Ok, that's a lie, but it's comforting nonetheless. Please don't think any less of me because I draw stupid scenes out far beyond what they should rationally be. I know this story updates far too slowly... I know my narrative rambles at times and speeds up to dizzy levels the next...
I just hope you all enjoy it, that's all. Keep on keepin' on. And as usual, on with the show.
"Hello my friend we meet again, it's been awhile, where should we begin... Feels like forever. Within my heart a memory, a perfect love that you gave to me. Oh I remember... When you are with me, I'm free... I'm careless, I believe. Above all the others, we'll fly, this brings tears to my eyes. My sacrifice. We've seen our share of ups and downs, how quickly life can turn around. In an instant. It feels so good to be alive, within yourself, and within mine. Let's find peace there. 'Cause when you are with me, I'm free... I'm careless, I believe. Above all the others, we'll fly. It brings tears, to my eyes.... My sacrifice." -Creed, My Sacrifice
There were 172 tiles in the ceiling.
In the length and breadth of her somewhat checkered (perhaps, considering her extremely dubious nature, better read as plaid) career as a Materia Hunter (again, perhaps better read as flat out thief) Yuffie had been called many things. Some of these things were actually true. Bear in mind that someone you lifted several hundred gil worth of materia off of is not generally the same person you would want testifying as a character witness at the subsequent trial. However, or perhaps because of this, Yuffie had developed quite a reputation, in certain circles. Certain words, not all of them entirely flattering had been used to describe her. Impulsive, certainly. Blunt, brave, sneaky, again, no contest.
Patient... ahem, no.
Yuffie didn't really have what one would call patience, although she was capable of a reasonable facsimile of the virtue. In fact, to all outward appearances, she could appear completely at ease with waiting. However, in cases where patience is called for, Yuffie had developed a habit of simply focusing on something with so much intensity that she forgot how boring or frustrating it was to be waiting for something.
Essentially, tricking her own brain.
Hence, she had therefore discovered, after careful perusal, that there were 172 sound absorbant plaster tiles in the waiting room's off-white ceiling.
-What was up with that anyway?- she thought irritably. -Aren't hospitals supposed to be stringently and strictly clean and sterile?-
This particular waiting room had, for the comfort of its occupants, only one ugly puke green couch that had seen better days (several years ago), upon which Yuffie was currently perched, as well as a battered metal magazine rack that held only several years old copies of Bird Wranglers Magazine and Junon Monthly. Competing with the "Couch That Time Forgot" were several opened wooden crates, with the enigmatic and highly unlikely stencil "Happy-Time" printed next to a red-paint picture of an anthropomorphic Chocobo grinning its fool head off, haphazardly stacked in one corner. The unpleasant aroma of large, unhappy bird permeated the small room, competing with the sharp scent of greens and a faint whiff of cheap cigarettes.
Not exactly a scene that set her completely at ease with the chances of her friend's survival.
Not that the good doctor and her gruff companion hadn't been trying, mind you. Of the doctor she had seen neither hide nor hair after she'd delivered several jugs of hot water (courtesy of her mastered Fire Materia), which was pretty much as she'd expected. The rancher, Tom, as she'd heard him called, had reasoned with, and when THAT hadn't worked, bodily dragged her to the modest house behind the clinic, where she was allowed (read as damn near forced) to attend to herself.
If Tom was a bit put out with her about the large bruises that would certainly grace his shins, courtesy of her vented ire about being dragged away from Vincent, he gave no sign.
Still, now bathed, fed and clothed in something that didn't look like it had gone through rinse cycle in an abbatoir, she'd been allowed back into the waiting room, in which she... well, waited.
She looked down at her battered sneakers, her study of the ceiling tiles long since abandoned.
In the absence of occupation, her mind wandered like a man late for work and suffering from a hangover searching for his missing keys. In other words, panicky, painfully, and not without much effect.
-He'll be ok... I mean, this is Vincent we're talking about. Death would probably just shake it's head and say something to the effect of, "Oh, it's YOU again."-She thought miserably.
People like Vincent didn't... die. Cool, unflappable, scarily competant people like Vincent never died. It was like a rule or something. Certainly they didn't die saving the life of some foolish kid.
She sighed. That's what she felt like. A kid. There were so many "what if's" and "if only's" buzzing in her head, but most of them circled like buzzards around the carcass of one badly injured, enigmatic gunman. She hated not being in control... of the situation... of the circumstances.
Of herself.
It was that damn kiss. She KNEW it meant nothing to him... the woman he'd been kissing had been dead for decades, and existed only as a phantom in his tortured soul. He'd been delerious, certainly, half-crazy with pain and hurt...
It didn't matter. It HAD been real to her, and it had forced her to face several unwanted truths about herself.
Well... really one in particular.
As in the case of the aforementioned hungover man looking for his keys, the answer to her problem lay in her pants.
Or, if one were a trifle less cynical, or perhaps a tad more perceptive, in her heart.
She was in love with Vincent Valentine.
