Midgar Burning - Chapter 8
Title: Midgar Burning
Authors: silence_laughs and calvi_sama
Pairing: Cid x Vincent
Rating: NC-17 (eventually), most certainly R
Disclaimer: We do not in any way own, nor profit from, the characters and/or locations of FFVII, that would all be Square Enix. Also any other references to persons or products mentioned herein are purely coincidental *coughs*
Warnings: Adult themes, blood, some violence, language, kidnapping, torture, mentions of abuse, murder, and above all else...yaoi, the 'inappropriate to minors' kind, the 'makes us sit up past our bedtimes reading' kind, 'cause lets face it folks, it just wouldn't be the same without it! >:3
Summary: Even as Cid fights to show Vincent it’s okay to love again, Vincent’s enemies are moving in. Can Cid secure a place in Vincent’s heart before their world falls apart?
A/N: Two things folks: 1) This is an RP and 2) This fic is AU. The usual players here: silence = Cid, and all in Cid's world, and yours truly = Vincent, and all in Vin's world. Easiest way to say it. ^^ This fic is a 'novel'-form piece (ie multi-chapter) that is darker than what we normally write, and out of our comfort zone in the fact that we normally prefer to stick to canon-type stuff. But I got the idea from ani_mama's artwork (more specifically this picture), persuaded silence to "go along with it", and it's been going 'full steam ahead' since then, and quite grown on us. We hope you all like it!
Chapter Eight
Against all better judgment -not to mention Shera’s explicit advice- Cid had decided to cook. He had no reason to believe, of course, that Valentine would be hungry, or that he would eat anything Cid offered him. He had contemplated that enough earlier, and now there was no going back. The chicken was in the oven, and Cid was fairly sure that it was mostly cooked.
He jumped when the knocking started, burning his hand on the inside of the stove. He was still nursing it in his mouth when he got to the door.
Try to have fun, Vincent thought irritably as he knocked on Highwind’s door for the official ‘second meeting’ of the agreed payment plan for the mako. Tseng had had the nerve to tell him to ‘have fun’ on the ride over, and Vincent was still a little peeved about it. He was sorely tempted to skip tonight’s meeting, but a deal was a deal, and Vincent Valentine did not back out of agreements. He was startled and jumped back a little when the door was roughly yanked open and the cop stood in the doorway …sucking his thumb. Arching a brow, he couldn’t stop himself before he blurted, “Did I interrupt something?”
“Sure as hell did,” Cid said, grinning. “Pretty little thing waitin’ for me in the kitchen. Two legs, two thighs…only one breast, but I reckon we c’n still share, if y’wanna come in.” He pulled the door open, pleased with himself for having some sort of comeback, no matter how ridiculous a comeback it was. “S’good t’see ya. Would it be too much t’ask that y’re so hungry it don’t matter what th’food tastes like?” Cid asked as he took Valentine’s jacket and hung it where he had last time. “Cause I reckon y’re better off not bein’ able t’taste it at all. Oh, sorry. Go on an’ have a seat an’ I’ll bring it all out in a minute. Y’drank up th’last o’ that tea,” he called from the kitchen. “Wine good, or wouldja rather the regular tea or some water or…I think maybe I got lemonade mix somewhere in here…maybe a beer or two…Anyway, let me know what sounds good, yeah?”
Vincent’s expression was one of utter shellshock as he was verbally assaulted. He actually spluttered for a moment before he managed to say, “Wine is fine, thank you.” He had expected a repeat of last time; instead a totally different person greeted him. He took his familiar perch on the couch feeling an entirely different type of nervousness than last time. This was completely unfamiliar territory for him. Highwind was treating him like…a friend, as if he were completely normal and not some hardened criminal and killer. And that drove home to him just how removed he was from civilization, how much of a beast he had become, and suddenly he found himself inexplicably shy and uncertain of himself.
“Comin’ up,” Cid replied, and returned shortly with their drinks. He set his own on the table and handed the other glass to Vincent, then decided he might as well go back for the bottle just in case. There was at least no question by the time he was done with that as to whether the chicken was thoroughly cooked. “Might be a little, uh, charred, but that just adds character,” he said, winking as he set down the large plate. “Take whatever ya want, ‘cause I’ll eat any of it. Need ketchup or anything? Y’prob’ly oughta drown it in somethin’.”
Vincent peered curiously at what had to be some sort of bird. “Correct me if I am wrong, Highwind, but aren’t those supposed to be a bit…bigger?”
