Any and all blame for the existence of this story can be laid at Licoriceofallsort's feet. I do not own Final Fantasy.
Dude, Where's Your Spaceship?
Someone was banging on the damned door, and Shera wasn't answering it. It was stupid early, or as Cid liked to call it since his military days, Zero Dark Stupid. The only people dumb enough to be awake at this hour were sneaky Wutes, maniacs, and officers.
But with everyone calling him the Captain these days, that'd make him an officer, too. Did that immediately make him an idiot as well? He hadn't had nearly enough to drink last night – this morning? – to find an answer for that question.
Stumbling out of his bed room and tripping on a few empty beer cans on his way out, Cid wondered if he still had his service pistol lying about somewhere. He wasn't a rotten Turk or nothing, but the idea of putting a few bullets through the door as way of answering it seemed like a good idea at - he glanced over at his clock - Zero Dark Stupid.
To top it all off, his head was pounding. It felt like he had a dozen manic little goblins in his head, all punching away at whatever looked squishy. He emerged into the front hallway, his feet crunching down on even more empty beer cans, and he remembered why. Or, at least a little bit. He remembered getting really drunk. Really drunk.
He just couldn't remember why.
That banging on the damned door continued, striking a brilliant counterpoint with the throbbing inside his skull. Somewhere, in the mess that was his house, someone groaned. If Cid were more inclined to search through the refuse, he'd find whoever it was and kick them until they answered the door for him. Kicking suited his mood at the moment. But then, kicking always suited his mood. He'd never met a flight mechanic he didn't want to kick.
His feet finally clearing the last of the empties before the door, he grasped the knob, twisted it violently, and swung the door open. Empty night greeted him. He pulled a cigarette out of his pocket – the stupid thing was broken in half, but he'd make do – lit it up, and puffed. He listened for a moment, and couldn't hear a damned thing except crickets and the wind. No one in sight. He flicked the porch light on.
The light didn't help at first, and then suddenly, as if materializing out of the very shadows, Vincent fucking Valentine stepped into the light. Cid nearly swallowed his cigarette and just about swung at the creepy vampire jackass loitering in his front yard.
"Vin," Cid said, trying to keep an edge of anger out of his voice. "The fuck you doing here?"
"I came as soon as I heard," Vincent said in that overly dramatic way of his.
"Heard what? The fuck you talkin' about?"
Somewhere behind Cid, someone was making a lot of racket, stumbling through the empties. A second later, there was the obnoxious sound of water splashing in water. Someone probably pissin'. Whoever Cid's house guest was, they were awake and up now. He didn't bother looking back to see who it was. Wasn't the one person who mattered.
Vincent did a silly little swish of his cape that was probably supposed to be impressive or mysterious or some shit, and continued, "News traveled fast. I was in Cosmo Canyon with Nanaki at the time when it reached us. We both set out at once, and he is already investigating the site of the theft."
Cid narrowed his eyes. Something hit him right in his heart. It felt like the cold fist of Shinra gripping what he loved most again. Fuckers never did know when to let go.
"What theft?" Cid said through clenched teeth.
"You don't know?" Vincent asked, clearly surprised.
"I'm fuckin' hung over as a Corellian miner the day after payday, what the fuck are you talkin' about?"
Sympathy came on Vincent's face, flickering there and gone before disappearing into that neutral mask he loved holding so much. For a second, the vampire-or-whatever-the-fuck-he-was looked genuinely human for a second.
"Perhaps you should sit down for this."
More stumbling in the empties again came from behind Cid. He hadn't heard the toilet flush.
"Don't you give me that 'sit down for this' bull, tell me what's going on, or I'm about to put your head on my spear and leave it out on my front lawn as a warning for the next asshole who wakes me up at Zero Dark Stupid."
"If you do not already know, then I worry—"
Cid pushed past Vincent, cutting him off and going out into the night. He already knew where this was headed. It was the last kick in the ass you could give an old man – not that he was actually old, but all the kids who insisted on hanging around him made him feel ancient – before putting him in the grave.
