Learning to Live

Vincent:

Why is it always warehouses, Valentine thought with an exasperated sigh. Gods, cretins never changed. He moved silently through the rubble of Midgar, making less sound than moonlight on water. But it wasn’t difficult to locate the specified place. Apparently these juvenile idiots didn’t have the good sense to keep their machinations quiet. Faint light streamed through windows, pinpointing the location. The gunman smirked as he noticed thugs “patrolling” the perimeter. With deadly efficiency, Vincent eliminated the sentries then crouched atop the building to peer below.



Reeve, you damned coward, he thought acidly, seeing what had the Commissioner so up-in-arms. A herd of idiot kids. Sanguine eyes rolled in great exasperation but he had a job to do. Even though it’s technically my bloody day off, he thought sourly. But the lifting of guns and the spray of bullets to the leader’s speech had him seething curses as he jumped aside to avoid being plugged with a stray round. A low growl roiled in his chest. He’d do his job then head home for a longer nap. Wasting little time, Vincent prowled around to the back of the depilated place and slipped inside.



The “riot” was still in full sway, so he had little trouble making his way to the front of the throng. The gang members whistled and stamped feet, truly psyched over their “revolution” or some other such nonsense. The gunslinger stepped up to the speaker, who stared back at the tall dark man with a stupid grin, made even more foolish by the gaps in his grin. Bald, tattooed and completely reeking of booze and other unspeakables, yes, this was a threat to world order, thank you very much, Reeve.



But Valentine didn’t hesitate. “You are Marco, self proclaimed leader of the Blazing Dragons?” Gaia, what an imbecilic name.



The man “hell yeah’ed”, eliciting several other whistles and cheers. But there was dead silence in the wake of the single pistol blast that reverberated through the warehouse. Still grinning like a fool, Marco of the Blazing Dragons suddenly thumped to the floor, blood leaking from the smoking hole between his eyes.



As one, the stunned members turned from the body only to see the trailing flutter of a crimson cape as it vanished around a corner. But that didn’t stop them from shrieking outrage and thundering after it and out the doors, only to be dropped in their tracks by more precise gunshots. Vincent didn’t even have to aim; they made lovely targets, standing in front of the light. But he decided to give them a bit of sport, so he jumped up on a broken re-bar, silhouetted against the weak moon.



They spied him and opened fire; Valentine evaded easily, all the while shooting back and felling even more. By the time he reloaded, only twelve still stood and apparently decided discretion was the better part of survival this night, dropping their weapons and fleeing to seek a safer, less hazardous way of life. As he flowed over the rooftops back to Edge, Vincent sighed. He supposed there would always be rebellions against any type of order, thus he would always pull the trigger, no questions asked.



Vincent avoided the bar the following week, just as he’d known he would. Ironically enough, Reeve kept him busy enough that Chaos had little time to aggravate the ex-Turk about it. He made several trips out of town, only to return exhausted and collapse in bed for a few scant hours of sleep before rising and heading off to work again. But the monotony of routine settled in his mind once more, dimming last week’s experience and automatically storing it away only to be remembered in the deep watches of the night, where need was strongest.



Saturday morning, however, Vincent was interrupted from a sound sleep by a thunderous knocking on his front door. Opening one glazed eye, he located the clock and realized with a sulfurous curse that it was only seven in the damned morning! Staggering from bed, hauling on pants and shirt, tugging the Cerberus from its holster, he shuffled down the hall, stifling yawns and contemplating shooting the miscreant through the door as the pounding continued.



But as he cocked the gun and glanced through the peephole, he rolled his eyes in exasperation and thumbed on the gun’s safety, throwing locks and opening the door to glare at one Cid Highwind’s sardonically grinning face, complete with half-smoked cigarette dangling from his lips. His wife Shera stood behind him, beaming as was her wont.



“Mornin’, Sunshine,” the pilot drawled.



Valentine idly wondered if smacking the man in front of his wife would be considered rude. But he squealched the impulse, nodding instead. “Cid. Hello, Shera.”



The blonde woman stepped out from behind her husband and smiled warmly. “Good morning, Vincent. Sorry to wake you this early, but we arrived in town early and decided to pay a visit. I hope you don’t mind.”



Vincent prudently ignored Cid’s snarked comment of, “Naw, he don’t mind. ‘Cept to have to crawl out of his coffin an’ entertain.”



