Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ (ex)trinsecus ❯ thou shalt; not[2] ( Chapter 2 )

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t.hou shalt not[2]
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Pain , it felt, excruciating acid clawing at its eyes and back, leaking gunpowder and lead, metal in its throat. Short, panting whimpers rippled through bloodied vocal cords, dripping out of a mangled, twisted jaw.

The beast stumbled and finally collapsed on its right side, the giant shuriken sticking out of its mangled right shoulder, two large spikes pointing north and west like an organic weathervane. It inhaled, long staccato inspiration that held for almost a minute before forcefully flopping itself onto its steel punctured side. The drawn out shriek rustled the sparse dried foliage that lay nearby, driving nocturnal animals, those drawn to the steamy odor and sticky trail of fermenting blood, back to their hiding places.

Two spines of the Conformer groaned, then finally snapped off as the beast thrashed and twitched against the ground in grotesque mimicry of a seizure, gnarled paws scoring deep gashes in the clay-like dirt until the cold-forged metal finally dislocated from chewed tendons and muscle to spin wildly in the dust before coming to a halt at the edge of a brush.

A tiny green orb covered in gunk dislocated from the broken shuriken with a metallic pop and rolled as casually as inanimate objects were wont, towards the muzzle of the beast as it lay panting heavily against the frantically scarred ground. It raised its head slightly, sniffing at the little round intruder, drawing in the warm sensation of blood and energy. Yes, somewhere among its most primitive of neurological impulses, it understood blood and energy, the pulse beckoning to it in the whispers of hell.

Its tongue, panting in exhaustion, flopped out from between sticky jaws, a burgundy rough cloth lapping instinctively at the green marble, rolling the strange object around and around. Then, as the pulse of Mako energy pulled instincts further into thrall, lapped even more ferverently, as if the beast were trying to strip the materia, layer by layer, to its concentrated core, lapping until the beast finally snapped the sphere into its broken, weeping jaws, pinpoint teeth breaking through the container.

Mako burst from the sphere, flaring from the beast's jaw like a hyperactive beacon as energy poured through the large misshapen body, power radiating through every fiber, every nerve, every neuron. The monster twitched and bucked, muscles flaring, distending and bubbling like the contents of a thick, hairy cauldron. Three sets of eyes warped in roped agony, blood vessels threatening to burn in their sockets or splatter like overripe large red grapes until the lids dropped askew over red-fractuerd whites and the beast lay absolutely still in the moonlight.

Silence once again descended on this particular patch Wutai. Nothing moved or stirred - not even the courage of crickets chirping in the landscape. No breath, no movement, no billboards of life in the hushed atmosphere. The oozing tear in its shoulder wrought by the former Conformer wound together at its opening, rapidly regenerating muscle, knotting together sinew, bone and flesh until all that remained was a strange bald patch where fur was supposed to reside on the beast's coarse, gristled hide. Teeth pushed out of blue-speckled gums, regenerating as naturally as a shark's, skin flapping and sealing over the open, sore wound of its twisted mandible.

The beast lay there for a moment longer, then, with a long, victorious breath, eyes snapped open and three, no, four of high-powered Mako flickered on in the thick, charged air. It lurched to its deformed appendages, its newly regenerated muscles twitching with power-saturated intensity, and with what could have possibly been a canine grin, two pairs of bright green fireflies slunk off into the night.

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Yuffi e was cold.

It sucked being cold. And while it wasn't Cid growling- 'My-balls-are-turning-blue-and-ain't-because-of-frustration! -kind of cold of the Great Glacier, it was, nevertheless, damn chilly.

The ninja peered morosely down into the bowl of the rusty mudwater that reflected back an equally miserable, dripping girl and sniffled twice in succession, wiping at a slightly runny nose with the back of one hand. While taking an impromptu scrub in a cave at near-arctic temperatures wasn't exactly the smartest thing to do, waking up with her left eyelid practically soldered shut and crusty hair resembling Cloud on a bad spike day had pretty much resolved that she wasn't going to be spending any more time with doggie goop dangling from her head than necessary! How gross would that be?

The teen shot a useless reproving glare at the blithely unaware profile of her guardian -- who, by the way, didn't appear to be the least bit chilled at all. Well, of course he didn't. Vincent Valentine didn't respond to stimuli the way NORMAL FEELING PEOPLE did. He probably didn't even crap.

Her general air of grumpiness might have partially been attributed that big red cape (which, by the way, looked mighty snuggly right now even if it was probably filled with Vinnie's creaky ol' cobwebs and dustballs) that sheltered most of the ex-Turk from the unforgiving atmospheric chill of upper Wutai. The teen was reasonably sure she'd bravely endure spiders right now for five minutes under the magical big blankie which appeared to rise by rapid centigrades with each increasingly covetous gaze she threw at it. Hell, she'd cuddle up with a sahagin if it meant that she wouldn't be freezing her kneecaps off in the middle of the night.

