Title: Wild Valenwind West part I
Author: Enide Dear
Pairing: Valenwind, VincentxHojo
Rating: work safe
Summary: AU for :iconvalnewind-luver:'s March competition.
A/N: I've been wanting to write this fic for quite some time….and now I got an excellent excuse!

The man would hang tomorrow, and Vincent didn't like it. It wasn't just that the man had made no trouble whatsoever when Vincent brought him in – indicating that he didn't know what he was being charged for, and thus not seeing any point in fighting for his life – but even now the man had a quality of calm about him that was…disturbing.

It wasn't the first time the sheriff had taken in prisoners to hang, and usually they reacted in predictable ways. They got furious, or they got apathetic, spending their last hours in life either raging at the world or simply staring off into space, perhaps making peace with their conscience before it would all end at the end of the sheriff's rope come sun up.

It was a dirty, horrible job and Vincent didn't like it at all. Then again, there wasn't much in his life that he liked anymore.

Sitting by the small, rickety table he carefully cleaned his huge gun, keeping an eye on the prisoner from under the dusty brim of his hat.

The prisoner lay in the small cot with muscular arms crossed behind his neck, legs crossed so that one booted foot could dangle in the air to the rhythm of some tuneless thing the blonde man was whistling. He didn't look angry, or despairing. He looked thoughtful, as if working out some problem in his head. When he finally turned to face his jailor, Vincent was slightly unnerved to see a small smile on the man's lips.

"Can I have a last smoke? I mean, it bein' my execution and all tomorrow, I figure one more cig can't hurt me, right?"

Vincent nodded and got up. He'd put the prisoner's belongings in a box on the kitchen cupboard – a wide brimmed fedora, a couple of strange tools, a yellow dust scarf, a huge spear that had to be leaned on the wall, and yes, a package of cigarettes in the bottom of the box. And next to the box lay the slim, deadly sniper rifle, the one that had put the man where he was, behind bars. The man's smell was all over it.

Picking up the paper box of cigarettes, Vincent made a quick check to make sure there weren't anything hidden in it, and then tossed it between the bars along with a package of matches.

"Smoke all you want." He said as the man quickly sat up and caught the package, immediately lighting up. "I don't mind. I'll be making dinner soon. Pork and beans. Do you want some?"

"Nah, I'm good. A cup of tea would be nice though."

Nodding, Vincent turned around to go back to the kitchen when the man's next words hit him like a punch.

"Ya know I'm innocent of this shit, right?" His voice wasn't accusing or dejected. Just soft and a bit sad.

Vincent sighed, but didn't turn around, instead busying himself with hanging his heavy red duster on a peg and then feeding the fire in his iron stove.

"The bullet we found in mayor ShinRa matches the ones in your rifle. And your smell is all over that rifle." He said wearily, eyes on the flickering flames.

"Someone stole an old pair of my socks a few days ago. Nice and smelly. And I couldn't shoot straight with a rifle if my life depended on it. Heh, like I suppose it does. I'm a spear man, myself."

Vincent nodded to himself. He'd figured as much from the calluses on the man's hands when he cuffed him. And yes, the socks would be enough to scent mark something.

The stove was getting hot. He put on a kettle and a frying pan as the metal turned red.

"What ya mean, my smell is on the rifle?"

Composing himself as the question made him want to shudder, Vincent turned around to look at the man once more. The prisoner was hanging on the bars, blue eyes watching his jailor with curiosity.

"Look, Mr…."

"Highwind. Cid Highwind."

"Mr. Highwind, what you must understand is this. The mayor of Midgard was found dead, shot by a sniper rifle, which was later found with you, a stranger in these parts. The mayor's son, Rufus ShinRa, demanded that you'd be executed for your crime. As he is now the ruling power in this town, there is nothing I can do. You will hang tomorrow."

"So ya do think I'm innocent?"

He couldn't meet those blue, honest eyes anymore. Vincent started fiddling with dinner and tea, even though he'd lost all appetite.

"You wouldn't be the first innocent man I've had to hang. Rufus…mayor Rufus now, I suppose, he has men working for him. Clever men. Men without conscience. "

"I'm being framed 'cause a little fucker wanted ta get rid of his own pa ta get ta power?"

Vincent nodded, and poured the tea. Handing it over, he said:

"I'm sorry, Mr. Highwind. I truly am." He was.

"Call me Cid, alright?" The prisoner, Cid, fixed his tea with his stare, frowning as he thought hard and rolling the hot tin cup between his palms – palms that looked like they belonged to a working man, broad and warm and callused. Not a murderer. Not like Vincent's, scarred and mutilated and hidden from sight behind gloves. The left one would never work proper again.

Finally, Cid took a sip of the hot brew. "So. What's the catch with ya? How come they have a decent man like ya ta do their dirty work fer them?"

"It is none of your business, Cid." Vincent stirred his beans. They were getting burned and the smell made him almost gag. It would be another night of going to bed hungry because he couldn't make himself swallow what life gave him.

"Yeah, cause I'll hang tomorrow, so who am I gonna tell? The Lifestream?" Shrewd eyes met Vincent's. "It got something ta do with yer eyes and the fact that ya could smell me on that rifle, don't it?"

"Why were you even around these parts, Mr. Highwind?" Glaring, Vincent hoped to get the prisoner of guard with his own accusations, but Cid just shrugged.

"Midgard is pretty big, the way things are this far west. I needed some special supplies. Needed something special. Needed materia."

Vincent almost snorted and Cid looked offended.

"What? I ain't some daft old fucker who's got his brains fried in the sun. I ain't one of 'em material diggers with a shovel and not two braincells ta rub together. I ain't panning fer materia dust eiter. Nah, I jest needed one piece. And I'm ready ta pay good money fer quality to."

"What do you need materia for? It's just shiny baubles for jewelry. Not worth dying for."

For the first time, it was the prisoner that looked uncomfortable.

"Yeah, well, I got a dream, see? A dream worth taking risks for. Maybe even dying for."

"What dream would that be?" Vincent was surprised that he was even having this conversation. The prisoner was a strange man; somehow he'd already gotten behind Vincent's defenses. Probably without even trying to.
He was even more surprised to realize he'd already eaten all the beans on his plate, without even thinking about it.

"Ta fly." Cid muttered, red cheeked.

"Excuse me?" Vincent couldn't stop the amused tone in his voice.

"Ya heard me! And it ain't jest some crazy idea either! I got a great little plane built, nice and high and waiting fer me on a hilltop where my baby can get wind under her wings! All I need is something ta fuel her. And I know materia would do the trick right off!" Swearing, Cid drained his tea. "I know it. I jest know it will work. And then I'll fly away from all of this shit."

"I'm afraid you won't be flying anywhere, Mr. Highwind." Vincent hung his head, hoping his long hair hid the despair in his face. How was the world fair, when a thing like him could go on living and a man like this, a man with dreams, would die for something he hadn't done?

"We'll see." Stubbornly, Cid lit another cig. "I ain't dead yet. We'll see."

"I…" Vincent was interrupted by a knock on the door, and his hackles rose. He knew that knock. Was it time again already?

TBC