A/N: The final part of Pretend. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed and favorited this story, as well as encouraged it. Once again, much thanks to T. Costa for betaing the whole thing.

Without further ado, the last installment of this story. :) This is for all those imaginary friends. And you, of course. Here we are again.

o

Hollow Bastion took some getting used to.

It was a mess when they had arrived – the opening of Kingdom Hearts had restored it, but not completely (and why the hell did it restore this stupid old place instead of her Planet, with lovely Wutai?), and they had their work cut out for them.

Eventually, the actual town was rejuvenated to suitable living conditions, thanks to Merlin, the amazing and somewhat senile wizard.

Then, already, it was November, and soon enough it came round to the twentieth.

"Happy birthday, Yuffie!"

The man, she knew (as Vincent, but kept that name in her thoughts because if she said it aloud when he wasn't there, it would mean he wouldn't be real) had been talking to her, but the rude awakening sent her jolting out of bed, scrabbling for her Conformer until she realized what they were saying – and she didn't comment on the nice dream, because birthdays only come once a year, and she was twenty one today (and twenty one years ago had been born in a beautiful land, while children played, dreams of flight were beginning to take form, a youth that was never human was betrayed by his kin, young men began to work in this cruelty we call life, and a man slept the years away in a constant nightmare).

"Heya, guys," and sounding just a little punch drunk from just waking up, she pulled herself up and grinned at Aerith, Cloud, Leon, and Cid (two of whom didn't look quite like it was their idea to wake her up with a cheerful happy birthday, and guess which two emo men—).

And Aerith hustled her into the kitchen with some homemade pancakes, blueberry, fluffy and just perfect, already made and waiting for her.

"Birthdays only come once a year," she said merrily as she portioned the little pieces of heaven onto several plates for the rest of the household. "And this year is your twenty first!"

"Eighteenth," Leon corrected her dully because (he didn't know himself) Cid and Cloud didn't hear her proclamation.

Yuffie's fork almost fell from her suddenly almost trembling fingers as she remembered, but only almost – and that was what counted, right?

And nobody noticed, which was a good thing, so she brushed it off, tried to lock it in the back of her mind for the moment, and ate.

"Happy birthday, Yuffs," Cloud smiled a bit – it looked weird, because he hadn't smiled in so long, but for his pretend sister he made the effort. There hadn't been much to smile about, and Cloud was just a stick in the mud, but Yuffie grinned back tenfold and cursed him childishly with the grin still there when he ruffled her hair. Just like he used to—

When she was sixteen— and wore a green turtleneck sweater without sleeves, and armor, and—

Later, she told them not to worry about it – she was going off to explore for her birthday, so please don't worry if she wasn't back before twilight?

A bit worried, because it is your birthday, don't you want to just take the day off and relax? –Okay, if that's what you really want—have fun.

She smiled like a Cheshire cat, cheeky and wide, and bounced off, until they couldn't see her; then she slowed down to a contemplative, slow stride.

o

Soon enough, the town was behind her, and she was going towards the castle in the distance, the not-so-cold silvery lavender-white-blue surroundings taking the place of dull brick. She didn't really need to worry about Heartless; what did she have that they wanted? Just one heart, not a very important one at all, and of course they wouldn't bother her.

It was a while, far away from the little town that was not her home, until Yuffie felt comfortable to speak loudly and freely, so speak she did.

"You promised you'd get drunk as all hell with me," she told the rough pathway, the cool rock walls, the empty sky that echoed it back to her.

She waited patiently.

'I… really didn't agree,' his slightly amused tone said otherwise;the voice didn't echo, but was very clear and crisp and made her think of autumn wind; she didn't stop walking, but her pace slowed and Yuffie craned her head to look back and grin.

"Long time no see. They say this is home, but I've figured out it isn't."

He was leaning very calmly against the slightly jagged, nature-made wall, a contrast to all the calm, cool colors that made up Hollow Bastion (which wouldn't be Radiant Gardens until it was properly restored, but she didn't really care about it anymore—).

