Another collection of drabbles compatible with this one is Goodnight. You might want to read that after if you haven't already. Enjoy!

I.

To keep the status quo, Cid tried not to pay too much attention to his housemate. Shera was a walking, irritating figure in his home. That female was about ten percent: five years younger than him, twenty percent: over attentive, another ten percent: poor eye sight and bad taste in clothes, and a whopping sixty percent: pure concentrated guilt. Cid could package and sell it if he wanted.

Subconsciously, he guzzled the power he had over her; quite obviously abused it. When he knew she had been cut on the sharpness of his tongue, Cid had the luxury of turning his head and pretending he didn't see it. Though, as time when on, turning his head became harder and harder. When living with someone for so long, and under such unorthodox circumstances, it was hard not to take any close note of them.

The first detail that Cid ever noticed about the sentient train wreck working with him in his home were her eyes. He decided to blame the damn sun. Its stupid rays poured down over the side of the house while she was yanking weeds out of her garden. He came out, in need of assistance, and barked at her for not being a mind reader and coming in upon telepathic command. He almost paused mid-argument when her head snapped up to meet his glare.

Shera was a train wreck, but her eyes were earthy stones and the moss along the sides of wooded creeks, and mist in the morning and trees when they grew crisp in the fall, and all that other really sappy shit. In short they were beautiful.

II.

"No, that's okay." No, it isn't.

But Shera was a very non-confrontational person. Not to say that she was a pushover, because she was quite capable of handling a compromising situation. She was a grown woman, and before becoming in Cid's debt, she'd had her fair share of uncomfortable dilemmas between other human beings.

So when things had ever so slightly bit Cid in the ass around the home, he was completely confused.

He made the mistake of thinking his housemate was a total pushover. Perhaps because of the reason for her tending to him she was, but there needed to be an obvious correction. There was a difference between being a pushover, and allowing someone to push you over. In reality, Shera was naturally passive aggressive.

And she wasn't just passive aggressive, she was a sneaky little bitch.

"Are you sure, Sir. Maybe you missed it?" Shera knows where everything in the house is, and Cid doesn't.

III.

How she hadn't had his heart yet was a mystery. Shera was excused from his fussing when she had a very legitimate excuse for not being home to feed him. When she wasn't back in time to serve, Cid was miserable. As a grown ass man, he really should have been able to feed himself. He'd grown so accustomed to Shera's talents; taken it for granted and never offered her the simplest of thank yous.

The woman could balance a nuclear equation in her head, tune up a car, assemble a model vehicle without ever needing the instructions, properly garden, do all other sorts of mediocre chores he never ever felt like doing at resort hotel quality, and goddamn could she cook.

Fuck, he was hungry. Where was she?!

IV.

Their eyes were locked for what felt like a painfully, excruciatingly long moment. Cid was (or felt like he was) entitled to not having to knock on doors in his own damn house. Er…but he should have this time.

Shera froze up like a rabbit out in the open and stared with widened hazel eyes. She sat completely bare on the fuzzy covered top of the toilet seat before the freshly drained bathtub; bra on her arms and not even halfway on the soft swells of her chest.

He forgot what he was going to tell her, and closed the door. They both never brought it up again.

V.

In comparison, Shera's boots were like children's shoes to Cid's. It was a common rule to take them off near the door if you had been working earlier; to keep from tracking dirt all over the hardwood. That was even Cid's pet peeve. Dirt was for outside or in the garage, not for smudgin' up the fuckin' house.

Shera took a soft bristle brush from a pail of hot, soapy water and scrubbed the caked up oil from the bottom of both of their boots. Though the sizes were vastly different, their working footwear were similar. Hard tungsten at the toes, because steel bent and didn't protectively shatter, deep brown leather, worn down laces missing their aglets, permanent smears of carbon. Maybe they even left blisters in the same places when worn too long.

Shera couldn't put her finger on why, but it amused her.

VI.

She couldn't sleep when the Captain was gone. Without giving her some sort of warning that he was leaving, Cid ran off with the rag-tag team of anti-ShinRa rebels. Shera had somewhat enjoyed having the house, and some of her time to herself, but when he didn't return the next day…or the next day….or the next day, copious amounts of worry plagued her. She kept hearing strange stories from people around town. ShinRa conspiracies on the evening radio. Just what was Cid up to with those strangers?

Part of the reason why she couldn't sleep was because his snoring wasn't there to soothe her from the room over.

VII.

Rocket Town had a very small population of residents. It consisted of a few square miles of cottage like homes stationed around the main attraction (which had been tilting more and more each year), an inn, a very small school, a government building, and so on. It had the basics. It was comfortable, but at times, the few residents who lived there could be a little nosy. It was understandable. Cid was….somewhat….a 'celebrity', and most of the town knew him. Meaning, that most of the town knew Shera as well. Besides, nothing interesting ever happened.

The first time she had been asked about her relationship with the Captain, she was honestly unsure how to answer. Shera placed a bag of flour in the basket under her arms, pushed her glasses back up the bridge of her nose, and remarked a curious woman with a very shy grin. "He and I make it okay by ourselves." That didn't answer what the woman was really getting at.

At one point, someone was bold enough and flat out asked her if they were a little more than friends (in every meaning of the phrase). They assumed the Captain's constant irritation with Shera was some sort of front to cover up that they were obviously more involved with one another.

Shera slunk out of the conversation, red-faced, and having completely forgotten what she ventured down to the corner store for.

VIII.