“Uh…maybe it’s a guinea hen? I dunno. Same thing I eat all the time, an’ I’m still around, right?” Cid snagged a leg from the plate and began eating, realizing only after he had taken two rather large bites that he had company. “Um…sorry. Heh. Can I maybe get a plate an’ a fork for ya?”
“And a knife and a napkin, I think, would be rather appreciated,” Vincent said wryly, arching a brow and taking a sip of his wine. He winced and forced himself to swallow. Very, cheap, wine. He would have to make a note to bring Highwind some vintage Mideel wine- expensive, but the best. Still, it was better than nothing, and he was in no mood for tea.
Cid nodded and went to the kitchen to retrieve the necessary items, and when he returned, he went back to his default apology mode. “M’sorry ‘bout the wine. I just picked it up this mornin’ since I figured we oughta have somethin’ other’n tea fer once.” Cid took a few more bites, chased down what was in his mouth with his own sip of the wine -he found it to be perfectly acceptable- and asked, “Do you…hate bein’ here?”
Vincent paused in his attempt to hack off a bit of breast meat from the…bird, and thought a moment. “Not really. Indifferent I suppose, but this place has its own…quaint charm about it. Are you always this hesitant in conversation?” he countered with his own question as he went back to sawing. He had noticed that when he looked at Highwind, the man grew increasingly more uncomfortable. He chalked it up to his red eyes. They tended to have that effect on people - which is why he made a point to wear shaded glasses when out in public - so he carefully kept them averted now. He made a pleased grunt when the hunk of meat finally came free, and he carefully set it on his plate before leaning back into the couch cushions.
“Only when I’m expectin’ t’be shot down,” Cid answered, “an’ I never know what t’expect from you so I just assume the worst’s gonna happen. Hasn’t yet, an’ I hope it never will, but that don’t change my thinkin’.” So are we…talkin’? What? Hell, I don’t know nothin’. “Guess that bothers ya, huh? I’ll work on it.” Cid continued eating until he felt he could not stomach any more of the chicken, and by that time he had downed two glasses of wine. The warmth had set in, and though he was vaguely sleepy, he was more interested in entertaining Valentine. “Say…y’ever have a dream? Maybe when y’were a kid, somethin’ y’know y’can’t have now?”
Vincent snorted. “Handling timidity in conversation has never been my forte, Mr. Highwind.” He had managed to crunch down a bit more of the very dead bird, but just couldn’t get around any more. He had tried, but he just couldn’t, settling instead to keep working on the wine. As a result of his nearly empty stomach and his four glasses of wine to Cid’s two, he was feeling quite a bit more relaxed, but a long way from good and drunk. Thank you, mako, he thought wryly as he kicked back his fourth glass and filled his fifth. Upside? The wine was tasting better. “A dream?” he murmured, studying the slightly watery wine. “Yes, but then don’t we all?” He leaned back into the couch with a contented sigh. “So what is your unreachable dream, Mr. Highwind?”
“I wanted t’fly,” he said simply. “I mean, I guess ev’ry kid wants to at some point, but me- I was really gonna do it. Ain’t thought about things like that in a long time. Bein’ ‘roun’ you, it makes me remember.”Cid stood and retrieved the drawing of the Tiny Bronco, knowing that it would mean little to Valentine but needing to show someone anyway. Just don’t laugh at me. “I think that’s why it hurts so much. Y’make me feel closer to it than ever before, but at th’same time, I know it’s still gonna stay too far away t’reach. So I…I can’t figure out if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, but I wanna find out. That’s…that’s why I wanna keep spendin’ time with ya. I’m not askin’ ya here ‘cause I think I’m gonna get you in bed or make you belong t’me or whatever.” Another wry smile formed on Cid’s face as he pushed away his empty glass. But I can’t promise nothin’ when I’m drunk. “Understand? This isn’t a way fer me t’use ya, it’s just somethin’ fer me t’look forward to. Even if it hurts, I like bein’ around ya, but I don’t really know why yet.” Cid sighed at the end of his speech, realizing that he had made almost no sense, even to himself. It’s almost like I’m fallin’ for ‘im. Shit…Guess I do have a death wish after all.
Vincent pursed his lips. He didn’t entirely believe the cop, but at the moment he didn’t really care. “That’s a fine dream, Mr. Highwind.” He murmured, taking another long drink of his wine as he studied the rather detailed drawing the cop had held out to him. “A fine dream, and not entirely out of reach just yet, regardless of what you may think.” He took another drink as he rolled his head to finally meet Highwind’s eyes sadly. “I wanted to teach. That was my dream. I like children and wanted to teach them.” Another drink. “Teach them about literature, and history. But unlike you, that dream is gone. I made my bed, and now I shall have to lie in it.” Another drink and he snorted derisively. “And such a coffin it is.” He took another drink but only got air. Well hell, where’d the wine go? He thought and leaned forward slowly to pour a sixth glass. It took a little longer that it would have normally, but he got it done. Exhaling loudly, he fell back against the cushions once again.