She didn't know how it had happened. Vincent was just NOT the kind of guy she normally went for. As she analyzed it, she realized she'd always been a bit shallow when it came to men. She tended to go after the same basic archetype; extroverted, bright colored, maybe just a little dumb... kinda like a St. Bernard puppy. Which was, of course, why Cloud had attracted her when she first met him. There honestly didn't appear to be much to understand about the blonde haired, huge meat cleaver of a sword carrying warrior, and she'd liked that. She knew where she'd stood with Cloud, and any moves that were going to be made were going to be hers.
Of course, time revealed just what a wriggly can of worms THAT individual had in his wartorn psyche... Tifa had her work cut out for her in that one, and she was welcome to it.
And Reno... if she hadn't wanted to kick his teeth into his brainstem, Reno certainly had had potential. It hadn't worked out though... he had a drinking habit, and he was a nasty drunk. He was acidic and surly... an attitude that spoke of hidden pain, and further, he had made the mortal error of calling her a flat chested, gawky teeny bopper.
Eh, his loss.
So why Vincent... Why oh WHY Vincent? Old introverted, tortured, closed mouthed, gothic, angsty Vinnie? He had BAGGAGE. Baggage like... like an airport.
Ok, certainly the man was attractive, but he put NO effort into appearing so... in fact, he seemed to work to create an aura of "just leave me to stagnate on my own, thank you". Of course, that begged the question of how Vincent might appear if he decided to put some effort into looking attractive...
Shudder. Let's not go there.
The man had issues, but there was something about him... a honesty and sense of honor that the Wutain martial artist in her found very compelling. He made no excuses, and despite his issues, he didn't WHINE. He accepted his burdens.
Stoic was the word, she thought.
He WAS hurt. Deep in his soul. It awakened certain impulses in her that scared her in their intensity.
Of course, she'd been attracted to Vinnie since just a little after she'd stopped being so angry at him for shooting her. If attraction were all she had to deal with, she wouldn't have worried. She was mature enough to know the difference between attraction and something deeper. She was in agony at the thought that she might lose Vincent, but the way the anxiety in her verged on sheer panic told her there was a little more to this longing than meets the eye.
No, that kiss had done something to her.
She'd been confused when it happened, confused and more than a little scared. The way he'd looked at her, dazed, pained confusion yes, but there was a HUNGER there... a need, that she'd never seen before. All that had ended when his lips met hers. It was like a bell had rung in her soul, resounding from the top of her head to the soles of her feet.
DING DING DING! We have a winner! Bob, tell him what he's won!
Why, the lifetime obsession of a lovestruck ninja girl, Chuck.
Simultaneously the instinctual part of her, that primordial, ape-like beast that hides beneath the thin veneer of civilization in all of us sat up, took notice, and howled something that can't really be translated, but which amounts to about the most honest reaction.
"MINE."
All of which pretty much meant that Yuffie was destined to be miserable. At least while she was in that special form of limbo reserved for teenagers who have yet to confess their feelings for the object of their crush.
Made worse by the fact that Vinnie was knocking on death's door at the moment.
-I swear,- she thought, -If that jerk dies on me, I'll never forgive him.-
Then, a few minutes later, a more honest thought escaped her.
-Leviathan please. I've never asked for anything before... well ok, there was that one time I broke that ceremonial Urn that contained the ashes of my great great great great grandfather and then super glued it back together and replaced the ashes with some ashes I found in the stove, but that shouldn't count, cause it was like ten years ago. Please... let him live. It just... it just wouldn't be right for him to die without being happy... at least once in his life.-
A disconsolate sigh. -And since that's probably gonna be a while, Vinnie needs to be around for quite some time.-
Which again, amounts to an amazingly unselfish thought on her part... at least, if you discount the fact that she is assuming she's going to be the one to make him happy, but I think we can forgive her, don't you?
With a sharp crack, the door opened suddenly, causing Yuffie to start and nearly tip over the poorly balanced couch. The doctor shuffled out, her coat a bit the worse for wear.
She looked Yuffie over quietly, as though taking her measure.
Yuffie eyed her back. She tried very hard to keep hope from flooding her face.
She met with limited success.
The doctor final shook her head shortly and jerked her head in the direction of the door. "Come on, honey. Let's go outside for a smoke."
Yuffie blinked. Started to say something to the effect of "I don't smoke". Then remembered some of the conversations she'd had with Cid when HE went outside to smoke and she happened to follow him.
She got up and followed the doctor, with some trepidation.
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"So... is he gonna...?" Yuffie started, quietly.
The doctor snapped her pack of cigarettes sharply against her palm, packing the tabacco. She eyed Yuffie, not unkindly.
"What's your name, honey?" She asked finally.
"Yuffie. The guy... his name is Vincent."
The doctor raised an eyebrow. "Well Yuffie... if you'd a brought me someone in Vincent's condition before tonight, I'd probably be signing a death certificate and tying a tag around his toe. Which brings me to my questions." She fished inside her pocket and handed Yuffie a small, disproportionately heavy bit of deformed metal.
"You know what this is?" She asked conversationally, removing a cigarette and lighting it after two false starts of her lighter.