'It isn't,' he agreed, and she had stopped; he pulled away from the wall and strode very calmly, very relaxed, towards her and she fell into step with him.

"…Then… why does everyone else think it is?" And he was silent for a long time until he answered quietly.

'I couldn't tell you, because I don't know myself. But… I think,' he said, Vincent said, and the name rolled around in her head, 'That it is something you need to find for yourself. Or perhaps not. Perhaps there is someone who is waiting to tell you.'

"Who?"

'I'm afraid I don't know that, either. …Maybe you know them, but then again, maybe you don't.' She wouldn't walk too close to him, because she was terrified of touching him – but he seemed so real, so real, in comparison to this place and these people.

"Hmm. Well, then… Where are you going?" Because she really didn't know what to say, because just these few moments were very precious to her, and the only time she really felt like herself anymore (because I am not me I am not me I am not me anymore—).

'…Wherever you are. I'm just along for the ride,' and she grinned like Christmas had come early and bounced off ahead (just like old times when I was sixteen and loving it, seventeen and loving it, then eighteen and nineteen and we were all together—!).

She jabbered away like a happy little bird singing a tune, twirling and jumping and so alive again.

"I know where Cid hides his beer," Yuffie finally said with that certain mischievous Yuffie-esque quality that no doubt screamed danger; Vincent smiled faintly.

"When we get back, I'll grab it, and you have to have some, too," she told him, and he neither agreed nor disagreed which was fine with her, because the company was all she needed.

'What… about Wutai?' he finally asked, softly. She had been climbing a rock a ways ahead of him with ease, but the child-like exploring sobered instantly and she slid down without making a sound.

"What about it?" She murmured, quietly, and waited for him to come to her because he was still walking forward.

'…You loved it,' he told her, and she knew it already, but to have it just put in her face like that, just a sign with blaring lights that stated the not-so-obvious; she knew it before, but she knew it now.

"I love it," the ninja corrected, but still not loud at all, but still herself – because with this vampire man she was really herself, always was, because he brought out the best and worst in her, in the way that only close friends (or something m-?) could.

He waited patiently.

"I… I don't know," she told him, falteringly, looking ahead and her eyes swiveling to meet his, watching her intently. "I really don't. I think I already know… that we'll never be able to go back," she mumbled unhappily, "I think, because… our Planet… It was alive," she realized.

He nodded affirmatively.

'It was.'

"Like… not just earth. Like a living, breathing organism, like a living being," and Aeris's voice floated into her head, that 'this is dead earth,' so sadly.

"And… because it wasn't just dead earth… because it, itself, was a living being, not just the things that lived on it like here," and her arms made a grand sweeping motion to further her point, "It will never be able to be alive again. Because the dead don't come back to life."

Vincent looked broken.

And, finally, she broke, too—

And then he embraced her.

o

When Yuffie awakened, it was almost twilight, but not quite, and she was lying on a rock that wasn't all that uncomfortable (because she grew up living uncomfortably and not here not here back on the Planet, beautiful Planet—).

"…Vin…?" (Because she couldn't bring herself to let that name out if he wasn't there because he wouldn't be real anymore—) She was shivering in the hazy late afternoon summer sunrays, like her system was being cleaned out with ice cold water, and she jumped up, rubbing her arms a bit with ice cold hands.

She stood for a time, arms dropping eventually to soak in those dying rays (last dying rays of the Planet, escaping on the Shera, goodbye Wutai and I'm so so so sorry Red and Barret and Reeve but most of all Vincent—), and after a while she dully realized that her cheeks were wet and her eyes weren't dry at all, but she left them and stood for a time, and when the last rays really were coming out, she stomped her foot and swore before turning around and walking back.

