Collection 1
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AN: Some drabbles are in character, some out of character – just for the hell of it. I say 'drabbles' loosely, what I actually mean is 'really short stories'.
/
Before
It was the first time Cid had ever awoken before him. Vincent was prone to the strict, early routine drilled into him during his Turk days, rising with the sun despite whatever hour he fell asleep at the previous night.
It was with a pleasant surprise that one morning, when Cid had cleared the sleep from his eyes with forefinger and thumb, that he cast his gaze down beside him to find his partner still slumbering, blissfully unaware of his broken habit. Pushing himself onto one arm, still comfortable in a soft tangle of duvet, Cid allowed his eyes to study every detail, suspecting he had been given a rare treat to commit to memory.
The curtains, having been carelessly jerked closed last night, hung slightly parted, allowing a golden beam of sunlight to shine through, stretching across Vincent's shoulders in a single streak. His skin practically glowed under the caress of the warm ray. He lay on his front, his arms curled beneath the one pillow he had claimed during the night. They were feather-stuffed, and his face was half hidden in the plush material, but oh did he look comfortable. His breathing was silent, and only the tell-tale rise and fall of his back confirmed his breathing pattern. The thick duvet concealed the rest of his lithe body, but Cid – whose mind usually hovered on the edge of the proverbial gutter when Vincent's body was the subject – simply watched, enraptured, soaking in the sight he had admittedly never witnessed, despite their cohabitation.
Cid vaguely wondered what had prompted this prolonged lay-in from Vincent. They had done nothing last night that they hadn't done before, so there were no new exertions on either of them. The previous day had been one of routine.
He could simply be asserting himself into his new lifestyle – finally – adapting to the lack of need for such early rising. Or Cid could believe he himself was the influence, having a few times coaxed the man back to bed after he'd arisen. Yeah… it was probably him.
Allowing his lips to tip into a groggy smile, Cid relented against the urge to run his hands over Vincent's long, tousled hair, and enjoyed the softness that somehow remained despite Vincent's negligence to brush it. He swept it from the man's back in favor of exposing all of Vincent's shoulders, taking in the expanse of creamy skin just waiting for some attention. Cid didn't deny it; he leant down and brushed his lips over the toned area of the closest shoulder blade, feeling the warmth of the man's skin. He trailed his lips across one of the marks that adorned each shoulder blades, streaking diagonally from either side of his spine: The only physical evidence of his metamorphosis. Chaos' wings were the only part of his transformation that Vincent could control at will, however rare he used them. Cid could count the times on his right hand.
Vincent stirred slightly, releasing a quiet but audible breath as Cid propped himself onto an elbow and looked down at him, watching his every movement. A sliver of crimson appeared beneath his heavy eyelids, almost lost behind the man's eyelashes. They blinked into focus and found Cid's, and a gentle expression graced his features in morning greeting. Cid wondered if a man should look that beautiful. It was almost wrong…
Almost.
"Mornin'," Cid said, his voice a little croaky from a night of no use. One hand absently found Vincent's spine, trailing softly along the curves and contours.
Vincent appeared to contemplate this, and Cid knew he was wondering the same thing; their morning routines had been reversed.
"What time is it?" Vincent asked finally, his deep voice whispery and quiet, half-muffled in the recesses of the ridiculously fluffy pillow.
Cid gave a small shake of his head. "Dunno… doesn't matter." All that mattered was that Vincent continued to look like that; half-asleep, disheveled and utterly gorgeous.
"Have you been watching me long?"
Cid smirked. "Not long enough. Maybe yer should go back to sleep."
Vincent shifted in his groove of the plump mattress to lie on his back, sliding Cid a satirical ghost of a smile as his head sunk back into the comfy pillow. His red eyes caught the sunlight, gleaming vividly.
"I'm usually the one watching you," he said.
"Creepy fucker."
This prompted as close to a laugh as Vincent could utter, a chuckle of breaths that shot down Cid's spine. He had only heard that sound once before in the time he had known the gunman. Since his vengeance against Hojo and his involvement with Cid, Vincent had begun to change, slowly but surely, and definitely for the better. He still had a long way to go, and he often sunk into his old moody, silent ways, but Cid was sure he was the main element in the man's 'recovery'.
"I could say the same," Vincent replied in a soft rumble, eyeing Cid slyly.
