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Chapter XXXIII – Diva.I.Y.

One irrefutable truth to life was that, like the sands that swept across the dunes of the Gold Saucer desert, time trickled onwards. The sun rose as did the miners of Corel, the heart of the mountain town – the quiet bustle of commute – that beat itself awake.

While Tifa's voice followed the sun arisen, Vincent's tongue slept with the moon.

On returning indoors, Tifa informed a stunned Barret (who had just tucked in a tired Marlene) of Denzel's return, along with Vincent's own reappearance, before dodging his third-degree questioning and retiring herself. Vincent remained as stabile as when she first found him, the gunslinger as stubborn and silent as her own lethargy, and little more was discussed despite Tifa's best efforts to the contrary. Like a gargoyle on a lofty parapet, the man had effectively turned to stone.

Nursing a maelstrom of ice in her nose, throat, and heart to rival Shiva's own, Tifa carried her wounds, both physical and metaphysical alike, to bed. Her feet followed the gentle snores of Denzel and Yuffie, and she all but collapsed into the orphan's comforter. Settling in behind the boy with frozen fingers, she pulled her adopted charge closer before succumbing to slumber.

It was there the fighter stayed for the better part of two days.

At first she'd awoken to the bold colours of early evening. A soft orange spilled through the only glass window in Barret's home and over Yuffie's empty futon. On finding her arms equally empty, she'd stumbled into the rundown living room almost drunk with panic. Her fatigued brain barely had time to catch up to her feet, but thankfully it didn't have to. Red XIII's paws were much quicker. The lion-like dog was quick to reassure her that Denzel and Marlene had been taken under Barret's wing earlier that afternoon, the man now soon due to return home, and, with one glance of his lone ochre-coloured eye, ushered her straight back to bed.

She had little energy to protest let alone ask after the whereabouts of Nanaki's usual feline companion and, as her head sunk back into the pillows, a name slurred past her lips in question. Red's furred brow quirked as a mixed expression crossed over his muzzle, and the fighter couldn't recall whose name she'd spoken before sleep seduced her.

The second time she awoke was to Barret's gentle encouragement which matched the early morning sun. She struggled to leave the warm cocoon that was her comforter even with the gun-armed man's insistence. She was courted into a solemn breakfast in Barret's kitchen. Bowls of hot, creamy porridge and glistening globs of honey were passed around, but no amount of sweetness could alleviate the sour mantle of brooding disquietude that had settled over the party.

Conversation was clipped and on a need to know basis. Tifa caught snippets here and there as she prodded at the oats of her porridge: Esther had paid a visit at some point and suggested taking the children to school. Nanaki self-appointed himself tour guide and made rounds visiting Corel's localities. Cait Sith had joined Barret in helping the miners dismantle the debris circling the covertly active Mako Reactor. Yuffie had been abnormally absent and had taken to drifting about town.

And as for Vincent?

Vincent had mysteriously disappeared, not to be seen since Tifa left him that dour morning.

Denzel, she was informed, had been spending more time outside. He had taken to leaving chocolate bars and small plates of food dotted about Barret's doorstep, much to the man's vocal confusion. Barret apparently mistook the boy's offerings for poor memory and absent-mindfulness.

But Tifa knew better.

When she suggested her old friend make strawberry jam sandwiches for 'Denzel', all Barret could do was arch a colossal eyebrow at her back as she returned to bed.

Even through the fighter's haze of weary melancholia, rumours had begun to swirl and circulate like a beast stalking its prey. Miners that knocked on Barret's front door to deliver progress updates would whisper amongst themselves in a susurration of speculation. 'Fires from a fierce lightning storm', a 'failed military drill', or 'run-ins with some kind of monster'; the town was abuzz with rumours and gossip and all of it made its way to Tifa's ears.

Only their party knew the truth, and it was a truth too hard to take for Tifa.

In bed is where she went, in bed was where she stayed, and in bed was where exhaustion held her hostage. Any commotion or shuffling was simply a muffled backdrop that weaved between her troubled dreams: the frightful condition of being chased, the distress of losing something precious, the dismay of fighting off a combatant with profound weakness... She suffered through each on the tapestry of her dreams; her guilt fantasia impromptu.

It was only on the third day that Yuffie shattered the atmosphere.

"I CAN'T TAKE THIS ANYMORE!"

Rubbing sleep from bleary eyes, Tifa turned confused russets to the young teen that had stormed into Marlene's bedroom. She barely had time to lift her heavy head from the pillow before the ninja was tugging at her arm and pulling her up and towards the door. Whatever protests the fighter could give were lost in the crumple of blankets cast to the floor.

"That's IT! No more sleeping and wallowing and all of that crap! You're coming with me to sort this out. RIGHT. NOW!"

Tifa scrabbled at Yuffie's black arm warmer as she was unceremoniously hauled through Barret's house by the young teen. She vaguely noted the healing electrical burns on the ninja's arms in the back of her mind, when the rising sun blinded her as effectively as the status affliction Darkness. It took some painful scrubbing at her lashes before her constricted retinas eased. The bright orange circle faded from her vision and gave way to a flushed coral pink sky to match the town's namesake.

What met her sight slackened her jaw.

Yuffie was pulling on cream overalls and tugging tarp across the floor outside Barret's home. Cans of paint dotted the rocky outcrop along with planks of plywood and poles of rigging Tifa recognised to once have been resting on the roof of her old friend's residence. She opened her mouth to comment when her own denim smock smacked her in the face.

Yuffie was practically unapologetic. "Come on, Boobs! You better get a move on before everyone gets back!"

Tifa rubbed her nose where one of the buckle loops had pecked it on impact and stepped over a plate of sandwiches (jam, she noted, judging by the suspiciously red filling) towards Yuffie's side.

"Where... did everyone go?"

Yuffie stopped comparing the two brushes in either hand to openly gawk at her. "GAWD! Get with the programme!" Despite her words and the dismissive flip of tails trailing from her black headband, the teen's chestnut eyes were anything but derisive. She trot on over to Tifa's side as if the fighter was bound to leave it at any moment.

"Red and Cait Sith are taking a booooring history tour of some mines while Barret dropped off Denzel and Marlene with that Esther chick at school." Yuffie shirked off her sleeveless dark-grey hoodie under her overalls, feeding the garment under one of the suspender straps to toss it in one of the tarp's corners. "The big lug isn't coming back until about nightfall, so we gotta move! Come on, COME ON!"

The ninja tugged at Tifa's arms once again where this time the fighter didn't put up any resistance. Yuffie fell to a crouch and began prying off one of the paint can tops. When Tifa just continued to stand unmoving, Yuffie stopped trying to curl her fingers under the offending disc top lid and peered up at the older woman.

Tifa's russets were like glacé cherries as they beheld some kind of unknown panorama concealed to all but her. Her glazed eyes went far beyond the plate of sandwiches they currently entertained.