"Sadistic bastard," she murmured but it wasn't all that bad, because Yuffie was confident that when she opened Cid's private little beer safe he would be there (to get her out of trouble or be her accomplice in it, and there was no other way because he would always be a part of it, she remembered telling him once), and so she walked with a faltered spring in her step as she picked up the pieces.

After a time, when the bailey was coming up in the far distance, barely discernable, and the pathway was widening, the little hairs on the back of her neck stood up and a bucket of metaphorical ice water was dumped over her head again, goosebumps all over—

(And she knew this feeling, she knew it, she just couldn't remember, but flashes of dark caverns and haunting green light from the mako in the center of the Planet and a Crater, a big Crater, where the one-winged angel—)

She gasped and swiveled on the spot, not quite knowing what she knew was there.

There was a man (but not her man) with pale skin (but not as pale as his) with long, long silver (not black) hair in black leather (not red, worn cotton) with a long, long sword she knew she had seen before (but not a gun—).

Startlingly green eyes, almost jade and almost glowing, focused on her.

Stony face.

And the sword, and the hair and the eyes and the clothes and the lone black wing unfurling from his back and oh Leviathan—

But then Yuffie took another look at him.

Another look. A closer look.

And he was tired. His silver hair wasn't as silky as it once was, his skin was paler than she remembered, his black leather wasn't as black and was even a little scuffed, and his sword wasn't smiling sinisterly down at her like she remembered.

His eyes were tired.

And there was recognition in them—

"You know," she said simply, and she super-glued the few pieces of herself back together and didn't quaver.

He dipped his head a fraction of an inch in acknowledgement.

She took a breath and walked a few steps forward. "And… you remember," she said to him.

Recognition in those eyes didn't die out, because she knew that he was almost ethereal, even more so than Aeris, that he was truly untouchable if this did nearly nothing to him.

She walked forward slowly, and he didn't step back or forward. He waited for her.

The blade stayed in its sheath, and Yuffie knew he wouldn't pull it out (—the Masamune, made in Wutai by the master blacksmith of the land who died before she was born—).

"But you're looking for answers," and he didn't say anything but she knew this was right, "Can you… please, tell me." Because she needed to know more than she needed to breathe, she was desperately scrabbling at her own mind again and again for something that was so hidden it wouldn't come out.

"You remember me," these first words spoken were almost like a jolt to her system because it was a low, smooth voice, in rich baritone tones, that she recognized with a slight spark of fear. She quickly squashed it and focused on him, light gray eyes focusing on jaded green.

"Yes."

"…But not completely," he mused. She nodded stonily.

"No wonder…" and he almost seemed to forget she was there for a moment, "You haven't tried to harm me yet."

Yuffie tried not to be shaken, but continued to meet his gaze without flinching (even though her hands were shaking, balled in fists, shaking so much and I can almost remember you how could you do this to them I hate you).

"I… harm… but…?"

Her thoughts were a confused, dripping, jumbled mess all worked up in knots, lots of knots (and I should have paid more attention in rope classes, with a groan while hanging off of Da Chao's carved faces—), and her breathing was a bit heavier. There was recognition in his eyes, but he slowly began to walk past her, away from the town—

"Wait," her voice was a little raspy. He kept walking—

"Sephiroth!" It came out in a strangled scream, and she turned and ran after him, colliding with his hard back and her arms wrapped around his middle – and she tried not to cry, she tried so damn hard.

The lone ebony wing was uncomfortable against her shoulder and cheek, not at all soft, but he was not a soft man, a fallen angel—

"…You poor, poor child," it was a murmur.

All was still.

"…I want to remember," the muffled voice came from his back after a few moments; "I want to remember you, and Aeris, and Cloud, and Cid and the pretty cook with a mean punch and Barret and the Red that's more orange and my vampire," and she didn't even remember to feel bad for getting a few tears on Sephiroth's wing.

When she finally peeked up, Sephiroth had turned his head a fraction of an inch, green-almost-jade eyes meeting hers (and this time, she felt no fear).

