A/N: First, let me apologize for the unannounced hiatus. RL has been crazy, and my computer's been hit with virus after virus. It's been ridiculous. So here's the new chapter, months later than it should have been posted, for any of you who are still reading. Sorry again!

A Part of That (Yuffie)

And it's true;
I tend to follow in his stride.
Instead of side by side, I take his cue.
True, but there's no question, there's no doubt,
I said I'd stick it out and follow through

"Vince? Vincent?" I called softly, trying to pick my way through the mess in the dark. I tripped over what looked like a pair of tennis shoes, and then threw my purse in the general direction of the armchair.

"Vincent!" I hissed, tripping again and again as I made my way to the bedroom.

I expected him to be dead asleep in bed, wrapped up in the blanket and somehow managing to take up the whole bed. But when I got to the bedroom, he was nowhere to be found. Sighing, I changed out of my work uniform and pulled on one of my husband's old tee-shirts, then stepped into my favorite pair of cheer shorts.

Once I was in my pajamas, I headed out in search of Vincent. The apartment wasn't that big. I'd find him quickly, unless he'd gone out, which was unlikely, seeing as it was 3 in the morning. Knowing him, he'd fallen asleep in the office. I smiled to myself, imaging him sitting on the couch thinking about his book, then nodding off. It happened more often than he'd like to admit, but I was glad it did. It proved he was still human. Sometimes, I wondered about that. He survived on very little sleep, and at 27, he had already revolutionized his chosen field of work: writing.

Meanwhile, I was a young 26 year old who had yet to make her stamp on the world. I was still getting little to no callbacks, and lately the only form of work I seemed to have – other than my night job as a waitress at Seventh Heaven – was with a summer theatre crew. There were only 5 of us, including me. We were a ragtag crew, working for three months at a theatre in Healin. No one ever seemed to come to our shows, and I didn't make much money off of it. But it was work I loved to do, so I was grateful for it. Vincent didn't seem to understand how jealous I was that he not only got to do what he loved to do, he did it well. He was recognized, he was loved, he was getting famous, and all for something he loved to do.

I was happy for him, of course I was. But in the back of my mind, I couldn't help but think: That was supposed to be my life.

I shook off the envy that threatened to overtake me, taking comfort in the fact that even if I couldn't be successful right now, Vincent seemed to need me.

Then I reached the office, and saw a faint light on under the door. Thinking he must have fallen asleep with the desk lamp on, and smiling to myself, I gently pushed the door open. When I looked inside, though, I realized how wrong I had been. The light was coming from the computer, and Vincent was sitting in front of it, typing like a man possessed. He was still wearing the clothes he'd had on all day, which were now creased and rumpled. His hair was falling in his eyes, and he kept pushing the inky strands back with his hand, muttering angrily. I honestly half expected him to just cut them; he looked that desperate to get the words out. I knew that when Vincent needed to write, nothing could stand in the way of him and his story, but I had never seen him this frantic and crazed.

"Vincent? Vince, honey, come to bed. It's almost 3:30." I murmured, still standing just inside the door.

He didn't answer, and I knew better than to say it again. When he was up this late working, the office was his kingdom and I was the foreigner. All I could do was wait it out.

I didn't have long to wait. Though I'm not sure how much time passed, my eyes had barely started to wander before he leaned away from the computer, heaved a sigh, and then shoved his hair back. After grinning at the word-filled screen, obviously pleased with his work, he turned to look at me, the smile never wavering.

"Hey, it's my muse!" He said, his tone light and joking.

It was our running joke. When we had first started dating, his career took off. He had said it was because I had inspired him, and that I was what helped make his writing so realistic. It really hit home for me when his first book was published. The dedication read: To my muse, the only woman who's ever understood me well enough to know that when I start pacing, it's usually time to move the rug before I trip. Thank you for being there for me every step of this crazy harebrained journey. I couldn't have asked for a better person to love. Yuffie, this one's for you.

I smiled to myself, remembering. It was nice to feel loved, to feel included. When Vincent talked about his writing, it always seemed like anything I said was taken incredibly seriously. His male characters had personality quirks that I suggested, and his female ones possessed some of my own. In a way, I was almost like a co-author. We were a team, and being a part of something Vincent loved so much was always rewarding.

Was I jealous of his success? No. I was absolutely green with envy. It wasn't fair, in my mind, at least, that he could thrive so quickly and absolutely, while I was stuck at the bottom of the food chain. I had always sworn I would never become the girl who required a man to get by. I had promised myself that I would not be the girl who was trotting along at the genius' heels, but somewhere in the last 3 years, I had become my worst nightmare.