Yuffie was starting to get a bit pissed off at the doctor's attitude. She acted like this was simply a matter of course, like people she cared about got shot every day. She gritted her teeth.
"I don't really care, frankly. I want to know if Vincent's-"
"You SHOULD care, Yuffie. You should care alot. That's a .45 calibre ShinraCorp mythril jacket Armor Piercing round. That particular specimen is the only one I was able to find, which is surprising."
Yuffie blinked.
"Surprising because it was still in his body. Surprising because aside from someone wearing body armor, I've never SEEN one of those NOT pass completely through someone."
Yuffie shook her head. "So what does that-"
The doctor interrupted her. "I want to know what the hell is going on here, Yuffie. Your friend should be dead. Not, not just once, but three times over. Whoever shot him was a professional. I've SEEN wounds like that before... on cadavers. It wouldn't surprise me in the least to learn that the shooter was a Turk, or at the very least, Turk trained."
Yuffie stared at her. She continued in chilling, professional monotone.
"In the business, this sort of shooting is called a takedown tap. Three rounds dead center mass, drop the target, then follow up with a single shot to the head. Since there was no shot to the head, I assume he was interrupted somehow."
Yuffie winced. "You could say that. We kinda... fell off a cliff."
The doctor looked out over the horizon, tapping ash off of her cigarette. She appeared very thoughtful.
"Perfect shot... triple tap to the dead center mass..."
Yuffie bit her lip. "That's right in the heart..."
The doctor gazed at her sidelong. Her face softened a bit. "Right, like I said, perfect shot. Which is why your friend's going to live."
Yuffie blinked. "That... doesn't make any sense."
The doctor turned to regard her completely. "Yuffie, someone has done some things to your friend in there... things that make... very little sense. It's like... it's like someone took him apart and put him back together again, only in some ways they put him together better, and in others they..." she shuddered. "Let's just say if you told me a madman had had a go at him, I wouldn't be surprised."
"What do you mean?" Yuffie asked softly.
"It's like a mad scientist's laundry list... for starters, someone reinforced his spinal column with a millimeter of mythral mesh." She shook her head. "If he wasn't breathing, I'd have told you that was impossible. Not to mention impractical... the amount of internal scar tissue suggests that your friend should be in almost constant pain. That's why the bullet was stopped by the way. It caused a few complications, tumbled through his chest, bisected his right lung like a knife. What NONE of the wounds did, however, was hit his heart."
Yuffie was watching her intently now.
"Because this guy doesn't HAVE a heart, exactly. Someone decentralized his heart... spread the valves through his body... seemingly at random. It took me an hour just to FIND what was pumping blood through his system. So those bullets just passed right through." She shook her head.
"He's only got one kidney... god knows what happened to the other one. He's been Mako enhanced, in a way I wouldn't have even thought possible, let alone survivable. His arm... I'm not even gonna start there."
Yuffie looked down. "Vincent is... was... one of Hojo's experiments. I gather the two of them didn't get along very well."
The doctor frowned. "Hojo, huh?" She was quiet for a while. "Well, that explains alot."
Yuffie looked up at her. "You know an awful lot about Shinra, Hojo and the Turks, lady."
Teresa looked at her, her face set in stone. Yuffie looked back accusingly, almost challengingly so.
The doctor was the first one to look away.
Yuffie watched her carefully, then looked away herself. She remembered how things had been right after the terror of Meteor settled down. How the only thing anyone could really seem to agree on was that SOMEONE had to be blamed for what happened. How when the Shinra labs where Hojo had done some of his "best" work had been brought to light. Society had put up with Shinra for too long, and the backlash of moral outrage had been fearsome indeed. A shitstorm of blame-laying and accusations. The crowd needed a scapegoat.
With Hojo dead, this fell to the remainder of his science team. Most of whom had disappeared only to be rounded up later on with different identities. They knew which way the wind was blowing. Of course, this hadn't helped them much. Very few of them made it to any sort of trial, a testiment to the ugly nature of mob mentality.
Being associated with Shinra Medical Science Division was definately a health hazard nowadays.
Yuffie proceeded carefully. "Let's just say that some people have some very dark moments in their pasts. Things they maybe don't want to remember... but that have nothing to do with who they are now. Does that sound about right, Doctor?"
Teresa let out the breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "Right. "
She paused.
"Though for the record... I had nothing to do with... you know."
Yuffie shrugged. "I don't know, or care, really. What I want to know is... h-how is he?"
Teresa frowned. "It's hard to say... You have to understand, I've never seen anything LIKE Vincent before. He shouldn't even be alive in the first place. It awakens a certain level of professional curiousity... morbidly, of course. Still..."
She shrugged. "I'd be willing to bet that if it doesn't kill him outright, he could survive damn near anything."
Yuffie let out her own shaky breath. "T-thanks, Doc. T-that me-" She paused, trying to get a hold of herself. "Means a-"
She lost it, sobbing uncontrollably. The doctor gathered her awkwardly into shoulder and patted her back.