Yuffie's expression flickered into one of delicate concern. Just as quickly however, it was masked with a white-toothed grin. She picked up a triangular slice and held it up under Tifa's nose. The fighter came to with a blink, and batted lashes again at the cheeky smile aimed her way.

Tifa noticed it was a little too forced, however, even by Yuffie's standards.

The ninja grinned as she waved the sandwich through the air. "Barret made these this morning and told Denzel to pack 'em for lunch, but the kid somehow clean forgot! He left them out here, just as he was packing his backpack too, so now I've claimed them in the name of Wutai!" Yuffie thrust the quartered sandwich in the air as if she were thrusting one of Cid's spears towards the heavens.

Tifa crossed her arms under her considerable chest, her head drawn to the left from her position and towards the grasslands the rocky mesa afforded. When it became obvious Tifa had no interest in eating, Yuffie persevered with a moody huff to mask her unease and brought the food to her own lips.

"Oooh, stop worrying, would ya? I shoved some grub into Denzel's pack before he left." The ninja stuffed the brown-breaded shape into her mouth and spoke around the crumbs, "Morff forr us!"

Despite her words, she knew it wasn't Denzel that Tifa was mainly occupied with. That much was clear. Yet the taboo subject of their most laconic comrade wasn't one Yuffie was willing to breach just yet, and she only hoped Tifa felt the same. Days spent tending to the swollen thunderbolt scars cleft onto her arms in jagged anger paled in comparison to the quiet rage that lay behind that... thing's eyes.

She'd never seen Vincent take on such a ghastly visage. While somewhat accustomed to his various demons and forms, even if her last familiarity lived three years ago in her memories, what Yuffie wasn't accustomed to was the sheer magnitude of the horror that now, apparently, mimicked the man's form at easily twice the size.

The proportions of decay that bulged out from a golden gauntlet and rotted around silver buckles and crimson folds was a memory she wasn't likely to forget.

An unforgettable recollection. Just like the first time Vincent transformed...

Yuffie gulped down the now near stale-tasting bread and masked her shiver for excitement as she picked up another slice, continuing on in the hopes of losing the memory, "At least we have a worker's brunch for two FAB-ulous D.I.Y. Divas! Let's call it, 'Div.I.Y'!"

"Huh? D.I.Y.?"

That finally pulled Tifa from whatever trance she'd fallen privy to. The fighter turned from their lofty vantage point to shoot the teen a befuddled look. Yuffie's chestnut eyes regained some of their familiar, mischievous gleam.

"You betcha! So come on, put on your gear and EAT SOMETHING. Then we can get on with it before Barret comes back and makes me taste his cooking again!" Yuffie pulled a face and threw a sandwich over her shoulder, barely giving Tifa time to duck under the offending piece of bread. The fistfighter watched it careen over the edge of the mesa for some poor miner below to have it land jam-side down on his head, if the colourful rising use of language was anything to go by.

"Did anyone ever tell you not to waste food?" Tifa tutted. She carefully plucked one of the offerings from the plate and stepping further onto the tarp and to Yuffie's side. She unclasped her leather duster and allowed it to drape from her hips, the garment falling to join Yuffie's previously discarded hoodie.

"You call that food? It's barely passable! Besides, I don't know how Marlene has any taste-buds left!"

"Barret isn't that bad at cooking. It's very..." Tifa fished for the word as if she were playing the Wonder Catcher game in the Gold Saucer, her hand hovering in the air as if it were the crane's claw, "... homely."

"Okay, okay, I guess he's alright with making basic stuff like sandwiches and porridge and crap, but his fish pie? More like I'LL DIE."

Tifa paused in tugging an overall strap over her shoulder. "Wait, since when did he make fish pie?"

"Well, let me put it to ya this way," Yuffie shot her an indignant glance. "There's a reason why we never woke you up for dinner."

Yuffie's sombre expression mixed with her wrinkled nose was all Tifa needed. There was nothing she could do to stop the bubble of laughter that sprung up from the well of her sore throat. Encouraged by the dulcet ripple, Yuffie's grin resurfaced and cranked up to full beam. She launched herself up from her huddled position and pounced on the poles of rigging rowed up like soldiers that had fallen in line. Tifa took a moment to let her teeth sink into the soft brown bread in her hand, relishing in the sweetness of the red jelly.

A sudden memory, a certain gunslinger turning over a strawberry jam slice in his hand at Fort Condor as if it were a puzzle piece to be solved, made the food weigh as heavy in her stomach as her heart.

As if sensing this, Yuffie's voice cut through her self-induced dejection.

"Gimme a hand, would ya?" she strained, pulling the metal rods closer to the walls of Barret's home before wrestling them upright. "We gotta get this scaffolding up, quick! Then we can start from the top and work our way down, cause this is gonna drip more than Red licking the cream out of one of Barret's coffee pans." Yuffie paused in screwing one of the poles into the ground. "I think I just grossed myself out. Eww."

"What's the rush? What are we doing, exactly?" Tifa hauled a bundle of poles from the floor with ease (much to Yuffie's open gawking) and propped them over her right bicep and shoulder. Yuffie discreetly flexed and poked at her own arm muscle while Tifa casually situated each rod so many feet apart from each other. "And just where did you get all of this paint?" she asked, gesturing to the audience of quart metal cans.

"Did anyone tell you you'd make a great detective?" Tifa could practically hear Yuffie's eye roll and caught the young teen tugging her hibiscus flower-print shirt straight under her overalls. "Look, it's like this," the teen announced, waving an index finger through the air. "I'm sick and tired of living in DRABSVILLE – even if I don't actually live we're gonna give this place a make-over. Think of it like one of those reality TV shows Shinra used to air: except with more taste and less crying!" The young ninja tapped her chin. "What was it called? Pimp my roof?"

Tifa felt her mind go to infomercial as she stared up at Barret's poor abode and imagined a tacky TV crew tackling the inner décor. That and, from what little she'd caught of the show in the past, to also destroy the inhabitants' hopes and dreams.

"But... where did you get the Gil?" she managed once the static cleared.

"I cashed in on those Phoenix Downs I stol– I mean, borrowed, on the way to Corel. You know, past the 'Mako Reactor of DOOM?" Yuffie gestured in the direction of the towering metal construction she referred, the dilapidated catwalk that surrounded it almost bringing their journey to a swift and abrupt end when it crumbled beneath their feet four days ago. It was only thanks to Barret's quick-thinking, Yuffie's reaction time, and Vincent's role as decoy that the party were able to make it across in one piece.

'Vincent...'

And there he was again, flitting through Tifa's mind as easily as his signature crimson cape did in the wind. It took the fighter more than a few moments to snap to the present and realise her young ninja compatriot was still talking to her.

