Prelude To Perfection
Authors: silence_laughs and calvi_sama
Summary: What do you do when the thing you want the most in the world is right in front of you, but doesn’t yet share that desire? The persistence and patience of one man will be sorely tried; will Cid achieve his heart’s desire, and will Vincent ever be free?
Rating: Solid PG-13 for Cid’s language of course
Pairing: Cid x Vincent
Timeline: FFVII - on their way to intercept Meteor, but with a slightly more relaxed schedule to account for Jenova taking sightseeing tours XD.
Disclaimer: We do not in any way own, nor profit from, the FFVII characters - we’re just borrowing them. Avatar art is by (the amazing) Spade.
Warnings: the typical angsting associated with Vincent, but other than that *shrugs*, nothin’ yet.
A/N: Another RP with silence wrangling Cid in from the bar and yours truely trying to persuade Vincent to come down out'a that tree. This here is a six-parter, so stick with us *whispers* it gets better! XD
Part I
“You really think you’re somethin’, don’t ya, Valentine? All that an’ a bag o’ chips, huh?” Cid sneered. Vincent made no response, exactly as Cid had expected. “Yeah, I know what y’re thinkin’. Think y’re better’n us ’cause the big scary madman locked y’away in the big dark basement, dont'cha?” Vincent did not even blink. Fitting. No, perfect. “Think y’re th’only one of us got a reason t’hate ‘em? Think y’re th’only one t’have a score t’settle? Think again. Look around ya, Valentine! Why the hell y’think we’re all here? We all got somethin’ drivin’ us t’get this done. An’ you,” Cid snorted disdainfully, “actin’ like we ain’t worth nothin’. Well let me tell ya this- you ain’t no better’n us. Y’ain’t worth no more’n any of us.” Vincent continued to stare, mute and unmoving. Cid poked him in the chest with the wooden handle of his spear. “An’ y’don’t mean a damn thing t’me. Nossir, no more’n the rest of ‘em. So don’t go thinkin’ that, either. We don’t need you. So quit actin’ like we do. Quit thinkin’ we’re obligated t’save yer ass. F’it was up t’me, we’d leave ya here. Woulda left ya last time. Hell, I wouldn’t’a even gone through the trouble o’ gettin’ y’outta the damn coffin if I’d’a known how much trouble y’were gonna be. Tch.” He turned away from Vincent and spat on the ground. “An’ another thing. It’s a real shame- no, no, it’s a damn crime fer someone t’look so good an’ have no personality. A real waste o’ …attractiveness. Don’t look at me like that-” (Vincent’s gaze had not shifted in the least) “-I ain’t sayin’ I want nothin’ t’do with ya. Ain’t you been listenin’ t’me at all? Pfft.”
No, no I don’t, Cid Highwind, Vincent thought, empty and yet slowly becoming irritated at his current paralysis. Of all the members of AVALANCHE, Highwind was the only one who made him feel something other than indifference, and right now he was being nudged closer to a sad anger. I never thought myself ‘better’, though I am on a different level than you. Don’t you see that, Highwind? Don’t you see that I am responsible for all of your ‘scores’? I never expected different treatment because of what was done to me, for I never cared about what you all thought. I am suffering my punishment as I should, and never have I asked for your pity. Vincent was itching to move, hating his inability to even blink. You’re right about one thing though, Highwind. You don’t need me, no one needs me. I am a creation that should never have been created, an experiment that should have failed, and I should not mean anything. So leave me, Highwind, I do not care, and must I remind you that it was I who joined you? The only obligation that any of you have is to live your lives. That is the blessing that you all have, and one that has been taken from me. Let me not stand in your way! Walk right through me and be gone. Leave me to sort out my need for revenge, my vendetta you would NEVER understand. Vincent thought that if he tried hard enough, maybe he could at least glare, so he tried, in vain, to do even that. This was worse than when Hojo had had a hold of him. At least then he had been able to move a little. And do not speak to me of beauty. Are you so shallow that you cannot see below the surface of a pretty face to the ugliness beneath? Who I was matters not to me anymore, just as who I am should not matter to you. It is none of your business. It has never been any of your business. Why can you not just leave me alone? All of you! I did not join you looking for friends. Friends are another way for one to get hurt or a tool to use to hurt another. Just leave me to my fate, and stop wasting your time.
“An’ damn it all stop doin’ whatever the hell it is y’do! I dunno if the bastard gave ya some psychic shit or whatever, but dammit I don’t wanna be thinkin’ about you when I’m teachin’ that lummox how t’fly!” Cid pounded a fist against the tree supporting Vincent, far enough away, he hoped, that he would not frighten Vincent. He left it curled there, and realized quite suddenly that the entire display had probably been rather frightening. Cid could, now that he tried, feel acutely the gunman’s shame at his current vulnerability and perhaps a twinge of fear. “Shit,” he said, and dragged his other hand down his face. “Sorry, Vince. Shit, I really am.” The hand on the tree moved itself to Vincent’s shoulder, which he grasped tightly for a moment before moving it to the pale, paralyzed face. That face haunted him while he tried to sleep- the sadness in those matchless eyes, the intelligence that seemed too much for a single body to bear, the body so alive and alluring and unquestionably deadly, unquestionable because he had seen before what it could do in the blink of an eye. He pinched Vincent’s cheeks to force his mouth open and knew how humiliating it must be for this man to be standing here at Cid’s mercy. He entertained brief thoughts of sliding in his tongue instead of tipping the potion vial to pour down Vincent’s throat, but that would be unforgiveable even by Cid’s standards. He fed Vincent the remedy but left his hand resting on the smooth cheek and uttered one more apology before dropping it and stepping back to make sure it had the right effect.
As the potion traveled its burning path down his throat and Vincent felt its lingering warmth spreading through his limbs, gradually returning movement, he listened to Cid’s empty apologies. They weren’t empty because Cid didn’t mean them; Vincent was sure that he did, somewhere in his mind, but they were empty because they were useless. A waste of energy. Finally his vocal cords were released and he said, “You have my thanks, and there is no need to apologize, Highwind. The truth need never be apologized for.” He stood up straighter, calm gaze never leaving Cid’s, “But I trust that you are finished now? Perhaps we should go back to the Highwind.” Without waiting for Cid’s reply, Vincent began walking back to Cid’s pride and joy. There were some things that he needed to think about, reevaluate, and he had Cid to thank for that.
Cid stood still and watched Vincent walk away, feeling oddly lost and discontent. He hadn’t said what he’d wanted to say, not at all- the frustration had taken over almost immediately and turned him nearly violent. He cursed hindsight and wished it would not show him so clearly where he’d gone wrong. It hurt to know he’d waited so long for a chance to spill his heart uninterrupted and ruined the one given him. He lit a cigarette before following Vincent, even now unable to take his eyes away. He was especially sorry for saying that Vincent had no personality; it was personality and not body that had first attracted Cid to the gunner. He wanted to run, to catch up to Vincent and explain the misunderstanding, but he knew pushing it further would only leave him in a deeper mess. He returned to his post at the cockpit and gave the trainee pilot the order to take off.
