Author's Note: I dedicate this chapter to Chocobo Goddess, for encouraging me to finish it after I'd abandoned it for the better part of a year.

XIX

Her flight was faltering; her side ached as her ribs protested the movement, and the result was a half-run, half-stagger that was nowhere near as fast as she needed it to be. She'd made it almost twenty feet when she heard something indecipherable shouted behind her. A breath later another and unmistakable sound reached her ears, and she instinctively dropped to the ground to avoid the bullet she knew was coming. She heard it whistle by as she dove, a puff of air from its passage gracing her cheek. In the silence that followed she heard the swift, steady approach of footfalls, and she hoisted herself up with the intent to bolt headlong down the nearest side street.

"I wouldn't, if I were you." Said the voice she was fast beginning to both become familiar with and hate.

He was fast, unnervingly so; Yuffie raised both hands in the air in desperate supplication lest he feel the need to fire yet another shot. Wondering how the hell he'd reached her so swiftly, she pivoted slowly on the spot, willing the growing unease within her to fade away. He was, as she'd expected, standing a mere several paces away; his gunblade was held aloft with a steady arm and pointed directly at her.

"I really didn't think you would run," he remarked. Though she couldn't see his expression for the shadows veiling his form, she had the distinct impression he was somewhat amused by her would-be escape attempt.

"It's not something I do often," she snapped back, feeling her cheeks burn as a sudden wave of shame washed through her. It was true; she never ran from a fight. But this man wasn't normal – this man was an echo of the one person who had really ever terrified her, of a man who had come very close to forcing the very Planet to submit to him. It wasn't only that, she acknowledged with a small trace of panic as she watched him take first one step and then another closer –there was something about his behavior, about the way he acted so unlike anybody else she'd ever encountered, that send shivers of alarm racing all throughout her body. She'd never been treated like this before; sure, she'd been in her share of brawls and occasional pissing contests with men who thought that simply because they were larger they were therefore stronger than she was, but with Yazoo it was something else, and it was that something else that made her realize that it wasn't only nervousness that was slowly overwhelming her.

It was fear.

"So why," Yazoo asked her then, and he was close enough now that she could see him clearly, "Did you run from me?"

It took her a moment to formulate a response, as her mind was screaming at her frantically to do something, to do anything that would get her away, far away from this stranger and his ominous presence. Finally she said with as much belligerence as she could muster, "Because I don't like you."

He made a chiding noise, shaking his head; the streetlamp a short distance from them both caught the metallic sheen of his hair, glinting. "We've only just met."

"I wish we hadn't. Really." She said, hoping the fervor in her words would be mistaken for rudeness.

He smiled then, a slow curving of the lips that made her instinctively back a step. He pulled back the hammer on his gunblade at the movement, and at the sound she became very still. "Ah, ah, ah," he said, still smiling, "I would prefer it if you wouldn't move, princess. I'm not quite through with you yet."

The combination of both his words and the way he said them made her swallow thickly, and for a long moment she wondered at her chances of surviving should she attempt to tackle him or knock the gunblade from his grasp. He must have seen her thoughts fill her eyes, because he said in a tone of warning, "It would be most unpleasant, should you try."

"I thought you said weapons were overrated."

"They are. But you ran from me, and this was an effective way of stopping you, wouldn't you agree? Of making you stand absolutely still?"

Yuffie nodded, because he had a point. She definitely wouldn't be doing much in the way of sudden and unexpected gestures with the gunblade crosshairs hovering over her chest. Where, she wondered a bit desperately, are the others? Why isn't Cloud here? He's the reason I'm in this mess …

Yazoo was moving; it took every ounce of self control Yuffie had not to move from where she stood. When he'd drawn close enough the shining, cool edge of his weapon brushed softly against her cheek. She swallowed hard, willing a car to come motoring down the street to mow him down, willing a falling star to strike him dead where he stood. When none of that happened, when he leaned slowly closer until her vision was filled only with the conflicting glint of his hair and the luminosity of his eyes, Yuffie realized that she was no longer in big trouble.

She was in very dire straits.

"You're afraid." He commented quietly, a ghost of a smile flickering about his mouth.

"You're a creep." She snapped in instant reply.

He tilted his head to the side, as if pondering her words; the blade of his weapon now rested against her shoulder, and though she was very tempted to knock it aside she knew with cold, definite certainty that this man's speed and skill were equal –if not greater- than her own. And so she stood with unwilling complacence, waiting with steadily growing dread for what would come next.

"Tell me – am I to you only a shadow of Sephiroth?" he asked finally, and expecting something completely different –perhaps some more threats?- Yuffie blinked at him in bemusement. He waited for her to answer, regarding her steadily with his eerie, inscrutable eyes.

Yuffie shook her head then. "No. You're no shadow."

One corner of his mouth tilted upwards at her words. "True. I am very much alive while he …isn't."

"Thank all that's holy," Yuffie muttered fervently.

He chuckled then, his disconcerting smile reappearing full force. "Let me rephrase – what I should have said is that he isn't in existence. Yet."

Yuffie, feeling her heart flutter, feeling her blood grow chill in her veins as she recognized the promise hidden within his words, whispered, "Yet?"

"Oh, yes, princess." As he continued Yuffie could feel how intent his regard upon her was, and she knew he was gauging her reaction to all he said. "It's part of why we're here, after all. First we must find Mother, and then many things will be made possible. Sephiroth will return."

"Why?"

"He is our brother," Yazoo went on, not heeding her question. "And once we're reunited, once we're together, all of us …"

There was something almost feverish about the gleam that grew in his eyes as he spoke, in the earnestness of his voice as his words trailed away. His attention focused on her again after a moment. "But you see, Mother has been hidden from us. We don't know where to find her."

"A real pity," Yuffie remarked with heavy insincerity, trying to maintain a façade of placid calm, trying not to let him know how perturbing his proclamations had been.

"It is. Without Mother, we are not whole. Cruel to deny us that completion, don't you think?"

"Not at all,"

"You really are intriguing." He commented after a moment. "You're afraid of me, but you refuse to show it. I wonder, is it bravado or just refusal to back down to anyone?"

"You talk pretty for a crazy," Yuffie snapped.

He laughed outright then, the sound carrying on the too still air around them. Yuffie took the opportunity to move, surging forward and shoving him with both hands; as his laughter became something harsh, something angry she dove to the side, narrowly avoiding the gleaming edge of the gunblade as it came hurtling down. She rolled swiftly into a crouch, facing him and knowing that she couldn't outrun him; as he slowly straightened after being unbalanced by her shove she wondered a bit desperately if she could even fight him …

He wasn't laughing now; cat-like eyes aglow with distinct threat he raised the gunblade very deliberately until it was trained over her heart. Yuffie took a deep, silent breath, prepared to leap aside, prepared to make what she knew was going to be the real fight for her life. A moment later a gunshot thundered, and it was only as she watched the silver haired man whirl about with astonishing agility to deflect the bullet that she realized it wasn't he who had fired. Her eyes flew to and then focused on her savior standing some ten feet away, visible in the light of the street lamps, and she stifled a dismayed groan.

She'd been saved by a Turk.

IXI