"... Sold 'em at five hundred Gil a pop, so I got three thousand five hundred smackeroos to do with as I please!" Yuffie flipped her headband ribbons with a self-gratified smirk. "You can thank my ingenious haggling techniques later, right after we move in the new sofa and carpet."

Tifa hummed her affirmative, her mind still preoccupied with a certain gunslinger and his condition, when Yuffie's words struck her. She opened and closed her mouth like the koi fish native to Wutai's rivers and streams. The young teen noticed her apparent distress and stomped a beige boot into the dirt, the neat knot of her zigzagging laces bouncing in aggravation.

"Oh puh-leeease, you really think I'm gonna let us haul furniture in there all on our lonesome?" Yuffie slinked and sidled her way over to Tifa's side before talking in a conspiratorial tone, "Look, I ended up telling Esther about my plan on the sly, but only 'cause she caught me snoopin' around the market. She's way too smart for her own good! Anyway, she said she was gonna spread the word to get some of the stall owners to help with all the heavy lifting since they apparently 'owe Barret one'."

"While they're doing that," Yuffie grinned here, a white, cat-like grin which almost matched Cait Sith's whiskers and wiles, "Esther's gonna rustle up some grub at her place for him and the kids after school – apparently Barret never passes up on her pumpkin pie – but if ya ask me, it's something else he won't pass up on..." the teen made an exaggerated kissy face before she grabbed Tifa's arms and began piling planks of plywood into them. "So we gotta get a move on and get this baby painted before he scarfs up all the grub and sees past my stalling ninja bushido tactics!"

While the boards used to build the scaffolding stacked up in her arms, all Tifa could do was bear the weight with little complaint.

Yuffie's unusually altruistic nature – one outright unheard of for the devious Materia thief – held her in stunned pleasantry.

For the ninja to sell her own ill-gotten gains (recalling the Phoenix Downs plundered from an earlier encounter with a Cokatolis mother) in order to fund her endeavour was one thing, but for that venture to be for someone else's gain rather than her own? It drove a warmth in Tifa that thawed out the stalwart ache in her nose and throat. She heaved her load higher and, for the first time since she joined Yuffie outside, moved with speed and purpose.

"Why didn't you say so to begin with?" she remarked, tone as light as the passing clouds overhead.

"I-I tried!" Yuffie sputtered, vaulting over the mountainous plate of jam sandwiches and taking after her with indignant bounds.

The shy blush of Chilean pink sky faded in time as the sun revealed more of its face from between flaxen fingers. Notes of champagne flowed through the clouds in golden rivulets to break through the gaps of airy canopy in radiant beams. These passed over the far prairie and mountain town of Corel like spotlights on a stage, illuminating various patches of activity and landscape with glowing aplomb. A crisp, clear blue day followed by way of applause.

It was during these series of atmospheric encores and cloudy curtain calls that merchants and miners alike slipped in and out of Barret's home like the renowned slumdogs of Midgar past. Various articles of furniture were carefully ferried down the rust-bitten ramps that provided access to the gun-armed man's hovel, the repurposed highway signs groaning under the strain. First went the old mottled sofa, then the weathered crate that usually housed Barret's television set, then the poor substitutes for windows that were hole-riddled curtains, and then, much to Tifa's unconcealed horror, the front door.

'Oh no... Barret's going to have a conniption fit...'

Tifa paused on second thought.

'Or, as he would like to call it, a 'shit fit'.'

After being thoroughly reassured by her young compatriot and the various men and women of Corel that the items would be replaced with better counterparts, herself and Yuffie went about setting up the various poles and boards that made up the scaffolding. Cans of paint were quickly pried open and their contents assessed, though time was lost to the pair bickering over which shade to use. (Tifa mainly did it out of distraction over any real disagreement of colour, and she couldn't help but twist her irascible young female cohort's arm.) Finally settling on baked terracotta as opposed to a deep maroon, the two set to work with grand strokes from their respective paintbrushes. Time trickled by in easy companionship, risqué banter, and the occasional well-aimed paint glob towards each other's overalls.

It was only when her cheeks began to ache from smiling that Tifa realised it was the lightest she'd felt in a long time.

That light feeling turned to concrete, however, when halfway through their terracotta assault on Barret's walls did boards of plywood groan and shift underfoot. It was only when Tifa was resituating her monochrome shoes did she notice the absence of silver bolts beneath her soles.

"Err, Yuffie..." she tucked a chocolate tress behind a teardrop earring with nervous fingers, "you did put the scaffolding anchors in, didn't you?"

Yuffie paused mid-stroke. "Oh... was that what those bolts were for? Huh. Go figure."

Tifa's tongue barely touched the roof of her mouth to form a retort when the structure wobbled under its own weight. Yuffie's brush bristles were sent careening down the wall with the teen in a crooked lick of paint. Tifa jerked out on nothing but reactionary adrenaline, leather-clad knuckles grasping a fistful of loose overall fabric at the ninja's hip while the other hand wrapped around one of the quaking corner poles. The fighter did everything she could not only to right herself and the teen in her iron grasp, but also stretched out her calves to hold the tips of her toes over the jostling herd of paint cans.

What resulted was an impressive balancing act from Tifa not at all dissimilar to the appearance of a Cactuar.

Somewhere through the babbling stream of cusses from Yuffie's mouthy brook, the quaking ceased.

Tifa's taut muscles slowly eased, the tension melting away as she tentatively disengaged from her position. Her skin prickled with 1000 Needles the cactus-like creature she mimicked beforehand was prone to using. Puzzled, she noted the sudden security of the only moments ago shuddering support pole. While the young teen desperately tried to shake dripping pigment from her hands, Tifa gently test her strength against the rod. It no longer budged.

Yuffie round on her, eyes sharp with tongue sure to match, when her paint-streaked face was stricken with stark disbelief. Something lurked behind eyes veiled by terracotta-soaked bangs, but Tifa didn't have time to ponder on it. She tucked her chin over her shoulder to follow Yuffie's line of sight. The act was the only reason her jaw didn't drop.

Vincent pressed his broad shoulder further into the quivering scaffold, the man using his very body as a support beam. He avoided all eye contact in favour of securing the rickety rigging. Even though his didn't meet their eyes, the focus over his cowl was cutting. The golden flecks in his eyes were a cage to ensnare passing sunbeams hostage, his irises set alight to glitter like a Chocobo's plumage.

Despite their considerable height advantage standing on the cobbled together support structure, neither of the party's two females could see the man's face over the material castle that was his cowl. Ebony locks flanked his visage like turrets, his bandanna a stalwart parapet of crimson.

It was only when Yuffie swiped paint-slicked hands to clear her face, and a big glob of terracotta fell from her charcoal bangs to narrowly miss Vincent's strong nose, did the gunslinger look up.