Vincent took up a position on the deck of the Highwind as the massive airship shuddered and rose into the sky. He didn’t want to be around the others. They had always made him rather uncomfortable on any regular occasion, but now he seemed to be particularly more distanced than usual. He found himself surprised to realize that what Cid had told him when he was unable to respond had truly bothered him, and he was beginning to wonder if he hadn’t started caring about these people and what happened to them a little too much. That feeling was a liability, distracting him and shifting his focus from what was truly important: stopping Sephiroth and Meteor. Yes, when this was over, he would leave them. They would be better off without him and free to enjoy the rest of their lives, and he would remove himself from a world that had no use for him. He only had to distance himself from the others, help where he could, and do his part to end the madness of two men: the father and the son and do his damndest to keep them all from becoming ghosts.
Cigarette dangling from his lips, Cid paced behind the cockpit for fifteen minutes after the course was set and the journey well underway. He could see Vincent standing there alone, and his first instinct was to talk to him and smooth things over. Immediately reality set in to remind him that he had Fucked Up, and that it would take more than charisma to get back in Vincent’s good graces, assuming he’d ever even been there. Still, as it usually did with men like Cid, the urge to do something outweighed the urge to keep pacing and generally being unproductive. But…what to say? The time to apologize had passed, he knew, and he couldn’t very well trust himself to say whatever came to mind. He strategized as he walked toward Vincent, but stopped dead in shock a few feet away. He was astounded by how much Vincent’s outside reflected his inside in that moment- wind swirling his hair and cape every which way, his eyes staring straight ahead even as he took a step backwards, away from the railing- his body for once as much in conflict as his soul. It was breathtaking, and Cid felt he had no business seeing such a thing. He would have left but for the knowledge that Vincent already knew he was there.
Vincent felt Cid’s presence as soon as the man had come onto to the deck. No surprise really. Cid, he had found, was a man ruled by his conscience. Not a good thing in a warrior, but it was a good thing in a friend. Cloud and the others were lucky, and he didn’t want to abuse that fragility now. He turned partway round, looked at the big blond and asked mildly, “Is there something you wished to discuss, Highwind?”
Cid shrugged uncomfortably and shifted his feet a bit. Shit. Well, he could think of several ways to make Vincent walk away for good, but that wasn’t his goal. As for making him stay, well… “Kinda thought maybe it was you had somethin’ t’talk about. I’d be glad t’listen, y’know. Anytime,” he added for good measure, already feeling like this hadn’t been such a good idea. “Y’don’t even hafta wait ‘til somethin’ paralyzes me!” He laughed nervously for about half a second before realizing that it really wasn’t funny. “Well…” His right hand went to the back of his neck as he smiled sheepishly at Vincent. “I’ll, uh, be in m’room, I guess. Leave you ta yer…thinkin’, or whatever the hell it is. See ya.”
Vincent stood there for a moment, almost as though he expected Cid to launch into another verbal assault, but when the man dismissed himself, he pursed his lips and replied quietly, “As you wish. I appreciate the offer, and should I have something to discuss with you, I shall seek you there.” He returned to gazing out at the horizon, making an easy, yet conscious effort to ignore the tiny voice in his mind, long dormant, that pleaded at him to reach out and stop the man from leaving. When the voice had stilled, Vincent found it rather soothing to just stand and watch the clouds, his mind as empty of thought as his future was of hope.
Leaning against the wall around the corner, Cid thought over his words, finding them just as badly used now as he had seconds before. Vincent had acknowledged the offer, but Cid felt he had used that claim as a cue for Cid to leave. He wished he hadn’t fallen for it. He saw the smoke making its way around the cabin, giving him away. He cursed the wind, not for the first time, and wished Vincent had stood at the other end of the ship.
Gritting his teeth in mild irritation as the faint tendril of smoke drifted by his nose, Vincent closed his eyes with a sigh. Honestly, he didn’t understand why Cid had to lurk everywhere. Clearly the man had something on his mind. Why couldn’t he just out with it? Tipping his head back a little so that the wind whipped his hair out of his face, he raised his voice, “I know you are there Highwind. If you are going to insist on standing on-deck, then might I suggest joining me at the rail? The view is more appealing than that of the propeller.” He crossed his arms over his chest and waited. Cid would come out or he wouldn’t; either way, it didn’t matter to him.
He hadn’t expected to be called on it. He felt like a kid caught spying on his neighbors. He killed his cigarette and stepped just around the corner before falling back against the wall there. He edged a few steps closer to Vincent and sat, thinking that keeping his distance might make it easier to talk, should he be made to talk. He let the silence between them continue for a while before calling, “Why don’t you talk to us?”
A brow rose as Vincent slowly turned to face Cid, sitting on the deck of his own ship cross-legged like a child, mildly confused, “I speak when I have something to say or if I am addressed. I was not aware that more would be required.” Rather he had hoped there would be no further need for interaction.
“Well if it was required, it wouldn’t mean nothin’,” Cid pointed out. “I just wonder sometimes what y’d say if ya trusted m- us a little more.” Vincent was always so quiet that Cid had no doubt that his mind was constantly working. “Like now. What’re ya thinkin’ now? Will y’tell me? I’d like t’hear it.” He hoped Vincent would not tell him only the superficial thoughts, which he could hear well enough from here- something along the lines of “Why is he still here? Why is he talking to me? Shoo, Highwind. What do you want from me?” He wanted to know what really had Vincent’s mind in its grasp that could make him act the way he did.
Vincent blinked. Well, since he asked… “I am thinking that you must have more important things to do than speak to me, as well as I find it rather annoying that you must lurk around corners rather that say what you need to. I am also finding this conversation rather…unusual. Is that what you are referring to?”
Cid scratched the back of his head again. “Well…not really, but it’s a start.” Flashing a brilliant grin in Vincent’s direction, he discounted the first statement. “I happen t’value my friends more’n my time sleepin’, which is what I’d be doin’ now if I wasn’t here talkin’ t’you. I already said what I needed t’say an’ a hell of a lot more’n I should’ve, an’ I wasn’t lurkin’, I was…restin’. Yeah.” He knew Vincent would not be so easily pleased, but if he expected Vincent to answer questions, he would have to answer a few too. “An’ damn right it’s unusual. You ain’t had a conversation fer the sake o’ conversation in way too long, I reckon. So,” Cid paused, trying to find something impersonal but discussion-supporting to mention. “Did you ever breed chocobos?”
Behind the high collar of his mantle, Vincent’s jaw dropped at the completely random and ridiculous question. “What does breeding chocobos have to do with stopping Meteor? And why would I do such a thing?”
Holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender, Cid worked quickly to calm Vincent. “Shit, don’t hafta jump down m’throat about it! An’ see, that’s just what I mean. You worry too much about what’s goin’ on right now that nothin’ else matters. A man needs a little distraction. An’ who the hell knows, maybe we need a chocobo t’bring us t’wherever the bastard is. Dead useful, them birds. An’ there ain’t nothin’ wrong with it! Rewardin’, really, ‘specially if y’race ‘em. Well, if that ain’t your thing…what’s yer favorite color?”
Vincent blinked and cocked his head as he watched Cid watch him. Had it really been so long since someone had spoken to him like this, as though he were…normal and just another human being? He was suddenly, inexplicably moved. Reluctantly, he answered quietly, “I-I no longer recall if I had a…favorite color, Highwind.”