Granted, Yuffie was marginally grateful for the change of clothes in her saddlebag and the fire that the gunslinger had thoughtfully built to keep her from stumbling about blindly in the dark, tripping and possibly putting an eye out on something sharp, like, say, a certain pair of size thirteen steel-tipped boots. She was reasonably sure HE didn't need the bonfire and would have been perfectly happy-

(or rather, since this was, after all, Vincent Valentine, perfectly miserable)

-sitting there in the cold, damp dark all night. Probably would have felt just like home, sweet coffin.

However, 'thoughtful' was limping at a distinct second in the tag-team race and falling further and further behind to the more dominant, annoying fact of the ex-Turk's UTTER OBLIVOUSNESS to her miserable, half-frozen, not-as-well-covered state, as he (who couldn't be bothered by such a trivial matter as frostbite) was still unfairly hogging the REALLY warm-looking cloak all to himself.

Oh, she could just imagine the headlines now:

Heir to Wutai Found Frozen to Death on Mountain 'Cause Jerk With Cloak Didn't Share!

Yuffie sighed again, curling further into her misery as her evil-eye glare of death effected exactly zero response out of the ex-Turk. But it might have just been due to her limited (as in none) telekinetic abilities.

After trying to conjure warmth out of a dirty puddle of water (which just wasn't working at all), the teen picked up the bowl, intending to dump its ichor-polluted contents outside the cave so she wouldn't have to stare at the ghost of her miserable mug all night. Vinnie could very well just drag her crystallized ass up Da Chao to thaw out after she solidified overnight. Served him right.

As the teen stood, gripping the rust-tinged water, the neurons in her limbs decided to mutiny and seized in hyperactive protest as nerveless fingers spasmed sending the cold metal cookware fumbling from a suddenly slack grip.

Automatic, hard-wired reflexes triggered instantaneously and Vincent's head whipped around to the sound of steel clattering to the ground. Dirty water sloshed over the girl's big, bright sneakers, seeping into their yellow toes with ferrous intensity, as the remaining offensive liguid slowly sank into the greedy floor of the cave. The ex-Turk's gaze then flew upwards to Yuffie, who stumbled, then sat heavily back down, blinking muzzily at the muscles and sinews twitching against her trembling limbs.

"I don't--I--feel kinda funny." The teen's words tumbled and slurred from her mouth, like thick, dark molasses. "Like after one too many sodas or something. You check the 'Use by' date on that potion?"

"I don't think they do that. Expire."

Yuffie swallowed several times in succession, her breaths coming in rapid shallow gasps that seemed to thunder in her ears like a pissed-off tornado as physical and mental processes rapidly accelerated. "Yeah, well feeling like I just licked a light socket isn't exactly what I was expectin' either," she mumbled, swallowing several times against the unrelenting headache and desert of her throat.

And it wasn't only the breathing aspect of it, but also her heartbeat, a four-valved thrumming of high-level red that threatened to drive her insane with their incessant hissing contractions - giant jackhammers banging against her chest and cranium with relentless bass-pounding rat-a-tats. Poundings and skips that unconsciously hopped to double-time as the figure of Vincent Valentine suddenly materialized less than a foot in front of her.

The slight tinge of a blush crept across the bridge of the ninja's nose when the gunslinger's hand brushed her bangs back from her forehead. As the ex-Turk leaned in closer to girl in a way-up-close inspection of her eyes, all Yuffie could do to was sit there and stare back stupidly, idly processing the mad staccato stammerings of her pulse as crimson eyes shifted from left to right, assaying her pupils. And though she knew each each one of his gazes reflected little more than clinical concern over her unusual reactions, every endless second drew a deeper flush from the traitorous blood vessels in her face.

Vincent's head cocked at a slight angle, his inspection sweeping right to the left side of her face. As his index finger moving from her forehead downwards to stray along Yuffie's cheekbone, the girl wanted to run away screaming in embarassment and smother herself under a pillow because it was Vinnie, fer criminy sakes! You know, moody and morose with all the sparkling personality of walking Valium, perennial self-torture lurking in those summon-materia eyes that were really intense when you looked at them closely and made her just want to drown in---Nonononono! Bad thoughts! Bad thoughts! Shoo! Scat!

As the gunslinger's gaze slid from Yuffie's flushed visage to lock on some aspect of her flaming right cheek-

(because she couldn't _possibly_ be any more embarrassed, nosiree. Maybe if she barfed on his shoes or something)

-his finger stopped an inch beneath her eye. The girl flinched only slightly when the edge of a nail gently scraped off something on her face, exhaling ever-so slowly with more than a slight wobble. Long dark lashes lowered over eyes that seemed only slightly less heated than the glowing coals of a furnace as his line of sight dropped to the tiny fleck of red balanced on his fingertip, focusing curiously on the bit of bloodstain that she'd evidently failed to wash off.

Okay, the heavy breathing butterflies or whatever nausea-inducing twirlies that had taken residence in her gut had best get a move-on outta here 'cause this was SO not what was happening despite what various portions of her cardiac system were thundering contrary-wise. Yet she couldn't prevent herself from watching the hypnotic motions of the flake of blood as it danced on the fingertip of his half-gloved hand, inert and ruddy under the slightly beetled frown of the gunslinger's inspection, continued to watch as he brought it to his nose in a careful sniff before finally touching it to his tongue -

"Oh, GROSS!"