"I don't deny it," the pilot smirked again. His features molded into something more inquisitive. "Yer watch me every mornin'?"
Vincent said nothing, but the subtle, shrewd shift in his features answered Cid's question. "You look completely different when you're sleeping…"
Cid resettled his head on his hand, the limb tingling with pins and needles. "In what way?"
Vincent gazed up at him silently for a second. "Unguarded… completely relaxed…"
Cid chuckled. They were two of the words he had thought of Vincent's sleeping form, along with 'fuckable'. He told the man as much.
After a moment of smirking at each other, Vincent began to get up, but was seized before he could leave the bed and dragged back down into the dip of the mattress, his hair splaying across the pillows; a stark contrast of black against white. Cid hovered over him predatorily.
"Did I mention yer make me horny all the time? Especially when yer asleep."
Vincent blinked up at him. "I gathered, yes."
Cid grinned. "Do me a favor," he requested as he lowered his lips to the man's neck and pressed his hands southwards down Vincent's body. "…Pretend yer asleep."
"And you call me creepy."
/
Property
Vincent was a light sleeper, able to wake to any unfamiliar sounds. However, after a particularly round of vigorous sex, he was practically dead to the world. Cid decided if there was any chance to take advantage it would be then. It was difficult to keep himself awake after they had come down from their highs, especially against the extra warmth of Vincent's body as he settled into a comfortable position and let himself sink into blissful sleep. Cid watched, waiting to be sure the man was fully unconscious (and trying him damnest not to join him just yet) before slipping out of bed when he was sure he wouldn't wake the man.
Grabbing his weapon of choice from inside one of his draws, he slunk back to the bed, back to the musky scent of Vincent and sex, and carefully perched himself in a position where he was able to gentle tilt the man more onto his stomach, and edge the soft duvet down. He chuckled mischievously to himself as he went to work with the small item he had picked up, enjoying the thought of seeing Vincent's face if or when he eventually realized what Cid had done.
Once finished, Cid capped the permanent marker and sat back to admire the deliberately neat text marking Vincent's ass. The words CID'S PROPERTY stood out quite nicely. Yes, it was immature, but it was funny, damnit.
As he stood and took the marker back to the desk draw, smelling the lingering ink in the air, he didn't notice his dark reflection in the full-length mirror, as he turned his back to it, nor the dark, faded words running full length down his spine that read PROPERTY OF VINCENT VALENTINE.
/
Wardrobe
Hiding Vincent's only set of clothes had been a weak but effective ploy to get a chance to see him in something else. Not that a full leather suit and a cape weren't appealing, but they became familiar and boring.
The all-too obvious set of clothes set out for him over the end of the bed enticed a quirked eyebrow at Cid's poorly concealed smile, and the way in which he avoided his gaze. Still, despite Vincent's quick scan of the room, just to check if his clothing were as badly hidden as Cid's smirk, the gunman picked up the folded set and held them out to examine them. Casuals, but still less fabric than his familiar outfit. He threw another look at his partner.
"Humor me," Cid requested, rising from the edge of the bed, giving a morning stretch. He said nothing more as he left the bedroom and made his way to the kitchen.
He made himself a cup of hot tea, and poured Vincent a mug of steaming coffee. He was just setting them down on the circular breakfast table, a buttered cracker between his lips, when Vincent descended from the stairs and into the kitchen. Cid stared, caught off-guard for a moment by the strange appearance of normal that radiated from the man.
Vincent eyed him as he fingered buttons on the snug-fitting, garnet shirt, apparently unused to such thin fabric. The black jeans shaped his legs magnificently as they carried him to the kitchen table and to his coffee. Normal clothes – stunning results.
Cid caught a detail that had him smiling. Cracker still between his teeth, he approached Vincent and raising his hands to the buttons of his collar, undoing the top three to appease his aesthetical side and to show off a teasing bit of clavicle.
"That's perfect," Cid intone, after taking the cracker from his mouth. Ironically, after finally getting the man in another set of clothes, Cid couldn't wait to tear him out of them.
Vincent adopted a keener expression as he took the cracker from Cid's fingers and bit off a section, making a crunch that shouldn't have but sounded mildly erotic to Cid's ears.
"I hope you'll show me the same favor," the gunman drawled suggestively after he swallowed.
Cid raised his blond brow curiously. "Oh?"
"You're not the only one with requests."
