Disclaimer: I write these so often nowadays…but no, I do not own FFVII.
AN: Thanks for 2000+ hits! Wow…this makes me feel wonderful. So thank you! I've actually recently gone to Yeyana Valentine's Yuffentine forum, where I read all these amazing debates about the plausibility of Yuffentine versus Tifa and Vincent. My mind has been blown away by the amazing writing of authors like Rose Flame and Nagia, who actually make me feel bad because their characterizations are so deep, while I write fluff. Sigh…I must work harder!
.:Vicissitudes:.
Yuffie felt the fangs sink into her ankle before she saw the snake, and it was assuredly not a love bite. She screamed as the hot pain jackknifed up her leg, her voice piercing. In a moment, Vincent was beside her, a rare flash of worry written across his face.
"What's wrong?" he asked, urgency underlying his normal monotone. She did not answer, but threw her 4-Point Shuriken down with deadly accuracy, one of its points crushing the snake's ugly head. The black thing's body writhed sinuously, but it finally let go and she staggered away, collapsing on the grass and cradling her leg.
"Ow ow ow ow…" she whimpered, inspecting the bloody foot. Sucking in air between her teeth, she winced as she gingerly peeled her sneaker and sock off. Two perfect circles adorned her ankle about two inches above her heel, blood flowing freely from the wounds. Already, the flesh was swelling and she could feel the heat traveling up from the continuous pain in her foot. "Agh! I hate these stupid places!" she screamed in frustration.
"Then you shouldn't have ran into the grass," came Vincent's dry voice as he retrieved the shuriken from the green blades, taking a look at the snake's twitching body. His eyes narrowed as he recognized the distinctive bands striped across the iridescent black scales—a relative of the Mythril Mines crawler, characterized by a crippling poison. In a rush, he whirled back to Yuffie.
Numbness was spreading through her, and a sudden sense of weightlessness suffused her conscious. "Vinnie—" she mumbled as her arms gave out beneath her. A long arm caught her before she fell, and another slipped beneath her legs to lift her up; her senses barely registered the pull of gravity as Vincent began carrying her.
"Where're we going?" she muttered. The words were difficult to form around her lips—why was the sun so bright? It was like those days in the pagoda, when she used to stand atop the highest tiled roof and look into the sun for long minutes just to spite her worried instructors, who had told her specifically not to do those two things. The same vertigo was there, a bit sickening but thrilling.
"We are going to visit Cloud," was the answer. She could feel the vibrations rumble in his chest, and giggled. She realized that she had never been carried by Vincent before; sure, Barret had tossed her like a sack of Gysahl greens over his back a few times when she was knocked out, but Vincent had always avoided human contact. But now, he was walking quickly through the grass yet taking care not to jostle her, and she decided that she liked it.
"You're too nice," she said suddenly, as strands of his dark-night hair tickled her nose. Was that a butterfly sitting upon his shoulder? It batted its blue wings at her coyly, and she blinked as it winked at her. "Hey! There's a weird butterfly on your shoulder, Vinnie. Don't you see it?"
He looked down at her worriedly; of course, there were no butterflies in this section of Junon, and usually no insects were bold enough to rest upon his person. Yuffie's eyes were dilating already, and her skin was pallid and hot to the touch. The hallucinations had already begun, and it would be just hours before the brain damage due to the fever. Vincent cursed Cloud and his parsimony; if only they had a Heal materia or a few antidotes. But of course, Cloud, being the frugal man that he was, had merely shrugged Vincent's request off noncommittally. Now Yuffie was in a grave condition, and he had no way to help her except to rush her to medical aid.
Even through her blurring vision, she saw the tightness on his face and knew that something was wrong. Raising a hand, she placed it lightly over his heart and felt his muscles contract in surprise. "Hey, make sure I come out alive…or else I'll…" Her head lolled a bit as her remaining strength melted from her entire body. He stopped and shifted her body slightly, letting her head rest on his shoulder.
"I will."
They traveled on for what seemed like a few minutes to Yuffie, except for those strange stretches when her vision blanked out to fields of white heat, and she gradually realized that something was wrong with the visions she saw. The world melted and blended about her, and perhaps she would have flown into the sky of her mind if not for the constant pain in her foot. It anchored her, especially when she no longer felt his arms around her body, only the vague perception of flight and the caustic dryness in her throat. It hurt to breathe now, and she did not waste her breath to speak anymore.
