Disclaimer: All Characters within FF7, FF7 itself, and items blah blah blah, Owned by Squaresoft and respective companies. This is simply a fan fiction, using their characters in my own personal understandings and portrayal of their characters that was left un-mentioned or un-detailed within the game, blah blah blah, please don't steal my work or something.

Authors Note: The main thing that inspired this fic was that I'm sick and tired of seeing FF7 characters being horribly abused by writers. I've seen many good people, but I've seen ten times as many bad people. And to date, the fic's on Cid Highwind are still on the low scale. Hell, Nanaki has more fic's than Cid, and I'm not talking just about the ones here on FFN. So, since I couldn't find one I was satisfied with, I'm writing one. Furthermore, I'm keeping as close to the game and as events I'd see to happening as I possibly can. I dislike the portrayals of Cloud Strife basically being a girl with a dick, as well as the populace in general apparently deciding Tifa, Aeris (while she was alive) and Yuffie to be sluts. I could go on with this, but I won't. Instead, I'm going to write a story. I'm going to enjoy doing it, and maybe some people will enjoy reading it. [[ On a side note; Yes, Reno does seem rather out of character in this chapter, but there's a reason for it, if I ever managed to get around to writing the second chapter ]].

P.S.: The title has nothing to do with the story, I just couldn't think of anything else.

Like a Nailbat to the head...

Cid Highwind sat in his kitchen, sipping a warm cup of tea Shera had left him, one hand resting on the table, over a note mentioning Shera's need of a short vacation. She'd gone off to visit some of her friends in Kalm and was going to be gone for at least two weeks. Frozen TV dinners stocked up in the freezer, and careful instructions on how to use the oven.
As usual, he'd been spending his time tweaking the Tiny Bronco, and had the beginnings of a new plane developing in his mind. Tanned almost to the burning point from working under the cloudless blue sky, the man now simply sat and dreamed of the stars as he rested in his kitchen. Despite his eyes resting on the old, rusting heap of what was left of his rocket, his eyes were clouded, mind somewhere else.
With the defeat of Sephiroth and saving the planet, ShinRa had gone down, and Midgar wasn't much more of a shell of its former 'glory'. Which also meant all of his funding was completely gone and never had any hope of being revived again. None of the current cities were pulling around as much weight and interest as Midgar and ShinRa had. Even if he spent the rest of his life raising money and rebuilding, he'd never see space again. He'd be too old by the time it was completed and the pressure from breaking the atmosphere alone would likely break his brittle bones of that late an age.
His vision blurred a little and a lone tear found its way down his face. He wasn't the same man he used to be. Dreams crushed underfoot, he was living on the day to day basis now. Though he had no real desire to fall into the arms of the grim reaper, he didn't have as much to live for either. A sip of his tea and he thought about the others.
They never really seemed to regard him as much. Just another able bodied man who had the means to easily travel the world. He was just a pilot to them, and that was all. Since the whole 'Save the Planet' thing had worked, he hadn't heard from a single one of them. Not that he particularly wanted to either. They just weren't his crowd.
The occasional news that had sifted in to him by way of traveling merchant or the occasional sightseer, led him to believe they were all trying to settle back down to normal lives. Rumors of Cloud living in the City of Ancients could never be confirmed, what with people getting lost in the sleeping forest all the time. Tifa had gone off to Wu-Tai to help Yuffie with her town, treat her some manners, and bartend in Turtle Paradise. Barret had made peace with the miners and they were rebuilding their city. Nanaki was back in Cosmo Canyon, teaching the ways of the planet in his late grandfather's wake. Vincent and his coffin disappeared, and his name was slowly being forgotten. Cait Sith, or at least the robot and toy, was now in Dio's museum, the Golden Saucer still doing quite well despite the supposed poverty of the world.
When asked what he was doing with his life, he'd always simply shrugged, never really having anything to say. The people of Rocket Town had remained, many of them like himself, without anywhere else to go, slowly developing families since all the projects had been canceled from lack of funding. Some of them still looked up to him as The Captain, and looked to him for answers. Some of them didn't even know who he was, just that he was 'that old guy in that house over there.'
Once he realized he'd never see the blackness of space and the beautiful constant burn of the stars outside his world, his hair had started to silver, and he'd become somewhat listless whenever anyone spoke of any movements towards a fresh space program. He encouraged others in his place, of course. Ministering to the younger intellectuals about what he'd learned, but as of yet, none of them had ever panned out, and he was losing hope even in that.
But he still had his planes. He'd thought about rebuilding the Highwind, but there wasn't any purpose for it really, with ShinRa dead. The Tiny Bronco, built with his own two hands, functioned perfectly under his hands, and shuddered, sputtered and spat, under anyone else's. He'd started to build a second and third, purely out of the need for something to do, and from his passion for mechanics, the feel of wind whipping through his hair that no other land based vehicle could provide, and the sense of freedom he had when away from the town. Away from the threat of people interfering his thoughts, away from the annoyance of the still present monsters. Just... Away.
Once the cup was empty, he continued to dream as he put the note on a shelf and headed back outside, glancing over the Bronco for a moment, then proceeding to look at the other two half built machines. They were nameless for the moment. One built for speedy travel, the other, barely motorized. As much as he loved machines, he'd begun to become curious about simple gliding and maneuvers one could achieve without the power of a combustible engine.
Reaching out, he almost lovingly stroked his hand over the glider's frame, thinking about where he would take it when it was finished. Maybe from the heights in Cosmo Canyon. Considering the topography around there and the weather, he could probably catch many heat updrafts and glide for hours, experimenting and learning. He smiled softly to himself, just before his thoughts were completely shattered by a yell.
"Captain! Captain, we have a situation!"
Cid's brows furrowed and he grit his teeth, disliking the interruption. He picked up a wrench from beside one of the half completed planes and turned, glaring at the middle aged man that ran up to him, huffing and panting, as well as stopping just outside of Cid's reach. He had a bit of a reputation after all. "What?!" was his sharp, and normally angry retort that he was so well known for.
The middle aged man stopped, hesitating, then continued. "Captain, There's, Ah, an unwanted guest in the Inn, and he's refusing to leave. He seems to be intoxicated and he's making threats on the lives of anyone who gets close to him. Please do something!"
Cid grunted slightly and shook his head, flicking the wrench around his finger, then 'holstering' it in his tool belt He waved the man off and stepped towards, and through the house, picking up his javelin along the way. No materia was equipped in it besides restore. Once in a while he'd fight monsters away from the town, but it was too easy, even without materia, to be much of a hassle any more.
Grabbing a lighter on the way out, he pulled a cigarette from the pack in one of his flight jacket pockets and lit it as he walked down the main and only street, heading for the building that barely qualified as an inn. There were a few worried looking people near the front of the building, who looked up as he approached and parted for him, allowing him full access to the doorway, followed by some space. More than was necessary for a an average drunk. He rose one brow at them as he placed his hand on the doorknob, and pushed the slightly ajar door all the way open. The sight that greeted him was amusing to say the least.

