AN: Alrighty, more oddity on my part. Hope I'm not too obscure, it's often a problem of mine. My villain last time was quite complicated, so trying to tie up his lose ends is quite an endeavor. Oh, and pardon the longness. The Cloud/Yuffie part took a little longer than I intended.

HypernatedRikku: The titles are musical terms. So, basically, they are Italian or French or whatnot. Usually Italian. They usually describe the general tone of each chapter. Try a google search for "musical terms" or such if you want to learn more.  Oh, and "ancora" means "still" in Italian.

Chapter 7 – Precipitato, Ancora, Ritenuto

Fitful and restless were the best ways to describe her attempts at sleep. So, when she had rolled over for it seemed the fiftieth time, Yuffie jumped out of bed, intent on doing something. She rummaged through her drawers, and when she found enough to make herself decent, she padded out of the room.

Outside. Yes, that'll be good. Get some exercise...

She hadn't intended on seeing Cloud that night. She'd fully intended on going to the club with her friends, feeling young and reckless, and whatever other things a person her age should do. Yet, somehow she had ended up sitting in that tree, watching as he fought something, something she didn't understand...

What's wrong, Cloud? Really... I know it's more than Tifa...

Her exodus from the bar had been swift, and she'd forgotten how quickly she could actually move. Her feet were on a path, well worn and clear. She was heading towards the edge of town, where a bench awaited her. Her thinking place.

Thinking? Since when did I do that so often...?

She tried to divert her attention from her thoughts, and instead focused on the twists and turns of the path. She was so focused, in fact, when she reached the bench, she didn't notice that someone was already sitting there.

"Yuffie?" the quiet voice spoke, before she had a chance to look up and slink away. She cringed a little and stared at him, hoping that she wasn't gawking.

"Hiya, Spike," she said casually, keeping her usual pretense. He smiled.

"Looks like we got the same idea," he said, patting the bench beside him, "Sleep problems?"

She nodded, and complied with his unspoken request. She felt odd, walking around in her sweatpants and sweatshirt, and silently wished she had time to change. But she was here now, and they were sitting, each with thoughts miles away from each other.

Get a hold of yourself. Just stay away from asking him about that one night...

"I just felt restless," she answered, hoping that he wouldn't prod. He didn't.

"I s'pose even you get that way too," he replied, a response more to himself than to her. It always bothered her a little when he did that, speaking like he was the last person on the damned planet. So, in her usual fashion, she told him.

"Spike, what the hell's really wrong?" she demanded, forcefully concerned. He smirked a little.

"I see all these faces," he began, helpless to resist, "In my dreams. I know them, and they are so kind... so fucking kind..." He gripped his fists tightly, the underlying aggression of his nature flitting beneath the surface. She frowned.

"I think you're the only person I've ever known to be angry about kindness," she spoke, plainly and clearly, crossing her arms in front of her. He shot her a warning glance.

"You don't understand," he whispered, harsh with his blue eyes glowing, like ammonia stars. She met the challenge, staring him down with defiant dark Wutain orbs.

Don't challenge me. I'm no stranger to regret.

"I understand well enough," she spoke, uncharacteristically soft, "You're left with unpleasant memories. Get over it. There isn't a thing you can do to change the past." He loosened his fists, and leaned his head back, searching the sky for a break in the clouds.

"No, I can't," he sighed, relinquishing his anger in icy clouds of breath, "But she was smiling, even at the end... why do the survivors always feel it more?" She loosened her arms, letting them fall gently at her sides. She took a deep breath, probing her mind, letting the heat of her stubborn blood cool.

Well, what do you say Yuffie? What do you say?

"'Cause the dead don't feel," she said slowly, wishing she had a better grasp of words, "They don't see them die. We did." His eyes traveled from the sky to her, surprise and secrecy in his face.

"I'm glad I ran into you, Yuff," he said quietly, staring her down, "...You talk sense. There's no other way to describe it." She smirked and poked his shoulder.

"Hell, you need the sense talked into ya, Spike," she said teasingly, relaxing as the tension fell out of the air, "Now you just gotta learn how to reign in those mood swings and you'll qualify as a decent human being." He laughed, a full and uproarious melody. Soon she was laughing too, and for the moment, she felt as if she were in the right place.

For the moment.

"So, why are you having problems sleeping?" he asked, the glint of laughter still in the corners of his vivid eyes. She gulped.