Curious as to what Vincent would find appealing, Cid passed him his coffee and stole back his cracker, but it was clear Vincent wasn't going to tell him yet. In the meantime, Cid was fully committed to enjoying the sight of the man's ass in those jeans as he walked to the counter to make his own breakfast.
/
Coconut
He was still learning new things about his partner. Despite the time they spent together, there was still so much that he didn't know until it was revealed to him, often through indirect means.
Like now. He hadn't been expected back home for another four hours, but the cold weather in Rocket Town had forced temperatures below ideal working conditions, and for an engineer working in an unheated hanger, it had become impossible to continue, mostly due to the fact that his fingers could no longer feel his work. He had returned to his warm house to find a packet of cakes on the table, open, the plastic tray half empty of oblong slices. Cid took off his coat and draped it over a chair as he sniffed the sweet smell. Coconut.
He turned to the living room, sensing his partner's presence emanating from the couch, and found the man comfortably seated with his legs up and his back against the arm of the sofa, reading what looked like one of Cid's many books on aerodynamics. Half a slice of a coconut cake hovered before his lips as he noticed his partner's entrance.
"Cake, huh?" Cid asked unnecessarily. He pulled off his scarf and flung it over the back of the couch as he approached. Vincent was watching patiently as the pilot perched himself on the edge of the couch, which allowed Cid to take the half slice from his fingers and pop it into his own mouth. It was sweet and spongy. He nodded as he rolled the taste around his tongue and swallowed. "You strike me as a coconut lover."
Vincent tilted his head as Cid leaned against him, his body cold against the gunman's. "How so?"
Cid took a moment of mock contemplation. "Coconuts are exotic," he drawled, sliding his eyes to meet Vincent's crimson ones. "Like you."
Vincent looked amused.
/
Gawk
It was a mistake to think he'd be the only one to appreciate, admire and generally stare after his partner in his new clothes.
Edge was full of familiar faces, unfamiliar faces, and friends they had come to know since Avalanche had taken up residence (however temporary half of them were in staying). The trek to Tifa's bar encouraged most if not all of the people they passed to glance in their direction, and Cid was pretty sure he wasn't the object of attention. Vincent, it was clear, was just as aware of this, and looked rather disgruntled as he walked with Cid through the streets. It wasn't like he was fucking glowing, so Cid was a little surprised by how much attention the gunman was raking. Maybe this was a demon pheromone thing again. If it was, then SHIT. He was fairly sure it wasn't, but nevertheless he stuck close.
When they entered Seventh Heaven, Cid could see Tifa's eyes practically bulging as they caught sight of Vincent. Cid had to remind himself that she was friend, not foe.
"Vincent!" She practically squawked, obviously completely taken by surprise at his new attire. She seemed obvious to Cid, who raised an eyebrow. "Wow, you look so different." Cid could see she really meant something along the lines of 'You look really hot, now that we can see your body and all of your face. I could screw you right now.'
Vincent inclined his head in his usual stoic greeting as Cid stepped beside him and Tifa finally noticed his presence.
"Hey, Cid," she greeted cheerily. "This is your doing, I take it?" She indicated Vincent's clothing with a slight nod of her head.
"Yer didn't think for a minute he was responsible?" Cid retorted, jerking his head at his partner as he sat down at the bar.
Her eyes lingered a second longer on the gunman – and Cid couldn't really blame her – before she pushed their usual orders before them.
A short time later a small party of customers bustled into the bar, talking as they headed for a table by the wall. Several, Cid noticed with jealous scrutiny, glanced interestedly at Vincent's back. Cid shot them his best 'I will fuckin' bust yer balls if yer look again' glare. They didn't look back after that.
When Cloud entered ten minutes later, Cid was glad there was someone else to talk to. But as soon as the young man's ridiculously blue eyes fell on Vincent's form, and something akin to immediate lust passed across his features, Cid's tolerance almost snapped. However, he gritted his teeth and offered Cloud what he hoped was a friendly grin. Judging by Cloud's expression, it could have looked like he was chewing on glass.
It was only when Barret, followed by one of his many burly friends walked in and joined them all at the bar, did Cid explode. Barret was commenting, in what they all assumed was a compliment, that Vincent suited normal wear despite his "fucking weird appearance anyway". One of his friends let slip a casual remark in which included the words 'Vincent', 'those clothes', 'alleyway' and a sick, perverted 'oooh yeeeaaahh.'