He smiled. Vincent really had no idea how endearing he could be. “Don’t remember, huh? Well…take a look around you. Go on, go ahead. Gotta see somethin’ y’like. Me, I like that grey color the clouds get when a storm’s comin’. An’ I know it ain’t a real color, but I like it.” Cid crossed his arms as if daring Vincent to say anything about it, though he was quite certain that wouldn’t happen. He watched Vincent watching and waited for an answer.
Red eyes closed as a vision sprang to mind, unexpected, unbidden and so very painful from his nearly-forgotten childhood. A life where everything was perfect and he had no idea of the hell he would be doomed to exist in. “Sunset,” he murmured raggedly, his voice broken. “The colors of the sky at sunset. I can see it so clearly. I thought it was lost. A blue so deep it fades to grey before ending in white, and the clouds are burned red by a dying sun. So many blues, light to dark, shot through with spears of crimson and dusky rose. The horizon of a land we’ll never see in life, and now denied me for eternity - it will tease me with such beauty my heart will weep and despair.” He opened his eyes and looked at Cid once more. Damn you, Cid Highwind. Damn you for making me feel this. “That is my favorite color.”
He hadn’t been trying to upset Vincent, but he did seem to be upset, and Cid had no idea what to do for him. “Mm…good choice, Vince. See, there y’have it; we have somethin’ in common. You wanna come sit with me?” he asked, patting the space next to him, simultaneously hoping the gunman would accept and thinking that Vincent really was too good to be sitting on the floor.
“No, Cid. We have absolutely nothing in common,” but he walked over and crouched next to the pilot anyway. Vincent didn’t know why he did - craving neither friendship nor closeness - but he was relieved when the emptiness returned to fill him and the sunset from his youth faded back into the mist of his irretrievable past, where it belonged. He allowed his mind to empty, and focused instead upon the cold wind further chilling his already cold skin.
“Am I that disgustin’ that you want nothin’ t’do with me?” Cid shot a grin at Vincent, whose eyes had so quickly lost that brief flicker of emotion. He immediately regretted speaking at all; perhaps if he had not, Vincent would still be feeling. Another question came to mind, but dared not ask it just yet. He would have to focus for now on trivial things. But Vincent had come nearer to him, and that was enough to ease the heaviness in his heart that came with seeing such a great man so defeated. “Say, think maybe y’d like to have dinner with me one night? While we’re on the ship, I mean? ‘Cause I cook fer m’self, an’ I always make too much an’ end up feedin’ it t’th’animals or somethin’. Wouldn’t mind sharin’.”
Vincent turned his head to pin Cid with a flat stare, “I no longer require food to survive, Highwind. That will not be necessary, though the invitation is appreciated.” Why do you persist in this, Cid? What can you possibly hope to get out of it? My valueless friendship? Surely you can do better than that. “And I have been around more unappealing individuals, I assure you.” He stood back up but did not move away, as he felt that that might hurt the man’s feelings. Vincent didn’t need to cause more pain. He had done quite enough already without this minor infraction.
Cid shivered. Vincent, like the oncoming night, had turned cold. He stood as well, mildly disappointed that the conversation had been so brief. “Well, I won’t make you eat, if y’ever just wanna come. Y’know, sit with me, talk to me.” Taking another look at the dubious expression on Vincent’s face, he shook his head. “If I ain’t so repulsive, that shouldn’t be a problem, right? An’ you need t’quit worryin’ about what’s necessary an’ start thinkin’ about what you want. Playin’ by th’rules is all well an’ good, but it’s a hell of a lot better if y’write ‘em yerself.” With that, Cid turned to walk away, and called over his shoulder for Vincent to come inside, as he didn’t like anyone to be on deck in the dark.
Vincent watched the blond leave, impassive. You poor, innocent man, he thought sadly, but perhaps it is for the best that you do not know what true ugliness looks like. I hope you continue to live in your little world where the ugliest thing you can think of is your own unique beauty. It is such a softer place than where I dwell, that such a creature as you belongs nowhere near it. Then, out of respect for the man’s wishes, Vincent followed him inside and retired to his assigned room, shutting the door behind him. Leaning against it he looked dubiously at the un-slept-in bed. Make my own rules, hn? He thought to himself. Vincent hesitated only a second more before walking over to the narrow mattress and nervously laying down upon it. Folding his hands across his chest he forced his limbs to relax and his mind to still, and if he had been awake to realize it, he would have been startled at how quickly sleep took him. But it was not to hold him kindly as Vincent soon became trapped in the nightmare of his past, and through the cruelty of a sharp mind and hidden memories, he relived the experiments, injections and pain until he was once again reduced to helpless, blood curdling screams.
Cid didn’t go to his room. He knew he wouldn’t have been able to sleep, so he wandered the halls, pausing outside Vincent’s door before remembering that he had no right to intrude. He made three more rounds, thinking about how terrible he was with words and how he would much prefer being able to show Vincent what he felt. Too bad that trust had to be earned first here, and that the awkward stumbling through conversation was necessary to earn that trust. At what felt like the end of his walk, Cid realized he was again outside Vincent’s door. He would have very much liked to open it, stride in, and take the poor sad man into his arms, but that was impossible; it would likely always be impossible. He rested a flattened palm and his forehead on the smooth, cool metal, lost for words and strategies and even clear thoughts. Make your own rules, he’d said, but that was only possible if one disregarded the rules other people made for themselves. He whispered one last apology against the door, planning to walk away when it was done but not finding himself able to. He had to, he felt, at least make this right, and that was going to take persistence. He was just turning away when a heart-wrenching sound reached his ears. Vincent. Something was wrong. Cid’s immediate thought was that he was in there hurting himself, which of course had to be stopped right away. All respect for Vincent’s privacy gone, he barged in and was surprised, relieved, and unsettled all at once to see Vincent thrashing about, shouting like…well, like he was having a nightmare of the worst kind. Given his past, Cid was sure it was the worst kind. He knelt quietly by the side of the bed and took a flailing hand, squeezing it gently and hoping it would be enough to wake Vincent.
At the touch and capture of his hand Vincent’s eyes flew open, and with a terrified wail he jerked it from its restraint. He violently drew away from the presence at his side only to slam back against the wall of his quarters. He was shaking so badly that he felt sick to his stomach and he couldn’t breathe, gasping in jerky breaths as he looked around him. If had had any fluid in his body he would have pissed himself, the horror was so real. He couldn’t help the small whimper that escaped his throat. He had prayed that that part of his life was over, but even now he was a prisoner…always a prisoner. He would never be free.
“Oh, Vincent,” he said under his breath, and then, “oh, honey,” a little louder. Cid reached for Vincent’s hand again, taking it lightly enough that the terrified man could have taken it away without any trouble. Gently, he tugged it to him and pressed it to his lips, remembering that his mother used to do that when she tucked him in for the night. “Just me, Vince. Just the Chief.” He didn’t move except to release the hand he was holding. “How can I help, Vince? Can I help?”