She smelled like blood, cigarettes, and alcohol. The medicinal kind. (alcohol that is, I don't think they make medicinal cigarettes... well, tabacco ones anyway)
Yuffie sobbed quietly and hated herself for it. All the tension, the fear, the guilt... it was just too much released at once. "T-This is so s-stupid... it's n-not like me at a-all. I'm just s-so glad..."
"It's nothing to be ashamed of, you know." The doctor said gently. "Caring for someone like that, I mean."
Yuffie said nothing for a long time. "I-" She said, falteringly.
The doctor sighed. "He doesn't know, does he?"
She shook her head. "Vincent's... well... he's not exactly the easiest person to relate to..."
The doctor raised an eyebrow, before continuing in a sardonic fashion. "Oh I don't know, he's got tall... and dark... and even though the circumstances weren't exactly the best, he's approaching handsome..."
Yuffie shook her head and smiled slightly. "Yeah but..."
The doctor grinned wryly. "Lemme guess. Baggage, right?"
Yuffie nodded, blushing. "Like an airport. I know it's silly... He's... well, I THINK he's still hung up on this girl from his past. How can I compete with a memory like that? I mean, in his mind, she's like perfect, and I am like... SO not."
The doctor nodded. "I figured as much. If you don't mind my asking, how did he get shot? You said something about falling off a cliff..."
Yuffie blushed. "That was kinda MY fault, him being shot. He pushed me out of the way which incidently, was how I ended up going over a cliff."
The doctor blinked. "So he saved your life by pushing you OFF a cliff?"
Yuffie reddened again. "Well, that and get shot in my place."
The doctor grinned. "Well... it takes a very interesting mindset to take a bullet for someone, Yuffie. I wouldn't give up hope just yet. Things like this have a habit of working themselves out."
Yuffie sighed. "He probably hates me... if I hadn't been so stupid and got him put in jail like that... he never would have gotten shot."
The doctor blinked. "Ok... maybe you'd better start from the beginning, Yuffie."
Yuffie sighed, then proceeded to do just that. It started slowly, but eventually the details came out. The doctor listened calmly, asking questions from time to time to clarify one point or another, but making no judgements. Yuffie, to her surprise, found herself feeling better relating the events which lead to her knocking so desperately on the doctor's door. It was cathartic, a release.
As the tension and fear drained from her, she suddenly realized she was exhausted. She ended her story with a yawn that threatened to snap her head in half. The doctor smiled gently, then dropped her second cigarette of the evening and stomped it gently underfoot.
"Quite a story, Yuffie. So... what do you plan to do now?"
Yuffie frowned. "I don't know. There's still so much I don't know about... back home. It's just... too much to take in at once. To be honest, I haven't had a whole lot of time to think about it."
"Weeelllp, one thang's fer sure. If'n those fellers who're after ya show up, they'll have ta deal with me an' ma shotgun." A cool drawling voice errupted from the gloom, startling both of them.
"Tom, when did you get back?" Teresa asked curiously, after the initial heart attack moment had passed.
Tom grinned whitely in the dark. "Oh, round about halfway through story hour. I got on the CB an' let the fellers know ta keep an eye out fer tresspassers, so you don't need to worry none about havin' enough time to patch yer friend up."
"Well..." Teresa started. "Thank you, Tom... but I don't-"
"Oh we ain't havin' none o' that, Miss T. I believe I speak fer all us rancher folk out here when I say any bastard comin' after ya'll have ta deal with us as well." He made a face. "You got any idea how hard it is ta find a good animal doc out here? Oh I got a bit o' the husbandry, we all do, but it ain't the same thang."
"No Ma'am, I'd jus' as soon keep ya safe." He grinned. "If'n ya don't mind, that is."
Teresa blinked, a sudden knot building in her throat. She hadn't realized... it had been so long since she felt like she was a part of something...
She choked a moment, then calmed herself. "Thank you, Thomas... I... thank you."
Tom nodded shortly. "I'll be in waitin' room if'n ya need me. I'd appreciate some blankets an' the like, Miss T."
Teresa nodded shortly. "Alright Tom, I'll get you fixed up." She turned to Yuffie, who sat quietly with a bemused but thoughtful (or possibly just sleepy) expression.
"If I might suggest something, Yuffie...?"
Yuffie eyed her, exhaustion making her squint owlishly. "Hmm?"
Teresa nodded. "You should get some sleep. Your friend isn't going anywhere, and I gather you aren't going to leave him behind again. Things might be a bit clearer for you in the morning." When you're not so tired you look like you're about to collapse on your face, she didn't aid, though she thought it.
Yuffie frowned. "But I wanna be there when he wakes up..."
Teresa raised an eyebrow. "Even if you're in no condition to do anything but snore?"
Yuffie blushed. "I don't snore..." She sighed. "But I get the hint. Can I at least...?"
Teresa sighed, looking upward in a long-suffering manner. "I suppose I could move a cot into the waiting room. Just this once."
