Cid glanced up from the cards in his hand. Yuffie sat across from him, grinning like an idiot, obviously planning some way to cheat everyone at the table out of their materia, with whatever card trick she had up her thieving little sleeves. Cloud was glaring at her in the dirtiest of ways, blue eyes suggesting that he fully intended to maim her if she pulled one of her stints. She kept glancing backwards, at the red-clad gentleman behind her, as if expecting him to save her if she got caught at whatever it was she was entertaining in her brain. He usually would, of course. She'd hide behind him in the folds of his cloak, much to his chagrin, until he warded off whoever was trying to smack her one good. Of course, she'd then usually get trapped by a brass claw, until she relinquished any stolen goods on her person, but was better than incurring the wrath of her victims, which, among the members of Avalanche, could run pretty fucking scary at times.
She wasn't getting much of a response, though. Not even the usual stern glare that told her that her intentions were wildly foolish. Vincent merely leaned against the wall, eyes downcast, tucked just far enough from the card table so that he wasn't expected to be interested in it, while close enough that no one felt the need to drag him in. Not to say this wasn't anything different; Vincent had submitted himself to distant participation since the day they had found him in the ShinRa Mansion.
But the glazed look in his eyes-that tiny hint of unfocus-was something different. So minor that it completely bypassed the notice of the other teammates, who brushed the situation off as Vincent being particularly antisocial this evening. Cid knew better, though. He knew exactly what had driven the gunman into his morose reverie, and frankly, he felt guilty. Funny how that happens, when something is your fault.
They had flown in together from Rocket Town, to attend Tifa's impromptu reunion. The morning had already been tense; Vincent had had one of his usual nightmares that, while far less frequent these days, was all the same emotionally crippling as they ever were. He had refused Cid's awkward but sincere attentions, and had spent the flight in silent self-absorption, much to the pilot's displeasure, who tried, with no success, to cheer him up. He had bore it with all the patience he had, though. It wasn't Vincent's fault he had so many fucking problems, and he really did try to let go of things. It just didn't always work out that way, is all.
The last straw though, had been when they had arrived. Yuffie, as exuberant as ever, had practically thrown herself gleefully at Vincent, who, by pure instinctive reaction, pushed her away. It was easy enough to see that he hadn't meant it, judging if only by the look of horror that crossed his face when she began to wibble in a way that suggested tears were soon to follow, but, in true Valentine fashion, he merely expressed his regret by fleeing the scene, right into the 7th Heaven, and up the stairs, where no one dared to follow lest they trample another nerve.
No one but Cid, that is.
It's amazing, how easy you can break a usually unbreakable man, if you know his vulnerabilities, and can manage to hit him on the rare occasion that he's down. It's hard to say why the entire incident had angered Cid, but he was seeing red when he grabbed the gunman, and forced him again the wall, only to spew the cruelest things that had likely ever passed his lips.
"Ya got a good fuckin' thing goin' on, Valentine. Ya got friends, and ya got me. But if ya wanna go and throw all that away over some stupid memory, of some woman, who made her own fuckin' choices in life, be my guest. Jes' means ya deserve to wallow in yer own misery."
There was a resonating sound as a strong, work-calloused hand slammed into the wall, and then Cid was gone, leaving Vincent to his own self loathing. Vincent remained upstairs until Yuffie, emotional wounds licked and forgotten, traipsed up, demanding he come join the festivities. Frankly, Cid would have rather he had just stayed upstairs, so he wouldn't have to feel the nagging pang of guilt that had been threatening to consume him most of the day, but Vincent must felt he had owed something to the Wutai girl after the small outburst, because he complied, ever reluctantly.
It didn't help that he insisted on standing right there, in Cid's line of vision, his entire countenance simply screaming of some hidden wound that only he could rend, and only he could mend.
"I fold." Cid snapped in a tone that made everyone look up, even Vincent, who only spared him a passing glance before letting his eyes fall back downward.
"What for, foo'?" Barret demanded. "Ya th' only one Yuffie ain't completely massacred yet!"
"Exactly." Cid said flatly, standing. "I'm quitin' while I'm ahead."
"If you're sure." Cloud shrugged. "It's only a matter of time, anyway." He shot Yuffie another dirty look, which she responded to by sticking out her tongue. Cid rolled his eyes, and grabbed his coat from the back of his chair, before pushing it in, the legs scrapping loudly against the wood floor.
"Hey Vince. Let's go for a walk."
A startled look crossed Vincent's face. Brilliant blues eyes caught his almost forcefully, and he nodded slowly, following Cid out of the tavern door, without casting a second thought to the strange looks they received from their friends upon exit.
Outside, it was cold. He watched Cid sling his heavy brown leather jacket over his shoulders, then extract a cigarette from the paper pack in the left breast pocket. Neither man moved from in front of the bar, the meaning of 'taking a walk' having apparently temporarily vacated them.
"Ya know…" Cid said finally, turning his back towards the gunman to peer out on the unusually quiet Edge streets. "I don't know what else to do with ya, Vince. Ya know I try m' best to make ya happy, but it all seems doomed to fuckin' failure before I even begin."
He paused, to take a long drag of his cigarette, before continuing.
"Tell me what to do, Vince. I'll do whatever ya want but ya gotta tell me, 'cause apparently I ain't smart enough to figure this out for myself."
From the corner of his eye, Cid watched Vincent approach him. The gunman brushed against him from behind, tangling long arms around his neck, face dropping to rest against Cid's shoulder.
"Chief-" He breathed, voice a hoarse whisper. His grip tightened around Cid by impulse, fingers curling to clutch desperately at his t-shirt. Cid's hand reached up, and closed around his balled fist.
"I love you."
Cid cocked his head to the side, and let it rest slightly against Vincent's. His calloused thumb moved to stroke the delicate skin of the back of Vincent's hand.
"Yeah, Vince. I love ya too."