A/N: Whoo-hoo! I got reviews! I can’t believe it! So, thanks to: *ahem* JessAngel, Salecassera, Cloud-Bahamut, StrifeFanatic (I’m a writing god?? I wish…but thanks so much!!), Sephiroth1Ripley8, PheonixFire*Star2, Mia, A. Nonymous III, Esq. (cool name!), Chaos, Aelyin, Yuffie Kisaragi2, That Girl Next Door, Dark Mirimu-Chan and Silverdancer. You all rock!!

Oh, and as I have said before, this is NOT A YUFFENTINE. Seriously. It isn’t. I mean it. Turn back NOW if you wanna see some Yuffie/Vincent slush, I’m sure about half of the other fics at this site can accommodate you.

Oh, and I should mention – I like Tifa. Really. OK? I’m not trying to bash her here. Yuffie’s nickname may cause screams of anguish from Tifa fanatics, but it's all in the name of humour. Plus, Yuffie does like her, honestly. She likes everyone. Except possibly Cid. (No offence to Cid fans.)

Argh…this chapter sucks in comparison to the first one. It seems my Inner Yuffie has gone away on holiday. When she returns (with a nice Vinnie-attracting tan, probably) this fic will improve. ‘Till then, well, screw her; I’m writing anyway even if it does suck.

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I’ve heard it said that the world is a truly horrible place to be.

The Planet we are on is supposedly a death-trap.

And apparently, no-one up there cares.

This is the biggest load of crap I’ve ever heard, because it is obvious that there is a Great Compassion in this universe.

Because, to me anyway, it is obvious that Vincent Valentine is the God of Sex, made man so that women might really live.

Oh gawd, I’m rambling again, aren’t I?

Look, I’ll just lay down the scene for ya.

We’d – read, Spikes and Inflate-a-Chest (or Tifa as she prefers to be called for some reason) – decided to move on later today. We (see previous usage of this word) were planning to arrive at Mt. Corel by sunset.

Thing is, we were taking the Highwind.

And, worst of all, we were taking the Highwind slowly. I call it the Plaster Effect. You know when you get a plaster, right? If you peel it off slowly, it hurts just as much, and it isn’t over for what feels like forever.

I’ve no idea if the others were aiming for a pleasure cruise-type thing, but for me it was bound to be more of a displeasure cruise.

I wasn’t looking forward to it in the least. Still, there was zero chance of a hijacking or sabotage mission to get out of it for at least a day, as we’d all boarded the Highwind, and taken our usual positions. And I was feeling sick already, even though we hadn’t taken off.

We all have our little pre-flight rituals.

Spikes takes a few Tranquilizers to lessen the airsickness. (I’ve tried that. It doesn’t work for me. I was cynical about it from the start, really, so it might be due to a placebo effect that it works or doesn’t work. Cool, I’m a scientist!)

Inflate-a-Chest takes her mind off the flight by helping the Chocobo Guy clean the stable out. (Booo-ring.)

Vincent slips away oh-so-mysteriously to the monitors in the cockpit. I think he actually understands what those monitors are trying to say, with their screenfuls of gibberish. I think he understands everything and everyone, especially me. I also think he’s totally dreamy, but that isn’t the point I’m trying to get across here.

Cid smokes a cigarette, but that isn’t really special because he smokes all the time with no provocation.

Perhaps I should think of a nickname for Cid.

How about The Human Chimney?

Yeah. I like that.

Anyway, my pre-flight ritual is super simple.

Go to Barf-o-Rama, the nickname I’ve given to my reserved spot out in the hall.

Get out sick bag.

Stick head in sick bag.

Wait.

That’s it.

I was doing Step Three of this little ritual, when suddenly-

"You OK?"

I jerked round. Well, not really, because if I had I’d have puked all over Spikes's SOLDIER Standard Issue boots. I jerked round slowly, if that's possible.

"Uh…hell no?"

Spikes tried to suppress a smirk.

I’d better point something out about Spikes’s smirk at this point.

Inflate-a-Chest likes to describe Spikes as being ‘reserved with his emotions’. This means that he doesn’t really laugh much, or smile too widely. So with Spikes, it’s all like half-smiles, and smirks, and absent nods. But, oh God, those…smirks. It’s like he’s internally laughing his butt off at something you’re doing right now, but are completely unaware of. It’s the smile equivalent of the sniggers you receive if you walk into a room with toilet paper stuck to the bottom of your shoe.

Oh GOD!! I hate that smirk!! It always makes me feel so self-conscious!!! It makes me wanna wrap my hands around his throat and strangle every last drop of life outta him!!

"Well…" he began, but was cut off by what sounded like eleven consecutive explosions, followed by at least fifteen different swear words. It could only mean we were taking off.

The floor beneath me jolted violently, as if I was sitting in a bouncy castle filled with hyperactive, obese kids.

Spikes swallowed. He was starting to turn pale. Quickly, he sat down beside me.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Like there’s been a road accident in my stomach…" I burbled.

He chuckled quietly. "Yuff, remember. Move around, stretching from time to time-"

"-look out of the window, focusing on the horizon-" I carried on.

"-and never, ever, EVER read," we finished together.

"Look," I told him, "s'not as if I don't try, but…blehh…" (The Highwind had buffeted slightly at this point) "…when you're feelin' this bad, s'kinda hard to do anythin' about it, is'nit?"