"Jenova isn't in you anymore," she whispered, hands still loosely clasped around his middle.

"…Broken fragments are always sharper than the glass as a whole," finally came the reply, and there was sense in that, so she could understand because it was so painfully true.

Yuffie retracted her arms, feeling like such a child to this man, even if she was twenty-one now, ready to drink and be merry with her imaginary man; she watched him, and he slowly turned to face her.

"It isn't there… and… wasn't your real mother. But… my mother…?" And yes, indeed, broken fragments were always so much easier to cut oneself on than the glass.

"No, she wasn't," Sephiroth nodded slowly, and Yuffie wondered if she imagined that flash of what could have been pain in his eyes, "And your mother... should I tell you of your own mother...? Funny, because… I suppose… I think, then…"

He exhaled a quiet breath.

"I would rather like having someone not hate me," it was very mild for such an intense man, and this made her want to cry again – funny, because she had been trying not to so hard before today—

Yuffie rubbed her eyes, all traces of tears gone, and she looked up at him a little more whole (but still not all together, and why the hell is everything so broken up—).

"I won't hate you."

This seemed to be a shock to his own system – Yuffie could see his eyes suddenly focusing more sharply on hers, but she stayed strong, meeting his gaze levelly.

Like many other situations, this one had the strange oddity of maybe lasting a half second, or several long minutes.

"Jenova isn't there, anymore, is she? …You could try running your own life. Be someone else than the bad guy this time around."

"…You are getting cut by glass," Sephiroth replied simply after a while, eyes still on hers. "…But you're stronger, than what you were expected to be."

Yuffie breathed.

Twilight was there, already, and Yuffie looked round as she heard gentle footsteps behind her.

"Yuffie… and Sephiroth," Aeris – Aerith, of course (either one, Yuffie couldn't tell, and it frightened her subconsciously a little), said softly, holding the whicker basket of flowers lightly, gentle green eyes meeting clouded almost-jade, and something passed between the two that Yuffie understood she wouldn't ever be able to understand, not in a million years, and settled for watching.

"I'm sorry," he said, and nothing was lost and she smiled, lips curving up and eyes kind, because it was so easy to tell that he was forgiven a long time ago.

"Yuffie's right, Sephiroth. Try to be someone other than the bad guy, this time."

He didn't quite know what to say to that – Aeris just inclined her head, and Yuffie, won't you come back with me? in that soft-spoken voice, turning and walking with those same gentle footsteps.

Yuffie stayed, for a moment, and they watched each other. She smiled, not a terribly happy smile, but it was a start – he nodded, and he was just a man, just a man, and maybe, this time, he would try.

There was really no telling, but she nodded, too, and turned to run.

o

Aerith asked for nothing, Aerith said nothing, and Aerith, maybe even, expected nothing.

She just smiled in that gentle way all too familiar and so comforting, as the two walked down that cobblestone road to home (not home, no, never), and Yuffie couldn't help but relax in the woman's presence.

Because Aerith was a calming factor, Aerith was all that was good in this world and the next and the next after that, and Aeris was ethereal to the point of unreal (and when did she still mix those two up?).

And, for the second time in what seemed really like only minutes, Yuffie opened her mouth uncertainly, but with a Yuffie-esque quality of spray-on confidence, and said:

"You know."

And the woman dressed in pink with the beautiful caramel braid and no little red jacket (made of jean-like material, soft and warm and wonderfully safe, but forever gone along with that puke-mobile plane and all the others) just smiled.

Just smiled, maybe nostalgically or maybe a little mysteriously, just smiled a little unhappily or very gently.

"And what do I know?" Came the soft reply, because everything about Aerith (Aeris Aeris Aeris Aeris—) was soft and gentle. The sister-figure taking on the role of mother-figure in Yuffie's little pretend family, her little inner universe that didn't have anything to do with gardens or bastions or forever night, had everything to do with sun and grass and living (but with it's own fair share of darkness, too, cool and collected and safe, no matter what anyone else said about bronze claws or sharp, almost unnerving scarlet eyes).