The gunslinger stepped aside and let them in, discreetly placing the gun on the new coffee table. Black brows lifted as Cid hauled in a large cardboard box, grunting as he plopped it down on the bar. “Groceries,” he snorted to the silent inquiry. “Shera don’t think you eat good ‘nuff.” Shera chuckled and went into the kitchen, bustling about as she emptied the box into Vincent’s cabinets.



Rather than attempt to stop her, Vincent just stayed out of the way, knowing better than to interfere, and lit his own cigarette, Planet, the things were becoming addictive. Cheekily plunking down in Vincent’s recliner, Cid exhaled a smoke ring and speared the tall man with a speculative glance. “Reeve’s been keepin’ ya pretty busy, huh? Haven’t seen ya around town in a coon’s age.”



Vincent, forced to sit on his couch, nodded, one knee lazily crossed over the other. Waving a hand at the woman still in the kitchen, Cid went on, “Shera’s got some more stuff for ya on the plane. Couldn’t take but one box in the taxi.” He snickered. “Ya should buy yer own groceries, Valentine.”



Vincent shrugged. “I eat just fine, thank you. Although…the effort’s appreciated.”



Cid snorted. “Right.”



Shera, finishing her maternal meanderings in the kitchen, came into the living room and sat on the other end of the couch, smiling benignly. “It’s good to see you, Vincent,” she said, pushing up her glasses. “Cid’s been terribly worried about you-“ Her husband’s snort cut off her sentence. But she chuckled.



Vincent sluggishly realized he should take initiative and offer his guests coffee, breakfast, something, but he just wasn’t awake enough yet. Before he could do so, Shera excused herself to the bathroom and Cid lit another cigarette. Finally pushing himself to get up, Vincent went into the kitchen and did start coffee, automatically going through his meager morning ritual.



He heard Cid saying from the living room, “So, ya gonna come tomorrow, or will ya have to work again?”



Valentine paused. “I’m sorry?” he replied, not knowing what Cid was talking about.



The pilot appeared at the bar, rolling blue eyes. “The party, dumbass. Tifa’s surprise birthday party.”



At Vincent’s still-blank look, Cid frowned. “Don’t tell me ya didn’t know about it. I know I called ya at least twice t’remind ya about it.”



The only response was the slow blinking of red eyes. The pilot huffed in exasperation. “Yer a dumbass, that’s what.”



Vincent shrugged. “Be that as it may, but my phone’s been inoperational this week, Cid. In the shop. I've been using a WRO issued cell.”



Blue eyes rolled. “Fuckin’ figures.” Shera emerged from the hall, chiding, “Language, Captain Highwind, language.”



Cid subsided with, “Yeah, yeah, babe.” He jerked a thumb at the ex-Turk. “Sunshine here didn’t get the messages. Dunno nothin’ about the party.”



Shera looked at Vincent. “Oh, Vincent! We’re throwing Tifa a surprise birthday party tomorrow! Barret and the kids are coming home. Yuffie’s coming with them from Wutai, and Cloud’s supposed to get her out of the house tomorrow morning so we can get everything ready. Did Cid not call you?”



Vincent’s half smile appeared as Cid blustered and grumped at his wife. “My phone has been inoperative, I’m afraid,” he explained after Cid’s swearing calmed. “I didn’t get the message. But it sounds wonderful. Tifa should have a special birthday.”



It then occurred to him he’d have to buy her something. Gaia, how do I do that? He’d never bought anything for anyone else before, certainly not a birthday present. He contemplated it over coffee, half-listening to Cid and Shera’s conversation about things in Rocket Town.



“—so that’s good progress, I suppose,” Shera finished, taking a final sip of her coffee. She glanced at Vincent. “Vincent? Are you all right?”



Returning to the present, Vincent glanced at her. “Hm? Oh, yes, I’m fine. Just considering…”



Cid lit another smoke. “Considerin’ what?”



Valentine paused before answering. “A suitable gift for Tifa’s party.”



One of Cid’s brows shot up and he grinned but Shera elbowed him before he could spout off something no doubt raucous and rude. “Well,” she said with a shrug, “we didn’t know what to get her either, so we settled on appliances. A really good dishwasher for the bar. Save on washing all those glasses by hand.”



Valentine nodded. Very practical. But he honestly didn’t know what to get her.



“Why don’t we take a stroll around town and look, then?” Shera suggested.