-at which point all warm, slightly fuzzy feelings of maidenly tummy butterflies instantly evaporated, stomped into insensibility by overwhelming squick.

Gross didn't cover it. It was even more disgusting than back in the village when they all dared Shio to eat a blizzard bug that had been backed over by one of the town's carriages. Way grosser. On a scale of grossness, this was pretty close to grosser than most gross things, and that was quite a bit of--

Yuffie's internal dissertation on gradients of grossness abruptly screeched to a halt as summon-materia eyes suddenly flashed a kaleidoscope of gold, violet and turquoise in their sockets, rapidly cycling through the spectrum in a frenzy she couldn't pin on tricks of the firelight. Vincent shoved himself away from her. One iron-toed boot struck the edge of the fire pit, startling orange embers and half-burnt twigs into the air as he stumbled like a drunk towards the mouth of the cave.

In response, the ninja scuttled frantically backwards in imitation of a spooked hermit crab, the only thing halting her retreat being the impassive wall of the cave as her back smacked against cool stone.

Amidst the flickering orange glow, dark, wide eyes captured strange lesions that warped and distorted the skin on the ex-Turk's forearms and face, cords tightly wound and cabled at his neck as he bubble, bubble toiled and troubled towards opening, pausing to tilt a snarl-distorted face accusingly at the dirt beneath him as if accusing it of betrayal. His Adams's apple rolled like a golfball up and down his throat and bared canines greedily sucked in air, desperately trying to repress whatever combination of genetic aberration threatened to burst out from the fragile flesh container tenuously holding it at bay.

Trapped in the darkened corner only twenty feet away, despite the spike of fluctuating panic attacks, a little mental chirp in Yuffie's rapidly cycling brain wanted to check if the Vincent was all right. It really did. But more importantly, Yuffie REALLY wanted an umbrella right about now, because the ninja wasn't exactly looking forward to the idea of being covered with yet another shower of guts should the rippling (and not in a good way) form of Vincent Valentine decide to simply spontaneously combust right then and there. There were limits to the amount of ickiness the teen could withstand in one evening, and being strafed with doggie AND undead gunslinger innards divebombed past the that precarious foothold into the nightmare of 'Leviathan hates me.'

Fortunately, as she contemplated what evils she must have committed in a previous incarnation to warrant such an icky series of punishments, Vincent's transformations began to finally subside.

The gunslinger spat several times, desperately trying to clear the blood from his mouth, to remove the fleck of blood and fresh tang of metal where he'd accidentally bitten the inside of his lip. He spat several more times despite protests from a parched throat. Currents of nausea beat in rhythmic madness against Vincent's syrup-coated brain as he somehow managed to force spinning thought processes to pinpoint on the cache of materia on his right armlet. Locking onto the tiny green orb as a visual anchor, he funneled muddled thoughts into it, pushing his artificially enhanced body to purge the toxins from his system.

With a series of long gasping breaths, the schizophrenic DNA boiling under Vincent's skin slowly leveled out until the knotted muscle and bubbling bone finally subsided into the stark features of his normal form. He flopped onto his back in exhaustion, eyes slamming shut, breathing heavily through his mouth as if air were some version of rare materia. The ex-Turk cast the healing spell several times in hazy succession until the effects of the contaminated blood finally burned out of his body.

Somewhere among the splintered remains of his cognitive activity, he remembered the presence of another form, and the gunslinger pushed himself up onto his knees, panting as if he'd just run up and down Da Chao several times in succession, before half-trudging to the to the white-rimmed, slightly bugged stare of teen pressed into the deep shadows of the cave, knees drawn up tightly against her chest.

Yuffie flinched slightly as Vincent's hand touched her temple, the aura of a slightly fuzzy heal spell surrounding her, bleeding the toxins out of her blood. The hazy shroud pressed against her brain slowly rose from her consciousness replaced by welcoming clarity and blurry eyes shifted into focus on the figure before her.

He perched on his knees, bent slightly over her smaller frame. Familiar ruby eyes dancing away from her gaze as his hand dropped from her face, and they remained there, silent except for the static pops of the bonfire and their own harsh breathing.

The ninja inhaled deeply before a slightly quavery voice managed to finally squeak out, "So...neat trip, huh? Who needs Sephiroth for a major terror freakshow when you can suck on ugly mutt blood?"

"I don't think it was the blood itself. There was some sort of drug in it."

"So that almost 'grrr' right then...?"

The gunslinger slumped slightly, leaning back on his knees, absently flicking his tongue against the inside of his cut lip. "I don't tolerate certain narcotics well," he admitted. "It tends to induce certain mind-altering states. Cognitive fragmentation. Dissociation."

The girl blinked slowly with all the understanding befitting a teenager. "Someday I'll be able to understand all of that. But for now could you, like, use smaller words? Preferably something I don't have to look up?"