Dawn was still about twenty or thirty minutes away, but there were enough lights in town to give him a decent view of the horizon, and what he was searching out for wasn't exactly small.
Where it should have stood, a dark shadow against a dark sky, was only emptiness. That cold fist around his heart clenched a little more.
"I'm sorry," Vincent said.
Someone staggered between Vincent and Cid, draping an arm across both their shoulders. He leaned forward, as if about to puke, and then stopped, staring at the same open space they both were.
"Dude," Reno said. "Where's your spaceship?"
Cid didn't know where the paper bag had come from, but he breathed into it heavily after Vincent had guided him back insight and sat him down on the couch. He wasn't a man prone to panic attacks. Mostly because he was a man, dammit, and he wasn't the type to sit around and have feelings or anything stupid like that most of the time.
But this wasn't most of the time, and this wasn't over something stupid. This was his rocket. Beautiful No. 27 Rocket, the successor to his beautiful No. 26. This was gonna put him in space again, and not explode in a huge fuckin' fireball against some god-bothering Ancient magic weapon nonsense. It was gonna do a full orbit, send back data to be viewed by the eggheads. And it was gonna be a real trip. Cid was supposed to be there every step of the way, and spend weeks up there, maybe even months.
And now his rocket was gone.
That big red, furry beast was already in his living room, droning on about how evidence supported that the rocket had been fired. Scorch marks on the tarmac, the water reserves that were used to support the launch were empty, smell of jet fuel in the area, so on and so forth. Cid couldn't bring himself to care. He wanted another beer. Or maybe some tea. Or maybe moonshine served in a tea cup. That suited his mood best. Something that could good and blind him, while still trying to be classy.
"I think we have to come to a very serious conclusion," Vincent said gravely.
"What's that?" Cid asked.
Vincent gave a glance at Reno, who was passed out again, but now on the floor. "Given the odd presence of a Turk, particularly in light of the timing… it suggests that Shinra may have had a part in the disappeared of the rocket."
"The hell would they do that for?" Cid asked.
Red made a chuffing sound. "It would hardly be the first time that Shinra has stolen a piece of flying technology from you for their own ends. Or the second."
"Or third," Vincent added.
Cid was more than a little hung over, but he quickly counted off the thefts and attempted thefts Shinra had done on his avionic property – Highwind, Tiny Bronco, No. 26 Rocket – and realized the sons of bitches were right.
"Someone get me some ropes, a towel, and lots water. Buckets. We're gonna need some buckets."
"You're going to waterboard Reno?" Vincent asked, one eyebrow raised.
"No, I'm gonna serve him tea in a bucket, and the towel's a novelty napkin. Of course I'm going to waterboardoard him. And then maybe beat him with the bucket."
"I don't know if I can permit you to waterboard someone, even someone like Reno. This isn't you, Cid."
"Fat lot you know about me. And weren't you a Turk? Didn't you do this stuff all the time?"
"That was my sin," Vincent said. "Of which I've made—"
"Blah blah," Cid growled. "We've heard it all before. Get me what I need to torture this idiot so I can find out what I need to know."
Red glanced between the two, as if unsure if he wanted to get involved in the argument. Damn mutt always had a good head on his shoulders, even if he wore feathers in his fur like a godamn hippie.
"No," Vincent said adamantly. "Under no circumstances will I assist you in waterboarding Reno."
"And this," Cid said, after finally securing the last rope tying Reno to his dining room table, "is the part where we start waterboarding him."
Vincent held the bucket, and was shaking his head. "I cannot believe you talked me into this."
"Stop whining, ya nancy. Wake him up so we can get torturin'."
Vincent gave Cid a worried look, but nudged Reno. When he didn't respond, Vincent shook him harder, then struck his shoulder softly. The Turk let out a soft snore. Cid made a frustrated noise, leaned over Reno, and punched him in the face.
"Ow, fuck!" Reno yelled as he came awake.
"Where's my rocket?" Cid yelled.
"What?" Reno asked, his eyes unfocused. "Where am I?"
"Put the towel on him," Cid said.
Vincent shook his head. "I don't know if we should—"
"Towel!" Cid commanded, using his best sergeant voice. He might be a damn officer now, but he knew what it was like to actually be a damn soldier.