Cid jerked his head back. “Oh no, woman, you ain’t a-draggin’ me on no damned frilly shoppin’ spree. I fuckin’ know better.”



Shera chuckled. “Fine. You can go back to the ship and tinker. You’d just be worthless anyway.”



Vincent couldn’t help but smirk at Cid’s bluster and guff as he shoved his cup away and stomped back to the living room.



“Don’t mind him, Vincent,” Shera said, a twinkle in her eye. “He’s just a grumpy old man.” She ignored her husband’s comment of, “I heard that, woman,” wafting from the other room.



Shera insisted on rinsing the cups; Vincent let her and strolled back into the living room to see Cid standing by his desk, something catching the pilot’s attention, a rarity indeed. Vincent started to ask what was so fascinating but Cid retrieved a pencil from Vincent’s desk, leaned over and picked up a small white scrap of cloth from the carpet. Holding it suspended on the pencil, he turned to the immobile gunslinger, a wide smirk creasing his lips as one eyebrow lifted clearly to the rim of his goggles.



Vincent’s heart stopped beating as he realized Cid was holding Tifa’s underwear on that damned pencil and froze, riveted in place. Cid’s lips pursed. “Somethin’ you not tellin’ us, Valentine?” he drawled, thoroughly enjoying the look of complete mortification plastered on the gunslinger’s normally oh-so-composed face. “Been entertainin’ other folk ‘sides us these days?”



Tifa:

Completely unaware that elsewhere, someone was wagging her drawers around in front of a flustered Valentine, Tifa put away the last of the glasses for the bar and went about work as usual. Dark, thin brows drew low over brown eyes as she huffed softly.



"I really should have taken the whole weekend off," she muttered, already feeling unmotivated at the start of the day. Tomorrow was her birthday, at least she wouldn't be working then. Yet money was money, and the bar needed to be open on its busiest day.



She went upstairs to collect laundry and nearly ran into Cloud with a full basket as he exited his room. "Oh, sorry Tif," he offered when she teetered with the overflowing pile, managing not to drop anything. "Here," surprising her, he took the basket from her and went downstairs.



"I can-" she started to protest, then only blinked and followed him. She smiled as he set the basket down in the washroom and turned to her. He'd been very considerate the past couple of days, and it gave her a small case of the warm and fuzzies. Thoughtfulness wasn't normally his strongest trait, not that he was unkind, just usually too aloof or oblivious. "Thanks, Cloud."



He offered a small smile. "No problem." He brushed past her, towards the back door, presumably to begin work for the day, then turned back to her as if just recalling something. "Oh yeah, could you call and cancel my last two deliveries? Reeve called yesterday and wanted some help with something..."



The last part was a lie, but he couldn't tell her that he planned to go get her present. She raised a suspicious brow, guessing but saying nothing. "Ok. See you tonight, then."



His smile widened just a bit as he added, "Right. Oh, and Tifa... don't work too hard. You can't sleep in tomorrow..."



At her puzzled look, still mixed with a smile, he turned and was gone, leaving her to ponder over whatever he'd planned. Tifa found herself blushing slightly, and wondered how he could still make her do that. You knew he'd plan something, he's your friend, and that's all. Remember what Vincent said?



She sure didn't have a hard time remembering what he did. The smile faded... he hadn't stopped by or called the whole week. Here it was, her birthday weekend, too! She sighed heavily and trudged into the laundry room to begin sorting. It's not like it's a big deal, he probably doesn't remember his own birthday, let alone anyone else’s...



It still bothered her that, since his cool and abrupt departure from the bar, she hadn't heard a thing from him. Of course not... things were awkward now, right? Another year older tomorrow, and none the wiser, apparently. Just too bad she couldn't get him out of her head... especially when she lay alone in her bed at night.



Damn him, she thought, irritable with a small amount of the birthday blues. I hope he's suffering as much as me...



Vincent:


Following day, Vincent actually managed to sleep in. Shopping with Shera had proved a valuable experience. Even moreso without Cid. He’d secured his gift for Tifa, it lay in its prettily wrapped box atop the counter. As he sipped fresh coffee, Vincent recalled yesterday and his reaction to Cid’s little discovery.



As he’d stood there, frozen in place, he’d finally forced his numb legs to stride forward and snatch the garment from the abrasive pilot. Smoldering crimson eyes narrowed as he stared down at the pilot. “That is quite none of your business, Captain Highwind,” he’d grated harshly.