He was lucky that all he left with that evening was a black eye. He was also told later on that he was extremely lucky that Vincent had neither his gun nor his gauntlet with him.
/
Soothe
It wasn't the first, nor would it be the last.
It still hurt, though. To know that the suffering was still ongoing, despite the physical ordeal having long since ended. Cid knew they would always be there, inside Vincent's head, lurking in the depths of his mind like a permanent parasite. He wished he could take them away, but sadly knew that it would do no good to a victim of Vincent's degree. Without memories to explain why he was so different, he would probably go mad.
All Cid could do, as he did every time, was to be there as a warm, solid reassurance. A reminder of Vincent's new life. His future. He provided the comfort and companionship that Vincent had once denied, a voice that grounded him to the normality of reality.
"Hey," Cid whispered, attempting to draw his partner's distant attention as he cupped Vincent's face and repeated a thumb over his cheekbone. It was redundant to ask 'Another bad one?', because those were the only nightmares that could cause Vincent to shout out in his sleep. Cid didn't bother glancing at the clock, he knew it was well past midnight. It usually was.
Still elevated on his elbows since he had bolted upright only seconds ago, Vincent turned his eyes to Cid's. Even in the darkness of the room his eyes glowed from their Mako enhancements; yet another physical reminder of his torment, despite how much Cid loved them.
He wouldn't pull him in, Vincent wouldn't be comfortable with an embrace so soon after a replay of his darkest memories. Instead, Cid cupped his face and pulled him back down into the mattress on his side, shifting closer so their bodies just met. Any more contact would unease him, so Cid continued to provide the only touch he knew he could offer. He brushed the first knuckles of his fingers gently across Vincent's cheek, a light contact that the man's superior sensitivity would find soothing.
Red eyes watched him, an expression of perfectly concealed emotions pulled automatically into place.
They said nothing as Cid sensed more than felt Vincent's heart rate slowly return to normal. Cid's hand found the man's bangs, combing through them slowly. It usually induced relaxation, and sure enough a minute later he could tell the difference as the tension seeped from the stiff line in his partner's shoulders.
"Want a warm drink?" Cid finally offered.
Vincent swallowed, testing the dryness of his throat. He'd been shouting a good few minutes in his sleep before Cid had managed to shake him awake. He gave a single nod.
Cid pressed their lips together. "Be right back." He slid out of bed and made his way to his kitchen in total darkness, performing the task of heating a mug of milk with familiar routine. He brought it back to the bedroom, where Vincent had turned onto his back and was staring at the ceiling. He was recalling the memories with reluctance, unable to ban them away.
Slipping back into bed, Cid pulled the duvet back over him and held out the mug. When it was taken from him he placed the same hand on Vincent's stomach. A reassuring weight.
Vincent was silent as he sipped his drink, letting his eyes stare hazily to some point on the opposite wall. He never spoke of his nightmares, his memories, and Cid never asked him to. But Tifa had often encouraged him to coax some feelings from Vincent, claiming it would help him heal and move on. Cid was unsure. Maybe women talked to each other for comfort, but men weren't so open and baring. Vincent had suffered too harshly to just spew his feelings. Even Cid could understand the sense of utter vulnerability and helplessness his partner must have experienced, and that was with what little imagination Cid cared to use.
"A burden shared is a burden halved." Tifa had once said wisely.
Maybe that was true, but for Vincent to halve that burden would require a specific sort of strength that Cid wasn't sure he could find in himself. To expose his horrible past to Cid would expose his soul, something he'd been guarding with steel barriers since he'd been released from that coffin. Cid wasn't insulted or disappointed, merely sad that Vincent couldn't confide in anyone because his memories were too painful.
"This is Vincent we're talkin' about," Cid had sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I still think it's a miracle he even says Good Morning to me. His memories are too raw and shit to start sharin' 'em with me."
Tifa adopted a sympathetic expression, drying a glass tumbler. "He needs to. To heal. He's still hurting, Cid…"
He had looked at her with solemn insecurity, surprised by her insight, uncertain to his course of action.
"Try… won't you?"