Strands of ebony hair spilled over his features, hiding whatever secrets they might have betrayed as he tilted his head down, half-concealing his features behind the collar of his cloak. "Take every one your memories, your thoughts, compress them into a little glass ball. Then shatter it. The pieces are still there, but--"

"--You got a bunch of bit and don't know how to fit it all together." Yuffie openly studied the ex-Turk who, thankfully, appeared far less feral than a few moments ago. "What about now? Do you remember stuff now?"

The gunslinger simply shrugged.

"Gee, and all the times I thought you were antisocial, I never realized it was just because you were shy."

Vincent's head tilted back up towards the perfectly innocent face of the ninja, trying to divine her apparent seriousness. Though Yuffie's humor tended to be on the more obvious side of broad, sometimes he just couldn't tell.

As an uncomfortable silence once again descended in the atmosphere, a sudden series of wet sneezes thankfully brought all major issues into a successful round trip back to point A:

Yuffie was cold.

The ninja cocked her head somewhat in surprise when the Vincent stood and unbuckled the collar of his cloak and dropped it to the ground beside her before returning to claim his former place near the cave's entance.

As the teen wrapped the cloak around her, she noted that it smelled reminiscently of mothballs and musty cedar chips. While it wasn't the most pleasant aroma, it was surprisingly better than Yuffie would have anticipated coming from someone who never seemed to bother to change or wash his clothing on a regular basis (the couple of times it rained on the group during their travels didn't count). Then again, this was Mr. I-Refuse-To-Admit-Having-Bodily-Functions.

However, the lack of laundering didn't prevent her from not returning said musty coat, as confirmed by her huddling even further into the the big red ball, surreptitiously studying its owner who had once again resumed guard position.

Shrouded in the darkness of the cavern, hidden behind his black uniform and equally dark mane, Vincent looked like a strange disembodied face hovering above a metal appendage. As he shifted slightly, the firelight played on the edges of his form, outlining his back and forearm exposed by the rolled up long-sleeve of his silver-buttoned shirt. Who'da thunk that under that big old pile of clothing rested a nice pair of shoulders? He ate, fought, heck he even slept in that full getup. To see him without that giant red tent draped all over him was . . .

weird

As Yuffie continued to covertly study the intriguing outline of his form from behind the collar of his cloak, it struck her as strange as to why she was suddenly noticing more and more things about the perpetually sullen Vincent Valentine.

She snorted. This was ridiculous. Even if Vinnie wasn't all creepy and undead-like, he wasn't even her type. Now big, stupid, and cute - especially ones who had a generous side helping of blonde hair and blue eyes - those had always pretty much been the kind to turn this gal's head. At least to that effect, she could understand her initial crush on Cloud-

(As it were, she still had a bit of a soft spot for the ol' muffinhead, even if he did have "Property of Tifa Lockheart" permanently branded into his butt)

-and she'd at least have fun with someone like the swordswinging jock.

Recently though . . .

Recently, she'd been finding herself strangely fascinated by the dark, melancholy types. She really couldn't figure out why. It was so dumb. Vinnie never _talked_. When he wasn't fighting he'd just sit around like some giant broody lump. She could never get into a guy who couldn't hammer a noun and a verb together on a regular basis.

Plus there was that Lucrecia thing too: pain, blah, blah, misery, blah, blah, former love of his life, blah, blah, must suffer. Ugh! It just went on and on and on like that. Lucrecia, Lucrecia, Lucrecia! It was enough to make her yack.

Granted the teen may not have been the foremost expert on healthy romantic relations (or any romantic relations at all), but geez, if there was ever a mass distribution of Get Over It being handed out, Vincent Valentine had to be shoved to the head of the line. Yuffie understood the concept of emotional baggage and all, but this was WAY over the two piece limit, even with a carry-on. It was surprising that Vincent and all his angst could even fit on the Highwind.

The ninja shifted restlessly again against the hard, cold ground, throwing covert glances at her guardian's back. Even in sitting, the ex-Turk's body radiated a certain internal tension as he stared out past the fire, out the mouth of the overhanging eave, preternatural eyes focused on something she couldn't see. The Death Penalty lay across his lap, ready to be instantly drawn at the slightest note of threat, its Peacemaker companion tucked snugly in the holster against his right hip.

And because of that, Yuffie could trust herself to sleep, knowing he would be alert all night to any form of intruder that might cut a berth anywhere near them. Of all the companions in her group, she trusted most not to nod off on watch, it was the creepy, clawed guy.

Ironic that for someone who'd spent thirty years molding in a box, he'd ended up being a regular insomniac. Catching up, she supposed, sleepily, burying herself deeper into the pile of snuggly red as toasty covers slowly thawed out her frozen fingers. Mmmm, she was right. It was nice and warm under here. Who'd have thought the vampire actually had a body temperature higher than ice water?

The ninja shifted once again, unsuccessfully trying to find comfort on the unrelenting icy ground, and giving up with an exasperated huff, she shuffled over to the side of the fire where the gunslinger sat, ever at attention, dragging the cloak against the ground until she plopped down right next to his slightly surprised form.

"Mind if I lean against you?"