Cid had blinked at him, knowing something was going on; it wasn’t often Valentine showed that much emotion, hell, it wasn’t often he showed emotion period, but the clenched muscles in Vincent’s arms bespoke of impending danger should Cid push further. For once, the pilot listened to the quite tiny voice of good sense and left it alone.



Vincent sighed. Probably not the best way to deal with the situation, but for Gaia’s sake, was his private life privy to everyone? Not that he counted the pilot as everyone, but still, whoever Vincent chose to warm his bed, so to speak, was not for distribution amongst their former cadre. And he liked Cid, he truly did and counted the man a friend at times, but Valentine had no doubt whatsoever that if Cid had known just who those undergarments belonged do, Cid would be leading the ‘search-and-destroy’ mission on Vincent’s genitals.



But the event was scheduled for two p.m. Cloud was supposed to have Tifa out of the house, providing Cid, Shera, Barret and Yuffie time to prepare for their return. An ironic snort; he hadn’t been invited for the decorating. Just as well. Giggling madly over Paper Mache and squealing about cake icing just wasn’t in his job description. But the entire group would be together again; first time in a year. Well, save one.



When Vincent had inquired of Nanaki, Cid merely shrugged. “We buzzed the Canyon, even set down a spell, but no one’d seen the cat. Figured he’uz off still lookin’ for a mate or somethin’. Folk there said he’d been gone ‘bout a week or so. We left word that if he was close, to come by and came on.”



After taking a leisurely shower, Vincent dressed, choosing his next-to-favorite ensemble; black jeans, dark red silk shirt. He pulled on his gloves, opting to forego the talons for the afternoon. But he was grateful for the shirt’s long sleeves. At precisely one forty-five p.m, he retrieved his phone and Tifa’s gift, finally all set to head out.



Tifa:

That morning, Cloud had ushered Tifa out of bed at eight-thirty, much to her whining, and harried her to hurry up every minute from her shower to refusing to let her eat breakfast. "Just come on, I promise it's worth it," he had said. Riding behind him on Fenrir outside of town, past the barren flats and hills to the fertile meadows beyond, Tifa had to admit it was.



As she leaned against Cloud's back, enjoying the wind flowing over them, Tifa sighed in contentment. She hadn't been out of the city in weeks, and though Edge was home, there was a lot it couldn't offer. Miles of green grass and open spaces were on that list, and as he slowed the massive bike to a halt, she leaped off, running a short distance through tall grasses that tickled her calves. The air was so much fresher outside the city!



She spun on one heel to catch Cloud's smile, watched him turn off the engine and lock the kickstand in place, then open one of Fenrir's storage compartments. Her eyes widened when he pulled a large basket from it.



"Thought we could have breakfast out here." Her mouth opened in surprise, but she couldn't say anything for a moment and he continued. "You know," he dismounted and walked toward her, a blanket under his other arm. "Get away from the city for a while."



A smile slowly split her surprise, and she nodded. "Wow, Cloud. I'm impressed!" She truly was. Maybe things aren't as bleak as you thought, a little voice piped up. Another followed, Which means you boinked Vincent silly for nothing. Great job, Tifa, how're you gonna explain that? Cloud spread the blanket while all this was going on, missing her flush and the uncertainty in her eyes. You don't. Just let it be, see what happens.



Cloud set the basket on the blanket and the two sat down, her smile returning as she banished the little argument for the time being. Wasn't the first, almost certainly wouldn't be the last. Inside the basket was a thermos of her favorite tea, banana-nut muffins and assorted sweet pastries. "You went through a lot of trouble for these!" she exclaimed, picking through her treasures and piling a few onto a napkin.



A pointy, blond head shook. "Not really, just convinced Mrs. Connolly to make them."



Tifa grinned, "That's exactly what I mean." They shared a smirk, their neighbor could out-bake the best, but she was a cantankerous old bird prone to moods that made monsoons seem like a pleasant summer rain.



They shared the meal alongside small talk, then sat in quiet contentment with each other, talking over memories of silly childhood things and times spent with their friends, so much of which was humorous despite the ominous task that had lain before them in those days.



"Remember when Yuffie sprayed that stuff on Vincent's cape and in Cid's cigarettes?" Cloud chuckled, leaning back against the blanket. "What was that stuff called again?"