The voice was too low, too rough to belong to his tormentor. Blinking rapidly, Vincent’s vision finally focused upon the worried face of Cid Highwind. What was Cid doing in the Lab? He didn’t belong here! Did they get him too? Frantically looking around it gradually dawned on Vincent that he was not in fact in the Lab but rather in the gently vibrating hull of the airship Highwind. With a moan he drew his knees up against his chest and wrapped his arms around them along with his cape, and huddled in the corner shaking. “N-no one c-can h-help me, H-Highwind,” He gasped around chattering teeth, “I-I will b-be f-fine, j-just give m-me a m-moment.” He dragged the back of his trembling right hand across his mouth then returned it to around his knees. He squeezed his eyes shut and attempted to get himself under control, but his heart was pounding too hard and he felt Chaos, deep inside, begin to stir in response. Oh please not now, he thought desperately, do not come out now. Gaia, give me the strength to at least help myself…
Cid was afraid that any move he made would startle Vincent further, and frankly he seemed to be on the edge of a breakdown already. Talking hadn’t seemed to hurt, so he settled for that. “Vincent. Hey, Vince, it’s all right.” Damn it, Highwind, he ain’t an animal. That ain’t gonna help. “Sunset, Vince. Think about that. Ain’t never gonna be another day you don’t get to see it.” Very slowly, he rearranged himself into a more comfortable position, not letting himself gain any height or get any closer. He wanted to hold Vincent through this. No, he wished it didn’t even have to happen. It wasn’t fair that Vincent had to go through this. And to think Cid had yelled at him today for such trivial reasons, and accused him of putting himself above others! Of course, he hadn’t even believed himself at the time, and he figured Vincent knew he’d just been talking, but that didn’t change the fact that he had done something so incredibly insensitive. “Not goin’ anywhere ‘less you want me to, a’ right?”
“S-sunset?” Vincent tried, looking disbelievingly at the man in front of him, “Y-you w-want me t-to th-think of s-sunsets?” Is this a joke to you, Highwind? he thought, shaking his head and hugging his knees tighter. “D-do you th-think th-that it is th-that s-simple?” Grudgingly, he had to admit that as his ire rose, his fear began to slowly retreat. Gradually his grip around his knees began to loosen, but his stomach continued to remain painfully knotted and his teeth refused to stop chattering - much to his chagrin. “I-I t-told you th-that I-I will b-be fine.”
“Y’don’t sound fine. Look, if there’s nothin’ I c’n do t’help ya, I’ll go if you want, but I think maybe it wouldn’t hurt for me t’stay.” Not that I have a fuckin’ clue what’s wrong. F’you’d just talk to me, Vin… “An’ it’s stupid t’ask this, but do y’wanna tell me about it? I won’t even listen, if y’want. C’n just talk, get it out.” I don’t think I’d wanna hear anyway. Cid stood at a snail’s pace and sat on the edge of the bed, looking concernedly at Vincent. “Even if there’s nothin’ I can do t’really help, is there anything you want me to do? Glass o’ water or somethin’? A cigarette?”
Vincent sighed shakily, “G-Go, s-stay, d-do what suits y-you, I care not.” He swallowed and nearly moaned in relief when he felt Chaos slip back beneath his consciousness. He was afraid to shut his eyes now, afraid of what images might come forward to torment him further, so he just stared straight ahead, right thought Cid, unseeing and unblinking. Eventually, when Cid (predictably) made no move to leave he said tiredly, his voice still hoarse from screaming, “Why? W-why do you ins-sist on speaking t-to me?” The damned chattering was nearly gone now and his stomach was finally convinced he wasn’t being killed and was starting to relax, leaving him drained and exhausted.
Cid echoed Vincent’s sigh and sat there waiting for the words on the tip of Vincent’s tongue to make themselves heard. When they did, he sighed again and looked down to where his hands were playing over the sheets. “Why? ‘Cause I feel like if I could just crack open yer damn shell there’d be somethin’ pretty in it, somethin’ worth keepin’. An’ b’sides, ain’t it nice knowin’ somebody wants t’talk to ya? Always makes me feel better knowin’ someone gives a damn. An’ I do, y’know. Prob’ly we all do, but the rest of ‘em’s not as tough as me.” He grinned at Vincent, but it didn’t last long. Who are you under all that, Valentine?
Vincent’s eyes focused and slid over slightly to rest fully on Cid’s face, “D-Do you?” he said quietly, “Yes, I imagine you th-think that you do. But in reality you have no idea what it is you are s-speaking to.” And you don’t want to know, Cid, trust me. “And if there were anything ‘pretty’ in this shell, it has long ago died, and nothing is left that is worth keeping. It would do you well to remember th-that,” he said levelly.
“Damn it, you ain’t a very good listener, are you? Didn’t I just say pretty plain I have no idea who I’m talkin’ to? Vince, look,” he said, and paused. “There is somethin’ worth keepin’, somethin’ that never goes bad. You just buried it so deep y’done forgot about it. S’one o’ those things that gets better with time. Like wine or somethin’?” Cid shook his head when he was done speaking. Once again, what he wanted to say wasn’t quite what he’d said, but it was good enough. “An’ it’ll do you good t’remember I never waste my time, so there must be somethin’ worth findin’ or I wouldn’t bother. Got a sixth sense about crap like that,” he added knowledgeably, tapping the side of his head. “Now, how ‘bout a round o’ go fish or somethin’? Got a deck o’ cards in m’jacket.” An’ on that note, where the hell did these come from?
For the second time, Vincent found himself struck rather speechless. He blinked slowly once…twice. “Cards.” He said slowly, eyeing the dog-eared, much-used box of playing cards as though it were a mako-bomb. You have to kidding me, Highwind. The planet faces utter annihilation, and you waste your time speaking to me and playing cards? He couldn’t help it, it was rude and mean, but he snorted a laugh. “I do not play cards, Highwind, though your offer is not unappreciated.” And then he did something completely impulsive and utterly unexpected. He reached out and put his hand on Cid’s shoulder, firmly. He squeezed the warm, muscled flesh under the t-shirt before withdrawing his hand back to his knees once again. “Hmph.” He murmured thoughtfully.
He’d always thought Vincent’s hands would be cold. He was glad they weren’t, and even gladder that he’d declined the invitation to play. The deck only had forty-eight cards, after all. He shivered when Vincent let go, wishing he wouldn’t. But…he wasn’t stuttering anymore, and he’d reached out first, so maybe…maybe it was safe. “’Hmph’ what?” Feel nice, Vin? I work out, y’know. Cid sent Vincent his very best subdued charming grin -a difficult combination- and reached for Vincent’s hand again, wincing when he accidentally brushed his knee in the effort.
Vincent jumped when Cid touched his knee, unused to casual contact from another person that didn’t result in pain. “I-I just wanted to see if you were…real,” he said hesitantly. Well crap, that sounded stupid. He thought as he eyed Cid’s hand. His frigidity from earlier that day was beginning to melt away as Cid was once again exercising that unique ability to rouse feelings other than objective distance in him. “Wh-what are you doing?” He breathed. He was feeling something new and alien and it was frightening him a little. Frightening…and intriguing him.
“Provin’ I’m real,” Cid answered, and closed his fingers lightly around Vincent’s hand without pulling it away from him. He squeezed gently and looked back up at Vincent, who no longer looked frozen and angry. “That okay?” He didn’t smile again, just looked. He felt smiling would have given the impression that he was being sarcastic. Meeting Vincent’s eyes, he wished once again that he could do something, something that would really help, but for now, he would content himself with these baby steps and hope they didn’t take too many backwards.