Vincent's only reply was a noncommittal grunt.

A tedious session of arranging, rearranging, and shoving folds of the cloak into an impromptu pillow took place, all borne with surprising patience by the ex-Turk before Yuffie finally settled, at last satisfied with her sleeping arrangements.

"Soooo V-man," the ninja began, not long afterwards. Silence might have been precious, but listening to her own hair drip onto the floor was slowly driving the girl insane. "What was that big, hairy growly thing? The one that's not you." she amended.

The ex-Turk's right cheek twitched ever-so slightly at the newest mutilation of his name before admitting, "I've never seen anything like it before. Two head shots at close range should have killed it instantly."

"Maybe it had a really tiny brain?"

The girl was rewarded with the barest flicker of a downward glance.

Yuffie shrugged against the gunslinger's shoulder. "I mean, look at Cloud. It's not as if lack of the grey stuff on his part's bothered him any . . . " Words trailed off as she realized she was discussing brain processes with someone who had pretty much admitted to having the mental stability of room-temperature Brie.

"Well . . . whatever it was . . . those howls," Yuffie shuddered. Tucking herself further into the folds of the cloak, the ninja stared blankly into the fire, mumbling about nothing in particular, until lethargy finally claimed her.

He waited, listening not to her words, but rather to her breathing, as it slowed, then steadied into the rhythm of deep slumber. Vincent had, admittedly, only tuned-in to about a quarter of the teen's nervous, rambling chatter before she finally managed to talk herself to sleep, humoring her with occasional obligatory nods while subletting his mind to other occupying issues -- specifically, the involuntary near-transformation that had nearly taken place moments before.

The gunslinger was fairly sure he'd been truthful when he mentioned the effects of narcotics on his system, but a always, a slight tickling premonition of something missing protested amidst the fractured memories of his nervous system's violent reaction.

Something had been buried years ago along with the cooling corpse that held the formerly intact mind of Vincent Valentine, Turk, Class One.

Something that he thought had been burned from his system along with the starched navy suit, perfectly knotted black tie and obligatory mirrorshades.

But that man had been dead for three decades past, replaced by the clamor of four others scrambling for control, each voice echoing endlessly in his consciousness, clawing for domination of a form that altered with each metabolic shift of his gene code.

Chaos, Vincent knew he could exert a reasonable amount of control over. The others, they were less . . . discerning. He understood as little about them as the day they clawed their way out of each corner of his fugue-clouded brain like unwelcome drunken relatives at a family reunion.

A slightly damp lock brushed against Vincent's bicep, momentarily distracting the ex-Turk his thoughts, and he glanced down at the wet mop of hair leaning so trustfully against him. The right leg of the ninja slid out partially from under the covers, twitching slightly. Perhaps kicking some imaginary foe's ass.

"Oh yeah?" Yuffie mumbled, deep in the thrall of REM. "All your materia belong to me."

Vincent shook his head, returning his gaze to the night dangling ominously outside the mouth of the cave. There were some things he was simply better off not knowing.

After a few more minutes of twitching accompanied by choice muttered threats, Yuffie's movements subsided, evidently having vanquished the big, bad demon of her dreams and once again the girl retreated into the innocence and guilelessness of youth untainted.

Yeah, he rarely slept. There was a simple reason why.

Nightmares, he couldn't control. Battered cobweb of memories, he could, and ever since the day Cloud had roused him from his coffin in the basement of the ShinRa mansion, he'd felt the need to remember - even though they resembled pictures torn up into thin paper strips under the spell of an overeager industrial shredder and scattered randomly about the room. Each piece of thought, even the tiniest suggestion of the whole had to fit back into the formerly whole brain of Vincent Valentine somehow.

Mentally, the gunslinger walked about the fragment-filled room, ignoring its asthmatic stench of mulch and decay. Kneeling by a scrap, the ex-Turk picked up that strip, turning the piece of paper over and over in his fingers before reading the inscription on the other side like the prize wrestled from a fortune cookie.

You're weak, Deadeye

the memory boasted.

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Ton ight, like all nights, the silent movie played.

Endlessly looping in inifinitum, its herky-jerky frames flickering sixteen shots per second in a soundless crawl across his mental landscape. Hell's projectionist played permanent reruns of his guilt across his brain, occasionally changing the angle but never the outcome.

As always it ended the same way:

a blade

pushing through a pink-clad back, slicing perfectly through the slit in her ribs, piercing her heart, her lung, boring through her sternum like fresh-baste napalm.

The Masamune lying cool against his blood-speckled palm, its keening edge thrumming in his grip, boasting tales of thousands falling to its cold kiss. A casual, almost negligent flick of the wrist effortlessly tearing the blade from her chest, bringing steel upwards through the sound that broke through the mute button, a sharp, scrape of steel on bone, drawing backwards, whispering as it split the ribbon from her hair. He watched, fascinated as copper-blonde strands unwound about her waist like a slow, undulating python. Freed from the scrap of cloth fluttering in the air, a seemingly insignificant marble of purest white bounced hollowly against the concrete floor.