And there was silence, comfortable and undemanding and pleasant and just like a day unwinding from playing and nothing but joy. (And if only.)

Then the Great Ninja Yuffie (and there was something more, after that, but the title was tickling her head in the back of her mind and wouldn't come out) opened her mouth again and the silence was dispelled.

"Aeris."

And gray eyes focused right on forest green eyes that just softened and made Yuffie want to cry (but she wasn't so weak, and she had done her fair share of crying for a lifetime and was ready to be done with tears), but those gray eyes stayed dry and surprisingly, almost unnaturally, calm.

And Aeris (Aeris, once more – Aeris from the Planet, Aeris dead and gone and never coming back, unreal and beautiful while in perfect harmony with the Planet she was supposed to be bound to, forevermore, no longer living—) was there again, a complete and utter dumping of ice cold water over Yuffie's head.

And, for a moment, Aeris didn't seem to quite know what to say as her eyes were lost in musings.

But she smiled again, good-naturedly, everything coming up roses.

"Yes," she responded with a sort of shine in her eye that didn't feel half as good to look at to experience, Yuffie knew, "Aeris. You're remembering, aren't you?"

Twilight was setting into night, and as the sun was dying, really setting this time, Aeris's familiar brown boots stopped at the steps to Merlin's house. She sat down, and didn't need to invite Yuffie to do so, as well, because everything was just so confusing all of a sudden but so clear, and all the ninja wanted to do was give the woman a Phoenix Down and close her eyes for a time.

"…I'm remembering, but why did I forget in the first place?"

The whisper came quickly and left in a whoosh of breath. Yuffie had never appreciated her light accent from Wutai, as it had never been noticeable (never discernable through all of the 'grossness!'es and 'oh my GAWD'es, and even, maybe, 'Vinnie VinVin'es—), truly until that moment.

"…What do you remember?" And there was no rush, no push. Aeris would have waited hours and hours, patient and accepting and watching the world around her with love as she waited.

So Yuffie told her.

Yuffie told her she remembered another woman, a martial artist who made the best food, warm and beautiful and strong, a man named Barret full of chocolate muscles and a teddy bear on the inside, a Red that was more orange, Cloud. Her. Wutai. The Planet.

And him, she said, eyes lost in the sky and watching those stars that she must have been from, once.

"Him."

And Aeris knew. She knew, and Yuffie was relieved, because he was real, but the name was hers to keep, for now. And somehow that was strangely relieving.

"It's all a lot of crap to forget, isn't it?" Yuffie finally muttered, mildly bitten fingernails idly pulling at a loose thread on her most amazingly awesome shoes that were not yellow.

"No," came the warm response, "It's a lot of good things to remember."

Yuffie nodded, the wording somehow charming her, and laid down her head upon her knees, set on legs that weren't so skinny anymore, filling out with muscle (like my mama, the ninja, Lady of Wutai—).

"But… you still don't know why in the first place, do you?"

The ninja shook her head slightly, gray eyes on the dead that came back to life and the calm night of quiet town and shining dark blue sky behind her.

"…The Planet… our Planet…" And she paused, a moment, perhaps delicately picking out the words she would like to use; Yuffie wondered what was going through her head, for the excitement she would've have expected upon finding out, well, everything was suddenly missing. And in its place was a strange sort of cool, aloof detachment.

(Because if I can't handle it, I won't let myself let go of this semblance of sanity, I promise, Vinnie.)

"…Because I was dead, once," Aeris suddenly said, unexpectedly, snapping Yuffie from her mild reverie; "Because I was dead, and I was supposed to stay that way. But I didn't. Because… maybe the Planet wanted me to live. Or maybe… maybe I'm just being too egotistical. Maybe it just wanted some of its children to live… and it just happened to be Sephiroth and I."