Continued in Part II
Summary: What do you do when the thing you want the most in the world is right in front of you, but doesn’t yet share that desire? The persistence and patience of one man will be sorely tried; will Cid achieve his heart’s desire, and will Vincent ever be free?
Rating: Solid PG-13 for Cid’s language of course
Pairing: Cid x Vincent
Timeline: FFVII - on their way to intercept Meteor, but with a slightly more relaxed schedule to account for Jenova taking sightseeing tours XD.
Disclaimer: We do not in any way own, nor profit from, the FFVII characters - we’re just borrowing them. Avatar art is by (the amazing) Spade.
Warnings: the typical angsting associated with Vincent, but other than that *shrugs*, nothin’ yet.
A/N: Another RP with silence wrangling Cid in from the bar and yours truely trying to persuade Vincent to come down out'a that tree. This here is a six-parter, so stick with us *whispers* it gets better! XD
Part I
“You really think you’re somethin’, don’t ya, Valentine? All that an’ a bag o’ chips, huh?” Cid sneered. Vincent made no response, exactly as Cid had expected. “Yeah, I know what y’re thinkin’. Think y’re better’n us ’cause the big scary madman locked y’away in the big dark basement, dont'cha?” Vincent did not even blink. Fitting. No, perfect. “Think y’re th’only one of us got a reason t’hate ‘em? Think y’re th’only one t’have a score t’settle? Think again. Look around ya, Valentine! Why the hell y’think we’re all here? We all got somethin’ drivin’ us t’get this done. An’ you,” Cid snorted disdainfully, “actin’ like we ain’t worth nothin’. Well let me tell ya this- you ain’t no better’n us. Y’ain’t worth no more’n any of us.” Vincent continued to stare, mute and unmoving. Cid poked him in the chest with the wooden handle of his spear. “An’ y’don’t mean a damn thing t’me. Nossir, no more’n the rest of ‘em. So don’t go thinkin’ that, either. We don’t need you. So quit actin’ like we do. Quit thinkin’ we’re obligated t’save yer ass. F’it was up t’me, we’d leave ya here. Woulda left ya last time. Hell, I wouldn’t’a even gone through the trouble o’ gettin’ y’outta the damn coffin if I’d’a known how much trouble y’were gonna be. Tch.” He turned away from Vincent and spat on the ground. “An’ another thing. It’s a real shame- no, no, it’s a damn crime fer someone t’look so good an’ have no personality. A real waste o’ …attractiveness. Don’t look at me like that-” (Vincent’s gaze had not shifted in the least) “-I ain’t sayin’ I want nothin’ t’do with ya. Ain’t you been listenin’ t’me at all? Pfft.”
No, no I don’t, Cid Highwind, Vincent thought, empty and yet slowly becoming irritated at his current paralysis. Of all the members of AVALANCHE, Highwind was the only one who made him feel something other than indifference, and right now he was being nudged closer to a sad anger. I never thought myself ‘better’, though I am on a different level than you. Don’t you see that, Highwind? Don’t you see that I am responsible for all of your ‘scores’? I never expected different treatment because of what was done to me, for I never cared about what you all thought. I am suffering my punishment as I should, and never have I asked for your pity. Vincent was itching to move, hating his inability to even blink. You’re right about one thing though, Highwind. You don’t need me, no one needs me. I am a creation that should never have been created, an experiment that should have failed, and I should not mean anything. So leave me, Highwind, I do not care, and must I remind you that it was I who joined you? The only obligation that any of you have is to live your lives. That is the blessing that you all have, and one that has been taken from me. Let me not stand in your way! Walk right through me and be gone. Leave me to sort out my need for revenge, my vendetta you would NEVER understand. Vincent thought that if he tried hard enough, maybe he could at least glare, so he tried, in vain, to do even that. This was worse than when Hojo had had a hold of him. At least then he had been able to move a little. And do not speak to me of beauty. Are you so shallow that you cannot see below the surface of a pretty face to the ugliness beneath? Who I was matters not to me anymore, just as who I am should not matter to you. It is none of your business. It has never been any of your business. Why can you not just leave me alone? All of you! I did not join you looking for friends. Friends are another way for one to get hurt or a tool to use to hurt another. Just leave me to my fate, and stop wasting your time.
“An’ damn it all stop doin’ whatever the hell it is y’do! I dunno if the bastard gave ya some psychic shit or whatever, but dammit I don’t wanna be thinkin’ about you when I’m teachin’ that lummox how t’fly!” Cid pounded a fist against the tree supporting Vincent, far enough away, he hoped, that he would not frighten Vincent. He left it curled there, and realized quite suddenly that the entire display had probably been rather frightening. Cid could, now that he tried, feel acutely the gunman’s shame at his current vulnerability and perhaps a twinge of fear. “Shit,” he said, and dragged his other hand down his face. “Sorry, Vince. Shit, I really am.” The hand on the tree moved itself to Vincent’s shoulder, which he grasped tightly for a moment before moving it to the pale, paralyzed face. That face haunted him while he tried to sleep- the sadness in those matchless eyes, the intelligence that seemed too much for a single body to bear, the body so alive and alluring and unquestionably deadly, unquestionable because he had seen before what it could do in the blink of an eye. He pinched Vincent’s cheeks to force his mouth open and knew how humiliating it must be for this man to be standing here at Cid’s mercy. He entertained brief thoughts of sliding in his tongue instead of tipping the potion vial to pour down Vincent’s throat, but that would be unforgiveable even by Cid’s standards. He fed Vincent the remedy but left his hand resting on the smooth cheek and uttered one more apology before dropping it and stepping back to make sure it had the right effect.
As the potion traveled its burning path down his throat and Vincent felt its lingering warmth spreading through his limbs, gradually returning movement, he listened to Cid’s empty apologies. They weren’t empty because Cid didn’t mean them; Vincent was sure that he did, somewhere in his mind, but they were empty because they were useless. A waste of energy. Finally his vocal cords were released and he said, “You have my thanks, and there is no need to apologize, Highwind. The truth need never be apologized for.” He stood up straighter, calm gaze never leaving Cid’s, “But I trust that you are finished now? Perhaps we should go back to the Highwind.” Without waiting for Cid’s reply, Vincent began walking back to Cid’s pride and joy. There were some things that he needed to think about, reevaluate, and he had Cid to thank for that.
Cid stood still and watched Vincent walk away, feeling oddly lost and discontent. He hadn’t said what he’d wanted to say, not at all- the frustration had taken over almost immediately and turned him nearly violent. He cursed hindsight and wished it would not show him so clearly where he’d gone wrong. It hurt to know he’d waited so long for a chance to spill his heart uninterrupted and ruined the one given him. He lit a cigarette before following Vincent, even now unable to take his eyes away. He was especially sorry for saying that Vincent had no personality; it was personality and not body that had first attracted Cid to the gunner. He wanted to run, to catch up to Vincent and explain the misunderstanding, but he knew pushing it further would only leave him in a deeper mess. He returned to his post at the cockpit and gave the trainee pilot the order to take off.