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Vincent drifted through foggy maroon clouds. Flashes of memory, like jagged spikes of lightning tossed down by angry gods, lit up the sordid events of his past in painstaking procession. As stated earlier, Vincent did not dream, and this remained true even when he was unconscious.
Even through the clouds of pain and confusion that he drifted, he could still sense the demon's presence like an oily stain in his mind.
"Welcome to my world, Vincent." The demon whispered. The clouds took shape, becoming a stairway of fire, leading to a black iron throne.
Vincent lifted his gaze to the Demon and set his jaw. He remained silent.
The demon clasped its chin in one taloned hand and cocked its curiously. "Nothing to say, killer? How utterly typical of you."
Vincent narrowed his eyes. "Am I dead then? Is this-"
"Hell?" The demons eyes glittered. "Hell is an eternity in freezing nothingness, alone and forgotten. Forsaken. Hell is a highly personal experience, killer."
Vincent fell silent.
"No, this place..." The demon gestured. "This is the niche that I have carved out of the barren landscape of your soul. It isn't much, but then, I seldom entertain guests, so I suppose it does well enough."
Vincent turned and looked skyward, into the neverending maroon clouds, drifting like spoiled blood through a featureless sky.
"Desolate place, isn't it?" The demon said, almost conversationally.
"About what I expected." Vincent said, after a moment's cool appraisal.
The demon shook his head. "Only you, Valentine, could be so blase about your own tattered, pathetic state."
The gunman turned to the demon and wearily sighed. "I am only what I was made into, Chaos. Though I expect I had something to do with..." He gestured with his golden claw.
The demon shrugged, then stared at Vincent intently. If the gunman was made edgy by his attention, he gave no sign.
"You, Mr. Valentine, are a tough nut to crack." He said musingly.
"What do you have left to fight for? Why do you persist in this sad, tragic display of futility? The world you know is dead and buried."
Vincent lifted his gaze upward, towards the demon.
"Still, you DO persist. You fight me at every turn, when surrender would be such a release. I KNOW you feel it, Vincent. Oblivion beckons you with a smile and a wink."
Vincent continued to stare.
The demon leaned forward. "And yet..."
"And yet you would sacrifice yourself without hesitation for a girl you barely know."
Vincent cocked his head. Then he looked down at his hands quietly. One human, pale, slender, strong... an artist's hands. The other golden, alien, hard and immobile, oversized claws glinting in the faint illumination of his mindscape.
"Some things are worth preserving, Demon. Worth more than me, certainly."
The Demon scoffed. "I think there is more to this, Vincent. I think that if you believe that, you are lying to yourself."
Vincent's face betrayed no hint of anger, but something glinted in his eyes as he looked past the Demon. He remained silent for a long moment, then final spoke the words in a bleak tone.
"I failed her. I promised her that I would protect her, even if she hated me. I wanted her to be happy. I wanted her to be safe."
"In the end, I couldn't even save our child from HIS madness."
The Demon nodded thoughtfully. "I'd always wondered... I suppose it makes sense, considering how similar the two of you are."
Vincent looked up sharply. "You mean you didn't know? How-"
The Demon sighed, all bravado absent. "Vincent, I am not omniscient. What happened to you before we were fused together, I can only catch glimpses of when you remember, or what I can dredge up to show you. I don't know your mind anymore than you know mine."
Vincent lowered his hands. "I suspected, when she went to him. I wondered when he seemed SO... ecstatic... I remember something he said, just before he shot me."
"How pleasant, when scientific necessity and personal vengeance coincide, Mr. Valentine. Die knowing that you will make my crowning glory a more perfect creation."
"When I saw Sephiroth... I knew, then. But it was too late."
The demon cocked his head. "You knew... and yet you did nothing to stop his death?"
Vincent's face became a study in bleakness.
"I am infinitely familiar from personal experience how to recognize madness when it bears its ugly fangs at me, Demon. Hojo had done his work well."
Vincent shook his head as though clearing it. "I'm not doing this for Godo, or Wutai, or all of those innocent people, Chaos. I'm not even doing it for Yuffie, really."
"I am doing it for myself. For once in my life, I have a made a promise that I will keep." He grinned, a very strange expression on his normally solemn face. "She is... everything that I am not. Innocent... despite all the world has thrown at her. I will preserve that innocence. I don't think she understands me."
"I hope she never does."
Chaos shook his head, a nasty grin flitting about his features, though it was somewhat hard to tell on the demon. "You underestimate her, Vincent. There is more depth to your butterfly than you give her credit for. You may not see that now, but you will. Of course, by then you will be too late. Your "butterfly" bears a much better resemblance to a spider." He paused. "Well, a CUTE spider, in any case."
Vincent blinked.
Chaos grinned nastily. "Of course, in that respect, you are far too late. Fate has once again entangled you in its web, and for once, Vincent Valentine... I am glad to be along for the ride. The sheer extent of the possibilities unravelling into the future is breathtaking."
Vincent started to ask what that meant, but Chaos receded farther and farther from him, until he was left alone.
He floated for an eternity.
He floated for an instant.
He awoke.