Cid frowned as he watched Valentine pour yet another glass. He started to ask whether Valentine didn’t think he’d had enough, but another question left Cid’s mouth instead. “Why didn’t you? What stopped ya from doin’ what y’wanted to, I mean?”
Vincent froze, his glass halfway to his lips. Carefully, he completed the liquid’s journey and took another sip. “Unforeseeable circumstances,” he muttered. “I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and suddenly my future was taken from me. That is all you need to know.”
“Understood,” Cid said, nodding solemnly and carefully wedging his feet onto the table. “Ah, shit. Sorry. Just habit.” Realizing again that he had acted like an animal in front of his guest, he removed his feet and shifted uncomfortably on the couch, trying to find a good position. He ended up a little closer to Valentine than he figured either of them liked, but he had managed to crack his back, and that was the important part. Because, of course, the important part was not that his head had made it onto Valentine’s shoulder. That took him a moment to puzzle out, and he sat up again, rubbing the side of his head where it had rested against the other man. “How in hell’d that get there?” he asked, eyeing Valentine suspiciously as if he were somehow to blame for what Cid was treating like an outrageous turn of events.
“Don’t look at me,” Vincent snorted and drained his glass in one go. “I am jus’ sitting here.” He went for the wine bottle and emptied the rest of it into his glass. “Sorry, I think I’ve drunk all your wine. I shall buy you so’more,” he mumbled. Damned cheap wine, he thought a little fuzzily. “Somethin’ better.” When did I feel comfortable enough to get even a little drunk? He wondered. Well, whatever. I am, and that is that.
“’Kay,” Cid agreed easily. He wasn’t going to complain. He also wasn’t going to drink the ‘better’ wine, but it would be here for Vincent’s visits. “Jus’ don’t drink all o’ that at one meal or y’might get drunk ‘r… somethin’,” he warned, settling back against Vincent’s shoulder and finding that it was not at all unpleasant. He was taking advantage of the other man after all, but he felt the circumstances made it acceptable. “S’it okay t’just sit here like this a little bit?”
“Don’ see why not.” Vincent replied, taking another couple of gulps of wine. He grinned wryly. “No danger of me getting that drunk, Highwind. Mako burns alcohol quickly. This…buzz, will be gone in a few hours. But it is rather hot in here; d’you always keep your apartment so warm?” Indeed, he had begun to sweat lightly. He reached for his shirt and unbuttoned the top two buttons, drained his wine and put the glass down. It also didn’t help that the cop was suddenly using him as a pillow and backrest, but he just didn’t have the will to nudge the man off of him. He laid his head back down against the back of the couch, studying a spot on the ceiling that sort of resembled a squashed mouse.
“S’just ‘cause yer used to it bein’ so cold all th’time.” He wanted to argue on that strain, but found that he could not; Vincent was right. “Heat ain’t turned on…a/c’s shot… could open a winda, b’I don’ reckon it’d close right. Must be you. Yep, s’gotta be yer fault,” Cid said on a sigh. “But I don’ mind. Like it a little warm.” If he tilted his head at the proper angle, Cid could track Vincent’s line of sight. “Whatcha lookin’ at? Oh, that one. Was here when I got here. Looks like a mouse, don’t it? ‘Cept with wings an’ a…thing on its head. Whadda they call them things? Moogles or somethin’? Kids’re crazy ‘bout them toys right now. Got one fer Shera’s little one,” he said, grinning. “So he’ll have one as soon as ‘e’s born an’ beat th’rush.”
“That is very kind of you,” Vincent murmured and blinked slowly. It didn’t register until a moment later that he was resting his cheek against the top of the cop’s head. “So tell me, Mr. Highwind, what prompted you become involved with the constabulary instead of following your dream?”
Cid snorted. “Th’wha- oh. Like you don’t know all about that. Mama couldn’t take it after Daddy went bad, an’ I was just a kid. Knew better’n t’stay there, so I took off. Went home fer a place t’sleep sometimes ‘til he died too. Couple years later, an’ I wasn’t just a kid, I was a good fer nothin’ kid nobody wanted nothin’a do with. A boy’s gotta eat, an’ if y’gotta steal t’live, y’steal. Lost any chance I had once it came t’that. I didn’t have any other choice when th’cops approached me. It was either work fer them or go t’jail, an’ I’d already been in an’ out enough fer enough overnight visits t’know I didn’t wanna go back there.”