It rolled, like all marbles did, rattling across echoing metal, pausing at the edge of the platform before plummeting down into the viscous quagmire of the Lifestream below.

Holy, he didn't understand then, even as he watched it tumble in instant replay off the ledge before dropping into the murky waters below with little more than a contemptuous glug.

Useless, he recalled her mentioning with a blush, as she absently fingered the pearly white orb at the base of her skull.

And the movie rotated, a slow, steadicam track from her bloody back to the equally stained front, and he realized he remembered little of her death except for the color of her eyes. They reminded him of healing materia and the spells she'd woven on his broken body during the endless battles.

Green, like the patch of grass in a church where she'd stubbornly planted her roses, willing them to grow amidst the devastation of a toxic city.

Roses. Green. Roses. Growth. Roses that grew despite all logic of nature. Roses.

Roses . . .

Mako-blue eyes snapped open, two startled sapphires flailing wildly around for visual purchase before slowly processing the dimly lit contents of the tiny room. His eyes shuttled down to the possessive arm that lay against his chest, fingers splayed across his collarbone, edged with the slight prick of nails across the skin of his neck.

Following the trail from the tip of the well-manicured fingers, up the hand, the well, muscled forearm and arm, his head tilted to the right to the source of the appendage. Beside him, a figure murmured sleepily, shifting slightly under the covers, long, lustrous locks of her hair spilling over the shared pillows on the small double-bed. With an unconscious sigh, Tifa unwrapped her arm from him and turned to face the wall, leaving only the strands of her hair brushing against his arm.

Cloud turned his gaze upwards to fix on the shadows playing across the ceiling, searching for some form of purchase among the bouncing black forms that lengthened then disappeared with each vehicle that passed by the window. Finally, he settled upon the smoke alarm perched above the bed, its LED blinking cheerfully on and off in idle rhythmic pattern.

Roses.

He thought of nothing else for the rest of the night.

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You're weak, Deadeye . . .

(razorblade worms spiraling under his skin)

Vincent dropped the fragment and resumed trudging through the shredded scraps of his memories. The further he delved into his psyche, the less each fragment made sense to him, pieces recalling little more than a sharp, familar sensation disconnected to their source.

Treading endlessly around the mental room, he picked up yet another scrap of memory-

This could make Shinra big

(broken glass nesting among tattered and frayed neurons)

-and another

The only reason you're even a Turk is because of that left arm of yours

(lungs burning, an overheated bellows)

-and another

Midgar trash, same as the day you were pulled from the pile

(taunting, screaming scars and needles brandishing bloody war medals)

-and another, pausing, locked to the name, HER NAME, stamped on the hastily scrawled scrap, clutching to the fragment to him like some lifeline to sanity.

Lucrecia . . . she's a beauty, isn't she?

And it brought back her lips, a beautiful mouth, and that half-smile echoing-

With Jenova we can become gods

With Jenova we can become

With Jenova we can

With Jenova

Jenova

"Hey Vinnie."

The fragment startled, then retreated back into the recesses of Vincent Valentine's mind, spooked by the intrusion. The gunslinger twisted his head down at the groggy girl batting at her eyes with an elongated yawn.

"Why are you up?"

Yuffie's knuckle paused at the corner of her eye as she yawned again. "'Cause it's, like, morning?"

The ex-Turk blinked and swiveled his head to witness the early light filter across the sky and into the mouth of the cave.

Yuffie unbuckled the cloak wrapped around her body, and handed it to Vincent, not at all encouraged by the gunslinger's apparent lack of awareness as she began to reconsider her guardian's real effectiveness on graveyard shift. For all she knew, that nasty, drooly, fangy . . . thing could have waltzed into the cave, had a lengthy three course meal courtesy of her steaming corpse and left nice a tip before Vinnie could even be bothered to notice.

Silently fastening the cloak into place with one hand, Vincent froze, then grimaced as something wet touched his neck. He pulled the collar away to inspect the inside. Glancing blankly at the wet stain on the cloth, his nose wrinkled in mild distaste when he finally figured out what it was.

"Drool," he muttered.

"Huh?" Rubbing the remnants of torpor from her eyes, girl slowly focused on the tall, imposing figure, who at the moment had two fingers pulling at the collar of his cape, eyes fixed on the inner lining with an expression akin to having just discovered cooties.

"You drooled on my cloak."

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"Can 't I come with you?" she asked plaintively to the man dropping supplies into the saddlebag.

He shook his head, the carefully prepared lie a chalky tablet on the tip his tongue. "It's something I have to check out myself." Then smiled weakly at the woman, tugging affectionately at the long lock of hair that whipped up towards him in the breeze. "Besides, it's probably nothing."

Clouded wine-hued eyes dropped to her boots, her face passing through a myriad of expressions, each one on the verge of saying something different, lips parted as if to utter something grand, something earth-shattering and important . . . that faded out as it reached the tip of her tongue.

"Come back soon," was all she said.

Cloud nodded mutely, ducking his head, then, guiltily gave Tifa a chaste peck on the cheek before hopping onto the back of the chocobo. He didn't dare look back as he steered the bird north, heading towards Midgar.