Because he was supposed to be dead, too, Yuffie remembered.

(Green lights, the scent of wet earth, mako – and the gate to tomorrow isn't the light of heaven, it's the darkness of the depths of the earth—)

She tried not to think about it too much, because the night was warm but she felt as if ice water was dancing down her spine.

"…And… And we couldn't do anything, where we were. My mother, Zack, me… And neither could AVALANCHE, the Turks, Neo-Shinra.

"Nobody could save the Planet this time around," she continued softly, almost dreamily, eyes closed as if she were in a trance and Yuffie sat, captivated, "The Planet couldn't save the Planet. And… it was just so unfair, for it, like a young child in the vast expanse of the universe, waiting for someone to help it stand. Anyone. And we weren't there.

"I think – I think it was a little angry. Because the darkness was there. And it had help from its children with Meteor, with Geostigma, with Deepground."

And flash, dozens of images seemed to flood into Yuffie's brain of a blood red sky filled with fire and the ominous rock, children and adults alike dying with the strangest bruises, soulless men and women wearing blue and masks and a child; a ten-year old child, forever ten, with auburn hair and the tiniest smile once it was coaxed out.

"But we didn't help it this time," Aeris murmured, unhappy forest eyes averting almost reverently from the expanse of beautiful sky to her clasped hands. "We didn't help it when it needed it most, because the darkness was raping our Planet of everything it held close to it. Why should we live when the very being who keeps us alive should die?"

Her voice became very quiet.

"Why should we live when the very being who kept us alive had to die?"

And there was a slight quaver, a mild trembling that sent Yuffie into goosebumps and shivers, because as hard as it was for her to remember, it was harder for cool, calm and collected Aeris to talk about it.

Her voice trembled more.

"It was the time for the Planet's death, Yuffie. It was supposed to happen, I'm sure of it, but it didn't want to die. It wasn't ready yet."

And her hands vainly scrabbled at her heart for a few moments as tears quietly slid down her face, trying to comfort it or tear it out (Yuffie wasn't sure which) or just do something to make the pain go away, because Yuffie knew all too well how much it hurt, and she couldn't do anything, just watch, because this was one of Aeris's days, still so hard to diagnose.

"It was angry, Yuffie," she murmured, tears dripping down like rain, "Please don't be mad with it… It was just angry, that everyone who survived, who weren't dead already, couldn't save it but could save themselves. And it acted on that unhappiness, but I know it didn't mean to… It acted, and took away the last thing it had access to."

And that was hardly fair, Yuffie thought, because they tried, and dear Leviathan, I am so sorry, I am so sorry, I'm so sorry… And her memories were gone, then, because that was the last thing the Planet acted on in anger, in unhappiness, in frustration and rage like a child. And that was hardly fair.

"And this…" Aeris whispered, those beautiful green eyes fogged and cloudy and not at all Aeris; no, instead, a pale alabaster statue, hunched over in pain and beautiful, untouchable and a moon being in the starlight, the moonlight, the distant light of the cold glow of the street lamps.

"This is our punishment."

And then—

Silence.

For a long time, just silence, and both listening to the other's breathing.

(Trying to breathe. An attempt, and nothing more.)

When Yuffie looked up, she was Aerith once more.

The woman slowly unclenched her hands, slowly unknotted her brow and stopped beating herself with the past, green eyes mild again, pink lips settling back into the familiar upturned curve that was never fake. Not exactly happy, but picking itself up again. And that was a start.

"Squall's world was like ours, too, I think. Maybe there were many worlds like ours, and there are other people out there, looking. Just like you."

Aerith breathed in and sighed deeply, standing up after a few minutes, the tear tracks rubbed off. She smiled down and put her hand out to help Yuffie up, whose head was spinning in wonder.

"Maybe one day you'll remember," the flower girl offered gently and honestly.