Cid let his eyes roam over his partner's face, watching as he took a long gulp from his drink. He hadn't promised Tifa anything. Maybe he was a little anxious. He had no right to ask Vincent to share his burdens, no right to ask Vincent to bare his soul open and vulnerable once again. And Cid wasn't sure how he himself would react to what he would hear…
But what if Vincent did need someone's shoulder, metaphorical or not? What if it did help him release a few demons and ultimately ease his way of life? Cid owed him an opportunity.
It was with an increasing heartbeat but a carefully masked expression when Cid decided to go for it. The hand on Vincent's belly stoked softly once, twice, before summoning the courage to settle around the man's wrist, halting its journey to his lips. This gained Vincent's attention. His crimson eyes slid to Cid's. It took another second or two for the words to come out.
"Vince, I'm always here…if yer need to talk about it…"
Something fluttered behind those eyes as they processed Cid's words, and after a second in which the silence clung to the air between them, Vincent lowered his eyes, giving two slow nods in acknowledgement.
"I know you are," he replied, his deep voice soft, his tone… resigned. "I'm… not sure I can, right now…"
Cid said nothing for a long minute, studying the man's downcast eyelashes as his thumb began stroking the man's wrist repeatedly. "Whenever yer ready," he said.
Vincent raised his eyes once again, passing Cid a look of gratefulness. He pulled his wrist free of Cid's hand to set the mug on the nightstand, before settling back down into the mattress, ready to attempt sleep again. Cid slid further into the duvet to join him, a little pleased and surprised when Vincent's hand found his and interlinked their fingers. He squeezed back.
/
Bond
Their heavy breathing punctuated the air and provided the only rhythm for a few recomposing moments, following their moans of completion. Their minds spiraled down from their highs slowly as they parted gingerly.
Cid ran a hand down Vincent's sweat-slicked back absently, catching back his breath as the man lowered his full weight onto Cid's front and pressed his face in the juncture of the pilot's neck, inhaling audibly. Cid smiled lazily, squeezing his knees around the man still lying between them.
"I think I'll skip work tomorrow," Cid said sluggishly, letting his smile tilt lopsided. "If anyone asks, I'll tell 'em it's your fault."
"I'd be pleased if you did," Vincent mumbled into Cid's throat.
A fuzzy sensation floated down into Cid's brain, but it was warm and heavy in a comfortable sense. He assumed the adrenaline had worn off, and shifted them both so he could reach for the duvet that had been jostled to the end of the bed.
"Need to get cleaned off," came the muffled voice from his neck, sounding as tired as he felt.
"Too lazy," Cid argued, his voice lacking energy. His head buzzed a little.
'll regret.. in the morn'….
Cid paused. "…What?"
Vincent shifted. "Mm?"
"Yer… yer said somethin'… just now…"
"No, I didn't," the gunman replied, his voice falling into the quiet rumble of someone accepting sleep. His hand splayed across Cid's chest as he hutched himself further onto the broader man.
… really should wipe… down. We'll be sticky when we wake…
Cid, completely unnerved, grabbed Vincent's shoulders and pushed him up, staring at his confused eyes as though he could answer a question Cid didn't know how to ask. The gunman's brow twitched in a visible inquiry.
"What?" Vincent asked.
What's wrong with him?
Cid's eyes darted between Vincent's, and he could see the growing concern mounting in those ruby depths. Cid deliberately thought, THIS. This is what's wrong. What is this?!
Vincent recoiled, looking shocked. His eyes widened beneath a furrowed brow as he processed what he'd 'heard'. He studied Cid's face just as feverishly as his partner was doing.
You can hear me, can't you? Cid demanded, urgent to know he wasn't losing his mind. The sensation was foreign, intrusive but… fuzzy and warm. He could sense things, things he couldn't identify or comprehend at that minute. Like a ball of jumbled feelings, swirling together as they began to build.
Vincent stared, his lips parted. "Yes," he whispered, gazing at Cid as though he had grown two heads.
What - ?
Cid felt bursting with questions, but couldn't formulate any. Words seemed to elude him. He was stunned and disorientated, and from the looks of it so was Vincent.
What is this?" Cid thought again, wondering if he had seriously fallen asleep and this was a strange dream.
Still staring into his blue eyes, Vincent blinked, looking like he'd been slapped. "I don't know."
This isn't – I can't – it's me, it's my fault –
Cid's brow contorted as a mounting sense of apprehension thrummed in his head. "Whoooaaa," he breathed, unable to adjust to the foreign sensation.