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Sense returned to Vincent slowly, in stages. First, as always, was the pain... though not as much as he had been expecting. A deep, abiding ache in his chest, with a sharper flare of pain coinciding with each slow, labored breath he drew. He felt a soft mattress under him, cool sheets above, up to his chest, which felt slightly cool.
Smell was next... antiseptic, alcohol, blood, and strangely, large bird and cigarettes...
The room... the... place, in which he was resting was silent, save for the sound of his own labored breathing. Opening his eyes slowly, he was met with cool inky twilight.
He blinked slowly. Then waited patiently for his eyes to adjust. The faint moonlight coming from a nearby window provided enough illumination to confirm that he was in a location he did not recognize. Experimentally, he tried to sit up.
It took several moments of agonized straining, but he finally managed to sit up, supporting himself on the metal bedrail, breathing heavily and sweating.
He forced himself to breath deeply but slowly, paused for a moment until the pain subsided to bearable levels. He looked at himself.
His chest was tightly bandaged in a professional manner. It was this bandage, in fact, that hindered his breathing. He blinked in confusion... how... had he gotten here? How had he survived?
He searched his memories for answers... desperately pushing Yuffie in the only direction that suggested even a modicum of safety, the white hot pain of bullets tearing into his flesh... Jaeger's oddly dissappointed, yet set features following him into the nausea inducing tip over the edge of the world...
Arguing with Chaos... a descent into darkness.... darkness he had been convinced would be eternal.
Lucrecia staring at him in a manner he'd never seen, confused and scared. It was such an odd expression that he'd searched her face for the meaning behind it, but found nothing. Her words had made no sense... none at all. Then her face had flickered back and forth, becoming younger, her hair darkening...
He'd kissed her, he remembered. In a way, it was an attempt to escape... to latch onto something that didn't hurt.
In another way, it was a chance to say goodbye. He'd never gotten that opportunity, before. He wished he could have said he was sorry that things had turned out the way they had, but that was too much.
Now here he was. He frowned slightly.
That girl... the dark haired one... that must have been Yuffie. She'd dragged him here? How had she eluded Jaeger?
Jaeger... a name he never thought he'd hear again. Vincent had been somewhat curious what had happened to the Turks during his long imprisonment. The modern day Turks were rabble, barely worthy of the Turk name. Their leader had been the last of an old breed, a breed ended by Sephiroth, who had murdered the Turk leader. Of the Turks who'd been in Shinra when Vincent had been a team leader, all had either retired and disappeared into one relocation program or another, as Turks who'd gained quite a few enemies in the line of duty inevitably did, or been killed in one operation or another, as UNLUCKY Turks who'd gained quite a few enemies in the line of duty inevitably did. From the information he'd been able to gather, after Vincent's death, Jaeger had become a team leader. He'd disappeared during the war with Wutai, during the occupation of their port city that had only lasted three days before the Wutainese had retaken it... and he'd been presumed dead.
Apparently that presumption had been... inaccurate.
Yuffie. Was she alright? He was suddenly filled with a burning and for the most part inexplicable need to see to her safety. He told himself that it was simply his duty calling to him.
hAving defined it in a manner that felt safe, he immediately felt better. Still, he resolved himself to find her.
Gripping the side of the metal bed-frame with both his real hand and the metal one, he torturously slipped his sluggishly responding lower extremities onto the floor. Cold tiles met his bare toes, a chill that ran up his legs to stab at his brain.
Experimentally, he stood up.
Not so experimentally, he fell flat on his face.
A century or so later, he managed to flip himself onto his back, the cold tile floor making him shiver. He stared down at himself in dismay. He still had his pants, but he could see what was left of his shirt and cloak on the chair next to him, along with his boots. Dragging himself painfully across the floor, he took hold of his boots.
It took several minutes, but he finally managed to draw himself into a sitting position on the chair, then with the solemn dignity and patience of an extremely old man, he put on his boots. Thus better clothed, he felt marginally more human. More in control.
He glanced around for his weapon belt, and shoulder holster, but was unable to locate them. Pity. He felt naked without his weapons.
With more care this time, he pushed himself to a standing position, using the chair as support. He eyed the room carefully. A wooden door stood on the far wall, next to what appeared to Vincent to be several miles of white countertop scored multiple times by what looked like Chocobo scratches, gouges and the occasional faded but still noticable stain. Medicines of various types and the sort of things one would expect to see in a doctor's office lined the bare metal shelves that ran along with the counters around the room.
Vincent took a deep breath, counted slowly to three, then pushed himself towards the counter nearest the door. Vincent was unable to prevent himself from falling, having neither the strength nor the balance to maintain an upright position without support. He was, however, able to make his descent a controlled fall towards the counter, catching it with both palms and maintaining his upright (if slightly leaned over) position by the sheer strength of will and iron determination that made his targets while he was a Turk whisper his name fearfully, lest he appear. Carefully, he shuffled his way over to the door and eased it open, peering into the room beyond.
A sigh escaped him when he saw a ten-foot long corridor terminating in another door. Nevertheless, he gritted his teeth, and with the same grim determination, inched his way down the corridor using the wall for support. Arriving at the door, he paused for a moment to catch his wheezing breath, regain a bit of his waning strength, then cautiously opened the door and looked out.