Yuffie nodded, and they went inside.

o

"Cid's own private little beer vault." And there she was, late at night at eleven thirty and everyone went to bed because eleven wasn't that late at all – Yuffie wanted to cackle, wanted to cackle in a way that was very familiar, but if she did, would that bring him out or make him leave?

Please come out, she mentally pleaded, but her mental facilities were drained for the day and no wonder telepathy didn't work anymore, she thought silently, because she remembered when it did work, when she really needed him to be around, with this Vincent and the real one, the one on the Planet child that was so angry it would take her memories of him away.

(And this made her a little bit bitter.)

So she tried not to think on it too hard (but opened up that old scar, peeled off that gross scab that was so much fun to pick at, no matter how much it stung in the end), but sat down pleasantly with the beer can and closed her eyes.

And she waited.

And she drank, all alone, drinking drinking drinking and knowing she would do so until she was almost unable to drag her sorry little behind back to bed. And waiting, all alone, and she didn't want to seem that way – she was stronger than that, she didn't need to depend on a memory (even if she did, she did so much, because it was just so damn hard), so she thought and drank, and drank and thought.

She scoured her mind for memories, she closed her eyes and pretended she could feel wind on her face, searched for a picture of a past life and wait for it to burn itself into her eyelids, and she thought she wouldn't mind so much if it stayed there, ever single time she closed her eyes for a while—

'You are dangerously close to intoxicating yourself to the point of sickness and well beyond,' the voice finally came.

Yuffie's eyes didn't open quickly like they asked her to, but she allowed them to open one at a time, slowly, almost cautiously, until they eased open fully with a sparkle. A brightness (a happiness that wasn't there when he wasn't).

"Pshaw," she responded, and was genuinely surprised to find that her voice was no longer quiet and soft but regular and slurred a little, sounding more than a little drunk like a red headed Turkey-butt she had once known; she cleared her throat a little.

"A promise 's a promise," Yuffie reminded with a grin, and pushed over an untouched can at the man sitting opposite of her. His hair was still black, his skin still pale as the moon, his cape still red as the deepest embers of fire; and his eyes were still scarlet, but not the same.

Yuffie wondered why.

'A promise is a promise,' he agreed, but did not touch the cold tin of the uncomforting drink. 'But you are still so young.'

And his eyes, his eyes were still scarlet, but not the same, and they were unhappy eyes – she did not see it in the scarlet depths, because eyes are not the windows to a soul, they betray nothing and you can hear nothing from them; she saw from his hair, suddenly not quite as messy and untamed as before, from his skin, paler than moon and resembling starlight, from his cape that was suddenly more worn, but his eyes were still scarlet.

And isn't that strange, that she was wrong before, and his eyes were really the only things that stayed the same.

"I'm twenty-one, Vinnie," and it was a very hoarse whisper because her voice had been captured by the devilish can in her hand, "And you aren't so old."

He didn't quite have anything to say to that, and his face was drawn, but not tightly, the scowl gone and a more heavily thoughtful look filling his face's blank canvas.

'And you aren't so young,' and his voice was troubled and it troubled her, almost shook her, but Yuffie wouldn't let it, so it didn't.

"You promised," she suddenly said, and this time he complied, and threw his head back and took a long drink.

'I'm sorry,' he murmured, but she shook her head and repeated it, and he was sorry because he left her alone, all alone, and she was sorry because she left him behind and just as alone, and they weren't very different at all.

"I want you to stay," She finally rasped, Yuffie rasped, the ninja rasped and the child rasped, all together (and isn't that strange, that the only time she could pull herself together was when she was broken most of all).

'You're hurting yourself,' And his hands were on the table and her hands were on the table, 'You keep cutting yourself. You need to stop.'

"I'm a sucker for self-torture," because she was beating herself with it; it was a very soft whisper, a very laughing whisper, a very choked whisper. Her eyes, which betrayed nothing because eyes never did, never will, were watching intently and absorbedly but fearfully as his hand was closer to hers, because if his touch wasn't real and if her hand felt nothing, she would break this time, she would break into so many pieces not even Aerith (no, Aeris, Aeris, Aeris) could put her back together.

