( Note: I bit the bullet. Wasn't going to make this a Yuffentine, but that's the way things turned out! Also, this chapter went in a much more serious direction than I'd intended. Hmm. Odd that. Hopefully things will lighten up for the next chapter! Thanks again for the reviews, they are all appreciated! )

Just before dawn fully broke, she was back. The materia high had worn off somewhere between the third business and the inn, leaving her groggy with a missed night of sleep. To make matters worse, it appeared her cure spell had worn off Vincent as well. He was back to labored breathing and coughing spasms.

She flopped to the floor, tilting her head back to rest on the bed. "Guess even materia can't cure a cold," she grumbled. At least things hadn't gotten worse in her absence than they had been before she'd left. Not wanting to stand, even the floor felt comfortable, she sorted through her loot.

Bottles of water, one of fruit juice, a slightly stale loaf of bread, some apples, a tin cup and bowl, and a patched blanket were sorted into various piles on the ground in front of her. There were a few small trinkets, items she couldn't very well leave unguarded for someone else to find, gracing her pockets, but they really weren't important for her current predicament. Yuffie surveyed her haul with a tired smile. This should keep her until Cloud dragged his lazy rear into town.

Peeling off her boots, she stifled a groan. Maybe she could convince Cloud to hang around, at least for a little while, at least long enough to let her take a quick nap. Tired as she was, she didn't want to leave Vincent unattended.

"He might try and run off," she told her boots.

Or get worse, he mind added, despite her threats against it, should it voice that fear. He can't get worse, she told it, irritably. I'm not gonna let him. I mean, Tifa's right. It's Vincent. He'd die of embarrassment if a cold offed him. Another thought reared its ugly head, birthed courtesy of Marlene's frightened question earlier. And that's all it is. A cold. It's not… that…

That had all but disappeared. And, were it that, Cloud was on his way, bearing the promised spring water.

He'll be fine… right?

Yuffie heaved herself to her feet, picking up a bottle of water. All she needed to do was get him conscious again. Then he could start healing. That was always the way it went. People passed out for a while, then woke up and were well on their way to recovery. She glanced down at him, then back at the bottle in her hand.

How'm I supposed to make him drink… when he's not awake…?

Maybe if she shook him. Maybe then he'd wake just enough to drink. Tifa said that would help. Or she could prop him up and hope gravity took its course. A thought occurred to her. Why not both?

Setting the water on the floor, she leaned down, taking hold of his shoulders.

I----------I

Again.

He has failed again.

That is all he knows.

He does not know the how, the why, or the repercussions, save that there is blood. Again, there is blood. The first time, it was his, innocents', Hers. Now, he does not know whose it is, but the scent of copper floods the air. He grasps toward the darkness, as if something out there will wash away the sticky, thick and drying substance from his hands.

Nothing reaches back. Not even the darkness stirs at the passing of his hands. He is alone, and the weight of that knowledge is crushing again upon him.

He had not wanted to fail. Not again. Not ever. There were things to protect, people to look after. They were all so strong, so self-assured. Nothing should have gone wrong this time. And yet, the all-consuming realization that he has swarms him, devouring the shreds of him that scream out in confusion. Dimly, he recognizes the screams as those from his throat.

He is screaming, covering his head, trying to run, crawl, limp away from this beast that grows up behind him, reaching for him. The shadow of his failure grasps at him, pulling him to the yawning, open ground. He tries to lunge forward, to take hold of anything that does not give way. And still he falls.

Then the pain begins, fire in his chest, filling him from the inside out. He feels as if he is drowning. Guilt is suffocating him, standing overhead with leering eyes and grinning fangs. Strange, it looked human before. He coughs violently, shaking his body up and down its length.

It is so cold here. He manages to look around and sees nothing but darkness once again. No blood, no light. Only empty, far-reaching black. He is alone, and, for the first time, he is fearful. He tries one last time to reach out, to tell himself he is not alone, he has not truly failed.

His hands clench around something solid. Relief boarding on madness floods him. This thing is here, he can dig his fingers into it. He pulls it to his chest. He wants it to tell him, though he knows it will not, that he has not done as he perceives, that there is still something that can be done. Something that can be saved.

He collapses back into soft, yielding gray.

His eyes opened.

I---------I

"Vincent!"

There hadn't been a warning this time. One minute she had him balanced precariously in a sitting position, and was reaching for a bottle. The next, his body bucked, and she grabbed for him, lest he fall off the bed. He was dreaming again. That was the only explanation for the croaking screams.

"Wake up! Vincent!"