Vincent winced. I knew that, and still I asked it. “Well, then it appears we are both the victims of circumstances out of our control,” he said softly.
“Yeah,” Cid agreed, voice equally quiet, “but I think I’m glad I had the chance t’meet ya. Heh, who knows? Maybe you coulda been a teacher, an’ maybe I’d’a come inta yer classroom t’talk about what it’s like t’fly. But this is what we have, an’ this is how it is, an’ there’s no use in doin’ anything but tryin’a be happy about it.” He relaxed more completely against Vincent, thrilled beyond reason that someone was there to keep him from collapsing and hitting his head on the arm of the couch. “That ain’t stoppin’ us from tryin’a change it anyway, though, eh? Thank yeh, Vincent, f’it’s okay t’call y’that.”
“Oh I think we’re a bit beyond formal titles now, Mr. Highwind. That is fine, using my given name.” He laughed a little sourly. “There is no happiness in the life I have been given, but I try to survive. It’s frightening, as I lose a bit more of myself every day. Sometimes I wonder what will be left after everyone takes what they want from me. Perhaps all that will be left is the bastard that I’ve taken such great pains to portray myself as.” He lifted his head off of Highwind’s and rested it back against the couch. “I am trying to change it,” he whispered. “Did you know I used to play the piano?”
Immediately missing the weight of Vincent’s cheek against his head, Cid made a small noise of disappointment and turned his head, chasing the warmth that had left. “Piano, huh? S’sexy,” he said, and laughed uncertainly. “Y’don’t play anymore?” was his next question, this one too made of curiosity tinged with disappointment. “Bet y’were real good. Woulda loved t’hear that.”
“Oh, I was all right,” Vincent conceded, shrugging the non-leaned-on shoulder. “My father actually insisted I learn, though I wasn’t terribly enthusiastic about it. I don’t play much anymore, though Tseng keeps trying to get me to.” He chuckled softly as he thought of his second’s obscure and subtle attempts to get him to play.
“He’s right. Y’oughta take it up again. I’d listen.” Cid could feel Vincent chuckling because of the way he was leaning on the other man. “Oughta laugh like that more, too. I’d listen’a that. What th’hell kinda kid were you, anyway?” he asked, rearranging again to keep the pain from his neck. Tossing an arm over Valentine’s waist hadn’t been part of the plan, but once it was there, he was too lazy to move it, despite the “oof” the gesture earned him. “Jus’ can’t see that, you bein’ a kid, n’matter how hard I try.”
Vincent froze at the incredibly bold gesture from cop, but when the man made no additional moves he gradually began to relax and consider the question. “As a child, I was undersized, thin, bony, and painfully shy. Because of my eye color I was picked on nearly constantly, quite often returning home bruised, bloody or both. Until I met Tseng. He came from a single-parent home with no siblings and I suppose he saw me as a younger brother, though we were more or less of the same age. Anyway, he took me under wing as it were and I no longer received the beatings. Rather it was the other boys who did. I had never seen such stoic determination in a fight. No matter how much he took, Tseng never, ever went down. Then I hit my growth spurt, put on a lot of size, really fast. I no longer needed protection, but by then we were inseparable. I think Tseng still thinks I need protection, which is why he is still with me, and I am grateful for it.”
“Heh. I like him, y’know? Y’reckon maybe he’d hate me a little less if y’brought ‘im here with ya next time?” Vincent, Cid found, was much more comfortable to lie on than the couch itself, but he wasn’t going to say that. He was, however, getting increasingly sleepy. He noticed this only after he found himself burrowing deeper into Vincent’s shoulder and clinging to him more tightly. “Uh…heh,” he said sheepishly, removing his arm and scratching the back of his neck as he pulled away. “I was fallin’ asleep on ya just there, I guess. Sorry. Tired,” Cid explained, yawning hugely in the direction opposite Vincent. “S’it selfish of me that I don’t want y’t’go yet?”
“Do you honestly find my company that desirable? Given what I do?” Vincent countered raising an eyebrow.
“S’a difference ‘tween who y’are an’ what y’do,” Cid said sincerely. “Some people might not think so, but I know that’s true, ‘specially after meetin’ you.”