They trekked on through the endless fields of knee-length grass, and her hanging arm sometimes brushed soft things that may have been flowers, but she did not know for sure. They stopped once in her memory, and a cool glass bottle was pressed against her lips. "Drink, Yuffie. It's a Hi-Potion…" came Vincent's always calm voice.
And she drank obediently, the silvery flavor of mint sliding her throat pleasantly; the heat in her skin subsided immediately, and she smiled as she felt the medicinal herbs begin healing her cracked lips. As he lifted her dehydrated body up once again and set out once more, she could feel the muscles move in his neck. She whispered weakly, her breath tickling his skin. "Am I going to be all right?"
"Yes," was the short answer, and she laughed slightly at his reticence. The laugh became a cough as her throat convulsed painfully, and Vincent hurriedly patted her back, taking care not to pierce her skin with his claw. But even if the wickedly sharp bronze had drawn blood, she would not have felt it. Her mind was already suffering from the sustained fever and the hallucinations; at this rate, he would only have two hours before serious damage began.
She was so light in his arms, but he knew that already; after all, Yuffie had the tiny, fine-boned frame of traditional Wutaian princesses. She had never weighed much, and would most likely retain her lithe but small form for the rest of her life. Her head rested on his chest, and her every shallow breath was a puff of warmth on his skin. Her own skin was hot and dry to the touch, with no sweat beading it as there should have been for any fevered person. It was the effect of the Xenopeltis belladonnis, or the sunbeam snake, as it was often called.
His pace quickened even further as he realized how close Yuffie was to critical condition—the Hi-Potions would extend her time a few more hours, but he could only hope that Cloud would meet them in time. Vincent had called the gunman on the PHS as soon as he began traveling, hoping that they would convene in the middle to lessen travel time, but complications always arose with these plans.
Looking down at the girl that he had come to know so well, his treacherous heart morbidly brought a defeatist thought to his mind. What if he failed? What if the fever burnt her conscious away? What if he was too late and she awoke with paralysis? And worst of all, what if she died?
At this thought, he could not help but hold her tighter to himself, as if his actions could somehow prolong her life. Vincent would not wish any of his friends to die, but he knew that deaths upon the battlefield were unavoidable and sometimes inevitable. During his Turk days, this fact had been engraved deeply in his mind whenever he saw his comrades fall under the weapons of others. He mourned them but allowed them to pass him like leaves in a stream, for that was the duty of a Turk. They were trained assassins, killers, murderers—whatever one would call it. They were not supposed to care.
But something had changed in him after the walks in the forest, plains, and mountains; the walks when she chattered incessantly beside him, made vulgar comments, and managed to sound more materialistic than Rufus did. In the beginning, he often wished to shut her up with a scathing comment, but he never did out of his usual reservation. But as time passed, he so often found himself smiling at her antics, and even Chaos occasionally chuckled in his mind.
He could not define their relationship in sharp terms, as he could with any other member of AVALANCHE. To Vincent, Cloud would always be a leader—albeit a young, sometimes befuddled one, but a leader nonetheless. But when it came to Yuffie, he could not say how far he would go to save her. She was an annoyance, a comrade, a friend, and something deeper. All he could say now was that he did not want her to die. He did not even want to ever see her in pain, he realized.
If she died—he knew, her memory would not flow away so easily. He would not be able to let go.
The drone of a motor suddenly reached his sensitive ears, gradually increasing in volume. He stopped. Was it Cloud? Vincent scanned the horizon, an unfamiliar mix of hope and apprehension rising in his throat. How long had it been since he felt this worry? There was a flash of sun against metal, and relief rushed through him as he recognized Cait Sith waving at him from the Buggy, Cloud in the driver's seat.
…
She remembered nothing but thirst and the soft murmur of voices. Another minty potion was poured down her throat before a burst of green flared against her eyelids, and the pain melted away from her foot. Then all was cool, and she floated in the sea of Leviathan, as she had done so many times before in her dreams.
Yuffie did not hear the whispered argument over where to put her sleeping form, nor did she see Cloud's embarrassment as Vincent glared admonishingly at him for leaving them to be so ill-equipped. But she would certainly have laughed her ass off when Cloud wilted and handed Vincent ten thousand gil's worth of healing equipment, including antidotes, potions, materia, and accessories.