"... I thought you were too old for finger-painting," he rumbled.

That was it.

Yuffie gawked. Then her mouth remembered to move.

"Is that all you've got to say?!" she shrieked, before flicking paint from her fingers towards the crimson-caped man. Vincent swiftly sidestepped the attack which in turn puffed out the ninja's cheeks. Yuffie leapt from the scaffolding with deft prowess, her heels reaching the very back of her tailbone at the height of her jump, and gave chase to the reticent man with hands outstretched. A vocabulary as colourful as one of Marlene's brightest crayon masterpieces followed.

Tifa would have laughed if she wasn't at risk of crumbling with the once again unstable scaffolding.

Sensing the fighter's distress, both Vincent and Yuffie quickly parlayed a truce to rush to her aid. The teen smeared her hands down her overalls before gripping one of the corner rods and attempting to screw the pole more deeply into the ground to root its support. Tifa wobbled across the quaking boards of plywood – desperately trying to cast the imagery of a similar, more harrowing experience of crossing a certain Mako Reactor's catwalk to the back of her mind – when Vincent appeared halfway up the support boards.

Their eyes met. Seconds trickled by with complicated liberty. Then, Vincent gently crooked out his right elbow and effectively offered Tifa his leather-clad arm.

A different kind of scene surfaced in Tifa's mind. A recollection on the rooftop of her bar, Seventh Heaven. The agony of a broken shoulder. Of Vincent holding out his hand for her own to take. Before, she had enjoyed the sight. The memory. Now, something black and dense coiled in her stomach and depressed her innards like the gravity-based magic spell Demi.

Not wanting to decline the aid out of misplaced anxiety, but having little heart to readily accept it either, Tifa found herself with no other choice. She carefully curled her fingers around the gunslinger's forearm and tried her best not to fear nor enjoy it.

She didn't deserve it.

The buckles of Vincent's leather straps were frigid under her touch, and the fighter could relate with the feeling; the ice housed in her throat fractured like a slab of glacier and slid down into her chest to lodge there, ponderous and immovable. Her heart was encased within.

The duo made their descent down ramps of plywood, ushered on by way of Vincent's crimson mantle fluttering into their backs, until both were delivered safely back on solid ground. The two stood for a moment or so, Tifa wanting permission and Vincent awaiting release, and it was a moment more before the fighter gradually slipped her fingers from his forearm. She turned away from blood-red eyes and towards the mesa's pleasant panorama of rolling grassland, ignoring the stupefied gawking that was Yuffie's face.

Vincent discreetly tilt his head in an attempt to catch her eye, but Tifa sauntered further away and hugged her arms closer to her chest.

She couldn't bear to face him just yet.

'It's all my fault.'

Vincent tucked his chin deeper into his cowl and physically withdrew further into his cape.

Yuffie whipped her head between the pair, lashes fluttering as much as her headband ribbons did with the act. Her brain simply couldn't process what her eyes had just witnessed.

'Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa– hold the phone. What WAS THAT?! Did Vinnie seriously just offer Tifa his arm?! Mister Don't-Freakin'-Touch-Me?! But... he hates anyone getting close! Especially after one of his 'episodes'...'

Before Yuffie could sink deeper into her self-induced meltdown, or ponder on the new, apparent closeness of two of her more withdrawn comrades, Vincent began his approach. His slow, leisurely gait was accompanied by the clink of gold solleret and crunch of loose stone, but the sound was lost to the whirlwind of thoughts whipping around Yuffie's head. The teen did her best not to visibly tense at his advance while a myriad of horrors scratched at her mental doorway. She tried to suppress the memories.

Especially the one that took place three years ago on Mt. Nibel.

Quailing under red eyes of a six-legged mutant. No. No, no, no. Bestial horns ripping through Vincent's skull. She wouldn't think about it. Once human lips now ivory-knifed jaws of fire. The past was the past. Materia Keeper basking in hell's blaze. It did no good to dwell on it. Flames licking the monster's wounds shut. Especially when it wasn't Vincent's fault. They were left with no choice. It was all over now. Cloud moved to cut through beastly amethyst pelt. It was an accident. She joined him in putting the demon down. An accident. Whip-like tail retaliating to break ribs–

"What exactly is your intent?" Vincent voiced, his timbre whisky on rocks. His glowing eyes rove over the streaks of paint slapped across the crumbling walls that was Barret's abode.

Yuffie blew a sharp puff of air that sent her paint-slicked bangs to hover. Despite the light sheen of sweat she could feel from her recollection of horrors, the young teen let out a prolonged groan under her coating of oil-based paint.

She didn't want to explain her plan all over again.

Thankfully, she didn't have to. Tifa saved her by way of curious russet eye over slim-toned shoulder. The sun played in the glass of red wine that was her iris as she answered. "We're giving Barret's home a surprise makeover. The townsfolk are helping, too."

Vincent gave a thoughtful hum in response. "Whose idea was this?"

Tifa didn't hesitate. "Yuffie's."

The teen gawked, unsure if Tifa was trying to throw her under the Chocobo carriage. "Hey! You're in on it, too, ya know!" she retort.

Tifa gave a half shrug which sent a tick straight through Yuffie's brow. She snatched a sandwich from the nearby pile to launch at Tifa's back, who sidestepped the neatly cut bread torpedo as easily as the gunslinger did her previous paint splatter. The second volley was met with a flick of Tifa's palm, while the third was outright punched out of the air. As both fighter and ninja squared off, the former now in a fighting stance while the latter began aiming her next projectile, the soaring tension in the air was neutralised by an intervening baritone of silk.

"Your plans to redecorate Barret's home would surely invite his anger."

Both stopped dead. They looked over to the gunslinger who rove his eyes over the mottled brickwork of the tired building. Vincent then peered over his cowl at the two women.

"... It is a good plan."

Tifa's smile and Yuffie's grin came back in full force.

-ЄЭЄЭЄЭЄЭЄЭЄЭЄЭЄЭЄЭ-

~ oOo ~

-ЄЭЄЭЄЭЄЭЄЭЄЭЄЭЄЭЄЭ-

Melodious whistling entwined hands with the delicate aroma of cinnamon and nutmeg. Together they soared into the sky of deep navy and carnation rouge, the two colours blending together as seamlessly as the easy tune and heady smell that waft from the wicker basket swinging from Barret's arm.

The bouquet of spices were hard to resist if Denzel's constant peeking under the red-and-white plaid cloth was anything to go by.

"Yo, don't be tellin' me yer still hungry after all that chili con carne you wolfed down," Barret said, wetting his lips after he finished his last whistled note. The orphan withdrew and scratched the back of his hazel-mussed head. The action was so alike a certain missing spiky-haired leader that Barret almost tripped over his own feet.