Snores met him in the darkness, and he looked in direction from which they assaulted him. A large man with a particularly bushy mustache curiously wrapped in a thick flannel blanket, with what appeared to be a 12 gauge shotgun propped barrel down between his knees, snored loudly from his position on a large, remarkably ugly green couch. Vincent's gaze traveled studiously across the room, to a window, then down, resting on a metal cot similar to the one he'd been sleeping in, took in the occupant currently resting in it, and for a moment Vincent forgot to breathe.
Yuffie, unconsciously curled in the fetal position in her sleep, rested with only her face outside the blankets. The moonlight reflected off of her pale cheek, her face completely free of the animation that normally graced it, lending it a surreal whiteness. Alternatively, her tossled black hair soaked up the moonlight like a sponge, reflecting none of it.
She looked impossibly delicate and fragile, in that weak light.
She also appeared indescribably beautiful.
Without realizing it, Vincent found himself looking down at her peaceful face quietly, an inexplicable feeling of serenity washing over him.
Then her eyes opened.
Vincent froze. The feeling of serenity vanished and was replaced with a growing sense of danger.
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Yuffie had never been a particularly deep sleeper, since her long years on the run from one disgruntled "customer" or another had taught her hard lessons about not rousing quickly. Still, for a split second, when she regained awareness, she found herself staring up, frozen at the sight of the gaunt, pale apparition before her.
To say Vincent had seen better days would be something of an understatement. His pale chest, which was currently bare, was so covered in bandages that from just above his navel to just below his collarbone, he most closely resembled a mummy. The exposed skin on his human arm, and the skin just above the bandages was deeply bruised, the sort of painful looking discoloration that spoke of past internal bleeding. His face was gaunt and tired looking, but composed... if the gunman was in pain, he showed no sign.
He looked like hell.
There was no other man in the world right now Yuffie would have rather fixed her gaze on.
In an instant she was upright, the blanket flittering to the ground at her feet like a startled ghost. She threw her arms around Vincent and hugged him, tightly.
"Oh Leviathan, Vincent... I'm so glad you're ok!" She sobbed.
"..." Responded Vincent, intelligently.
"When I saw how much blood you'd lost, I thought for sure you were gonna die on me, Vinnie... plus those creeps were still up there, and then Chaos flew us down, and he scared the living CRAP outta me, and he had this voice like... RRRRRR.... or something like that, like he had a really bad cold or something, and-"
"Yuffie..." VIncent's voice snapped into her monologue with quiet authority, stunning her with the powerful emotion it contained.
She looked up, almost afraid of what she'd see, her heart pounding in her chest like a drum.
Vincent looked down at her, his eyes, his features, full of some unknown emotion. He took a deep, shuddery breath.
"That.... really.... hurts."
Yuffie released him like his skin had become covered in nettles. "Oh SHIT, Vinnie! Crap, I'm so sorry... I wasn't thinking, that was so STUPID!"
Vincent, thrown off balance by her sudden release of pressure, and not entirely stable to BEGIN with (heh, and not just physically, heh heh) wavered for a moment, then collapsed backward on his rump.
He sighed quietly, a long suffering, and yet strangely relieved release of breath.
Yuffie held a wince of sympathy on her face as she looked down at him. "Vinnie... um... I don't think you should be outta bed. You were in surgery not like... three hours ago."
As usual, Vincent answered her by not acknowledging she'd said anything in the first place, but strangely, this didn't piss her off like it usually did.
It felt... comfortable.
"You're alright. I was..." He trailed off, grabbing the side of the metal cot.
She looked down at him. "You were what?"
He compressed his mouth into a fine line and tried to push himself to his feet again.
He met with only partial success, rising to one shaky knee.
"You were WHAT, hmmm... Vincent?" She said, her voice full of sly confidence.
"Wondering. If you'd made it... without injury." He cast his eyes up at her.
"Uh huh. Right, Vinnie." She beamed at him, curiously satisfied with his evasiveness. "Need a hand."
He watched her, narrowing his eyes slightly. Without his cloak it was a little easier for her to make out changing emotions on his face, though what emotions those were was still somewhat vague. he compressed his mouth tightly again, then held his good hand out.
She clasped it firmly. It was cool, his grasp firm. She could feel the strength in his fingers. She wondered what they'd feel like on her bare skin. Then she mentally kicked her hentai impulses in the shins for being a dumb ass. She leaned back and heaved, helping the gunman to his unsteady feet.
He looked away, and she released his hand.
"Thank you." He muttered quietly.
"No problem, Vin." She teased.
His brow quirked. "Vin?" He looked at her sharply.
"Hey, at least it ain't Vinnie." She grinned.
He blinked. "I think I like Vinnie, better."
"I KNEW you secretly dug that nickname, Vinnie!" She crowed triumphantly.
Vincent sighed deeply and raised his eyes to the heavens, raising and lowering his shoulders with the sigh.