I can't let him see – gotta stop it –
Cid knuckled his temples in a vein attempt to dispel or at least silence the bombardment of emotions being projected at him. When that didn't work he shook his head and gripped Vincent's arms.
My fault –
"Vincent, shut up," Cid said, pressure increasing in his own head. "Shut up, stop…"
I'm hurting him, shut up – why is this – stop –
"Vincent, please," Cid gasped. "Talk aloud!"
Vincent's fingertips were at his forehead, a look of concentration on his face. "Cid, I'm sorry. I can't seem to control this… it's… it's –"
"It's fucked up, I know," Cid said a little louder than he planned, gripping Vincent harder. "Just… just talk to me with yer voice…" He calmed himself, unaware he was pushing his composure through their strange new mental connection into Vincent. He knew his request wouldn't be as easy as he found it though; Vincent was not one for meaningless words and rambling, but that probably explained why Vincent's thoughts were more active than his mouth.
Don't let him see –
Cid took one hand from Vincent's arm to cup his face, gaining his focus. "Hey, it's okay, we can control this… Just… concentrate on my face." He attached his own eyes onto Vincent's, following his own commands. "Let's figure out what caused this, okay?"
"Yeah," Vincent replied mechanically. Nevertheless, he looked controlled and composed. The skill to pull down that mask was something Cid would forever admire.
Don't think it… don't think…
Cid reaffirmed his hand along Vincent's jaw, thumbing his cheek and trying to ignore the stray thoughts Vincent couldn't seem to control. "Okay…" Cid swallowed. "It's only happened tonight, hasn't it? Yer've never heard me before this, yeah?"
Don't think –
"Yes…"
"And…" Cid said slowly as something began to dawn on him – him. "This… this was the first time you topped," he stated hesitantly, feeling something clicking into place, like a puzzle piece inside his mind.
My fault –
Cid pulled his knees back and folded them under him, sitting more to attention. "Is it because of…" He didn't want to say it, but he didn't have to.
Chaos.
"One of my demons?" Vincent finished for him. His eyes lowered from Cid's, contemplating the implications and possible reasons for their sudden condition. Chaos, the most likely culprit. No one, not even Vincent, knew the full ramifications of harboring such an unknown, powerful being. Chaos was supernatural, connected to the Planet and her essence through ways they might never know.
It's Chaos… My fault.
Cid shook his head. "It's not yer fault," he told him softly, letting his other hand fall to the gunman's thigh, which he rubbed comfortingly. "We didn't know this would happen."
If you'd known, would you have let me - ? I shouldn't have – should have known.
"Stop," Cid demanded gently, rubbing the man's leg more firmly. "It's okay. It's not bad, it's just… strange," he admitted.
"Liar."
"I'm not lyin'."
"You don't think this is good at all," Vincent continued, his voice low and quiet. He almost looked angry, but not at the blond.
Cid wanted to argue. Instead he sighed. "It's just gonna take some gettin' used to… Such a huge change…" He realized his gaze had strayed to Vincent's leg as he wondered on the contrast between Vincent's thoughts and his outward appearance. He was so calm and collected it was strange to listen to the turmoil inside. Cid raised his eyes to find red ones watching him intently. "But I would be lyin' if I said I wasn't a little excited about this…"
He can't mean that…
"I do," Cid said firmly, giving Vincent a hard stare.
Not good… it's not good…
Something shivered through Cid's body, something he recognized but felt strangely detached from. He realized it was an emotion… but it wasn't his. That strange ball of swirling substance inside his head had become clearer, and as he focused on it, it opened to him, like a flower blooming, releasing a cloud of pollen into his mind. Each particle was saturated with the feel of Vincent, and he knew… they not only shared thoughts, but feelings and emotions, awareness and sensation, touch and senses, physical and mental conditions… It was almost enough to send his mind reeling, but though some newfound ability to harness this power, Cid was able to contain the flood of information and set it back into the ball, where it pulsed gently; a presence at the back of his mind.
Amazing, he thought in wonder. He could become closer to Vincent than he ever thought possible. Something he'd never object to.
Got to control… can't let them slip…
The feeling he had initially felt floating inside him was apprehension, emanating from his partner. Turning his focus from the recesses of his newly ordered mind, Cid realized Vincent was gazing somewhere below and past him, his focus miles way.