Shit. Well Yuff, are ya gonna tell him that he's the reason? That you've been harboring a crush on him since you were sixteen? Right, that's the perfect thing to tell the guy who doesn't even know who he is half the time...

"Too much sugar or something," she said sheepishly, hiding her sudden nervousness behind her big fake smile, "You know me." He raised an eyebrow, a clear sign he didn't buy her excuse. She almost felt like buckling under the pressure of his gaze.

Shit shit shit...

"Yuff, Tifa told me, you know," he said smooth and clear, "About your little crush on me." She gasped, eyes wide and bulging, horror etched onto her face. And he chuckled, seeing her in a state like that.

"Don't worry," he laughed, patting her shoulder, "I understand it was a long time ago. You were just a teenager..."

Tifa is dead. So so dead. Revenge, revenge will be mine... all I have to do is tell Vinnie a little this, and a little that...

"...It's not like it was anything serious Yuff," he continued, while one of her eyes twitched, "If anything, I'm flattered. You've really shaped up into something."

...Maybe I'll get Rinna in on it. Yes, someone on the inside...

"...Wait," she finally felt her head catch up with his words, "You're not disgusted or anything? I was kinda a brat back then and all..." He grinned, bringing back that usual flutter in her stomach.

"Well, it was a long time ago," he said plainly, "It's not like you still feel that way. You're too old for such silly little crushes. You shouldn't be ashamed of something like that." She tried to hide the flicker of disappointment in her eyes, looking distractedly off in the distance. Then, she clenched a fist, unsure of his reaction.

Silly little crushes? Dammit Cloud...

"Seems like you don't understand me either," she said coldly, flexed her muscles to stand up, "I'm not Tifa." He looked at her puzzled, unsure. She breathed out, faltering between anger and exasperation and back again. She'd always known such things as attraction and affection were the equivalent of a car wreck. Fast, total, and ultimately damaging.

"I never claimed..." he began and then switched thoughts, "...If only... damn. I don't want you to be Tifa." He gritted his teeth on the last word, stubborn and thoughtless, and horribly blind.

This is Cloud. Stubborn, thoughtless... this is what I can't get out of my mind.

"And I just want you to be you," she said quietly, "Now open your eyes before you lose another lifetime." She finally felt herself off the bench, she almost felt as if she were observing her actions, floating somewhere outside her body. She saw as she turned around, grabbed his chin fiercely...

...and kissed him. Quickly, fully, and intensely.

A car wreck. That best summed up Yuffie's ideas on love and attraction. And she was going to make sure that Tifa ended up as totaled as she was. It was only a matter of time.

Elsewhere...

Tifa had scolded herself when he left, knowing that she had done the one thing that could get under his skin. She had lied, plain and simple, had withheld part of the truth.

But what was the truth?

She was sitting on the couch, having long given up on sleeping in her own room. The common room was where she felt most at home, where the children played and laughed. She could see it all from the couch: the area where the boys often played with their wooden weapons, Audrey's writing corner, where she kept undoubtedly careful records of everyone, the tables where the youngest ones scribbled, and the particular corner where Vincent usually loomed, keeping a careful eye on the troublemakers, ready to step in if she asked.

Vincent.

The one thought she didn't want to get back to. The last person she thought she would see after Meteor was the one she saw the most. So when Tiveph appeared, threatening everything she knew and loved, he was still there, steady and ready for battle. He had done the research, had found out about Preternatural Psyche Grafting, about a Cetra who had done unthinkable horrors to human beings, all for some ideal.

Ideals. Those were the things of dreams and fairytales, things she associated with knights and heroes. Things that didn't belong in her life, so hectic and so real. These were the things of childhood, of promises and hasty thoughtless words.

Cloud.

So, when presented with the choice, Heaven or Hell, she hesitated. Did she want to save the ideal or the reality? She knew the implications of the choice Tiveph had placed in front of her, and in his arrogance had assumed she would play into his hands. He assumed she would chose Heaven, his world, his rules, and the ideal. He thought she would choose her 'beloved', the man of her childhood dreams.

You never chose, Tifa. It saved them once, but will it save them again?

She brought her knees up to her chin, comforted on the side of the couch where he usually sat, when the children were in bed. This is where they had half conversations, on Saturday nights until way past midnight. Sometimes they would discuss Tiveph, trying to figure out what happened, but usually it was silent. He, reading and she, casually sorting through the children's drawings, pretending she wasn't watching him.

