AN: is back!!!! Well, here's another addition. Hope it still remains interesting. I like trouble.

Chapter 10 – Soubrette Syncopation

It did not take Cloud long to realize that he should not have had the last five drinks he downed the night before. It was as clear as the daylight coming in through the window, and it drummed in his ears loudly, giving him cause to put his hands on his forehead. But that's when it really hit him... for he couldn't move his left arm, as it was under something.

I don't have a window in my room...

He froze, afraid to move, afraid to breathe. He knew the memories would soon flood his brain, and he wanted to be prepared for the onslaught. Surrender never let him forget, that was one fact he could count one. Even if the environment he was currently in was at once alien and smelled familiar.

What is that smell?

It was faint and oddly...girly. He decided to move a little, shifting the covers but not daring to look. He continued to lay there, watching the sun streak across the ceiling.

"So, have you found any answers in that glass?" she prodded at him, sleekly sitting down next to him. He shrugged, his eternal gesture for everything.

"Are you done prancing around in that short skirt?" he replied grouchily, tonight was looking like a mean drunk night. She laughed and leaned in closer.

"So... you noticed?" she whispered slyly into his ear.

A blank in his memories. He knew the timeline would fill itself. He blinked, hoping the images would continue, waiting to remember something before he looked around the room. Something in his gut told him it was too soon to see.

Would you like to see more?

He'd almost forgotten that slimy sort of intelligence that infiltrated his brain. He didn't know why it still tortured him, but he knew that if he humored it, he might learn more of his predicament. So, he gave it a mental nod.

"My room..." she muttered, pulling him by his coat. He was too light headed to disagree. Well, that and his tongue was far too occupied for talking.

They stumbled in, the light of the moon making rays across the ceiling. She giggled a little, playing with the buttons of his coat, teasing his ear with her tongue.

"Yuff..." he complained, but then found that he was the one pushing her towards the bed.

"Just tell me that you want me," she mumbled, "Forget all that love business..."

"I want..."

He gasped, and sat upright, not caring about disturbing what must inevitably be in the bed next to him. He finally looked and his eyes were wide; his mind unable to register it for a minute.

Well... what did you expect? You're nothing more than an animal...

Elsewhere...

Vincent watched her sleep. She was curled up next to the door, swimming in his cape. It had not taken her long to fall asleep; emotional exhaustion had led to physical exhaustion very fittingly. He could not sleep, with her so venerable. It was natural for him to assume a watcher's role, and his body agreed for once; he would sleep when he could relax.

It was not often he could relax. So, with her head resting on his lap, her breath coming out peacefully, it was nearly impossible.

He ran a hand through his hair, smirking at its odd styling. He'd almost forgotten that he looked remotely like a rock star for the moment. He would have to remove the makeup later, when he could safely move from his position.

I think it is a good dream.

She was smiling in her sleep, occasionally muttering. She had a firm grip on the collar of the cape, as she snuggled it closer to her chin. Her eyelids fluttered occasionally, indicating the deepness of her sleep.

You're in deep this time, Valentine.

He leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes. He was a man of deep memory; ones that imbedded into his very psyche. They were like the lines that were beginning to show in his face. The older ones etched deepest, around his eyes and on his hands. His hands.

The only gift you've ever given me, Tiveph.

He found himself staring at the new appendage at the strangest times, catching himself off guard. He didn't even remember what it was like to have two hands anymore, and suddenly he had them. Although, the appendage was still as cold and unfeeling. It could never truly comfort, it could never truly feel the gentlest touch.

What are you dreaming about, Tifa?

She snorted, giving him slight cause to grin. He would have remembered someone else who used to do something similar, but when she laughed. That was another time, though, a time he was willing to forget. Instead, he watched her, taking in reality.

"...the dark..." she muttered softly, a mere scratching of sound. He watched the words form, crookedly filling the air with her half frowning lips. He absently brushed a hair from her face, and she responded by crinkling her nose.

He couldn't help but study her, taking note of the imperfections of her face. He'd lived far too long to be enticed by beauty anymore; Lucrecia had taught him well about that. He found that a person was best viewed with their scars, their crooked teeth, their wrinkles. Tifa had crow's feet around her eyes; a sign of someone who had laughed long and deep more than once or twice, and her teeth were shifted just off center, though still straight. The oddest of her features was also his favorite; her eyes. They were rather unsettling most of the time, with the red in them, but he learned that they looked more brown when she was happy. The red only deepened them, making them warm; making him want to drink them up like cidar on a cold day.

No, she isn't perfect.

Perfect was cool green and soft brown. It was delicate like ivory and porcelain. Perfect was Lucrecia, and in some respects, Aeris. It was something you worshipped and never touched, lest you tarnish its purity. It was something you protected, at all costs. It was something that Tiveph took full advantage of.