Oh yeah, did I mention that when I get airsick, I make Barret look coherent?

"I know how you feel," Spikes nodded. "Want a drink?"

He was holding some bottled water. Yeah! I find that it helps if I drink water as soon I start to feel a bit off, and, later on, if I do puke, it doesn't taste as horrible. So, I grabbed it straight out of Spikes's hand, and took a huuuge swig.

"Thanks," I said, and added weight to this with a polite burp.

"So, anyway," Spikes began, businesslike as usual, "about the whole brat thing."

"Oh…blehggh…tha’? Not now, Spikes," I retorted. "I don’t feeeel weeeell…"

Spikes groaned. "Oh, you’ll get over it. Now, I just wanted to talk to you privately –"

" - and none of the udders’d venture here…" I finished. "I think they like their shoes."

Oh yeah, I meant to say, ‘others would’ but it’s kinda hard to pronounce when your sphincter is occupied with stopping you pukin’ in Spikes’s face. (See? I’m kind, caring, considerate, and polite enough to care about Spikes! I wonder why Vincent doesn’t like me?)

"Yeah, ‘xactly. But, the thing is…" Spikes waved his hands around in front of him, drawing two little circles in the air next to each other. He tends to wave his hands around a lot when he’s talking. It’s funny. "The thing is, you may not enjoy these ‘anti-bratness lessons’ or whatever you wanna call them. I really don’t think that this is a good idea. Besides, we don’t have any time to waste."

"Look, if time is so important – blehg – then why are we even taking this stupid tour?" I asked him. "Not to mention," I added, "the long term effects would be worth it. Of the anti-bratness lessons. Not the tour."

"You mean," Spikes said, calmly, "that you’d do anything to get him to notice you? Even stuff you wouldn’t enjoy?"

"Spiiikes, I would honestly kiss a Malboro – on the lips - if it meant I had a better chance of dating Vincent."

"Now that sounds truly desperate," Spikes smirked. "So, there’s no way I can get out of this?"

"Nope," I said, enjoying the mental torture I was putting him through.

Go Mentally Torture a Guy with an Oversized Sword Today™!! It’s The Most Fun You’ve Ever Had™!! ©Kisaragi Yuffie, Inc.

I’m pretty sure Spikes gave a grin at that point. Or was he just clenching his teeth, trying not to be sick? Yeah, that’s most likely. Spikes doesn’t grin too widely, unless something really pleases him. And he’s obviously against this whole thing.

"OK," he eventually agreed. It sounded very reluctant. But hey, I got hold of what I wanted, and it doesn’t matter what I have to do to get my way.

At least, not to me.

"Won’er how ‘ong this whole trip’s gonna take?" I asked him.

"Too long," he replied, and then gave me a little smile. "But it’s not gonna last forever."

"Yeaaah, and it’ll be over eve’ sooner if I go up to Cid and strangle ‘im."

"I’m enjoying talking with you, Yuffie."

At this point I nearly was sick, not from the Highwind buffeting, but from pure, raw, refined surprise.

"Wha’?"

Spikes gave a little chuckle. "I was in a pretty black mood this morning. You’ve…cheered me up a lot."

I groaned, and shoved my head in my hands.

"Who cares abou’ tha’? I…bleh…mean, not to be rude or anything, but always look after Number One, righ’, and right now Number One feels sick," I whined.

"Well, to be honest, my Number One is so thoroughly doped up on Tranquillisers that he doesn’t have a clue what’s going on with the ship," Spikes smiled. Then he paused. "Yuffie, stand up."

"Whyyyy?"

"Just do it."

Groaning, I got to my feet. (Strangely enough, I felt a bit less sick…) However, I did have to hold on to the railing to stop myself collapsing.

Spikes, too, stood up, and backed away.

I just want to ask; what caused Spikes to have his eyes replaced with blue lasers? I mean, seriously, I could feel them burning into my face, my waist, my legs, my feet, even my br – well, wherever he happened to be examining at the time. And this was whilst I was feeling like I was going to hurl.

He pushed a strand of blond hair behind his ear. " ’Kay. Now, turn around."

"Is my butt really that sexy?" I asked, ready to enjoy his reaction.

"Just do it."

Weeeellll, great way to spoil that gag, Spiky.

I turned around obligingly. I swear I could feel his laser eyes burning into my butt. But I couldn’t turn around and check for risk of annoying him.

"Posture needs work. You’re slumping. It hides your figure. Which is actually really nice." he said, coming towards me.

"Yeah, nice if you find ironing boards sexy, but – I mean, wha-"

"Your face is nice, but a bit of makeup might make it look better."

"How would YOU know tha-"

"You ought to try dressing in something more tasteful –"

"Yeah, like you know tasteful. What are those bandages for, anyway-"

"And how long has it been since you last brushed your hair?"

He had me there.

"About….three or four weeks, I think. But – but I did wash it!!" I screamed. "Don’t give me the full Trinny and Susanna, Spikes!"

"You were the one who asked for it," he said, in the most evil, eviiiil voice I’ve ever heard on a person outside of a horror film. "Lessons begin today, soon as we reach Mt. Corel. Be there."

"Or what?" It slipped out before I could cram it back in…

"Do you really want to have to kiss a Malboro?"