Vincent took up a position on the deck of the Highwind as the massive airship shuddered and rose into the sky. He didn’t want to be around the others. They had always made him rather uncomfortable on any regular occasion, but now he seemed to be particularly more distanced than usual. He found himself surprised to realize that what Cid had told him when he was unable to respond had truly bothered him, and he was beginning to wonder if he hadn’t started caring about these people and what happened to them a little too much. That feeling was a liability, distracting him and shifting his focus from what was truly important: stopping Sephiroth and Meteor. Yes, when this was over, he would leave them. They would be better off without him and free to enjoy the rest of their lives, and he would remove himself from a world that had no use for him. He only had to distance himself from the others, help where he could, and do his part to end the madness of two men: the father and the son and do his damndest to keep them all from becoming ghosts.
Cigarette dangling from his lips, Cid paced behind the cockpit for fifteen minutes after the course was set and the journey well underway. He could see Vincent standing there alone, and his first instinct was to talk to him and smooth things over. Immediately reality set in to remind him that he had Fucked Up, and that it would take more than charisma to get back in Vincent’s good graces, assuming he’d ever even been there. Still, as it usually did with men like Cid, the urge to do something outweighed the urge to keep pacing and generally being unproductive. But…what to say? The time to apologize had passed, he knew, and he couldn’t very well trust himself to say whatever came to mind. He strategized as he walked toward Vincent, but stopped dead in shock a few feet away. He was astounded by how much Vincent’s outside reflected his inside in that moment- wind swirling his hair and cape every which way, his eyes staring straight ahead even as he took a step backwards, away from the railing- his body for once as much in conflict as his soul. It was breathtaking, and Cid felt he had no business seeing such a thing. He would have left but for the knowledge that Vincent already knew he was there.
Vincent felt Cid’s presence as soon as the man had come onto to the deck. No surprise really. Cid, he had found, was a man ruled by his conscience. Not a good thing in a warrior, but it was a good thing in a friend. Cloud and the others were lucky, and he didn’t want to abuse that fragility now. He turned partway round, looked at the big blond and asked mildly, “Is there something you wished to discuss, Highwind?”
Cid shrugged uncomfortably and shifted his feet a bit. Shit. Well, he could think of several ways to make Vincent walk away for good, but that wasn’t his goal. As for making him stay, well… “Kinda thought maybe it was you had somethin’ t’talk about. I’d be glad t’listen, y’know. Anytime,” he added for good measure, already feeling like this hadn’t been such a good idea. “Y’don’t even hafta wait ‘til somethin’ paralyzes me!” He laughed nervously for about half a second before realizing that it really wasn’t funny. “Well…” His right hand went to the back of his neck as he smiled sheepishly at Vincent. “I’ll, uh, be in m’room, I guess. Leave you ta yer…thinkin’, or whatever the hell it is. See ya.”
Vincent stood there for a moment, almost as though he expected Cid to launch into another verbal assault, but when the man dismissed himself, he pursed his lips and replied quietly, “As you wish. I appreciate the offer, and should I have something to discuss with you, I shall seek you there.” He returned to gazing out at the horizon, making an easy, yet conscious effort to ignore the tiny voice in his mind, long dormant, that pleaded at him to reach out and stop the man from leaving. When the voice had stilled, Vincent found it rather soothing to just stand and watch the clouds, his mind as empty of thought as his future was of hope.
Leaning against the wall around the corner, Cid thought over his words, finding them just as badly used now as he had seconds before. Vincent had acknowledged the offer, but Cid felt he had used that claim as a cue for Cid to leave. He wished he hadn’t fallen for it. He saw the smoke making its way around the cabin, giving him away. He cursed the wind, not for the first time, and wished Vincent had stood at the other end of the ship.
Gritting his teeth in mild irritation as the faint tendril of smoke drifted by his nose, Vincent closed his eyes with a sigh. Honestly, he didn’t understand why Cid had to lurk everywhere. Clearly the man had something on his mind. Why couldn’t he just out with it? Tipping his head back a little so that the wind whipped his hair out of his face, he raised his voice, “I know you are there Highwind. If you are going to insist on standing on-deck, then might I suggest joining me at the rail? The view is more appealing than that of the propeller.” He crossed his arms over his chest and waited. Cid would come out or he wouldn’t; either way, it didn’t matter to him.
He hadn’t expected to be called on it. He felt like a kid caught spying on his neighbors. He killed his cigarette and stepped just around the corner before falling back against the wall there. He edged a few steps closer to Vincent and sat, thinking that keeping his distance might make it easier to talk, should he be made to talk. He let the silence between them continue for a while before calling, “Why don’t you talk to us?”
A brow rose as Vincent slowly turned to face Cid, sitting on the deck of his own ship cross-legged like a child, mildly confused, “I speak when I have something to say or if I am addressed. I was not aware that more would be required.” Rather he had hoped there would be no further need for interaction.
“Well if it was required, it wouldn’t mean nothin’,” Cid pointed out. “I just wonder sometimes what y’d say if ya trusted m- us a little more.” Vincent was always so quiet that Cid had no doubt that his mind was constantly working. “Like now. What’re ya thinkin’ now? Will y’tell me? I’d like t’hear it.” He hoped Vincent would not tell him only the superficial thoughts, which he could hear well enough from here- something along the lines of “Why is he still here? Why is he talking to me? Shoo, Highwind. What do you want from me?” He wanted to know what really had Vincent’s mind in its grasp that could make him act the way he did.
Vincent blinked. Well, since he asked… “I am thinking that you must have more important things to do than speak to me, as well as I find it rather annoying that you must lurk around corners rather that say what you need to. I am also finding this conversation rather…unusual. Is that what you are referring to?”
Cid scratched the back of his head again. “Well…not really, but it’s a start.” Flashing a brilliant grin in Vincent’s direction, he discounted the first statement. “I happen t’value my friends more’n my time sleepin’, which is what I’d be doin’ now if I wasn’t here talkin’ t’you. I already said what I needed t’say an’ a hell of a lot more’n I should’ve, an’ I wasn’t lurkin’, I was…restin’. Yeah.” He knew Vincent would not be so easily pleased, but if he expected Vincent to answer questions, he would have to answer a few too. “An’ damn right it’s unusual. You ain’t had a conversation fer the sake o’ conversation in way too long, I reckon. So,” Cid paused, trying to find something impersonal but discussion-supporting to mention. “Did you ever breed chocobos?”
Behind the high collar of his mantle, Vincent’s jaw dropped at the completely random and ridiculous question. “What does breeding chocobos have to do with stopping Meteor? And why would I do such a thing?”
Holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender, Cid worked quickly to calm Vincent. “Shit, don’t hafta jump down m’throat about it! An’ see, that’s just what I mean. You worry too much about what’s goin’ on right now that nothin’ else matters. A man needs a little distraction. An’ who the hell knows, maybe we need a chocobo t’bring us t’wherever the bastard is. Dead useful, them birds. An’ there ain’t nothin’ wrong with it! Rewardin’, really, ‘specially if y’race ‘em. Well, if that ain’t your thing…what’s yer favorite color?”
Vincent blinked and cocked his head as he watched Cid watch him. Had it really been so long since someone had spoken to him like this, as though he were…normal and just another human being? He was suddenly, inexplicably moved. Reluctantly, he answered quietly, “I-I no longer recall if I had a…favorite color, Highwind.”