“Ah, but you do not know me, Mr. Highwind.” Vincent responded. “A lot has changed since I was that little boy.” He sighed softly. “What I do has become what I am. It’s ironic actually, now that I think about it. I was beaten as a child, and now I am beaten as a man. Humiliated then- and now. I am made to do such horrible things, and my body has been violated in more ways than I care to remember. And I take it upon myself willingly. Some are convinced that I even ask for it. At the end of it all, I’m nothing more than a criminal, a thug, a murderer and a whore.” He snorted. “What think you now of your ‘company’?” In the back of his mind he knew he would regret saying these things, but alcohol had loosened his tongue, and the words had come unbidden and without thought.
Cid only shook his head sadly. “There’s more to ya’n that. You’re still in there somewhere. Yer Tseng knows it, an’ I know it.” He turned back to Vincent. “Y’must know how badly we wanna take away that pain an’ humiliation from ya…yes, I count m’self in this, because I care for you. Not as an object or an associate, but as a person…an’ someday, I hope, ‘s a friend. And I know I’m right, I know we’re right, ‘cause I feel like we have been b’fore. An’ I guess I’m a little jealous,” he admitted, “that he’s closer t’you than I’ll ever be when I could do just as much good.” Cid placed a hand on Vincent’s shoulder. “Please believe me when I tell ya that y’aren’t all dead yet. Maybe close…maybe right on th’very edge, but not all gone. Stay with us, Vincent. A little longer, an’ it’ll be better, I hope. Fer all of us.”
“You poor idealistic fool,” Vincent murmured, but his tone held no rancor, no hate or condescension, only a deep sadness. Looking away from Cid as his eyes burned. No one knew the truth. But whose fault was that? He never let anyone in, never told anyone the truth. Instead he blinked quickly to get himself back under control and he looked back at Cid. “I appreciate your faith in me, however misplaced it may be. Perhaps I will not disappoint you. But do not hold out to hope. This world preys upon hope and all things good.”
“That it does,” Cid agreed. “That it does. But it’s like any cycle, isn’t it? Some of the good stuff has to survive or the world can’t keep turnin’. Y’might hafta look harder for it than y’d ever thought, but it’s there. What’s more, hope’s born from hopelessness. Things c’n only go so far down before somebody comes along an’ brings it back up. There’s always hope somewhere, Vincent. Let me be the one who holds it fer you.” He turned Vincent’s face back to him gently, willing his eyes to meet the sad red ones. “Is that…what you see in the children? Hope, an’ the faith they still have in this world?” The skin beneath his hands was warm, soft despite the hard exterior Vincent always presented. He wanted to feel more of it, to keep Vincent here forever, but that was not for him. “It’s easy t’envy them, I know. But be happy for ‘em instead. Be glad that they can feel that way, even if only for a little while. Even though we’ve lost that chance, they haven’t. Don’t wish to take that fer yer own.”
“You are right Mr. Highwind. It is a cycle, and a vicious one at that. I see the children, the hopes and dreams in their eyes, and then they find out the truth. They see the world for what it is. I see their parents taken away, because I do it! I see them end up mako-junkies and thieves. I see them end up working for bastards like ShinRa. And I am selfish, Highwind. I’m so tired of being empty, of being used and hurt, raped and beaten, all for someone else. I want a little of that hope for myself. I need a reason to keep going, and so far none of them have been acceptable, and so I continue to die a little more each day until there will be nothing left to save, nothing to redeem, nothing left but a monster. A monster like the one I serve now.” He knew he sounded a little desperate, a little feral, but he was helpless to do anything about it.
“You will never become like him. Do you know why? Last time, when I talked about the people who love you...I meant it. They won’t let that happen fer you. You know full well that Tseng’d sooner kill you ‘imself than watch you become th’next Shinra, and I believe he really would if it ever came down to that. As fer me, this is how I’ll do my part. Help ya keep yer sanity, huh? Every man needs a drinkin’ buddy, Vincent, an’ I’d be honored t’be yours.” One of his hands was still lightly holding Vincent’s face. The other had fallen to the side of the couch in a fist, Cid’s meager attempt to restrain his next action. “’Course, seein’ as it’s me, I might end up bein’ th’reason y’lose yer sanity,” he said wryly, and the fingers on Vincent’s face fluttered for a moment before relaxing as Cid leaned forward and placed a chaste kiss on Vincent’s lips. “But that’s my promise, that I’ll help you any way I can.”