"Careful, Daddy! If you drop Esther's pumpkin pie she might give us more homework to do!" Marlene quickly slid the woven handbasket over the metal joints of his prosthetic arm with puffed cheeks.

Barret guffawed and let his little girl take the food without complaint. The trio wove between the tents and scattered debris that made up Corel's community, stepping around metal pegs and hopping over crossed guy-lines like one of Barret's old AVALANCHE training courses. The memory of Wedge falling into a spare tyre and getting his ass literally 'wedged' lessened the grin on his gruff face to a smile. It was always hard recalling what he'd lost to get here, but it was a good memory all the same. Biggs and Jessie's laughter filtered through the recollection with merry abandon as if they'd come through the Lifestream itself.

Marlene's puffy cheeks brought him back to the present and he used his now free arm to place a giant hand on top her crown.

"More like Esther'll give me tha homework! She's always sayin' I got a lot ta learn, and she ain't wrong." He shot her a white-toothed grin, "So don't you go worryin' yer pretty lil' head. Esther's bin' tellin' me how proud she is with all the studies you've been doin'." The gun-armed man pointedly turned his eye to Denzel, who, sensing this, stopped trying to peek into Marlene's acquired basket and met his umber gaze. "And that goes fer both of ya. Yer making some real good progress, Denzel."

The boy stared at his shoes in turn, watching the undone lace on his right sneaker whip back and forth. Barret watched him carefully as he had done over the past three days. Denzel's behaviour had been strange since his return, in a way that was different from his usual erraticism. He was almost... calmer. Poising a quiet self-assurance that was once missing. Tifa, on the other hand, had withdrawn into herself in a manner that put the gun-armed man on edge.

It was almost as if they'd traded characteristics: Denzel inheriting Tifa's quiet well of inner confidence, while Tifa now harboured Denzel's underlying malcontent.

No, Barret didn't like it. He didn't like it one bit.

While the orphan was evidently hesitant to accept any kind of praise, Marlene on the other hand had no qualms taking compliments. "I'm so glad! I didn't do it alone, though. Denzel's been helping me with my history and geography work! He's really good at it!"

Barret quirked a gargantuan brow. "Is that so?"

"Mmm hm!" Marlene nodded, sending the gold condor feather laced between her tresses to rock with her head. Ignoring the gibber of protests spouting from Denzel in the background, she continued, "He's been looking into maps around the Gold Saucer desert while I've been showing him the fauna that's been documented to live there."

"Well now, ain't that a thang!" Barret grinned, impressed at Marlene's proper use of terminology. "I didn't pin ya fer a geography man." He pat Denzel on the back with a giant hand. Even with his conscious lack of force, the strength still made the orphan stumble forward.

Denzel avoided his eyes. "I... I thought it would stop me getting lost in the future..."

Just like that, the whites of both Barret's teeth and eyes disappeared. He eyelids fell shut as he inhaled deep through wide, cavern-like nostrils. The mixed scent of coal, lantern oil, rusted metal, and spices from various cooking throughout nearby homes danced through his nose.

'Guess Esther wasn't kiddin' 'bout 'em takin' stuff in. Jes' wish it was fer betta' reasons.'

He scratched at the trio of scars that cut an angry path through the edge of his beard. On feeling smooth metal against his cheek, he paused. Pulling back his steel prosthetic, he carefully studied each ball joint and burnished digit that now made up his right hand. His vision adjusted focus beyond his palm to find Denzel peering up at him between his metal fingers.

"Hah." He grunted, doing his best to see the adopted boy and not the memories playing behind his eyes. "Ya know what? Sum' people wish they could get lost."

He thought about his old hometown – his real hometown – seven or so years ago. The whirlwind of blame that settled squarely on his shoulders after Shinra razed the original Corel to the ground. He was almost crushed under that all-consuming guilt, but he took it and forged it into anger the same way his mangled arm was forged into a gun; his fury was the furnace in which he worked. He threw himself into his resistance work. His terrorism. His war.

But in the end, all it did was hurt people. Biggs, Wedge, Jessie, Tifa, Marlene... even himself. Good cause, bad cause... it didn't matter. There was no dodging the bullets of guilt when they were shot from within.

"Folk run an' they run, but there ain't no runnin' an' gettin' lost forever. Eventually they realise they're jes' outrunnin' themselves."

He could almost still feel the sting of the punch thrown his way when he'd finally returned home with Cloud three years ago. The hatred that burned in the townsfolk's eyes stung even more. But returning back home to Corel was one of the best things he ever did. And even though times were hard as hell, it paved way for him to meet Dyne one last time, and stop Shinra from taking the Huge Materia housed within his hometown's reactor. With help from both Cait Sith and Cid, he'd stopped the train carrying the giant crystallised magic from tearing straight through the community of Corel itself.

Suddenly, he was the town hero.

It still made him uncomfortable in ways, but if it made things right not just in the townsfolk's eyes, but his own, then it was worth everything.

He clenched his fist, the metal of his fingertips resonating as they met his palm with a clink.

"Thing is, the hard part ain't the runnin' away. It's the coming back. That's the sucka. But it's worth it if ya work at it."

He gave a gruff nod not only to Denzel, but to himself, before he realised he'd gotten a little carried away. He ran a hand over his cornrow-styled hair and fought the urge to clear his throat as the orphan simply stared up at him with wide azure eyes.

'Whoops. Mebbe I shouldn't lay it on so thick next time.'

Then, Denzel graced him with a smile he'd normally only see on Marlene's face: wide, bright, and brilliant. He felt his jaw slacken just as Denzel caught his little girl now sneaking a peek into their food basket, and he watched as a small, playful teasing match broke out.

'Hot damn. Now I know why Tif' keeps talkin' 'bout all the stuff she does to keep 'im happy. Seein' 'im light up like that? Feels pretty good.'

Barret let a grin tug at the corner of his thick lips. It'd been quite some time since he felt this at ease, though he knew Esther had a big part to play in that.

The woman's suggestion to take the children to school after a certain 'episode' had proven fruitful, though the exact nature of why his group had fallen so sullen remained a secret. The red-haired woman was no fool, however. Sensing the sombrous cloud that hung over the motley crew that made up Barret's party, she'd taken it upon herself to alleviate their burden: whether that be through acting guardian for Denzel and Marlene, bringing small, home-cooked meals to his door, or checking in with his work in dismantling the scrap surrounding their local 'deactivated' Mako Reactor, Esther had been a reliable rock for Barret over the past few days.

It wasn't until she'd invited him over for dinner, right as he arrived to pick the kids up from school, that he realised just how much the whole situation ate away at him. Denzel and Marlene had absolutely no issues on heading on to Esther's house, especially when his little girl begun to dance and twirl at the prospect of the redhead's food. This easily won Denzel over, much to the gun-armed man's surprise – the boy had proven a little hard to pry away from both Tifa and his front doorstep of late. But Marlene's excitement, it would seem, was highly contagious. There at Esther's kitchen table they were met with an impressive spread of chili con carne, accompanied with a side of seasoned sweet potato fries and home-made nachos flanked with guacamole dip.