He smiled. Vincent really had no idea how endearing he could be. “Don’t remember, huh? Well…take a look around you. Go on, go ahead. Gotta see somethin’ y’like. Me, I like that grey color the clouds get when a storm’s comin’. An’ I know it ain’t a real color, but I like it.” Cid crossed his arms as if daring Vincent to say anything about it, though he was quite certain that wouldn’t happen. He watched Vincent watching and waited for an answer.
Red eyes closed as a vision sprang to mind, unexpected, unbidden and so very painful from his nearly-forgotten childhood. A life where everything was perfect and he had no idea of the hell he would be doomed to exist in. “Sunset,” he murmured raggedly, his voice broken. “The colors of the sky at sunset. I can see it so clearly. I thought it was lost. A blue so deep it fades to grey before ending in white, and the clouds are burned red by a dying sun. So many blues, light to dark, shot through with spears of crimson and dusky rose. The horizon of a land we’ll never see in life, and now denied me for eternity - it will tease me with such beauty my heart will weep and despair.” He opened his eyes and looked at Cid once more. Damn you, Cid Highwind. Damn you for making me feel this. “That is my favorite color.”
He hadn’t been trying to upset Vincent, but he did seem to be upset, and Cid had no idea what to do for him. “Mm…good choice, Vince. See, there y’have it; we have somethin’ in common. You wanna come sit with me?” he asked, patting the space next to him, simultaneously hoping the gunman would accept and thinking that Vincent really was too good to be sitting on the floor.
“No, Cid. We have absolutely nothing in common,” but he walked over and crouched next to the pilot anyway. Vincent didn’t know why he did - craving neither friendship nor closeness - but he was relieved when the emptiness returned to fill him and the sunset from his youth faded back into the mist of his irretrievable past, where it belonged. He allowed his mind to empty, and focused instead upon the cold wind further chilling his already cold skin.
“Am I that disgustin’ that you want nothin’ t’do with me?” Cid shot a grin at Vincent, whose eyes had so quickly lost that brief flicker of emotion. He immediately regretted speaking at all; perhaps if he had not, Vincent would still be feeling. Another question came to mind, but dared not ask it just yet. He would have to focus for now on trivial things. But Vincent had come nearer to him, and that was enough to ease the heaviness in his heart that came with seeing such a great man so defeated. “Say, think maybe y’d like to have dinner with me one night? While we’re on the ship, I mean? ‘Cause I cook fer m’self, an’ I always make too much an’ end up feedin’ it t’th’animals or somethin’. Wouldn’t mind sharin’.”
Vincent turned his head to pin Cid with a flat stare, “I no longer require food to survive, Highwind. That will not be necessary, though the invitation is appreciated.” Why do you persist in this, Cid? What can you possibly hope to get out of it? My valueless friendship? Surely you can do better than that. “And I have been around more unappealing individuals, I assure you.” He stood back up but did not move away, as he felt that that might hurt the man’s feelings. Vincent didn’t need to cause more pain. He had done quite enough already without this minor infraction.
Cid shivered. Vincent, like the oncoming night, had turned cold. He stood as well, mildly disappointed that the conversation had been so brief. “Well, I won’t make you eat, if y’ever just wanna come. Y’know, sit with me, talk to me.” Taking another look at the dubious expression on Vincent’s face, he shook his head. “If I ain’t so repulsive, that shouldn’t be a problem, right? An’ you need t’quit worryin’ about what’s necessary an’ start thinkin’ about what you want. Playin’ by th’rules is all well an’ good, but it’s a hell of a lot better if y’write ‘em yerself.” With that, Cid turned to walk away, and called over his shoulder for Vincent to come inside, as he didn’t like anyone to be on deck in the dark.
Vincent watched the blond leave, impassive. You poor, innocent man, he thought sadly, but perhaps it is for the best that you do not know what true ugliness looks like. I hope you continue to live in your little world where the ugliest thing you can think of is your own unique beauty. It is such a softer place than where I dwell, that such a creature as you belongs nowhere near it. Then, out of respect for the man’s wishes, Vincent followed him inside and retired to his assigned room, shutting the door behind him. Leaning against it he looked dubiously at the un-slept-in bed. Make my own rules, hn? He thought to himself. Vincent hesitated only a second more before walking over to the narrow mattress and nervously laying down upon it. Folding his hands across his chest he forced his limbs to relax and his mind to still, and if he had been awake to realize it, he would have been startled at how quickly sleep took him. But it was not to hold him kindly as Vincent soon became trapped in the nightmare of his past, and through the cruelty of a sharp mind and hidden memories, he relived the experiments, injections and pain until he was once again reduced to helpless, blood curdling screams.
Cid didn’t go to his room. He knew he wouldn’t have been able to sleep, so he wandered the halls, pausing outside Vincent’s door before remembering that he had no right to intrude. He made three more rounds, thinking about how terrible he was with words and how he would much prefer being able to show Vincent what he felt. Too bad that trust had to be earned first here, and that the awkward stumbling through conversation was necessary to earn that trust. At what felt like the end of his walk, Cid realized he was again outside Vincent’s door. He would have very much liked to open it, stride in, and take the poor sad man into his arms, but that was impossible; it would likely always be impossible. He rested a flattened palm and his forehead on the smooth, cool metal, lost for words and strategies and even clear thoughts. Make your own rules, he’d said, but that was only possible if one disregarded the rules other people made for themselves. He whispered one last apology against the door, planning to walk away when it was done but not finding himself able to. He had to, he felt, at least make this right, and that was going to take persistence. He was just turning away when a heart-wrenching sound reached his ears. Vincent. Something was wrong. Cid’s immediate thought was that he was in there hurting himself, which of course had to be stopped right away. All respect for Vincent’s privacy gone, he barged in and was surprised, relieved, and unsettled all at once to see Vincent thrashing about, shouting like…well, like he was having a nightmare of the worst kind. Given his past, Cid was sure it was the worst kind. He knelt quietly by the side of the bed and took a flailing hand, squeezing it gently and hoping it would be enough to wake Vincent.
At the touch and capture of his hand Vincent’s eyes flew open, and with a terrified wail he jerked it from its restraint. He violently drew away from the presence at his side only to slam back against the wall of his quarters. He was shaking so badly that he felt sick to his stomach and he couldn’t breathe, gasping in jerky breaths as he looked around him. If had had any fluid in his body he would have pissed himself, the horror was so real. He couldn’t help the small whimper that escaped his throat. He had prayed that that part of his life was over, but even now he was a prisoner…always a prisoner. He would never be free.
“Oh, Vincent,” he said under his breath, and then, “oh, honey,” a little louder. Cid reached for Vincent’s hand again, taking it lightly enough that the terrified man could have taken it away without any trouble. Gently, he tugged it to him and pressed it to his lips, remembering that his mother used to do that when she tucked him in for the night. “Just me, Vince. Just the Chief.” He didn’t move except to release the hand he was holding. “How can I help, Vince? Can I help?”