It was all she could do to hold onto him. Even in this state, he was stronger than she was. He pulled away whenever she grasped him. Somehow, thankfully, he stayed upright. Voices drifted in from the hall. Someone pounded on the door, demanding to know what was going on. Yuffie didn't spare it a look. Her attention was focused entirely on him.

"It's a dream, Vincent! Wake up already!"

She didn't know whether to be relieved or concerned further when the screams stopped, smothered by coughing. At least he'd ceased thrashing. Taking a deep breath, Yuffie slid her hands from his shoulders, preparing herself to calm the crowd outside.

It happened so fast.

She wasn't sure what had occurred at first. All her brain could pick up was the fact that something had its arms wrapped tightly around her, pinning her against it. She couldn't see, and let out a small gasp of surprise and pain. Something dug into her shoulder, five hot pricks in bare flesh. Her breath blew aside strands of long, black hair.

What the…?

Then it dawned on her.

This had better be one amazing nightmare. Otherwise, I swear I'm going to hit him. Cold or no, I'm hitting him. With his stupid pointy boots.

If it weren't for the claw currently gouging holes into her shoulder blade, she would have been fairly comfortable. He wasn't as bony as she'd thought. His heart was racing through his chest—a result, she hoped, of the dreams—body trembling with the effort of holding them both upright. Carefully, she tried to pull back, trying to somehow work her arms out of his grasp. In response, he tightened his hold, claw and all.

"Vincent…" she began, pulling back as best she could. "Y'need to wake up… and let go… That hurts…"

Much to her shock, he went limp, sending both of them crashing to the floor, with Yuffie pinned beneath him. She swore. At least the claw was no longer embedded in her back. She wiggled backwards. Outside, someone was still knocking, now curious about the crash.

"It's fine!" she yelled. "Just knocked over our luggage!"

That seemed to satisfy whoever it was. They gave a low, nasty chuckle, then walked away. Yuffie seethed. Perverts. She shoved Vincent with one hand, using the other to worm her way out from under him. His head lolled, eyes fluttering. Oh no. Her mind raced. No, no! Don't wake up yet! Not while…

His eyes opened.

"M-morning, Vinnie," she stammered, a nervous smile spreading on her face. "Sleep okay…?"

He blinked, something akin to a frown forming on his face. A flicker of confusion flashed in his eyes.

"Mind… sitting up?" she asked. "You're kinda heavy…"

Carefully, he hauled himself back up onto the bed, still looking at her with the same, oddly puzzled gaze. She made a show of dusting herself off, as if nothing had happened. "You were dreaming. Again," she informed him, twisting to make sure her shorts were intact. "And then you tackled me. What kinda weird stuff is going on in your head anyway?" She turned to pick up the dropped water. "Anyway, how're you holding up? I tried some materia, but it didn't really work too well."

When she turned back to him, the look in his eyes cut off anything else she was going to say. Red eyes flicked down to the claw, now settled harmlessly beside him, then back to her. More specifically, to her shoulders. She'd forgotten the cuts.

"Oh that!" Yuffie shrugged, working up a smirk for him. "It's nothing. My fault really. See, I fell on it when we landed on the floor." Rolling her eyes, she held out the bottle. "You should get it filed down or something."

"I'm sorry."

For a moment, she wasn't sure he'd actually spoken. Then it registered, and she sighed. "For what?" she asked. Since he'd made no move to take the offered drink, she settled beside him on the bed. "Being sick? Having crazy dreams?" The bottle was dropped in his lap. "Not like you can help that, Vinnie."

He turned his head to look at her, but didn't speak again. Apparently, there were limits, even with the illness loosening his tongue. They were quiet for a time, Yuffie pointedly eyeing the bottle, Vincent pointedly not looking at his hands. She wasn't sure what they were waiting for. Maybe something to break the tension she didn't quite understand. He suddenly swayed in place, and she held out a hand to steady him.

Vincent pulled back, the simple movement landing him flopped against he headboard.

Oh, so that's what this is about. Of all the pig-headed…

"Vince, I'm tired too," she groaned, letting her head hang. "I've been up all night, so I don't really wanna deal with your untouchable-ness right now, okay?" She slid off the bed. It suddenly felt a lot later than it was. He was being so ungrateful. It wasn't as if she was under an obligation to hang around musty old Nibelheim, missing out on sleep in favor of keeping him alive.

Then again… He's my friend. Sort of. You don't run out on your friends…

"Drink that water before Cloud shows up. I'm gonna catch it from Tifa if you don't."

"Cloud is coming?"