Watching a thrilled Marlene and Denzel tuck in almost made him feel guilty he didn't extend the invitation to everyone else.

Doing his best to shake away his nagging conscious, and reminding himself of Nanaki's promise to keep an eye on things when he was away, he'd made himself busy clearing away plates while Esther began baking dessert in her charcoal oven. It was only once Denzel and Marlene had discovered Esther's Twister mat in the living room, and he'd sat back down at the table with two steaming mugs of his signature blend, did he feel able to discuss the situation at length with his hometown friend.

Omitting any information pertinent to Vincent's condition, Barret had laid it on thick. He recount Denzel's elopement, Marlene's revelation, Tifa's malaise... the redhead simply played with the multicoloured rosary beads hanging around her neck, rolling each pearl between her mocha-coloured fingertips as she listened between each sip of her coffee. Her expression changed as quickly as the colours called for the children's hands and feet. The wrinkles around her eyes stretched on hearing Marlene finally being told of her true parenthood; the faint lines across her forehead deepened when Tifa's current state of lethargy was revealed.

She was patient throughout his recounts and vexations, while his final admittance of 'feelin' like a train with no damn tracks' sunk him deeper into his chair. When he was done, the effort heaved his shoulders as he fought to breathe past the emotions swirling in his chest and gut. It was only once the mug in his artificial hand began to crack under pressure did he flinch away, coming to his senses. Before he could apologise and offer to pay for the damage, Esther held him still.

"So you don't know much in way of what to do next," she'd said, curling a warm hand over his cold prosthetic one. "And it sounds to me like you've done everything you can do. No one can fault you for that, Barret. So you've exhausted all options. But you know, there's always a third option people forget about."

On his cue of a quirked eyebrow, Esther smiled and took another sip of coffee. It was only once she'd drained her cup that she clarified, light-brown eyes shimmering.

"Do nothing."

At the time, Barret didn't quite understand what she meant. In honesty, he still didn't. It was also the time Denzel chose to sneeze and come crashing down onto the Twister mat. While a bickering match ensued (Marlene won but apparently 'cheated' when the feather laced through her hair tickled Denzel's nose), all Barret could think of was he'd always thrived on taking action – it was simply in his nature. He was the ex-leader of the terrorist organisation AVALANCHE; taking initiative was simply what he did. How could he just sit back and watch while an unspoken disquiet swallowed the party, Tifa ailed away from some unknown affliction, Marlene asked him quiet questions about Vincent's true nature, and Denzel wandered about his home like a restless ghost?

Esther was right: he didn't know much. But he sure knew the cause of all this. And one thing he knew for sure? He was gonna whoop Vincent's ass.

That was, if the man ever decided to show up again.

The memory of Esther's advice, along with her smile as he'd watched her pack leftovers into their handbasket, sailed through the waters of his mind – it was only once he tuned in to Denzel and Marlene's conversation did he realise something was wrong.

"... Why are you asking me? Don't you know your own way home?" the boy shrugged.

"Of course I do! But I just want you to check your map."

"But why? I've been following you! Are we lost?"

"Of course not! Errm... At least, I don't think so. It's just... the house looks different."

Barret came to a halt at his little girl's confusion. Peering through the rapidly declining light as dusk encroached, he could just make out the hovel neatly framed against Corel's mountains. Perched on the highest trio of mesas, a sky of deep fuchsia illuminated the structure's extremities. Even with the gauntlet of shadows that stretched out before them, all sharp angles from surrounding rubble piles of scrap metal and stone, he recognised the building easily. It was undoubtedly his home.

What undoubtedly wasn't, however, was the strange shades of colour he could make out on the walls, or the series of unknown shapes gathered around the rocky outcrop outside.

'What the... Naw. Naw, it's jes' the lighting. Been a while since we got a nice twilight like this. Or these old eyes o' mine are going wack.'

He rubbed at his eyelids with giant knuckles before he quirked a bushy brow down at his little girl. "I'm still here, ya know. I know yer gettin' old enough ta look after yerself, Marlene, but you know you can always ask yer dear old Dad fer help, right?" He pound a fist against his fishnet vest-clad chest.

Marlene reached out to grab Barret's hand, "I know, Daddy, but you looked distracted! And it just felt silly asking if this was our house or not. It does look different though, doesn't it?"

"It does, but it's probably jes' the nice sunset. Been a while since we've seen one without the storm clouds. Good ta see one again, ain't it?"

While Marlene smiled and both father and daughter began to pick out the more vibrant constellations from the cluster of lofty stars overhead, Denzel squint forward against the receding light. Raising a hand to shield himself from the low sun, azure eyes scanned the area. A certain flame waved to and fro from the height of the mesas and caught his attention. Unwittingly, he began to take off in a slow jog towards the structure.

"H-hey! Wait for me!"

And just like that, Marlene's grip left Barret's own as she dart after her best friend. Barret opened his mouth, but shut it again on second thought and resigned to shaking his head. Readjusting the handbasket in his grip and mindful of its cooling contents, the gun-armed man trudged after the pair with longer strides.

Before long shapes melted into silhouettes. Definition, like the sun, began to spill over the cracks and crevices of the tableland that supported his home. The low sun illuminated everything in hues of molten orange, making visibility a constant struggle through the glare.

It was the audible gasps of two children that turned Barret's heightened pace into a full blown sprint. He tore up the rust-mottled highway signs that were the makeshift ramps outside his house, a dust cloud of copper flakes left in his wake. He made to call after his little girl when his front door rose into view.

What met his sight hit him with such force it may as well have slugged him speechless.

Tifa, Yuffie, Nanaki, Cait Sith, and even Vincent – Vincent Valentine himself – stood clustered around his home. Gone were the grey, cracked walls of his weary shack. A fresh lick of paint the colour of baked terracotta – the shade a mixture between both Barret and Marlene's skin – instead coated the exterior. His front door, once cleft and splintered, was completely replaced with one of dark, moss green. Clear panes of glass winked at him in reflections of blinding yellow sunbeams.

The gaping holes that were once there matched his open mouth.

Tifa was the first to approach, denim coveralls splattered with paint. Marlene and Denzel danced to her side, excitedly hugging and pulling at the loose fabric hanging around her legs. She graced them with a demure, but very real smile, combing through each of their hair with her fingertips before pulling something out of her pocket. She stretched it out towards Barret.

"Welcome home."

A brass key winked up at him from her palm.

He fought for words, but they wouldn't come. Instead, he plucked the small instrument from her hand while fishing around his cargo pants for his own hefty, rust-bitten key. He turned them both over for inspection in front of his eyes, ensuring both pieces matched in cuts and bitting.