For his part, Vincent had done his best to get me more involved in my own dream, being a renowned actress. He'd hand me new copies of Back Stage, which held lists of auditions, and tell me that he thought I'd be good for this role, or that part. For the first few times, it was sweet and made me smile. Now it just seemed like he was mocking my failure.

Now, as I stared at his smile, I shook off those thoughts. Vincent would never be that cruel.

"Come to bed, love." I murmured, and he nodded once, standing up and leading me through the dark apartment.

OoOoOoO

The next few days made it easy to forget my jealousy, my failure, and Vincent's success. He was taking a week long break from his book to "clear his head". This provided us with ample time to spend with one another, and I reveled in the time we shared.

The first day, he helped me cook dinner, turning on a song I wasn't familiar with and then proceeding to dance around the kitchen. I laughed at his uncoordinated moves and whirled into his arms, joining him in the odd combination of a waltz and a tango he was producing.

I'd forgotten how much fun it was to be married to him. It was nice to have a reminder every now and again.

"Yuffie?" He said questioningly.

"Hmm?" I responded, looking up into his eyes before twirling around.

He effortlessly spun me back into his arms. "I'm almost done with this next draft. Once I get back to it, it should only take me a couple days to tie it all up. It'll go to the editors the week after next at the latest. Then I'll have at least two weeks to do nothing."

I nodded happily, knowing what he meant. Two weeks to ourselves; two weeks without that damned book coming between us.

We continued to dance, but three songs later, Vincent's head whipped towards the oven.

"The chicken!" He shouted, starting to move towards the oven.

I knew the chicken was already ruined. It'd been in the oven much too long; it would taste dry and nasty if we ate it. Smiling slightly, I tightened my grip on my husband.

"Let it burn." I said softly, kissing his lips gently.

He smiled back at me before turning me in a quick twirl and dipping me low at the end of it.

"As you wish," he said, kissing me.

OoOoOoO

A week and a half later, Vincent was almost done with the draft. I stood in the entryway to his office, watching him as he typed a long paragraph, then shook his head and erased it. I crossed my arms and tilted my head slightly to the side, feeling my hair barely brush my shoulder as I tried to get a better look at the computer screen.

He started muttering to himself and pushing his hair back, running his fingers almost violently through it. I knew then and there that I needed to intervene before he tore his hair out from frustration. Soundlessly, I crept up behind him and read what he had on the screen, my mouth tracing the words without a sound.

"Marry me," I said calmly.

"I beg your pardon?" Vincent asked, coming out of his reverie.

"Marry me. Please say you will," I told him with a hint of a smile. "That's what he needs to say here. There's no other way he can put it."

Vincent just stared at me, his eyes asking me to go on.

"Nothing flowery or descriptive will sound real. Jason's not a poet or anything close. He's just a guy, and like you, he's good with words, but bound to trip over them in important matters. He'll blurt it out, then immediately regret it. But Daisy won't care, she'll be too happy to be bothered with his bluntness. Besides, she's used to it. It's part of his charm by now."

Vincent stared at his computer monitor for a minute before looking back at me.

"You got all of that out of half a page of my writing?" He asked incredulously.

"I know you too well, Vinny." I said with a mischievous grin. "It'll work. Just write it."

Then I skipped out quickly, before he could realize I called him Vinny.

OoOoOoO

A few days later we were headed out to visit his editor. I was already in a bad mood because I had received a phone call that morning from the director of the latest play I had tried out for.

"You're a wonderful actress, Mrs. Valentine, but we're looking for someone a little more…" His voice trailed off, but he didn't need to finish.

Feminine, professional, calm, or – heaven forbid – younger. The words blended together in my mind as I calmly thanked the man and hung up. The answer was always the same. It was sugar-coated and phrased delicately, but it was always the same. No.

Once I had hung up the phone, I sighed and sat down on the kitchen counter, grabbing an apple and munching on it crossly.

"Yuffie, come on, let's go," Vincent said, breezing past me as he grabbed his coat and keys from the kitchen table.

"Oh Vincent, I don't know if I should." I said, still biting viciously into my apple.

My husband stopped and turned back to me, a quizzical look on his face. Then he saw the apple and the nearby phone that was sitting on top of the newest copy of Back Stage. I saw the realization dawn in his eyes, and expected him to kiss my cheek and tell me it'd be okay before leaving on his own.

Instead, he did something he hadn't done for almost 3 years. He grabbed the apple and tossed it into the trash while simultaneously pulling me off the counter. Then he proceeded to grab my coat for me, help me into it while ignoring my protests, and tell me that we were going out for ice cream.

"But you have to be at that meeting with your editor!" I insisted.