I can't hurt him… He'll hate me… Disgusted – Can't let them out…
Vincent's mind was a mess. Cid suspected, with a sad realization, that it always had been since his awakening. He understood that they were both going to be thrown into a far more intimate, testing relationship, and with someone of Vincent's past, this might cause a few problems along the way…
Well, they would have to address each issue as they came by them.
Not in my head – don't want him in…
Because, really… they had no other choice…
/
Smart
Cid found the brown, cord-handled bag sat on the only chair in his – no, their – bedroom. It bared the logo and title of a high-quality clothing sore from Junon, and he could only guess it was for him. Vincent had already disappeared downstairs, presumably preparing tea and coffee for the morning. Cid climbed out of bed and grabbed the bag, pulling from it a set of smartly folded clothes. A smile crossed his lips. So this was Vincent's desired request?
Little over seven minutes later, Cid descended from the stairs into the kitchen, tugging straight the hem of his new jacket's left sleeve. His eyes found Vincent sat at the kitchen table, waiting.
At the sight of his partner dressed in the clothes he had purchased (albeit with Cid's own money, because Vincent's inheritance was long lost since he'd technically been declared dead for thirty years, and Cid, the famous plane engineer, was fairly well off despite his modest accommodation), Vincent slid his eyes along the overall appearance approvingly, allowing the smallest of pleased smirks to tug his lips. He said nothing as Cid approached, lifting the coffee to his lips.
"When were yer in Junon?" Cid asked conversationally as he grabbed a slice of sectioned baguette from the plate in the center of the table, and tore off a chunk while he sat down. His tea was already steaming in front of him.
Vincent lowered the mug, his eyes unnaturally bright and dilated as they watched him. Like a hawk. "Last Friday. Reeve still seems to think I'm in the employment of the WRO." Cid took to the meaning that the inventor had sent him on an errand.
"Yer measure me in my sleep or yer just that good?" Cid asked, quirking an eyebrow in mild amusement as he tipped his cup to his lips. His new clothing seemed to have been tailored to his body.
"I guessed," Vincent replied nonchalantly. He couldn't seem to take his eyes away. Cid was smugly satisfied.
"Smart-casual, is that what they call it?" Cid asked, finishing his bread slice.
Vincent responded with nod. Cid only just noticed he was back to wearing that damned leather suit again. It seems he'd had to break the gunman into his other clothes slowly. At least the cape was absent for breakfast.
"They're comfy," Cid announced positively, taking a sip from his tea. He rarely wore jeans, but he had to admit, they felt good and looked better, if he did say so himself.
"Better than those combats," Vincent said snidely. He didn't like those for some reason.
Cid chuckled, taking another slice of baguette. He felt the white cotton shirt pull against the action, and had to admit it felt nice against his skin in that crisp, new-material way. When he'd finished his breakfast he stood from the table, giving a stretch.
"You do know I'm at work today?" Cid asked. Work equaled grease, hydraulic fluid, grime, lubricant and various other clothes-staining substances.
"I told them you'd be busy."
Cid stared as a grin crept over his face. "I see. Keepin' me all to yerself?"
"Something like that."
Cid cocked his head. "Got any plans for the day then?"
Vincent raised the coffee mug back to his lips. "Maybe…"
/
Understanding
It wasn't easy. They knew it wouldn't be, but that didn't prepare them. Fatigue didn't help matters. They hadn't been able to sleep since the connection was made the previous morning. The last few hours had been tiring on a level they'd never felt before.
Cid gasped suddenly, stumbling on the small pathway to his front door as an assault of emotions struck him like a battering ram. His hand shot to his head as brutal images forced their way into his mind, ripping through his poor defenses to the forefront. They raced past his eyes, unrelenting –
Tools of various, sinister functions gleamed in the painfully bright spotlight, which hung threateningly above him. He felt terrified. He was restrained, he was paralyzed – a bolt of sharp agony – the likes of which he'd never felt before – seared through his abdomen, and between the flashes of blindness he could make out a figure bending over him, face covered by a white filtration mask. A jolt of excruciating electricity wracked his body, and he jerked violently, his restraints tearing into his skin. He was paralyzed – sedated – he couldn't escape – his mind felt like it would explode. He wanted to die –
Cid screamed aloud before he caught himself, blinking back to reality. He found himself on one knee, clutching his stomach and head as the residual pain ebbed away quickly, like a fast-fading memory.