Tifa laughed as she replied, reclining the same as he was, only opposite of him with their heads parallel. "Fart-in-a-can..." she said. Both laughed. "Yeah, Cid swore the whole time while he turned the whole airship around to get more cigarettes. I thought Vincent was going to shoot her..."



Tifa rolled her eyes. "Ohhh, I think he almost did. I had to wash his cloak five times just to make it bearable..."



When their chuckles died off, Tifa turned her head to silently admire the man who'd gone through a little bit of trouble to make her day. "Thanks, Cloud. This is nice."



His head turned and blue eyes met hers as he nodded. They stared for a long moment, and she waited. Nothing happened; he turned away and sat up. "Come on, we should head back. I left my gift for you at home."



You're waiting for nothing, Tifa. This time the voice was Vincent's. Hiding mild disappointment, Tifa rose with a smile and a nod and the two packed up the basket and blanket and were on their way.



Vincent:

“’Bout time ya drug yer sorry carcass down here t’help us hang these decorations,” a gruff pilot drawled as Vincent stepped through the door of Seventh Heaven. Everyone turned to the enigmatic gunman as he closed the door behind him.



“Vincent!” squealed a coltish young woman, hopping down from the step ladder and making Cid swear even more foully as the streamers drifted down before he could tape them. Yuffie, eyes alight with glee, ran towards Vincent, only to yelp and stumble to a halt as she ran smack into one of Vincent’s gloved hands, extended to hit her forehead before she could tackle him.



“That’s close enough,” he warned her. She blinked at him, then grinned and stuck out her tongue, whirling and running back to save Cid from being strangled by the twisting streamers. The large black man behind the bar just grunted and nodded in Vincent’s general direction; Valentine nodded back.



“You’re right on time, Vincent,” Shera informed him breezily, gliding from behind the counter and handing him an armful of cups, plates and utensils. Pressed into service, he helped get things ready; it was five minutes till two. But somehow, they managed to get the bar’s interior decorated and the large round table sheeted and placed.



Little Marlene and Denzel ladled punch into cups, managing not to spill too much. Shera placed the cake on the bar; the bakery had finished it just that morning. A large sheet cake, strawberry with white vanilla icing, complete with tiny fighter figurines on each corner and the words, “Happy Birthday, Tifa!” written in pink. And twenty four small candles. Yuffie and Shera gathered the presents and put them beside the cake, although the dishwasher was stowed in the back, for later installation. Marlene, standing watch at the window, suddenly squealed and waved to everyone.



“They’re coming! I see Cloud’s bike!” Five adults and two children nearly tripped and stumbled over each other trying to vacate the large main room. But the place was dim and quiet as Cloud opened the door, followed by the birthday girl herself.



Yuffie was the first one to leap to her feet and shout, “Surprise! Happy Birthday, Tifa!” Marlene was hot on her heels, running to the woman and giving her hips a massive hug. Everyone else appeared, laughing and clapping, administering hugs and congratulations all around. Vincent, noting all the hysterical behavior, merely remained in the background, silently enjoying the look on Tifa’s lovely face.



Tifa:

Tifa was nearly bowled over by the ninja who all but tackled her, then the little girl that followed. She gasped in surprised delight, all previous thoughts forgotten as familiar faces lit the room. While she was showered with hugs and "happy birthdays" she laughed and returned the affections with thanks and a small blush. That always happened when she was the center of attention, no matter the occasion.



Amidst the cacophony, her eyes looked to the gunman in the background, held his gaze for a moment with a small, coy smile, then turned to the children before she stared too long. She shouldn't have been so giddy that he'd come, but it warmed her immensely. Perhaps, she realized, that most of that came from relief that he wasn't avoiding her altogether. Marlene and Denzel each grabbed a hand and hauled her towards the bar.



"Come on, Tifa!!" Marlene said, "You have see your cake, it's gorgeous!" Indeed it was, and they informed her it was her favorite flavor, which made her eyes sparkle all the more. She was being spoiled today. The group gathered around as Shera lit every candle, Tifa feeling a little self conscious at what, to her, looked like a small, pink forest fire. She closed her eyes as they sang 'Happy Birthday' to her, trying to think of a wish.



At the end of the song, she inhaled deeply, I wish for things to work out for the best, for everyone..., and puffed out the candles on the first try. Nice wish, Tifa. This is your birthday, remember? her mind chided, and was ignored under the applause of her friends. Shera began cutting the cake and laid the first generous portion on Tifa's plate.