Vincent blinked, startled at Cid’s unexpected action, before raising his fingers to touch his lips. “Do not make promises you cannot keep, Highwind,” he whispered, searching the cop’s too-blue eyes. Funny how he’d never noticed the color before. He then cleared his throat and mumbled awkwardly, “I should go. I have imposed upon your hospitality enough.” As Highwind sat back, he inelegantly struggled to his feet, swayed alarmingly before sitting back down with a grunt. “On second thought, I should probably sober up a little more first, so that I might at least be able to make it down the stairs upright and not on my face. May I impose a moment more, and request a glass of water?”
“Sure thing,” Cid whispered, and took his time in bringing back the water so Vincent would be able to process anything he needed to. He’d made a mistake again, and the kid would probably come storming in within a few days to kill him. When he did go back, it was with a triumphant grin and a few more words. “By th’way, Valentine, promisin’ t’do what I can can’t be a promise I can’t keep. ‘Cause if I c’n do it, I c’n do it, right? So then if…aw, hell, th’more I think about it, th’less sense it makes. Makin’ m’head hurt. Sure did sound damn good a minute ago. Anyhow, y’get what I mean. Seems like it’s been a long time now since I promised I wouldn’t betray ya, an’ I plan t’stick to that. An’ that means,” he continued, smile still in place, “that I will keep any promise I make t’you.”
After handing over the water, he darted quickly to his bedroom to fulfill the initial promise. “You almost let me ferget all about it,” he accused, passing the tube of mako to Vincent. “An’ then I’d just look like an asshole.”
Vincent didn’t get a word of it. His lips still tingled from Highwind little peck and his brain was trying to function under the fuzzy effects of the alcohol, even as the mako in his body began to burn it off with the help of the water. Dumbly, he took the wrapped mako and blinked up at the cop. “Thank you,” he mumbled, putting the tube in his pocket. This evening had been one hell of a trip, and he knew that in morning he was going kick himself in the ass for what he had said. He groaned and held the glass of lukewarm, rusty-tasting water to his forehead. He didn’t want to go back. He wanted to stay here where he could enjoy at least a little anonymity. “Why?” He blurted, looking miserably up at Highwind. “Why me? I mean, I know you want to use me to get ahead in the force, but why this? Why the charade? I don’t understand.”
“I dunno. Truth is, I really don’t understand what yer askin’.” He smiled again and sat down next to Vincent. “There’s no charade except the one I put on at work, an’ y’know why that has t’be there. Know what I think, Vincent?” Cid asked around a widening grin. “I think y’re stallin’. S’perfectly all right w’me if that’s the case. C’n stay all night if y’want to. Bed’s always clean, seein’ as how I hardly ever make it there. Plus it’s mostly Shera’s, even though she don’t come around so much anymore. I’ve mostly gotten used to it by now, but I still always feel better sleepin’ if there’s somebody else nearby.” He stopped to snort. “Though I doubt you’d get any kind o’ sleep in a bed like that. Y’must be used t’so much nicer stuff,” he finished a bit bitterly, sad again that he was never able to offer anything of worth to his guests.
“Still, it’s…it’s all there if y’need it. I remember once,” Cid began, tell-tale dreamy look of another anecdote falling into place, “long time ago now, musta been. Anyway, it was in th’years b’tween havin’ a place t’stay, right? I came across a mattress-bedspring set just hangin’ out in one o’ the little local dumps. It was in damn good condition -had no frame, though- ‘cept fer one or two little stains on it. I couldn’t imagine why anybody woulda thrown it out. I got ran off th’property in th’middle o’ th’night, but fer the couple hours I was there…that was th’best sleep I ever got. I think I’d get me one o’ them if I c’n ever afford it. Big ol’ king-sized thing, big enough fer two. Y’think anybody could ever fall in love with me, Vincent? Oh well. More room fer me if not, eh? An’ it’d have chocobo down pillas. Eh, nah, ‘d prob’ly just make me sneeze. Maybe them contour foam things, then. Bet my neck wouldn’t hurt s’much all the time if I had me one o’ those.” In this speech he had shown no contempt for those with more than him, nor had he aimed to make Vincent feel guilty or coerce him into providing Cid with one of the coveted pillows. He had simply been delighting in the fact that they existed and that someday, he might be able to procure for himself everything he had seen in those late-night advertisements that played across his blurry TV set.
“Gonna need yer help sometimes, I think, t’keep me from buyin’ m’self stuff just t’have it. I already know that ain’t no way t’live, but it sure is temptin’, ain’t it?” Nearly desperate for a cigarette, Cid turned to Vincent and said, “Well, I’m ‘bout tuckered out. If yer stayin’, I’mma need you off the couch. I’ll walk ya back there if y’don’t think y’c’n make it yerself. An’ if y’re goin’, I’ll try t’wait up with ya, but-” he paused to yawn again “-better make it quick if that’s th’case.” If I asked, wouldja stay with me ‘til I fall asleep?