It was here that they learned of the Legend.

Where does one find the source of an ideal? For Tiveph, they had learned from half writings and histories, it was an old story. A fairytale of sorts. Vincent had dubbed it the 'Legend'. It was something that the early tribes of humanity had used to make sense out of a wild and confusing world. The original version had been orally passed from generation to generation, and eventually had been written down as culture became more civilized.

She had it, a version refined by time and knowledge, a small book her mother had given her. She had the Legend. It was more a poem than a story, full of fantastical images of demons and angels. It was both a delight and a cautionary tale. It was filled with vivid descriptions of the pleasures of a good life, and the temptations of sin.

She had read it hundreds of times, trying to see past the art of it. Sometimes she had a flicker of understanding, but she had never been a very book learned person. Her knowledge came from experience, something that the Legend didn't seem to connect with. All she knew was that Tiveph had clung to its ideals possessively, and attempted to act them out with her and those she was close to. He had created Sephiroth to be his angel and Vincent one of his demons.

Which is why her choice seemed obvious to him. Why would she, a pure soul, choose a demon?

Because you love him.

She frowned at the simplicity of such a phrase. No one word could contain the plethora of half-chanced emotions she had felt for the strange man. With Cloud, it was so obvious, so comforting. She, as a child, wanted him to protect her, and then when she had grown up, wanted to protect him. But he was far beyond protecting, and in the days when he was possessed by Surrender, she had finally come to see that. Yes, she loved Cloud, but did he need it?

No. I need to keep him at a distance, for both our sakes. Time passed us by.

It was the small things that had made their friendship. That, and her stubborn plea that he not fade into the shadows, that his penance could be better served among the living. Cid had been quite a help at first, even going as far as to place the gunman under house arrest. It had taken three years for him to become comfortable, to learn to be in the presence of people. Cid had taught him to laugh, with his brashly charming nature. Shera had taught him about domesticity, and some mechanics; small things that had changed since his thirty year stasis. Even Barret helped, if only for Tifa's sake.

And what had she taught him?

That someone cared whether he lived or died. That someone would miss his presence if he were gone. Friendship.

She didn't have an exact moment when she had begun to love him. Like their friendship, it was the little things: a gentle tucking of hair behind an ear, a half-sided smile, a quick glance. It had taken nearly losing him for her to realize it. When Tiveph had put their lives in her hands, she would have chosen him, if not for Cloud's voice in her head, giving her the easy alternative.

Still, her heart was a locked heart, a guarded heart. She didn't fantasize about love, all illusions had been lost throughout her life. She was getting older, she had responsibility. She didn't want roses or candles or mad passionate interludes by twilight.

She wanted him smile that full smile again. She wanted him to dream about her.

No, he loves Lucrecia. It is she who he dreams of, not you.

"Miss Tifa?" a quiet voice broke her out of her reverie. She turned to the noise, thankful for the intrusion.

Audrey's dark sad eyes greeted her. Tifa gently patted the couch next to her, inviting the girl to sit. She obliged, silently padding with her stocking feet, curling up defensively.

"What is it, Audrey?" Tifa asked warmly, fondly. Audrey gazed down at the floor, resting her chin on her knees.

"I miss my parents," the girl whispered, a small quiet tear tumbling down her cheek, "I think about them, at night." Tifa's chest felt tight, seeing Audrey like that. She carefully scooted over, wrapping her arms protectively around the girl.

"Well, you're not alone," she whispered into the girl's ear, "We are a family, all of us." The girl smiled wanly.

"Even Mr. Vincent?" she muttered, turning her head a little to look at Tifa, "I think he needs a family too."

Children never fail to amaze me.

"Yes, him too," she replied, softly giving the girl a squeeze. Audrey smiled, wider than usual.

"Then tell him," she stated, wriggling herself free from Tifa's grasp, "Make him smile." And with that, she shuffled off to where she came, leaving a slightly bewildered Tifa behind.

Well, there's always Halloween...

This Chapter's Theme Songs: Are You Happy Now? Michelle Branch (no, I don't listen to much pop, but damn, this song does something for these characters interactions) and Wake Up (Make a Move) Lostprophets

Audrey's Theme: Games Without Frontiers Peter Gabriel