Vincent:

A small satisfied smile graced Vincent’s pale features seeing Tifa so happy and content. She should look thus always, he thought quietly. Out of your league, Valentine, he sternly reminded himself. So very far out of your league.



He started in a bit of surprise as Barret clapped him on the shoulder (with his flesh hand, praise Planet) and steered both of them towards the table. “C’mon. Don’t gotta be holdin’ up the wall, man.” Vincent let himself be ushered to the table and Marlene brought him a slice of cake, accompanied with a clamber into his lap followed by a strangled hug before kissing his cheek and scampering off to dish out more cake.



Trying to keep color from flooding his face at the girl’s childish affection, Vincent just studied the tablecloth beneath the plate and remained silent. Daring to glance up, he saw Tifa sitting across the table and a few seats down, talking animatedly with Shera, Denzel and Cloud beside her. Their glances crossed and Vincent gave her a small nod and his half smile. Memories beat at his eyes but were firmly squealched in light of the occasion.



After everyone finished their cake and ice cream (Barret and Cid having thirds), Yuffie bounced over with the load of presents, helped by Denzel. “Me and Marlene got you this one!” he said cheerily, handing her the large pink bag. “Open it, open it!”



When the wrapping paper came out, Marlene squealed as Tifa lifted up the pink bunny slippers. “I picked them out!” she said with a huge grin. Cid guffawed.



Shera just smiled and handed Tifa the instruction manual for the dishwasher. “Cid will install it for you tomorrow,” she promised. “Cloud’s already made a space behind the bar for it.”



Yuffie gave Tifa another package from the pile, this one from Barret. A small plastic gift card for an expensive department store. “Ya buy somethin’ for yourself, Teef,” he gruffly told her with a kiss to her cheek. “There’s over two hunnert gil on that card, spend it on yerself somethin’ nice, ya hear me?”



Yuffie grinned as Tifa opened her gift, a brand new pair of fighting gloves. “Never know when you’ll need ‘em!” she chirped. Two more boxes to go.



Yuffie handed her another one, this one a medium sized box from Cloud. He grinned sheepishly as she opened it to reveal a small figurine of a chocobo, with legs and wings that moved. He plowed a hand though his hair and grinned. “I wish I could get ya a real one, but I remember you said you liked these little things, so I got you one. Look in the box again,” he instructed, smiling as she pulled out the charm bracelet. “It’s got our names on it,” he said, fingering the small charms. “Me and you. Best friends always.”



Yuffie “awww’ed” and gave her the last box. This gift was a black velvet box, tied with a red ribbon. Yuffie peered intently over Tifa’s shoulder as she opened it and her eyes widened and mouth opened as the contents gleamed in the light. “Ooh, Tifa, how pretty!”



Nestled in the black satin lining was a rope-length string of antique pearls, an exact match to the earrings she now wore. Shera and Cloud, inquisitive, leaned over to look. “Dang,” Barret whistled, “that’s some bucks, right there.”



Tifa:

Each gift she received, childish and cute, practical, useful, considerate, and adorably corny were each taken with smiles, hugs and kisses to those who'd taken the time and money to think of her. She now felt silly for any self pity she'd had for herself: she was a damn lucky woman. If nothing else, she had great friends, and that's what counted.



Even though Cloud's gift wasn't as romantic as their picnic had nearly been, it still touched her. Always, her mind echoed. If she had nothing else, that was one way she had his love and affection. Far better than nothing, as the years without him had taught her.



When the black velvet box was set before her, Tifa raised both brows and shot a glance at Vincent, curious at what he'd gotten her. Her breath caught at the expensive string of pearls she pulled from the box, eyes wide. Bucks, indeed!



Shera grinned and took them from her hands, "Hold your hair up and I'll put them on..."



Tifa, mouth still set in a wide open smile, could only stare at the dark-haired man sitting down from her, trying her best to see him as just that. "Oh gosh, Vincent...thank you."



It was all she could stammer, floored at she was. She'd never received anything from him before, and sort of only expected a card or something. Well, you and he did- She cut the thought short, turning and letting Yuffie, Shera and Marlene admire the strand that was doubled around her neck, the first loop close over her collarbone, the next falling down just past her breasts.



Cloud's bracelet, and Vincent's necklace, oh my...





To be continued…