Vincent draped the towel over Reno's face, holding it in place. Cid picked up the bucket.
"I'll talk!" Reno screamed. "I don't know what I did, but I'll talk!"
"Really? Cid asked. "That easy? Aren't you a Turk? Aren't you trained to withstand torture?"
"Very unprofessional," Vincent murmured, pulling the towel off.
"I'm hung over, I need to piss, and I just woke up. I haven't done anything shitty to you guys in like a year, so sure, I'll talk. Can I have a coffee?"
Cid glared at Reno, and then upended the bucket on his head. He dropped it to the ground.
"Red. Fill that with coffee. Make it hot. And if he doesn't tell me where my damn Rocket no. 27 is, we're going to pour it on him."
Red looked at the bucket and then back to Cid. "And how am I supposed to do that without thumbs?"
"You're smart, you'll figure it out."
Vincent said, "Cid, I'm worried about you. This isn't you. This place isn't you."
Vincent made a large sweeping gesture at the room, indicating the empty beer cans scattered in every which direction, the stacked up newspapers on the tables, the discarded dirty laundry hanging wherever it happened to land when he took it off.
"The hell you talkin' about? You don't know me, Vin. This place is the way I am. It's the way I was—"
He brought himself up short. He just realized what he'd been about to say.
Before Shera. Before the divorce.
"Very well," Vincent said. "If this is how you are, if this is how you want to do things, then let's go beyond your half-measures."
Vincent drew his gun, cocked the hammer back, and placed it firmly between Reno's legs.
"You know," Reno said, panic edging into his voice, "those half-measures sound pretty amazing right now. Can we go back to threats of waterboarding with scalding coffee?"
"Do it," Cid growled. "Blow his damned nuts off. Probably be doin' the world a favour. Wouldn't want a legion o' his bastards pollutin' the gene pool."
"I got a vasectomy, I got a vasectomy!" Reno yelled.
"Shoot him!" Cid shouted.
Vincent flicked the hammer forward and holstered his gun, shaking his head. "I worry for you. We all do. Even Shera."
"Yeah?" Cid said. "Then where is everyone, huh? How come unless it's some kind o' emergency, I never see you assholes on my doorstep? Where's Spike? Where's Barret? Where's Shera?"
"On the Rocket, duh," Reno said.
The room went silent.
"What," Cid said, drawing in a choked breath, "did you say?"
Reno fidgeted in his bonds. "You and your guys were having a party last night. You were drinking up a storm, and I just happened to be in town. You were in such a good mood, you invited me in. We were having fun, but then you got all mopey about Shera leaving your grumpy ass – I wonder why she did that – that I had to spend half the night consoling you because your techs didn't know what to do."
Cid tried to remember, but the headache from the hangover was intense, drilling at the back of his eyes. He vaguely remembered the guys getting together to celebrate the upcoming launch.
"Then Shera shows up, saying that your calculations or something were wrong, the launch window was earlier than expected. I dunno, man, I was pretty drunk at that point. She said you had to launch the rocket that night or wait a few months."
Cid rubbed at the back of his head. Had that happened?
"You, being the asshole you are, insisted on launching that night despite being stupid drunk. Shera said no, you got into a fight, lots of drama, you said she was trying to control you, she said the same about you, really, I just needed some popcorn. You can't pay for entertainment that good."
It was starting to come back to him now. He could remember some of it. He remembered…
"She wanted to go into space again," Cid said.
She'd screamed it out at him. Her big secret. She wanted the stars just as badly as he did. She'd just put his dreams before her own time and again. She didn't want to just crunch data and look at readings. She wanted to be out there.
And then…
"I gave her Rocket no. 27," Cid said numbly.
The rest was still a blur, but he could remember that decision vividly. Their entire relationship, he'd been the one steering, the one in control. And just once, just this once, he had the chance to give up the wheel, give her what she wanted.
Cid stumbled out of the room, feet knocking cans of beer every which way as he left the house. Vincent and Red followed him, leaving Reno tied to the table. Once outside, