Post Notes: The verse used at the beginning belongs to Matchbox Twenty. Final Fantasy VII belongs to Square Soft/ Square Enix – whatever they're calling themselves these days :)
Found this hiding in my folders. Not my best but, you know...sort of cute (I hope!), let me know :)
Just a moment in time between Shera and Cid.
Shame.
Set yourself.
Situate.
Like a fool,
try again.
Cid Highwind is eleven years sober.
While never having been one to not not indulge, he had never relied on the stuff. Was never dependant upon the drink. No, he never was. Not until The Rocket Incident, thanks very much.
Having your dreams crushed beyond the point of all hope usually warrants a nice stiff one in most people's books. A nice stiff one. Or two. Or twenty. Hey, people were handing them to him left and right, offering their sympathies to the Captain. It'd be rude to refuse, right? Right? Yeah, well. Whatever. Point is that, as much as he hates to admit to his faults – for they are numerous in quantity, indeed – it would be a lie to say that, after a time, Cid did not develop something of a problem. A breaking-out-the-good-stuff-before-eleven-o'clock-in-the-morning kind of problem.
Then one night whilst feeling particularly troubled, he hurled a half-empty bottle of whiskey at Shera.
It goes without saying that Cid is a strong man. And, with his weapon of choice being a spear, he is a strong man with one Hell of a throwing arm. Already being three-fourths of the way gone by way of sobriety, however, and momentarily forgetting her short stature, the bottle shattered against the wall above her head.
Shera escaped with a whiskey soaked blouse and a glass inflicted laceration near the base of her skull, to vouch for it.
The woman didn't even have time to raise her hands in defense, it happened so quickly. And, worse, had it been only a few drinks earlier, Cid would not have missed. Of this Cid has very little doubt. Very little doubt and a whole lot of discomfort.
Cid stopped drinking after that.
Cid Highwind is eleven years sober.
Cloud's tone has a distinctly apathetic tint to it, though judging by the way his mouth keeps twitching, Cid would be willing to bet good gil that the light in the younger man's eyes has very little to do with mako. And it is good to see it. It is good to see Cloud so obviously almost happy. For to say that the boy has been somewhat moody in recent years would be in the same neighborhood as saying that Vincent Valentine just might have a past.
"- on the Bronco's wings, asked him just that. And Cid said, 'Wife? Don't make me laugh! Just thinking about marrying her gives me the chills…' never mind the fact that we were floating in the middle of the ocean and already freezing…"
Cid Highwind is currently reconsidering his stance on sobriety.
Oh, she laughes along with the rest of them. Gathered around his – their – supper table as they are. Shera laughs as Tifa giggles, she laughs as the china clatters under the force of Barret's rumbling thunder of a chuckle, and she laughes as Marlene and Denzel grin, the children taking more joy in the other's merriment than actually understanding the joke.
And Cid? Cid smiles wanly whilst wishing very much for a cigarette.
Shera laughs and it is not until a good ten minutes later when she quietly, unobtrusively, excuses herself from the table, disappearing around the corner.
Exactly thirty seven seconds after that and not caring an inch about discretion, Cid Highwind stands to follow her, his chair screeching noisily against the linoleum.
And were one to later claim that, as Cid exited the room, the pilot accidently smacked Cloud upside his stupid spiky head with an open palm well…
"Frikin' retard - "
It would not be an observation without a certain amount of merit.
How does one go about apologizing for darkness?
"Hey, Cher!"
Cid catches up to his wife in the small hallway, the light from the kitchen illuminating the otherwise all consuming shadows of the house.
She hears him. There is no way she can not hear him. His voice is like a bullhorn. To pretend otherwise would only make her appear foolish. So she pauses, turns, "Captain."
Cid flinches, letting the hand that had been hovering over her shoulder drop, shoving them into his pockets instead. It was never a good sign when she stopped she stopped using his name. "Aw Hell, Cher…"
And looking down into her face, well… She's angry and she's cross and she's just a little bit humiliated and – goddamnit, Highwind - she's hurt.
He attempts again, "Shera-" and then stops, swearing softly.
What can he say? He's sorry.
He knows it. She knows it. He's sorry.
He's sorry for what happened at the table, yes… there is that. And he is also sorry for every single tone he has ever taken with her. And he is sorry for the small coughs she would issue back when he still lit up inside the house. And he is sorry for every night she spent crammed into that pitiful closet of a 'guest room'.
He is sorry for each time he brushed past her in the hallway without acknowledging her, without looking at her. He is sorry for every cup, every pot, of tea he never thanked her for. And he regrets each one of her smiles that he never returned.
And, isn't it obvious? Can't you tell? Cid is sorry for the past ten years of her life – of time wasted – for the past ten years in general.
He's sorry. Ever and always. He is sorry. He is sorry sorry sorry sorry. He is sorry that a 'sorry' from Cid Highwind is cheap– she is too good for 'sorry' from him. He knows this and he is sorry.
He is so sorry.
"It was a long time ago and I ain't never – "
He takes a step closer, hands still in his pockets, leaning forward until his forehead rests against hers.
How does one go about apologizing for darkness?
…Fuck, if Cid Highwind knows.
So he resolves to tell her the truth. Shera deserves the truth.
And, voice gruff, eyes earnest, this is the truth: "…I ain't never said what kind of chills they were."
As it turns out, sometimes the truth is just about the sorriest thing of all.
Shame: End.