The voice was too low, too rough to belong to his tormentor. Blinking rapidly, Vincent’s vision finally focused upon the worried face of Cid Highwind. What was Cid doing in the Lab? He didn’t belong here! Did they get him too? Frantically looking around it gradually dawned on Vincent that he was not in fact in the Lab but rather in the gently vibrating hull of the airship Highwind. With a moan he drew his knees up against his chest and wrapped his arms around them along with his cape, and huddled in the corner shaking. “N-no one c-can h-help me, H-Highwind,” He gasped around chattering teeth, “I-I will b-be f-fine, j-just give m-me a m-moment.” He dragged the back of his trembling right hand across his mouth then returned it to around his knees. He squeezed his eyes shut and attempted to get himself under control, but his heart was pounding too hard and he felt Chaos, deep inside, begin to stir in response. Oh please not now, he thought desperately, do not come out now. Gaia, give me the strength to at least help myself…
Cid was afraid that any move he made would startle Vincent further, and frankly he seemed to be on the edge of a breakdown already. Talking hadn’t seemed to hurt, so he settled for that. “Vincent. Hey, Vince, it’s all right.” Damn it, Highwind, he ain’t an animal. That ain’t gonna help. “Sunset, Vince. Think about that. Ain’t never gonna be another day you don’t get to see it.” Very slowly, he rearranged himself into a more comfortable position, not letting himself gain any height or get any closer. He wanted to hold Vincent through this. No, he wished it didn’t even have to happen. It wasn’t fair that Vincent had to go through this. And to think Cid had yelled at him today for such trivial reasons, and accused him of putting himself above others! Of course, he hadn’t even believed himself at the time, and he figured Vincent knew he’d just been talking, but that didn’t change the fact that he had done something so incredibly insensitive. “Not goin’ anywhere ‘less you want me to, a’ right?”
“S-sunset?” Vincent tried, looking disbelievingly at the man in front of him, “Y-you w-want me t-to th-think of s-sunsets?” Is this a joke to you, Highwind? he thought, shaking his head and hugging his knees tighter. “D-do you th-think th-that it is th-that s-simple?” Grudgingly, he had to admit that as his ire rose, his fear began to slowly retreat. Gradually his grip around his knees began to loosen, but his stomach continued to remain painfully knotted and his teeth refused to stop chattering - much to his chagrin. “I-I t-told you th-that I-I will b-be fine.”
“Y’don’t sound fine. Look, if there’s nothin’ I c’n do t’help ya, I’ll go if you want, but I think maybe it wouldn’t hurt for me t’stay.” Not that I have a fuckin’ clue what’s wrong. F’you’d just talk to me, Vin… “An’ it’s stupid t’ask this, but do y’wanna tell me about it? I won’t even listen, if y’want. C’n just talk, get it out.” I don’t think I’d wanna hear anyway. Cid stood at a snail’s pace and sat on the edge of the bed, looking concernedly at Vincent. “Even if there’s nothin’ I can do t’really help, is there anything you want me to do? Glass o’ water or somethin’? A cigarette?”
Vincent sighed shakily, “G-Go, s-stay, d-do what suits y-you, I care not.” He swallowed and nearly moaned in relief when he felt Chaos slip back beneath his consciousness. He was afraid to shut his eyes now, afraid of what images might come forward to torment him further, so he just stared straight ahead, right thought Cid, unseeing and unblinking. Eventually, when Cid (predictably) made no move to leave he said tiredly, his voice still hoarse from screaming, “Why? W-why do you ins-sist on speaking t-to me?” The damned chattering was nearly gone now and his stomach was finally convinced he wasn’t being killed and was starting to relax, leaving him drained and exhausted.
Cid echoed Vincent’s sigh and sat there waiting for the words on the tip of Vincent’s tongue to make themselves heard. When they did, he sighed again and looked down to where his hands were playing over the sheets. “Why? ‘Cause I feel like if I could just crack open yer damn shell there’d be somethin’ pretty in it, somethin’ worth keepin’. An’ b’sides, ain’t it nice knowin’ somebody wants t’talk to ya? Always makes me feel better knowin’ someone gives a damn. An’ I do, y’know. Prob’ly we all do, but the rest of ‘em’s not as tough as me.” He grinned at Vincent, but it didn’t last long. Who are you under all that, Valentine?
Vincent’s eyes focused and slid over slightly to rest fully on Cid’s face, “D-Do you?” he said quietly, “Yes, I imagine you th-think that you do. But in reality you have no idea what it is you are s-speaking to.” And you don’t want to know, Cid, trust me. “And if there were anything ‘pretty’ in this shell, it has long ago died, and nothing is left that is worth keeping. It would do you well to remember th-that,” he said levelly.
“Damn it, you ain’t a very good listener, are you? Didn’t I just say pretty plain I have no idea who I’m talkin’ to? Vince, look,” he said, and paused. “There is somethin’ worth keepin’, somethin’ that never goes bad. You just buried it so deep y’done forgot about it. S’one o’ those things that gets better with time. Like wine or somethin’?” Cid shook his head when he was done speaking. Once again, what he wanted to say wasn’t quite what he’d said, but it was good enough. “An’ it’ll do you good t’remember I never waste my time, so there must be somethin’ worth findin’ or I wouldn’t bother. Got a sixth sense about crap like that,” he added knowledgeably, tapping the side of his head. “Now, how ‘bout a round o’ go fish or somethin’? Got a deck o’ cards in m’jacket.” An’ on that note, where the hell did these come from?
For the second time, Vincent found himself struck rather speechless. He blinked slowly once…twice. “Cards.” He said slowly, eyeing the dog-eared, much-used box of playing cards as though it were a mako-bomb. You have to kidding me, Highwind. The planet faces utter annihilation, and you waste your time speaking to me and playing cards? He couldn’t help it, it was rude and mean, but he snorted a laugh. “I do not play cards, Highwind, though your offer is not unappreciated.” And then he did something completely impulsive and utterly unexpected. He reached out and put his hand on Cid’s shoulder, firmly. He squeezed the warm, muscled flesh under the t-shirt before withdrawing his hand back to his knees once again. “Hmph.” He murmured thoughtfully.
He’d always thought Vincent’s hands would be cold. He was glad they weren’t, and even gladder that he’d declined the invitation to play. The deck only had forty-eight cards, after all. He shivered when Vincent let go, wishing he wouldn’t. But…he wasn’t stuttering anymore, and he’d reached out first, so maybe…maybe it was safe. “’Hmph’ what?” Feel nice, Vin? I work out, y’know. Cid sent Vincent his very best subdued charming grin -a difficult combination- and reached for Vincent’s hand again, wincing when he accidentally brushed his knee in the effort.
Vincent jumped when Cid touched his knee, unused to casual contact from another person that didn’t result in pain. “I-I just wanted to see if you were…real,” he said hesitantly. Well crap, that sounded stupid. He thought as he eyed Cid’s hand. His frigidity from earlier that day was beginning to melt away as Cid was once again exercising that unique ability to rouse feelings other than objective distance in him. “Wh-what are you doing?” He breathed. He was feeling something new and alien and it was frightening him a little. Frightening…and intriguing him.
“Provin’ I’m real,” Cid answered, and closed his fingers lightly around Vincent’s hand without pulling it away from him. He squeezed gently and looked back up at Vincent, who no longer looked frozen and angry. “That okay?” He didn’t smile again, just looked. He felt smiling would have given the impression that he was being sarcastic. Meeting Vincent’s eyes, he wished once again that he could do something, something that would really help, but for now, he would content himself with these baby steps and hope they didn’t take too many backwards.
Continued in Part II