Cid stood there in the shadow of the doorway and watched her. Shera was so fuckin' weird, and it was quite the entertaining sight to catch her off guard when she thought she was at home alone. He had no clue what tune she was singing, but she appeared to know every word. Show tunes…what a nerd. Least her voice ain't half bad.

IX.

Battered, beaten, bruised, but nothing stopped him from kissing his woman as hard as he could. Alone, scared, and afraid, Shera had waited for him. She should have hit the road and gone off somewhere better when the world was coming to an end, but like they promised each other (how could she ever make promises to an asshole like him), and Cid did indeed come home. Shera was up with the porch light on.

"Captain."

"You're so good to me."

"Captain."

"I'm so sorry, Shera." He couldn't hide the glassy moisture in his eyes.

"Captain..."

"What the hell is it?! I'm trying to apologize!"

"I forgive you."

X.

Shera was originally apprehensive (had he been drinking?) when Cid asked if she wanted to uh, lay down with him on the couch. He was trying his very best to ease into a comfortable closeness with her. It was a little awkward at first. Shera wasn't used to Cid being…considerate.

First time they sat in under a foot of each other's reach went without much conversation. Cid wasn't really paying attention to what they were watching while they sipped at hot mugs of cocoa. Shera was only half paying attention. The other half of her could hear Cid's steady breathing, his throat while he drank, and the soft gurgle of his stomach. Shera could even feel the emission of his body heat; smell the tobacco in his working clothes.

It went on like that for a year; gradually adjusting the settings to how comfortable they were with being in one another's presence. Sitting on the couch in front of the television somehow weaseled its way into their routine. Neither remember when it happened, but it became nothing odd for Shera to sit down in Cid's lap and lay her legs on the side of the couch that used to be reserved for only herself.

Neither remember when they started sharing a bed either.

XI.

A hot pink, realistically crafted, silicone massager fell with a thud to the rug. Cid and Shera simultaneously glanced down at the source of the sound; seeming to cut through their conversation and drench the room in uncomfortable silence. Shera was officially moving into Cid's room with him, and some of her things needed to be carried over. But, oh god, not this thing.

There was an incredibly long silence. By the object's shape, it didn't take Cid long to figure out what the hell it was. Shera (filled with so much dread and embarrassment) was already very familiar with the toy, and where it had fallen from in her clothing drawer.

"You gonna pick it up er' not?"

Shera was just glad that was the only one that fell.

XII.

Their first marriage ceremony was a little rushed; without the extravagance of preparation. Shera had been the one to boldly propose. She held a remaining bolt and washer, the only part of the rocket left in knowing existence on the planet, and nervously presented it to Cid after they had shared a late night shower after a very tiring day of work. He was shocked the little woman wanted to spend the rest of her life with her previous tormenter. The bolt and washer fit a little snugly on his ring finger, but it almost brought him to sissy boy tears. Cid had made love to her that night, scooped her up, and took her to a small chapel in Rocket Town the next morning. It was all anyone talked about the whole day. About goddamn time.

Their second marriage ceremony, half a year or so after the scare of Shera's Geostigma, was very much planned. Cid felt she deserved it, and though it put a real hurt in' his wallet, he didn't complain about how it cost him. His engagement ring (the bolt) had been adjusted in size and re-crafted into something much more suitable to wear in public, while Shera had a ring crafted (the washer) because Cid felt it wasn't fair that she didn't have anything good enough to match what she had given him. An opal rock was a nice touch to the band. It sparkled like the gospel of far off lights above. They were married again at night under a full blanket of stars, and in her form fitting dress, Shera glowed brighter than the full moon.

XIII.

Cid could boast about many talents. There was his toned arm for hurling a well-crafted spear. He could pilot anything if he tried (if you remember the canyon train), plan schematics in perfect lines, and so on. One thing he could not boast about was his ability to dance. Because he fucking couldn't.

"You have to dance with her! It's a wedding!" Tifa insisted.

"No, I fucking don't!"

But Cid did, and he was surprised to find that Shera could dance just fine in those high white heels.

XIV.

Life was looking good. Cid had the opportunity to get back into some actual, fulfilling activities. He wasn't expecting to get too much out of Barret's suggestion, but found he received a deep satisfaction from helping folks out.

Needless to say, he had felt better after tossing his woman in that pool in the old church. Shera being so horribly sick (foreign colored eyes narrowed into cat like slits, body shaking, sweat plastering her hair to her forehead) , it was a nightmare. And it made Cid sick to his stomach to think that he could have lost his wife. But she was recovering just fine; up to working again and acting like her usual, sweet-as-sugar self. Yes, life was good.

XV.

"Fuck me fuck me fuck me fuck me...!"

…

The very first time Cid had ever heard Shera really curse.

XVI.

Cid's blue eyes followed the plateau of Shera's shoulders, the valley low dip of the small of her back, right back up again to the smooth curve of her round, bare bottom. He rested at her side without a word; face half hidden by a headboard pillow. He was going to pull out a carton of cigarettes from a bed side drawer, but decided not to on the assumption that making any movements would disturb her.

Shera's entire face was at ease; brows relaxed, eyes closed, and breathing steady under the curtain of her hair. Late morning sunlight intruded from a nearby window and kissed her sun and work-tanned skin in a high-contrast glow. It didn't take long for her internal timer to sense Cid awake, and her eyes slowly cracked open.

"Mornin', nerd."

Her lips tugged at the corners to reveal some of her teeth in a very sleepy grin. Shera's back stretched like a cat, and the sun glinted in her irises when she relaxed.

"Good morning, Cid."