An ideal. How predictable we are. But you couldn't take advantage of her, could you Tiveph?

That was why he was sitting on the floor, locked in a bathroom, her head resting on his lap. Tifa's very movements begged him to see her, to touch her, to live with her. Yes, it was vitality, and he was more afraid of it than anything.

"...Cloud...help..." she exhaled, and he stopped, frozen with his fingers lightly brushing her temple.

I will find him for you, if that is what you want. You're wasting your youth on silly old men and children.

He let the breath he had been holding out slowly and shakily. He removed the hand from her face and placed it on his own, as if the weight of his own head had suddenly become a burden for his neck. He would have moved away, but he didn't want to wake her, just yet. He wanted her to have the pleasant dreams he'd seen in her face.

"...help...him..." she said, louder, with urgency. He watched as her brows furrowed with determination, like she was fighting something. Instinctively, he put a hand on her shoulder, as if steadying her in the dream world. Her mouth twitched into a momentary smile.

"Help...V-" she murmured, but he was unable to hear the last part. A very guilty looking Rinna stood over them, in the open doorway.

"Good...morning?" she said, the usual smirk returning to her face as she surveyed the scene.

"If that's what you'd like to call it," he replied, a light scowl adorning his face.

Elsewhere...

His sword, blade pointed away from him, lay casually next to him. He had woken up in bed with his own sword. He sighed, both relieved and oddly... horrified. A small note was attached to it, and he shifted over so he could read it. It said:

Fuck this, Spike.

Yuff

He saw the humor in it, recalling a past incident involving her accusing his... orientation. But he didn't feel like laughing. He didn't feel angry. He didn't feel... anything.

How could you feel nothing, Strife?

I don't know. I don't know anything.

Bullshit.

He got up out of bed, feeling suddenly dirty being in her room, and picked up his sword. He half dragged it out with him, not caring for style and forme. He wanted it gone from there, that place filled with sweet girlish smells and knives. He trudged over to his own room, which was cold and dark like most early mornings, and carefully place the sword against the wall. He inspected his bed, hoping that maybe she was asleep there.

She wasn't. He frowned.

Where the hell is she?

Probably far away, after what you called her.

Shit, what did I do now?

He looked down at himself finally, remembering how quickly he came to conclusions. He still had the red coat on, although a few buttons were undone. But something was missing. The weight of the gun holster was missing from his hip.

"Here, let me help you with that," she teased, slowly removing the gun holster.

"Thanks, Tiff," he answered, slurring a little, "Aeris would scold me about somethin like that." Her hands moved away as she bolted up from on top of him, and then landed promptly on the floor.

"What's wrong Tifa?" he said, louder and clearly. The shinobi covered her ears.

"The name is YUFFIE!" she screamed, getting on her feet. He grimaced.

"...Sorry Aeris," he said, a little too quickly. She glared.

"You're one sick fuck, do you know that?" she hissed, stomping towards the door. He looked dazedly after her.

"Where're ya goin?" he asked. She dug around for something in her pocket, producing a small paper.

"For a good fuck, where else?" she growled, finally making her exit.

He put his hands over his ears, hoping he could drown out the noise of her screaming at him. He didn't like the sound, it was high and searing. Like metal about to make contact with his jugular.

Feel nothing now?

You bastard. How could you?

I am you. Haven't you thought of that yet?

He didn't want this. This voice in his head that sounded like himself. He also didn't want to think of what it meant. But there were few times in Cloud's life that he ever got what he wanted.

You mean...you're me?

If in that you mean animalistic and cruel, then yes.

And he saw them, the images of the faces from his dreams. The women, the swords, the pens... and himself. He saw himself more clearly than he had ever seen. That look of aggression when he slashed for the final kill; that hungry look he gave Tifa when she was stretching for her exercises; the desperate look he gave Aeris when he saw her praying, before they had even heard of the ancient city. He was an open book, frantically being torn to pieces.

"I can't be you!" he shouted with a futile edge in his voice, cracking in desperation. But he knew that the answer would not come. The silence was heavy.

"I can't be you," he whispered, almost whimpering. He saw the faces again, this time laughing, cursing, screaming...

He was an animal. All aggression and bravado. He was a wolf, feeding off the carrion of human activity.

Why? Why did I have to see this? Why did I have to see myself?

So you could see you are not a failure. You allowed me to exist. You are Tiveph's legacy.

The "Night Before" Theme for Yuffie and Cloud: Tusk Fleetwood Mac (listen to the lyrics. Really listen to them.)

The "Cloud Snaps" Theme: Pressure Point The Zutons