Then, Barret exploded.

"What in the hell'd y'all DO?! THE FU–"

Hoots and hollers rose above the dark-skinned man's swears to drown them out. A gaggle of miners huddled together at the base of the rockface that elevated his home, clapping and whistling. In the midst of all the commotion, and the vague vocals of Yuffie as she slipped the handbasket off his arm with an "Alright! Dinner's up!" Barret caught sight of a vibrant redhead. Esther stood in the centre of the happy assembly, her eyes pools of hot chocolate as she beamed up at him. Stunned, it was a moment more before Barret's grin emerged almost as bright to match.

She beckoned him down with a mocha-coloured wave through the noise. The ex-AVALANCHE leader glanced back at the party and, finding them all occupied amongst themselves, made his descent down wood and metal ramps. He did his best to hold his composure as the townsfolk slapped him on the back or shook his shoulders as he pushed his way through the swarm. His burnt umber eyes grew mistier by the second.

Tifa watched him go with a small smile, listening to the various quips of praise from the people of Corel of 'It's the least we could do', and 'It's about time we paid you back for saving our hides!', and 'This is thanks for putting Gil into the school for our kids'.

'Barret's hiding it, but I can tell he's really moved. I'm so glad. He really deserves it.'

Tifa's smile lingered when she looked back at the rest of the party, but slowly it began to fade.

'It's more than what I deserve.'

Oblivious to Tifa's thoughts and feelings, Yuffie and Nanaki were caught in playful banter while Cait Sith, Denzel, and Marlene were 'ooh'ing and 'aah'ing at the new décor. The trio attempted to engage in conversation with Vincent as they did so, but the man remained reticent, his signature velvet baritone only an occasional interjector. She wasn't sure, but she swore his blood-red eyes would flicker over in her direction now and again. Fighting the frown from her brow, she did her best to tune in to their exact conversation, but found it difficult to hear over the miner's babble of support and a certain ninja's indignity.

"You smell like a polished shoe," Red said sniffily, his muzzle scrunched.

"You don't smell too good yourself, you big puppy! At least I smell like this through hard work. Do you have any idea how hard it is to scrub off paint?! I'm like a walking vat of turps! Barret better be grateful for this!"

"Don't call me 'puppy'," Red growled, his tail-flame conducting an unheard waltz as it flicked to and fro. "If you do I shall confiscate your basket of food. It certainly smells more appealing."

Yuffie stopped in waving her arms and deadpanned. "You wouldn't dare."

"Oooh!" Cait Sith chimed in. "Noo thair's a good idea! Let's go inside and spread out the scran fer when Mr. Coffee Bean Grump gets back!"

Before Yuffie could even think to protest, the cat puppet swiped the basket off her arm and with a, "Ooof, this is heavier than it looks!" carried it over his little-crowned head and inside towards the kitchen. Red XIII trailed after the aroma with his nose held high in the air, his tail to match as his flame followed like a burning flag. The little-booted cat eyed up Vincent over his whiskers as he went. "Ah sure cuid use a big, strong man tae help me oot!"

When the gunslinger made absolutely no effort to move from his reclined position against the remaining scaffolding boards, Denzel scrambled after the cat puppet to catch the sliding food basket before it hit the floor. "H-hold on! I'll help you."

"Aaah, thair's a good lad!"

"So long as I get the first slice of pumpkin pie," Denzel grinned.

"Thair's always a catch, is'nae thare? But ye got yerself a deal, ye wee business man, ye!"

"Wait– pumpkin pie?" Yuffie perked up. "He actually brought home pumpkin pie?! OUTTA THE WAY, LOSERS." The teen made to barrel indoors when Nanaki kicked the door shut behind him with his rear paw.

"H-hey! What gives?!" Yuffie rattled the door handle to no avail. "Pfft, WHATEVER. Who needs your stupid pumpkin pie when I have aaaall the jam sandwiches in the world, right here!" The ninja made to grab a slice from the mountainous pile of bread, when her fingers met thin air. "H-hey! Are you SERIOUS? Where did all the sandwiches go?!"

Yuffie threw her arms up as she circled the offending plate of empty dinnerware, while Marlene's giggles were barely disguised behind her hand. Tifa bit her lip and side-glanced at Vincent who, oddly enough, avoided everyone's eyes. Just as she watched the teen disappear to make herself busy trying to pry open one of the back windows, Tifa caught the sound of her name. Peering over the edge, she found Barret waving a tree-trunk of an arm towards her through the stream of departing townsfolk, beckoning her down. Esther joined in by his side, prompting a raised eyebrow from the fistfighter.

She made one last glance towards the newly renovated house before she complied with Barret's wishes and peeled away from the party.

Vincent watched her descend, her dark chocolate tresses disappearing as did her toned frame. Something whispered at the back of his skull at Tifa's odd behaviour, and for once it wasn't a voice from one of his demons. It was his own.

Worse still, he didn't feel at all comforted by that fact.

A sea of memories threatened to overwhelm him in waves, but he held fast to the shore of the present. He did not wish to fall into such sour folly – especially not now, when he needed to maintain a heightened vigilance after his most recent relapse. It had been trying enough on his patience greeting the group once again since his return. He couldn't afford distractions. He had to maintain control.

And yet the state of Tifa's condition remained steadfast in his mind.

Something tugged at the leather of Vincent's leg. It was only then, despite his inner admonition seconds past, Vincent realised he'd fallen prey to just the very folly he'd warned himself against. Only now did he note himself and Marlene to be the last ones remaining on the rocky outcrop.

When he simply peered over his cowl with a raised black-wing of an eyebrow, Marlene tugged again. Understanding the message, yet still reluctant to carry out its wishes, Vincent carefully lowered himself to one knee in a crumple of buckles and crimson. Once at eye level, he carefully draped his claw over his raised left knee while the other hand held him steady on the ground via rested knuckles. Marlene's eyes carefully roamed over what little of his face she could see above his material fortress. Vincent waited for her to speak. When it became apparent the little girl had no plans on voicing her intent, he decided to ask for himself.

"... Yes, Miss Wallace?"

This formality prompted a beacon of a smile from Marlene, one which Vincent had never quite seen before let alone have aimed directly at him. He never had the chance to ponder further, however.

Small hands suddenly pulled at the buckles of his cowl before the gunslinger could even think about resisting. The clasps loosened enough that part of his cover fell away, the left folds of his material wall crumbling to reveal one side of his face in full exposure to the elements. Tiny fingers were suddenly upon his sharp cheekbones and Vincent could only freeze, wide-eyed and at the mercy of this little girl who dared invade his privacy. He watched, helpless and painfully tense, as her eyes held his with such gravitas intent he couldn't bear to look away. His voice died as she traced his cheek with poking, prodding, pudgy hands, grasping at any frame of his face she could access. His right-side remained adequately walled away from wandering hands.