Vincent blinked. If the last verbal assault hadn’t lost him, this one did. He was still back trying to figure out how king-sized mattresses had somehow morphed into love…and what kind of pillows again? “I don’t…what?” He put his hand to his forehead. There had been a question in there somewhere, an accusation. He struggled to remember and stilled when he did. I’m stalling? How can you think I’m stalling? I simply want to know what you want of me? Stop stringing me along with pretty promises and fake reassurances! But instead he murmured, “No-no I don’t think that would be appropriate. I’ll go. I’ve kept you up long enough with my nonsense and petty, selfish problems.” He slowly drained his water, spilling a little down in his chin in the process. Finishing the water, he placed his glass on the TV-stand next to the couch and got just as slowly to his feet. Any faster and he probably would have ended up on his face on the floor. Taking a moment to find his balance, he only swayed a little as he went over to his coat, and fished around in his coat pocket until he found his phone. He pulled the thing out, flipped it open and squinted at the numbers a little, waving off the cop when Highwind offered to help. “I got it, I got it,” he muttered. He punched Tseng’s speed dial.
“Tseng? I need you to pick me up…no, I’m fine I’m jus-…yes, I’m a little drunk…no…NO- ow…yeah, I’m fine I just yelled a little too loud, fucking cheap wine…don’t you laugh at me you asshole, now get up here.... oh yeah, right, ‘cause you want to see me fall down the stairs…that’s not funny…so not funny Tseng…look I jus’ wanna go home…yes I am whining, I think I get to whine too and not have to listen t-…did you just tell me to shut up?…Fine, see if I talk to you on the way home…just…hurry up, Mr. Highwind wishes to go to bed…er…couch, whatev-…oh, don’t Tseng, please, don’t start with the sex talk…” Suddenly he realized that he was still in Highwind’s apartment and that the cop was listening to him. Face red with embarrassment he said quickly, “Look, just get up here and take me home.” He ended the call and flipped the phone shut with a ‘click’, placed it back into his pocket, carefully took the jacket off of the rack and after chasing an errant sleeve for a moment, awkwardly put it on. “Tseng is on his way. Thank you again for…dinner and the…wine. I apologize if I made a nuisance of myself.”
Cid just grinned. “Nah, I had fun! An’ hey,” he said, having listened to Vincent’s every word, “they ain’t petty problems if they’re enough t’bother ya, an’ I talk enough nonsense that I deserve t’have some spit back at me.” His hand made its way to Vincent’s shoulder again, this time in a friendly clap on the back that lasted a little longer than planned, as he had to steady Vincent afterwards. “Hey, I mean it, though. Tell yer Tseng he’s more’n welcome t’join us. Heh. ‘less o ‘course y’d rather have me all ta yerself, huh?” He winked, and a few minutes later opened the door as he heard Tseng’s footsteps coming nearer. “Mornin’!” he said brightly, and he had a point- it was past midnight, after all.
His first thought was that Highwind had finally demanded payment for the mako, as Tseng stood in the doorway, fist raised to knock slowly lowering as he took in the cop’s cheerful expression and Vincent’s flushed face and averted gaze. He detested seeing his friend look so ashamed. But then he quickly realized that that wasn’t it. Vincent was uncomfortable, but that was mostly the alcohol, and Highwind just appeared…happy. He wondered briefly just what had transpired between the two, but concluded that it was good, whatever it was. Face set in its usual stoic and unreadable mask, Tseng nodded once to the cop and turned to his boss and friend of many years. “Come, sir, let’s get you home.”
Vincent nodded and as Tseng held out his arm, his friend tried to walk forward but only succeeded in stumbling spectacularly, and falling right into him. Reflexively he wrapped his outstretched arm around Vincent’s shoulders and smiled nostalgically when the other man’s arm went around his waist. How many times had he supported his friend in this fashion? Too many to count.
“Thank you, Tseng.” Vincent murmured in that deep, rich voice that always reminded Tseng of warm Wutai honey. “You are too good to me, I don’t deserve you.”
He snorted. “No, you don’t, but you’re stuck with me anyway. Now come on before I decide to destroy what’s left of both of our dignities and carry you down the stairs.”
“You wouldn’t dare!” Vincent actually looked stricken.
“Don’t tempt me, niisan,” Tseng warned softly and squeezed his arm briefly as he stifled a chuckle. “I’ve done it before, and I’ll do it again if I have to, now walk.”
