People ask me why I stick with the Captain. Sometimes I wonder the same thing. I mean, it's my house, and I let myself be treated like a servant girl. There must be something wrong there, an error in some cosmic calculations, you might think.

But.

There always seems to be a but in these equations. A rouge quantity. A wild card.

He saved my life. At the cost of his dream, his job, his rocket, he saved me. He didn't have to do that, not for a lowly engineer, but he did. I owe him a huge debt, so huge I could never fully pay it off . That's why I let him live here, and that's why I let him boss me around. It's the least I can do. An eye for an eye, or if you can't give an eye then you give all you can. That's all I can do, and that's all this is. A measly attempt at payback.

…

…Right?

Well…the thing is, equations are never straightforward. There's always an unknown, always an unworkable sum, always something complicating the formula. My complication is...I think I love him. I'm not an expert, far from it, but…ever since that failed launch, he's been at the forefront of my thoughts, and isn't that what they say love is? When you can't stop thinking about someone--

The Captain thundered through the door and stood in front of her, ever-present cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth.

"Damnit, woman! WHERE'S MY GODDAMN TEA?!?"

Shera cast her eyes down and mumbled an apology. She crossed over to the whistling kettle and deftly prepared the pilot's drink - No milk, three spoons of sugar, well-stirred - and handed it to him. He glared a little, but finding nothing to complain about he stomped off back to tinker with his airship designs. Shera watched him leave almost wistfully, then slumped down on a kitchen chair, sighing.

Then, of course, he goes and does something like that, something that just...makes me want to hit him! He acts so callous and gruff and...and..

Oh, I just wish I knew where I stood sometimes! Does he hate me or forgive me or even like me at all, I don't know, and it makes me so confused...I feel like a teenager in hormonal upheaval sometimes…when he looks at me on good days and I see a little spark dancing in his eyes...

The momentary shine in her eyes faded, and left her feeling

Why even bother? It's never going to happen. Not to me. The rough-and ready rugged 'prince' isn't going to just waltz in and sweep the dowdy engineer off her feet. Ha, that doesn't even happen in stories, does it? It's always the beautiful princesses that get the man. Genetics shouldn't give them advantages like that, but that's how the story goes. And that's life too, life in a nutshell.

The next time I hear the phrase 'Fairy-Tale Romance' I think I might scream. I want to say it doesn't happen like that but it's not as if I have any real evidence against it. The pretty girls get the guys, that's how it happens. Cheerleaders over chess club, the mentality that sticks with men all through life, apparently. I suppose I'll just have to live with it.

Shera sighed again and stood up. She moved for the door, but it was opened before she reached it. The Captain was there, looking slightly uncomfortable and deliberately glaring at a point six inches to the side of her head. He dragged on the cigarette before twitching it out of his mouth with agitated fingers. The engineer blinked owlishly at him, wondering what on Gaia was wrong with her Captain. Said Captain writhed a little under her gaze, and finally broke the pregnant silence.

"I finished the airship specs, but I don't have no fucking parts 'til ShinRa gets round to givin' me my backpay."

That's all? But he looks so… twitchy. How strange…

"At least you have the specs. I mean, you can get right on it when you have the money."

"Yeah, guess so. Look-" The Captain ran a hand awkwardly through his hair. "I gave it a name. The ship, I mean."

"Weren't you going to call it Highwind Mark Two?"

Cid seemed to rally at this. "Nah! Whaddya you take me for?! Ships have to have a personal name! You can't ever call a ship a second version of another one, it'd be saying "Hey you, ship, your big sister here kicks your fucking ass at everything and you know it, so we're just gonna rub it in your face by giving it your name". And anyway, every ship is special. 'Least all of mine are, 'cause I don't mass-produce 'em…"

Shera bit her lip to keep from giggling at him. She knew this rant off by heart, and it would inevitably lead to a tirade about ShinRa, then a booze-up session, then calling her various slurred attempts of 'Starshine' all night until she dragged him to his bed. As amusing as that was, he was a nightmare with a hangover, so it was best to head him off at the pass. She touched his arm to get his attention.

"Ah, did you want to tell me something about the name, or just rage about mass production?"

Cid winced, obviously hoping to have gotten off the subject. Every line in his face showed his regret at ever deciding to tell her about whatever it was, which naturally just made Shera more curious.

"Oh. Oh, uh, well…I gave it a name."

"Yes…and…?"

"It's called Shera," Cid said hurriedly, as if unless he said it quickly he wouldn't say it at all. " 'Cause you helped with the plan and shit like that." He didn't meet her eyes. Wouldn't? Couldn't? It was probably better, anyway – Shera's face had gone as pink as sunburn, and she was looking at him with an expression of one who was just licked by the dog that always looked as if it would tear your throat out if you were ever in range.

...Did. Did that just happen? Did he really say that, or was I daydreaming?

"So...yeah. The Shera. Kinda has a ring to it." He glanced down at his feet, and then seemed to regain a bit of his fire. He looked up (She could have sworn he had a trace of a grin on his face), took a long drag on his cigarette, turned on his heel and walked out. She stood there dumbfounded, then her face slowly broke into a huge smile.

I guess this equation might work out in the end after all...