"!? … Marlene?"

Barret's gruff voice ventured, cautious and on edge, and Vincent could just make out the man appearing from his peripheral: as well as the fighter that arrived with him. He did everything in his willpower to stop his claw from seizing up, the wicked talons jerking in place across his knee. He reached his other hand to grasp and hold the shaking appendage in place, praying the girl would end her scrutiny sooner rather than later. He couldn't hold off the voices desperate to poison his mind for much longer.

"Marlene. Baby girl. Come 'ere."

At her father's persistence, Marlene looked over her shoulder, her fingers tracing the side of Vincent's chin at her twist. After a moment, she glanced back at Vincent. Then, she nodded with the utmost assurance only a girl her age could, once they came to a conclusion they believed to be the utmost truth of the universe.

"He doesn't look like a monster," Marlene said.

Then, with a spin and twirl of her dress, she was gone, dashing on over to Barret with happy feet.

Vincent could breathe again.

Barret's voice just made its way through the maelstrom of noise and demonic howling that was his head. "That's cuz I told ya already... he ain't."

While Marlene made herself busy tugging at her father's arm, Barret responded by fishing around his cargo pocket for his new key. Pressing it into the eager hands of his wide-eyed daughter, he pushed her onwards to usher her inside and watched as his little girl unlocked their new front door with barely concealed anticipation.

"... You a'ight?" he prodded, turning a cautious eye to Vincent.

The gunslinger could only offer a slow, albeit shaky, jerk of a nod. The wind teased through the gaping hole in his defences and brought goosebumps to race up his neck. Feeling Tifa and Barret's eyes linger on his exposed face, he quickly snatched the loosened buckles of his cowl and pulled them tight. The material walls around his face rebuilt themselves in response. Despite his re-erected strongholds, the phantom of Marlene's hands lingered on his face.

Barret crossed his arms. 'Dayum! Didn't expect Vinnie to clean up pretty sharp under all those buckles an' shit.'

Tifa continued to stare even as Vincent rose to his full height and righted himself, taking the time to draw his claw within the confines of his cloak. He did his best to press himself further into the shadows of Barret's newly renovated home, trying to create distance between himself and the others. He could feel more pairs of eyes on him than just the two of his comrades', and he quickly shrunk away in hopes to relinquishing himself from scrutiny; both mortal and satanical.

"–Tif'? Tif'. Hello? Yo! Tif'!"

"Huh?" The fistfighter bat her lashes as she snapped to. "O-oh, yes. What is it, Barret?"

Despite her calm tone, Tifa's heartbeat betrayed it, maintaining its quickened Chocobo pace in her breast.

Barret eyed her carefully. "I was sayin' we can talk things over later. Fer now, let's go get somethin' ta eat. Esther packed away a mean chili con carne fer ya." He rest his good hand at her back between her shoulder blades as he urged her forward. "Besides, I want tha grand tour! You bunch'a sneaks ain't gettin' away with this 'til I see what tha damage dun is!"

Tifa quirked a smile in response to his grin and nodded, doing little to resist as her old friend guided her. The discussion she'd held with both Barret and Esther had been a heavy one, and it was exhausting to think upon at current. Once the mixed aroma of cinnamon and chili hit her nose, she found her worries far away as her feet were spurred on by her stomach without complaint. It had been a long day. Barret was right; it could wait.

Vincent watched them both disappear inside, still secretly reeling from Marlene's brazen actions. The little girl was more courageous than she was given credit for. He peered up at the carnation sky as it bled into sapphire night, taking a moment to bask in the final receding oranges of sunset. He closed his eyes and pulled in air through his nose, mulling over not only Barret's words, but the implications of such, as well as the aroma sailing on the wind.

The others were right. Whatever was prepared inside smelled good.

"Yo."

Vincent opened blood-red eyes to find Barret peeking his head out of the doorway. He fought against the tension laying siege to his muscles, suddenly feeling as if he were awaiting judgement from an executioner; or from a father whenever his daughter was concerned. There was little difference.

"... You joinin'?" Barret finally huffed.

Unbeknownst to Vincent, Barret was fighting the exact same feeling. The gun-armed man desperately tried not to flinch under the molten flash of crimson that was the gunslinger's eyes as they turned on him. Lava played in Vincent's irises as they caught stray rays of molten sunset.

Vincent crossed his arms, slow and with care, mindful that the buckles once undone by small hands didn't fall undone again. "... Does this offer hold the same stipulations as your coffee?" he rumbled.

Barret quirked a brow. "Non-negotiable? Damn straight."

Vincent held his gaze with steady aplomb before tucking his chin into his cowl.

Before, when Tifa revealed she was able to get somewhat of a bead on the man, Barret thought she was crazy. Now, however, he was very slowly starting to translate that action as agreement from the gunslinger. He stepped aside, allowing Vincent to sweep past him with a flourish of crimson cape, before allowing the front door to close behind them.

The last thing heard was Barret's voice quaking through the house.

"New carpets, too? And cream ones?! &^#$! Y'all betta take off yer damn shoes!"


Author's Note: Don't mind me, just preparing for my wedding that's in 7 DAYS. (It's like looking outside and waiting for Meteor to hit. But in a good way! \o/ I still can't believe I'm getting married, like, what the WHAT.) It's also my birthday in two. Send help.

Special thank you to Criminal_Sen, Ducksterz, Dan-ger, Fiori, Lauri, Heirloom, StarriHart, mely-val, Makoes, Stellaluna, DragoonHeart23, Video. Nasty, xkelbix, johnnydark0, BrickleBork, and basically my whole Discord server crew. I know I'm not always active, especially given recent life events and health scares, but I beyond appreciate everything you do to help support me through these hard times. You're all very special in your own ways and I hope you all continue to grow and flourish. Have some virtual wedding cake.

Extra shout-outs to reviewers Cerberuswolf, MandiraIrade, Mely-Val, Rac95, parafantasy, and Freak O' Natcha for peppering me with reviews for my last chapter and helping keep my morale up. Writing is incredibly difficult for me (I have officially diagnosed PTSD so far with investigation into C-PTSD, which explains a lot regarding my lack of concentration) and every bit of support is helping me combat it every day. Work has been something else these past few months... You're all amazing. I hope this chapter was worth at least a fraction of the wait. (If I forgot anyone, please reach out and accept my apologies.)

Whoever is over on AO3, keep an eye out for some fantabulous artwork by the lovely Criminal_Sen for this chapter once I get it posted up. (You're amazing, thank you so much. x)

Last shout out to my love, Papa Nade. Without you I would no longer be here, and I can't wait to commit all my love to you through my wedding vows at the altar soon.

And as always, thanks for reading.

~Switchback