Yuffie put her hands on her hips, her expression and mood changing with a speed only the mercurial teenager was capable of. The kind of speed that made Vincent's head spin when he WASN'T exhausted and hurt.
"Vincent Valentine, what the HELL are you doing out of bed? You nearly DIED, you know?"
Vincent turned his limpid gaze to her and shrugged. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."
She blinked. "What, getting out of bed?"
"Dying."
She scowled. "Well it's NOT, you asshole! You gotta stick around, Vinnie!" She reddened. "'Cause... because, well..."
Vincent watched her flounder for a moment, silently confused at her reaction.
"So..." he started quietly. "I take it since you're still here, even though I was unconscious for several hours, that you have decided running off isn't an option anymore?"
Yuffie's embarassment turned to anger. "You ASSHOLE! I was WORRIED about you! You think I would just take off, leave you here... like I didn't care if you lived or died? Do you really think I'm THAT irresponsible? Or heartless?"
It was Vincent's turn to feel awkward. He turned his gaze slightly. "I'm sorry." He muttered shortly.
She continued to watch him, still a bit pissed. He continued not to meet her gaze, silently, and she realized that that was the most she was going to get from him. She sighed deeply and sat down on the cot, her legs crossed at the ankles and kicking back and forth under the cot, hands in her lap. She looked down.
"Vincent... is Godo... is my father really... dying?" She whispered.
Vincent's gaze turned back to her, his expression neutral, but soft, in a way. Though it may have been just a trick of the light.
"Yes. Yes he is." He said softly, not one to prevaricate or hash words.
She looked up at him, her eyes shining. "Why... why didn't you tell me?"
He closed his eyes for a moment, then, in an uncharacteristically human moment, he sat down carefully next to her and looked down at his own lap.
"You wouldn't have believed it, coming from me. Not at first. Not after I'd been sent by him."
She looked at him, tried to find some way to argue with him, but she knew he was right. She would have figured something like that from Godo... some stupid trick to get her to come back willingly.
"So now... now Wutai is in the middle of a civil war, my father might be dead, and there are assassins after me." She sighed. "Is that... about the score?"
He nodded quietly. "Yes."
"What... what do I do, Vincent?"
Vincent shook his head. He was silent for a long time, as though steeling himself to answer. "Godo wanted me to take you back to Wutai... because it was safer there, with you in control, than out here."
She watched him, her eyes sad. All of this could have been avoided... but she didn't WANT to rule Wutai. To be stuck there... she didn't know the first thing about being a leader.
"But that's not true anymore, Yuffie." He winced as though speaking so much hurt him, but continued anyway. "Wutai is full of enemies now... it isn't safe."
She glanced at him, confused.
"YOU have to choose what happens now, Yuffie. If you stay away from Wutai, the assassins will probably keep coming... at least, as long as you're alive." He paused.
"But you won't have to worry about leading anyone. You won't be responsible for anyone but yourself."
She waited.
"If you go back, you'll probably get killed... and if you succeed in taking the throne somehow, there won't be any more assassins after you, but you'll have to rule Wutai for the rest of your life."
He looked at her calmly.
She bit her lip. "Those are some really... shitty options, Vincent."
He nodded gravely.
Then he startled her by speaking one last time, and the conviction in his voice made her almost want to cry.
"Whatever you choose... I'll be there."
She glanced up at him, moving her legs under her and putting gaze level with his, so she could look him in the eyes.
"Why, Vincent?"
He looked away.
"Vincent Valentine, look at me. I want an answer. Why are you... why am I so important to you?" It was another one of those heart in the throat moments... and she hoped he answered her before she threw up on him, she was so nervous.
His gaze returned to hers slowly, as though he feared looking at her eyes. Still, it did return. "Because I... care, about... what happens to you." He looked away. "It's been a long time since I cared about anything."
She looked away herself, and sighed. However, it wasn't a sigh of disappointment. Rather than regret what he hadn't said, Yuffie took the first tentative steps towards real maturity.
She found hope in what he HAD said.
It was a start.
She looked up and gazed out the window, and the darkness outside, rather than oppressive, seemed full of possiblities. The rain of earlier had stopped, and all was calm, as though expectant, hushed in anticipation.
-Keep running, or go home.- She thought. It was such a hard decision.
She looked at Vincent, who made no judgements, nor appealed to her sense of honor, or guilt... He'd simply stated the options, and left it to her. She knew, without asking him, that he wouldn't think any less of her either way. But...
With that being said, she knew, if he was in her position, which choice he'd make.
How did she know? Because he was Vincent.
Vincent, who'd nearly died saving her life not because he had to get her back to Wutai in one piece, but simply because she was Yuffie, and he... well... He was Vincent Valentine.
Because it was what he did. In spite, or maybe because of it all.
And when she thought about it that way, when she considered his words... not the options he'd laid before her, but the PROMISE he'd made... suddenly, the answer was clear to her.
It was clear, and it wasn't so bad...
Because he'd be there.
And Yuffie made a choice, just as Vincent made a choice.
After that, there was no turning back.
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