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"Who a, head rush there."

The ninja stumbled back a bit, slightly dizzy from the impact of mako resonance as three newly formed black smudges pressed themselves into the landscape of the southern pass and wiped out all traces of the freshly minted bird tracks.

Well, that certainly was . . . more than adequate, mused the gunslinger. Not that Vincent objected to the use of magic; he just personally preferred the feel of good old-fashioned hardware. Still, Ultima seemed a bit of overkill for the half handful of thunderbirds and razorweeds that just happened to have stumbled haplessly across the spell-happy Yuffie's path.

His chocobo wasn't looking too happy at being so close to ground zero either. The golden bird skittered and warked as angrily as any mighty pissed-off giant chicken could manage, at least until the gunslinger offered it a carob nut, and it relented, all grudges forgotten. Vincent's ride hadn't strayed too far from where it had thrown the ex-Turk, its tracks easily discovered after a bit morning of wandering. Then again, the birds weren't exactly bred to solve quadratic equations, this one especially, with a unique set of Dalmation-like blotches on its back contrasting its dominant golden plumage.

When Yuffie first laid her eyes on the bird, she'd noted, "That's what happens when relatives marry. Since Cloud's too cheap to rent out more than four stables at a time, this fella's family tree looks like a shrub."

As he shuffled through the chocobo's saddlebags, checking for any lost items, a foreign growl rang out from behind him. The ex-Turk swiveled, weapon at ready, only to be intercepted by--

"I got it!"

Vincent shielded his face from the impact of the sudden heat, gripping tightly onto the reins of the bird as it squawked and backpedaled, trying to avoid becoming a family-sized meal.

"Don't you have a backup weapon?" the gunslinger asked once the smoke finally cleared. He'd almost felt sorry for the jayjujayme that had its life unceremoniously snuffed out thirty times over by Yuffie's Shadow Flare.

The teen's slightly embarrassed look pretty much explained everything.

"Ah, never mind. What about a less . . . flamboyant spell?"

With a sigh, the ninja stuck her wrist out towards him, displaying the pretty assortment of gems adorning her armlet.

"Lessee. We've got Underwater. Mime. Cover. Oh! Here's a classic. Deathblow. Real useful there. Hey, maybe I can flog the next critter to death with my ribbon!" Yuffie's arm dropped listlessly. "'Till we find my Conformer, I'm stuck squishing ants with a bazooka, unless you wanna do all the work."

Then, her eyes lifted, zooming in on the ex-Turk--

"But you know . . ."

--who stood uncomfortably still as the teen's gaze locked on in absorbed fascination with something distinctly below his belt-line. "You do have something I _could_ use."

It took several seconds for Vincent to register that she was referring to the Peacemaker.

"Do you even know how to fire a gun?"

"Well, duh! We ninjas get trained in all sortsa things!" Yuffie's gaze shot from the holstered weapon up to the red jewels in his wrist guard, thoughtfully pondering, "Is that Bahamut? I could always--"

He wordlessly surrendered the pistol.

Years of intensive Turk training compounded with decades of trauma, blood and death came struggling to the surface in the mask of studied calm that spread over Vincent Valentine, when, upon receiving the revolver, the teen proceeded to casually twirl it around on her right index finger. Somehow, the gunslinger managed to not flinch.

Much.

Realistically, the Conformer packed a far harder hit than the Peacemaker could ever manage with a fully loaded cylinder. However, something about the thought of Yuffie and firearms made Vincent distinctly uneasy.

"Are you sure you know how to use that?" he queried again, voice in a slightly higher pitch.

"Sheeyeah!" Leaning back slightly with pistol still spinning 'round and 'round against her right palm, the girl shoved her other hand into her shorts pocket and fumbled around for spare change. "You know, Vinnie, dubious is not a good look on you. Go back to being morbid."

Finding her shiny prey, Yuffie casually tossed the single gil into the air. The gunslinger and the ninja's heads tilted upwards as they watched it tumble end over end, its face shimmering golden in the afternoon sun. It hovered for a moment at its pinnacle, before gravity took over and demanded its return. With a flick of her wrist, the teen snapped the spinning pistol into position. Her thumb flew back and forth over the single-action hammer as she pulled off six successive shots with nary a kick at its forty-five caliber recoil.

The coin landed on the ground unharmed.

Silence.

Then, one slightly embarassed cough.

"Okay, so maybe I need a little practice."

Vincent turned back to the saddlebags, studiously ignoring the tiny gnome that was running in circles around his brain squealing like a little girl.

The ninja stuffed the pistol into the waistband of her shorts, strolling up to the glaring chocobo. "Right, then, big-blotchy-gold-bird-type thing. Time's-a-wasting, let's get going, chop-chop, er . . ." She turned to the gunslinger. "You never told me what his name was."

He shrugged, prying a box out from the bottom of the carrier. "Never really thought about it."

