want a nap," I said sullenly. "Can I have my medicine and a
book, Vinnie?"
"A book?" That threw him slightly. "I don't have many books you'd be
interested in, Yuffie."
"Just get me one on materia or weapons or something. You know, with
pictures I can drool over." I propped myself back on the pillows.
What are you going to do here? Where are you going to sleep? Am I
sleeping here? If I sleep now I'm so going to be awake all night."
Vincent ticked off my questions on his long slim fingers, as he was
wont to do. "All right; I need to look over some things and tie up
loose ends; on the couch; yes; I realize." He opened his closet and
begun searching through it. "I need to pick up some things, as well.
And send letters."
"Busy as a bee, we are." He wrapped another blanket around me. "Not so
many, Vinnie, I promise not to get a fever and die. What about my
medicine?
"I put it in your tea. Do you need painkillers?"
I nodded enthusiastically.
Vincent sighed. "I wish you'd go easier on them."
"When you feel like I do, Vinnie m'boy, you wanna pop those things down
like candy."
He left, then reappeared with a handful of pills, a glass of water, and
a number of fat tomes with titles like Materia - From Raw To Refinery
and Summoning. Both looked about a gazillion years old and were
probably horribly outdated, but upon opening one, they did have
pretty sparkling pictures.
Vincent watched as I swallowed the pills, then, surprisingly, moved
down to brush a kiss against my forehead. His lips were soft and
slightly cool, but not unpleasantly so; I looked up at him, cheeks pink
from pleasure and embarrassment. "It's been a long day," he murmured,
seemingly just as embarrassed as me, but with a better hold on it.
"Don't strain yourself, Yuffie."
I placed the glass down on the table at the beside, feeling suddenly
tiny among the fluffy pillows and blankets, little and weak. "Thanks,
Vinnie," I muttered thickly.
He'd already gone. I opened up Summoning to the third page, but then
immediately fell asleep with it in my lap. I dreamt strange things.
When I woke up, I couldn't see. I momentarily panicked, but then I
realized that it was very late at night and that this was a normal
thing; my hand groped out for the lamp at the bedside table and
eventually, with much cursing, my swollen fingers found the switch for
the flickery lightbulb.
It illuminated a very sleepy-eyed Vincent, in a chair he'd drawn up
next to my bed, obviously startled at being awoken in such a manner and
immediately trying to look as if being there was normal.
"Why aren't you on the couch, you idiot?" I asked blearily.
Vincent shifted uncomfortably.
I decided to put him out of his misery and gave him a Look, one of his
which I'd been practicing in the mirror . "Gods' sake, Vincent
Valentine, don't just sit there and gawp at me. I can't bear to see you
sleep in a damn chair. Lie down on the bed or something."
He looked suspiciously at me, but obediently lay down on my other
side; he refused to get under the blankets but did undo the buttons of
his shirt to show willing. I reached across to turn off the lamp.
We lay there in silence and the dark. I could still feel the weight of
the book under my hands.
"...how do you feel?"
"Gawd, why does everyone ask me that? I would've thought it was
obvious." I'm grumpy when I wake up. So sue me.
There was more silence. I felt guilty. I never meant to alienate
Vincent. However, he knew my moods now as well as he knew his guns.
"Are you still swollen?"
"...Yeah."
He took one of my hands. It took a while for my fingers to bend and
curve over his arthritically. "I'll get you some cream to help with
that."
"It doesn't matter."
"It matters to me."
"I won't be able to feel my hands in two months anyway."
"Three months," Vincent said instantly, and I could feel him tense in
the dark.
"Have you been talking with Bannon?"
"...He wants me to take you in tomorrow."
I rolled away, taking my hand away from his, back facing him. "...Don't
want to."
"Yuffie - "
"There's nothing anybody can do to help me any more, is there? Even if
I got my stupid leg hacked off, doesn't matter, the poison's already in
my system and you can't get it out. Is that why you stay, Vincent,
'cause you know I'm gonna die?"
Sharply, he grabbed my shoulder, tugging me back over roughly to look
at him. I could see his eyes, glowing slightly in the dark. A slight
shiver ran through me; he saw it, and his grip loosened, but the
intensity in his eyes did not.
"Is that why you think I stay, Yuffie?"
I didn't answer him for the longest time. "...You should've let me die
in the forest, Valentine."
"...I will never let you die without a fight."
All my grumpiness and misery melted away as I wriggled towards him
clumsily, burying my face in his neck, so grateful for the second time
that I could have burst. "Oh, Vincent," I wailed.
"It'll be all right." He petted my back awkwardly. Oh, how many fathers
and mothers had done that before to their children, without hope,
knowing all they could do was protect until their last?
"Are you sure?" Tiny. Childish.
"Of course." A soothing parent, wiping away the pain. All gone, Yuffie,
for ever. "Trust me. Just sleep."
I had hiccuped and cried my last, no tears left in me, no sorrow but to
bury my face in his dandelion-sap gunpowder-smelling chest, dusty and
sweet like bird feathers. "Night night," I whispered, as I had always
done with my father; "Love you, Vin' - "
"Goodnight, Yuffie." He could have been Godo, much younger; the same
softly-dignified voice, beautiful and smooth - but I would always be
aware, painfully, wonderfully, that it was Vincent. As I spiralled down
into unconsciousness, I felt him stroke my hair, tongue slipping over
the words that I doubt he had spoken in decades; "love you."
Parent to child, perhaps, but it was the everything.
When I awoke, he was gone; that was usual. There was a note,
beautifully penned, on the pillow saying that he would come in the
afternoon to get me for Bannon (ugh), and that I should probably get
my rest in the meantime. Picking up my discarded copy of Summoning
from the foot of the bed, I began to flick through it.
Shiva - Ramuh - Knights of the Round - Phoenix -
Summons, Unverified - Appendix
My finger stopped and I read down the text.
Aesculapius (Asklepios)
Status: Unverified
Raw summon (uncaptured), mythical relic of the nomads who used to
inhabit the caves on the Icicle Mountains. Further information was lost
when the nomad population died in the Tundra Fever era. Sighted by
those lost in the area; appears most frequently as a snake or a robed
man. Deals with healing, rheumatism, lameness, cripples, infection, and
poison. Although unverified, summon believed nonexistent or perhaps an
earlier sighting of Ashura. P60, 61, 89.
My finger ran over it again. Deals with healing... cripples, infection,
and poison. Something wild caught up in my throat, and I recognized it as, finally,
hope.