Yuffie stifled a yawn. "Yep. Bringing somethin' to fix you, because when I called him, man, you were in bad shape." She ventured a glance up at him. "Speaking of which… I'm gonna ask you again: How're you feeling?"

He considered this for a moment, studiously examining the wall. "Fine," he said finally.

"Liar."

Now Vincent glanced down at her, meeting accusing, dark eyes. "What?"

"You're a liar," she said again. "And you're just like Cloud. If you're really 'fine', why aren't you already gone?"

This time, he didn't answer, just braced his arms, starting to heave himself to his feet. It was past time to be gone. He'd wanted to have the climb finished by now. At this rate, he would have to pass the night on the slopes, not something even he fancied.

However, he began reconsidering the entire effort as he stood. Nothing had changed from the night previous, if anything, it was colder and the room spun faster. He put a hand out to steady himself, then leaned against the wall, breathing heavily from even that small exertion. Each inhalation rasped, painful, in his chest. Maybe Yuffie was right. Maybe he was "in bad shape". Vincent started to sink back down—the bed sounded like a miracle—opening his mouth to concede defeat.

Then stopped.

Angry red scrapes marred her bare shoulder, glaring at him more fiercely than the girl herself. All at once, the weight of the too-vivid dream crashed back down.

Then again… maybe it would be better to heal on his own, far away from something breakable. He made his unsteady way toward the door to collect his belongings, only to feel a tug on his arm.

"You are unbelievable!"

"What…?"

Yuffie stood now, holding onto him, feet planted. Her face was set in a glower that, he felt, should have felled even the most determined of warriors. "You get your ass back to bed," she said. "And we're gonna wait here until you can walk across a room without falling over."

His eyes fell on the claw, hanging innocuously in her grasp. They were minute, but they were there—tiny dots of crimson clinging to the tips. "I'll be fine," he said.

"Then let me come too." She didn't let go.

He shook his head. "I should do this alone."

Her fingers dug into his arm, refusing to release him. "And what happens if you pass out again, huh?" she demanded. "Who's going to pull your face out of the mud?"

No response. Vincent only shook his head again, weaving a bit with the motion.

"Don't give me that!" She tried to haul him backwards, but gained no ground. "Last time you conked out, you didn't wake up all night! Only thing you did was scream a lot. You're not in any shape to go running around, doing who knows what." Again, the tried moving. "Now cut the stoic act and lie… down!"

A last tug found her fingers slipping. She lost her grip and staggered backwards. He took a step forward, reaching for the cloak. Frustration mounted. Didn't he care that she'd been worried sick? That she'd gone to embarrassing lengths to get help? What was wrong with him?

Dull pain in her shoulder answered the question.

"I told you!" she shouted, the aggravation getting the best of her. "I told you that wasn't your fault! You didn't hurt me, Vincent! And you're not going to! Especially if all you're doing is sitting in bed!"

He paused in the act of collecting his things. It was enough. She took a deep breath, and launched into a tirade, unloading all the fear, all the uncertainty and weariness of the night past.

"And even if it was your fault, I wouldn't care! You're my friend, and you're in trouble. I couldn't blame you for something like that!" Yuffie advanced on him, clenching her fists. "Don't you get it? I care about you, Vincent! I wouldn't be here if I didn't! I wouldn't have stayed up all night if I didn't! I wouldn't have gotten Cloud's ass out of bed if I were… I dunno, scared of you or something."

Looking somewhat startled, he turned to face her, blinking.

She looked up at him, trying desperately to keep from hitting him. "I want to help you," she said. The look in her eye was at definite odds with that statement. "You gotta let me do that. Otherwise… Otherwise I'm worried I'll lose you." Her voice had dropped, as the root of the anger laid itself bare. She covered it quickly with more shouting, in typical Yuffie fashion. "It's bad enough we lost Aeris! I'm not gonna sit around and let you go off when something like that might happen again!"

Slowly, still seeming shell-shocked, he murmured, "I don't want you to worry over me."

The glare returned, defiant this time "Then stay here. I'll sit over in the corner, just in case. You won't even have to look at me."

"I…"

He didn't even have time to utter the refusal. Yuffie stormed past him, throwing open the door.

"Why can't you just let me, let someone in? Just this once! Just let me help!" she shouted before she slammed the door, the sound footsteps diminishing down the stairs. Muted curses followed her.

In the sudden silence of the room, his mind fuzzily tried to process what had just happened. He could understand that she was angry, and that something he'd done—or rather neglected to do—had sparked the explosion. She also seemed to be needlessly concerned about his mortality.