Vincent ignored my words and simply guided me out of the apartment and to our car. "You need ice cream more than I need to be at Tseng's office." He finally told me as we reached the car.

I stared at him as he opened the passenger door of our little car for me. He looked right back at me, a smile tugging at his lips.

"Yuffie, get in the car," he said gently, still fighting a smile. "Tseng can wait."

I grinned and threw myself at him, hugging him hard and kissing him full on the mouth.

"Who are you and what have you done with my husband?" I asked impishly.

"He's in his office, still working on an unnecessary part of his book. So hurry up and get in the car before he notices we're gone." Vincent responded, winking at me and helping me into the car.

"We better go, then!" I said, glad that for once, we were laughing and smiling with each other instead of fighting. The grins and cheeky remarks made a nice change, compared to our usual door slams and subtly cruel digs at one another.

OoOoOoO

After a half hour spent at an ice cream parlor we spent a lot of time in when we were first dating, Vincent and I left to go to his editor's office. The whole time we ate ice cream and the whole way to the office, Vincent kept assuring me that I'd get a job eventually, that soon someone would see my potential and give me the part I was so longing for. He tried to tell me that even if I didn't get a job here, I always had the summer job in Healin. I glared at him and he chuckled. He knew how much I hated Healin. After apologizing, he picked up right where he left off.

I really didn't want to dwell on my latest rejection, but I had to admit that talking to him about it made me feel a hell of a lot better.

We got to the editing agency and both of us walked inside and headed quickly for his office. We were both very familiar with the location, and Tseng was expecting us.

We got there quickly, and Tseng greeted us warmly, shaking Vincent's hand and kissing my cheek. He remarked on how short my hair was getting in comparison to Vincent's, who told Tseng that he didn't have time to worry about trivial things like hair. I laughed and explained that long hair got in my way and that I was forever trying to chop off Vincent's black mane of hair, but he wouldn't let me.

Once pleasantries were done with, Tseng and Vincent got down to business and I sat next to my husband, feeling a bit like an outsider as they spoke rapidly with one another. I knew this story inside and out, as Vincent often bounced ideas off me at home, but something about the way they worked and argued and laughed with one another made me feel very left out. My suspicions were confirmed when I tried to make a suggestion and Tseng kept talking, mowing over me like I hadn't said a word. When Vincent just kept nodding and making pleased faces, I quickly excused myself, claiming that I needed to use the restroom. Neither one of them noticed me leaving.

Instead of going to the bathroom and having a good cry, I forced myself to sit outside the office and pull the book I was reading out of my purse. But before I could open it, the secretary, a woman a few years older than me with pretty light blonde hair and a pleasant smile stopped me.

"Mrs. Valentine?" She asked.

"Yes?"

"I thought so!" The woman said happily. "I'm Elena. It's nice to meet you."

"Yuffie," I said with a small smile. "But you knew that already. How long have you been working here? I don't remember seeing you here before…"

"Only a few months. I've met your husband, but never you. He's a very nice man."

I smiled politely. "He has his good points."

"What's it like," she asked, her eyes lighting up as she leaning slightly over her desk towards me, "being married to such a brilliant writer?"

I opened my mouth, but then shut it quickly. To be honest, I wasn't entirely sure what to tell her. There were so many intricacies of our relationship, so many ups and downs and turns…it was confusing to even me, and I lived it.

"It's…exhilarating." I said finally. "I swear our marriage is bipolar, or at least, he is. One minute we'll be laughing and having fun. The next minute he'll take off running for his office and start typing like a madman and I won't see him for four hours."

Elena looked a little shocked, and a bit unsure, like she thought I might be joking.

I smiled at her. "It's a real roller coaster ride, Elena. But I wouldn't change it for the world. Being a part of his life is amazing, even with all the stress these novels cause."

"Which I'm sure you're also a part of," she responded. I looked at her, confused. "The novels, I mean. He calls you his muse, after all."

"I suppose I am a part of them." I said thoughtfully, and Elena soon went back to her work.

I opened my book and tried to read, but Elena's remark about me being a part of Vincent's novels was bothering me for some reason. I stared at the pages in front of me but didn't see anything and I thought so hard I'm sure I went cross-eyed. Then I glanced back up at Tseng's office, where I could clearly see Vincent standing and nodding at Tseng. I heard him laugh and hand the editor his manuscript, and Tseng took it with a grin. I couldn't hear what they said over the sound of my own thoughts rushing through my head.

I'm a part of that…aren't I?

Please R&R! New chapter should be up before Christmas, SHOULD being the operative word here. Happy Holidays!

xoxo,

Meyx