Reno of the Turks sat at a small table in the Inns 'common room', demanding in a slurred tone for another drink, having firm grasp of both the innkeeper's wrists, and holding a small dagger close to his neck. In his intoxicated state, he didn't seem to realize he wasn't getting more drinks because he was unwilling to let the Innkeeper go, no other staff being visible.
The Turk had apparently lost his mind, as he was wearing a bright rainbow colored tie-dye shirt and soft blue shorts, flip-flop sandals, and a lone black shoulder holster, holding his gun. Cid didn't see a place where the dagger would be sheathed, nor did it really infringe on his thoughts either. He simply walked in, letting smoke from an exhaled breath proceed him, taking his lance in both hands, and smacked the flat of the spearhead down on the Turks head.
There was no struggle, no fight, just a shocked little squeek, and Reno collapsed, crumpling under the surprise attack, listing sideways, and falling to the floor in a heap. The innkeeper's wrists had been released just after the blow, and the woman now scurried out of the room as fast as she could, into the awaiting arms of those outside.
Cid crouched next to Reno, shaking his head and tisking softly. "Damned idiot. What the fuck are you doing here, of all places. Looking like that.." He spoke to the unconscious Turk. He rubbed his chin, regarding the bright red haired man, musing over previous meetings he'd had with the younger man.
The sound of many footsteps behind him, and worried faces looked down at him. "Did you kill him?", "What's a Turk want from us?", "Should we lock him up or throw him out?" Those and many other questions assaulted his ears as he moved to check the growing lump on Reno's head, fairly sure he hadn't killed him, considering he was still breathing. He said nothing, remaining crouched there, patiently holding his javelin across his lap, waiting for them to run out of questions.
When they finally finished, realizing he had a course of action clearly already in mind, they stood there, waiting to hear what the Captain had to say.
"Get me some rope."