It was a memory. But not his.
Panting heavily, Cid climbed shakily to his feet. He felt sick, he was going to throw up. He fell against the brick wall beside his kitchen door and inhaled desperately, trying to clear the overwhelming nausea.
Stop – I can't take – STOP – no! NO! Can't – pain – kill – kill me – it's – don't –
Cid gulped for air, for sanity. Vincent was overpowering his mind, he couldn't hear himself – was he Vincent? No – he was Cid! Cid Highwind –
It hurts! Stop it! Make it stop – no one there – just him – stop! I can't –!
Swallowing forcefully, Cid pushed himself off the wall, the world spinning, and wrenched open the front door.
Needles pierced his skin in sharp stabbing pains. He could feel their contents being injected into him; feel the cold fluid travel through his veins like ice, burning as they circulated his body. A sudden wave of agony shot through him, but he couldn't move. He could never move. His heart was racing so hard but he couldn't feel it against the pain of every nerve in his body. Tears of agony were streaming from his eyes, his own mind was screaming itself apart. Yet through it all, in the background, somewhere outside the torment in his body a voice droned into a handheld device, calmly documenting his reactions…
Cid turned his wild blue eyes to the kitchen table. There, in one of the chairs, sat Vincent, slumped over the wooden surface. He'd finally fallen asleep. His chest heaved with deep breaths, his hands clenched and unclenched, his head twitched, his face twisted. Cid could hear him murmuring weakly, distressed. He had to wake him. He was projecting his dreams – his memories – into Cid's head unknowingly.
"Vincent," Cid croaked, blinking rapidly to clear the tears that had blurred his vision. He could still feel the pain. "Vincent, wake up," he said loudly, crossing the kitchen on legs made of jelly. He thought he'd fall, but he made it to the table, still feeling sick to his stomach. His heart was pounding, he felt drained. His body was most likely in shock; he'd never experienced something so vivid and horrifying.
It's not – not… Hurts – agony – stop, no, no, no, not – no!
"Vincent," Cid shook him hard, both hands on one shoulder. He had sunk to his knees by the man's side, unable to stand. His vision was fading. "Vincent, wake up! Vincent!"
Don't… don't do this…
"Babe," Cid felt himself pleading. He gasped a lungful of needed air. He lowered his lips to Vincent's ear. "Wake up now. I need yer to wake up…"
Please…
"Vincent!"
The man shot awake with a gasp. He stared in confusion at the wall of the kitchen, blinking hard, swallowing against the dryness in his throat before realizing someone was knelt by his side, watching with a look of complete weariness. Cid smiled weakly, reaching up to cup Vincent's face.
"It's okay," he breathed, breathless. "Yer awake."
Dawning realization seem to spread across the gunman's face as he took in Cid's state. His lips parted in solemn horror.
"Cid… Cid… I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry…"
The pilot reached up to slide a hand against the back of Vincent's neck, pulling him down until their foreheads met. He closed his eyes, exhausted, in shock. "It's okay," he said shakily. "It's okay… it's okay…"
Cringing mentally, Cid admonished himself. It wasn't okay…
/
Offer. Accept.
Vincent didn't realize the full implications straight away when the small object was held out to him.
"Here," Cid had said, holding it out for the gunman to take. From his tanned fist hung a white-gold chain, on the end of which was looped a ring. Cid's sudden presentation of the gift may have been unexpected, but the man looked confident and composed, smiling calmly.
Vincent opened his right palm and the chain with its circular addition was lowered onto it. He examined the plain ring, taking note of the quality and smoothness. Its weight suggested its worth.
"Let me?"
Vincent raised his eyes to Cid's request, catching on by the way his hands were raised expectantly, waiting for permission. He understood then. With a small smile affecting his stoic composure, Vincent returned the chain to Cid's hands, using his own to hold his hair away from his nape. He caught a glimpse of something identical hanging under the pilot's unbuttoned shirt. A warm feeling spread through him.
Cid unclasped the chain, his eyes locked onto his partner's, and reached around to fasten it behind Vincent's neck. He ran his fingers back under the links as they fell to rest on the smooth skin of Vincent's collarbones, letting the ring dangle just above his sternum. Cid smiled.
"I'm not changing my name," Vincent said in a wry tone, his eyes twinkling.
"I wouldn't have it any other way," Cid told him, grinning.
/