He scoffed inwardly. After all that had happened to him, he wasn't about to drop dead at her feet, especially not due to a minor condition such as his current state. The way things were, she was much more likely to fall victim to irreparable damage than he. Out of all of them, she was the reckless one, the one who always leapt before she looked—so to speak—the one who, by default, needed the most looking after, whether any of them realized it or not.

Then again… she isn't the one we lost…

That day had hit them all harder than most of them cared to admit. Though it weighed far heavier upon one than the others, none of them were spared the sting of loss. They'd continued to fight, all but one appearing to come through the pain with minimal scarring. Yet, none of them forgot. None of them could.

Her words drifted back to him, laid over the image of the marks he'd inadvertently placed on her. And there, their respective problems lay side by side, looking back at him with full force. Vincent leaned against the wall, forcing himself to take a breath.

They were both afraid.

And, when examined closer, they both feared the very same thing, at least, on a basic level. He rested his head in hand, wandering in thought. The solution, he decided, was a very simple one, albeit one he disliked. It would, potentially, place her in a dangerous situation—with him in a state in which control was not the easiest thing to keep hold of.

But… who was he to withhold redemption—of a sort? How much of a hypocrite would he be then? It had in no way been her fault, even if her fear told her otherwise. If he denied her atonement for her perceived failure, no matter how trivial it truly was, there would be no further living with himself.

Besides, Vincent concluded, moving into the hall, it was hard to focus on mountain climbing when all your effort was concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. Perhaps he did need someone's aid after all. The barely-dry cloak was heavy as lead in his hand, and he gripped the railing for dear life as he descended the stairs after her. It seemed the illness had drained his strength so that even the small effort of remaining conscious taxed him dangerously.

Knowing Yuffie, she would sulk until something distracted her—usually something of the magical variety. If he didn't catch up to her, he would never get the chance to speak rationally with the girl. No one was in the lobby at the early hour, so he opened the door, bare feet padding out onto the narrow doorstep.

Outside, the dawn had given way to true morning, sky already dark and dripping rain once more. Morning's chill, compounded by the wind still whipping down off the mountains, sliced into him. He was shivering again in moments. The street was as deserted as the inn, even the early risers electing to stay in bed at a glace out their windows.

As luck would have it, the girl had not gone far. She was perched on a crate, just barely out from under the slight overhang of the doorway, face buried in her drawn-up legs. The drizzle had begun plastering her short, dark hair to her head, leaving a dusting of moisture across her skin. He leaned awkwardly against the wall, waiting for her to notice him. When she failed to do so, Vincent, hesitating a beat, tossed the cloak over her, not wanting to leave what shelter he had.

She jumped a little, obviously not expecting the gesture. As she calmed, she pulled it around her, peering out at him from behind the frayed edges. "So," she said, slowly. "I guess you're staying?"

He nodded.

They were silent for a time.

"Hey, Vinnie?"

She wouldn't continue until he looked down at her again. "I… About all that stuff earlier…" Her cheeks flushed. "I'm sorry. Just tired, I guess. People do stupid things like that when they're cranky. I just wish…" she trailed off.

"Yuffie."

The sound of her name caused her to jump nearly as much as the cloak had. She saw his jaw working, as if the words were stuck somewhere in his throat. "Yeah?" she ventured. Wouldn't hurt to prompt him along. Maybe he was about to apologize…

"Come back upstairs," said Vincent simply.

She almost threw his cloak back at him. Something stopped her, and it took her some time to figure out what exactly it was. Behind that phrase, he spoke an entirely different one—the proof was in his posture, sagging against the wall, and in his red eyes, glazing and exhausted.

I need your help… he was saying. It was enough.

A nearly triumphant grin cracked across her face. She scrambled down off the crate, not bothering to return the cloak, and gripped his arm. He did not resist, in fact, he leaned on her as if she were nothing more than a convenient, moving, wall. They headed back inside, taking the stairs slowly, cautiously, with Vincent growing clumsier in his step as they moved.

"You really shouldn't have been up for so long," she grumbled. "Serves you right."

Naturally, he was silent. Yuffie bit her lip and hauled.

They made it, barely. She hardly had time to dump him back in bed before he drifted away again, muscles shivering violently, breath coming in ragged gasps. Frowning heavily, she began the hurried work with water and cloth, trying to undo the damage of too much motion too soon.

"You are so lucky I like you," she told him. "Or you'd be in trouble." She replaced the cloth on his face with a fresh, cool one, rolling her eyes. "Or at least… more trouble."

The morning fled, and he did not wake.

(Note: See what I mean?)