As they began to make their way down the stairs, Tseng looked back up at the cop and nodded his head again. “Good evening, Mr. Highwind. I’ll see that he makes his next appointment with you in two weeks.” When Vincent mumbled something about ‘knowing his own schedule’, he actually rolled his eyes, lips quirking up nearly imperceptibly and said fondly, “Do shut up, Vincent.”
Cid laughed as the two of them walked away, and he fell asleep smiling that night and eagerly looking forward to that next appointment. It seemed so far away, but he knew it would be worth the wait if it were anywhere near as entertaining as this night had been. “Don’t regret it, Vincent,” he whispered into the cushion as his eyes finally drifted shut.
When they got back to the ShinRa Tower, Vincent had mostly sobered up. Now all he felt was tired, and in desperate need of a shower. At his door he bid Tseng a good evening, thanked the man again, and softly shut the door behind himself. Leaning back against the wood he looked around his tiny, neat set of rooms and sighed tiredly. His ruby gaze settled upon the ancient upright piano that sat forgotten in the corner, nothing like the monster grand in his rarely visited penthouse, but like the grand he insisted it be kept in tune. Shrugging out of his jacket he tossed it carelessly over a chair, dug into his pocket and laid the mako tube on the table, and began to unbutton his silk shirt to hang open as he walked over to the piano. He ran his hand over the rich wood lovingly, a sad smile in place. It had been so very long since he had played; he wondered if he still remembered how. His eyes then drifted up from the keys that used to occupy so much of his time back in the beginning of all of this, to the half-finished sheet music that he had begun composing back when the world was still young and full of promise. Absently he sat down on the bench and stared at the notes. He had begun writing this piece for his mother, but she had died before he had finished, and so it lingered on, as forgotten as the music that had brought him such peace before. His eyes burned, and his vision became blurry until a tear found its way out and onto his cheek.
“Oh, mother, I’m so sorry,” he whispered hoarsely, reaching out to run his fingers over the notes. “Look at what has become of your son now. How ashamed you would be of me.” He then lowered his face into his arms and wept. He wept until he was completely drained, and ended up staring down at the ivory keys. Listlessly he trailed his fingers over the keys and the moisture that had accumulated there. Now empty, Vincent sat up and stared at the notes, old friends from a life gone by, and before he knew what he was doing his hands found their way onto the white tabs of wood and ivory. Slowly he began to play; haltingly at first, the years of inactivity making his movements jerky and hesitant, but his body remembered even if his mind did not. Soon he was lost, captive to one haunting melody after another, his body hunched over the keys almost protectively, his awareness on nothing but the music, he played until the sky became bright and the sun filled the room with dancing dust motes. The world outside carried on, people went to work, and couples met to spend time together, and still Vincent kept playing.
---------------
“Why are you dragging me with you, Reno?” Tseng said, stifling a yawn. He had been up most of the night, unable to sleep out of worry for Vincent.
“’Cause I want you t’see the boss’s reaction when I show ‘im this!” Reno said, flicking a sheet of paper under Tseng’s nose. “I found out who’s been skimming!”
Tseng nodded. Indeed Vincent would want to know this information. The culprit had skimmed millions from the company for nearly a year now and had managed to continually elude their best efforts to find them. Only Reno’s ingenious talent with technology could have uncovered the nearly invisible trail. He opened his mouth to comment on Reno’s job well done when something made him freeze, black, hawk-like eyes going wide in surprise. It couldn’t be, he thought.
“What’s th’matter, Tseng?” Reno asked worriedly.
“Shhh! Do you hear that?”
Reno’s eyes went unfocused as he concentrated on hearing what Tseng did. His eyes widened as he looked at his superior. “That’s some wicked-skilled music! Where’s it comin’ from?”
“He’s playing again,” Tseng whispered, eyes distant, and shimmering suspiciously.
“Wha-?” Reno asked inarticulately. Then it dawned on him just who he was talking about. “That’s the boss playin’ that? Shit, I didn’t know he could play! He’s really good!”
Tseng smiled wistfully. “He would say that he is good enough.”
“Whatever, th’man’s a genius.” The redhead gave a little whistle then began to move toward Vincent’s door only to have Tseng stop him with a firm grip on his bicep. “Whaaat? C’mon, man, th’ boss’ll be pissed if I don’t tell him about this.”
“Then let me give it to him,” Tseng said, rolling his eyes at Reno’s indignant squawk. “With due credit, of course. Just…give him this, Reno. Let him be.”