It was finally decided that they would let her sleep through the night instead of using a Cure spell on her, and it was Vincent who tucked her into a spare bedroll as the rest of their party prepared camp. Neither she nor the rest saw Vincent pause as he adjusted the cover under her chin. Then leaning down, he lightly touched his lips to her cool forehead in a gentle kiss that only he would remember.
…
When the sun tiptoed over the tops of the mountains to fall upon the camp, no one was awake yet, except for Vincent. Cloud was, as usual, sprawled out in his bedroll, limbs stuck out at odd angles. Tifa slept quite a bit more neatly in the adjacent tent, her arms wrapped in a choking hold around the large fluffy Moogle that was usually Cait Sith's method of transportation. The loud cat himself was curled up in a very feline manner at her feet.
In another tent, Yuffie twitched in her sleep and began muttering in her sleep. Beside her, Vincent started and placed a hand on her forehead, checking the temperature. He had been at her side the whole night, watching over her. The fever had completely subsided, and her skin had returned to its normal, slightly-tanned hue. Yuffie jerked suddenly and spoke clearly.
"Leviathan…grant my prayer…" Vincent shifted uncomfortably and removed his hand. Her prayers were private business…he should leave. But she spoke before he could move.
"Stop peeing in the goddamn water, you big fat dragon!" She jerked awake and rubbed her eyes, assuming a grumpy expression. Her head felt like Cait Sith had stuffed his Moogle's cotton innards into her brain. Nothing reached her ears save the whistle of wind outside the gray walls of the tent. Blinking at the strange surroundings, she swept her gaze around her and spotted a splash of dark red. "Vinnie!" she screamed happily and reached out to tug at the fabric.
"I see you're fine once more," he answered dryly as she jerked at his cloak, using it pull herself up. Sitting up now, she ran a hand through her hair and wrinkled her nose at the oily feel. Amazing what the effects of poisoning included—pain, hallucinations, dry throats, and apparently yucky hair as well. Yawning widely, she stretched out the kinks in her back. Her body felt fine, if a bit stiff.
As he watched her returning to her normal self, complaining loudly about the state of her hair and the scratchiness of the bedroll, he realized how much he had missed it, even in that short day. The possibility of her death had scared him; that he could not deny. It had scared him so much, even though he had not recognized the emotion at the time, since he had not felt it in so many years. He had nothing to fear for or to fear the loss of during those thirty years in the coffin. But now, the vulnerability had returned—he had someone that he would not be able to lose. His Turk training told him it was a weakness; his heart told him that he didn't care.
Finally, she noticed that he wasn't listening and she pouted, crossing her arms over her chest. She bit back the hurt. It figured—he probably considered her as just another annoying brat who burdened him down. He probably saved her out of some sense of duty or because Cloud had ordered him. There was no feeling between them. She turned away, and she never expected it when he suddenly hugged her.
She felt his arms gently encircle her, one cold and hard while the other was strong and warm. He pressed her body against his briefly, a moment of closeness, and she flushed red as she realized what was happening. His breath softly fanned her hair, and her heart rate raced pleasantly as she sighed and leaned into the embrace. "I don't want this to happen again…" he whispered lowly.
She hesitated, then wrapped her own arms around him, smiling into his blue-black strands of hair. "Then don't leave me."
…
AN: Whew! Long chapter! The ending was hard to write, for some reason, despite the lovely ambience provided by DBSK, one of my favorite Korean bands. Haha…the chapter was inspired by Rose Flame's fic "Tales From the Less Than Well Equipped." The effects of the poison described above are based off of the effects of the toxins in deadly nightshade, or belladonna. This plant acts as a hallucinogen (and some people use it as a drug), but even a small amount of it can cause the parasymphathetic nervous system to shut off, which can make the skin dry out totally and slough off. So don't try it! XD
And as a response to SapphireXSerpent, I would love to join your forum! I was going to email you, but then said that you disabled private messages. Haha, I'm actually quite an un-savvy computer person. I don't have AIM, nor do have a Xanga or a LJ. I've never posted anything on a forum either. Haha...I'm so not technologically advanced.