A small cloud of dirt billowed in the air as the teen's right sneaker stomped the ground. "That's awful! How could you subject it to such an identity crisis? He's gonna think his name is 'hey you' from now on." The ninja planted herself before the ex-Turk, hands on her hips as she stared crossly up at him. "Name. Right now. Or we're not moving."

Vincent's eyes flickered left, then right, then back again before capitulating to the obstinate teen's demands. "Um. Choco?"

"Remind me to never ask you to name my kids."

The ex-Turk straightened, pausing for a longer moment, long fingers fidgeting with the case of ammunition. His gaze fell on the bird's mottled markings. "Black?"

"You have the creativity of a gnat." Half-lidded eyes appraised him dully.

Now that stung. "What's wrong with Black?"

"It's boring!" The teen huffed. "There's no 'oomph,' no pizzazz. I mean, what if your parents had named you 'Bob', huh? How does that sound: Bob Valentine? Evil undead broodmeister Bob? Would you like a menu, _Bob_?" Two fingers rubbed circled around her temple as she muttered, "Can't wait to see what you come up with next--no wait, lemme guess: Spot?"

The ex-Turk's mouth snapped shut as he stared at the girl for a long, tepid moment. Outer Wutai was still a fairly savage wilderness. He could make it look like an accident. Several charming fantasies flitted through the gunslinger's head before he finally let out a surprisingly lucid, "Why don't you do it then?"

Taking his suggestion, Yuffie walked around the chocobo, carefully inspecting its features as if appraising a new car, doing everything short of kicking the bird's legs for traction. Finally, in all apparent seriousness, she lifted a handful of greens, tapping it on its forehead. "Your name is now Umbra."

The chocobo's gaze uncomprehendingly followed Yuffie's zipping hand, far more interested in what she used to christen him with than the ceremony.

Vincent shot her a sideways glance, then gently lobbed the box of ammo towards her. "Isn't Umbra practically the same thing as Black?"

Her hand snapped up to intercept it. "Yeah, but my way sounds so much better."

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As it turned out, Yuffie could indeed shoot with a fair amount of accuracy, provided the target was larger than a gil. The ninja took to the Peacemaker quite easily, like she did with most of her weapons, perched backwards in tailgunner position against Vincent's back.

Now, if she'd only stop that damned twirling thing.

It was mid-afternoon when the duo stumbled upon the Conformer. Or rather, what was left of it.

"Aw, man!" the ninja whined, mourning the demise of her favorite weapon as she hopped off the back, disconsolately picking at the pieces on the ground.

Well, at least the materia was still good. She picked out the pieces from the weapon. One, two, three, four, five. Yuffie frowned. The ex-Turk turned a questioning eye to the girl on her hands and knees digging through the underbrush and trash.

"Gotta be around here," she muttered absently, poking around in the dirt. Then lifted her face. "Don't just stand there like a dummy! Restore's missing. Help me look."

"Are you sure you just didn't misplace it?"

"Vinnie." Her smile was deceptively sweet, like vanilla extract. "Have I ever second-guessed you on your guns?"

"No."

"Then don't question me about materia."

Vincent left the girl to her hunt, directing his gaze to the long, scarring tracks in the dirt several yards away. Light reflecting off a tiny shard of green caught the ex-Turk's eye and he crouched in the raked dirt, picking up the fragment for inspection.

Turning back to Yuffie, he watched her fruitlessly attempt to solder the two broken spikes back onto the main body of the Conformer with a Firaga spell.

"Well that sucks!" she huffed, finally giving up and tossing the broken shuriken at hapless tree, permanently imbedding it in its trunk.

The ex-Turk stood and held the fragment on his palm out towards her. The ninja's eyes dropped to the splash of green crystal in his hand, then skittered over to the sizeable claw marks and dried rust liberally decorating the ground, undoubtedly imagining they would be much more painful scoring somewhere, anywhere, on her body.

"C'mon Vinnie." She stood, brushing dirt off her knees, nervously scanning the perimeter. "Let's bug on out before that howler comes back."

"Howler?" The gunslinger's head cocked slightly to the side.

"What else would you call it?"

"No, I think it's quite apropos. You have a way with names."

"Well," the girl practically glowed at the unexpected compliment, stuffing her hands into the back pockets of her shorts. "Some things just come naturally."

"So that explains the drooling." the gunslinger casually tossed over his shoulder as he strolled back to the chocobo.

Yuffie immediately flushed a healthy shade of black cherry, sputtering at his retreating back. If it weren't for the fact that Vincent Valentine had no discernable sense of humor, she would have suspected he was teasing her.

"It was grubby anyway!" Her holler echoed out over the valley.

Gawd! Would he never let her live that down?

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First, I'd like to apologize for the delay. I really didn't want to leave it in the middle of the chapter. However, I got a bit caught up in co-writing a BTVS fic called Exquisite Corpse and this section ended up sitting on my hard drive for about two months.

Next: t.hou shalt; not[3]. The last part of this first chapter will tie up what is essentially the prologue(eep!).

"So. . . where's Vinnie? You know: tall, dark, depressing? You didn't toss him into the sea, did you? 'Cause with all that metal on him he's just gonna sink."

-Yuffie, to Umbra
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