'Please don't be,' his voice, so soft and suddenly so clear, like crystal or fresh spring water in the mountains of Wutai, almost begged her, in a way, and she was almost paralyzed, wanting to jerk back so badly, but she couldn't, because she had to know—

And he didn't come any closer. His hand, gloved and black and beautifully, terribly human, traced hers lightly without touching it, right above it and she would swear she felt the warmth from it, emanating and pulsing and vivid and live.

And she was a sucker for self-torture but she was afraid. So afraid. So she sat very still, still as stone and unmoving like a Yuffie-statue, never moving, barely breathing, so comfortable but so afraid.

'You need to stop,' he said gently, so gently, his eyes meeting hers and something that she would never be able to write down in words passing between them, a raw emotion, raw and bleeding and there.

"I can't," came the little sound and she suddenly trembled violently, suddenly so tired.

'…You can stop, you can't keep doing this. This sort of unhappiness is not meant for you,' and his face was suddenly so much more old and weary, but so much more alive and fiery for a brief moment.

'You need to be alive.'

And his hand shot forward, like a rocket, like a ninja, like a vampire, like a chocobo with a giant snake called the Midgar Zolom on its heels, and it shot forward and touched hers, and she didn't know what to make of it.

And it stayed there.

'Come,' he murmured quietly, and she dazedly followed, and he led her from the wooden table down the hall lit in blue moonlight that was both chilling and not at all; Vincent quietly led her to her bed, and he sat down beside her as she toppled into bed and tried not to cry, but he whispered to let it out and she did, hands still linked, the tears, the real ones, the ones she wasn't able to shed up until now flowing freely and wildly and the moonlight was there, too, and she was filled with the unexplainable urge to run, she had to run and run and keep running until she made it to Da Chao's beautiful carved faces, until she made it to him again, a yearning to just rush –

The gloved hand quietly brushed the tears away.

And, real or not, he was beautiful, he was tangible, he was out of this world and amazing and so terribly, terribly sad, so Yuffie didn't bother to rub off the last of the tears from her face and she kissed him.

(And she kissed him like a girl would kiss a boy, how a woman would kiss a man, how a soldier would kiss his best friend before they went into the battle and didn't know if they would come out whole or not. She kissed him like a Yuffie would kiss a Vincent—)

And he didn't mind, she knew, because this time, he was real (even if only a little bit).

And a gloved hand gently finished brushing off those tears that weren't supposed to be so plentiful, and he gently closed her eyes because she was just so tired, so tired, and he laid her down to rest, and whispered in her ear,

'You'll be Yuffie again in the morning.'

And she knew no more, because the sleep that she longed for settled over her like a blanket and consciousness slipped away.

o

When she woke up again, the golden sun was kissing her face, her skin, her eyes as they opened slowly. She felt punch-drunk, a little, but she sat up quickly after a moment, plain white bed sheets falling from her torso, and everything was suddenly so clear.

And Yuffie did jump out the window this time.

She did run, run as fast as her legs could pump and run as fast as she could in the golden early morning sunlight that warmed her very bones and heart, rushed until everything was a blur, a whirlwind of colors and smells and good feelings – she ran because she wasn't going towards something, wasn't leaving something, wasn't looking for something, but she ran for the sake of running and shedding off that fake skin, leaving it behind in her dust and laughing for the sake of laughing with the sun painting her a living, breathing feeling being.

Because she was Yuffie again, and she knew that she was Yuffie of Wutai, AVALANCHE's Yuffie, Yuffie Kisaragi, the Greatest Ninja Ever, and Yuffie who loved Vincent, Yuffie whom Vincent loved, because he was out there somewhere and would find his way, because there was never any rush, and these things took time

(And she breathed, and nothing felt better.)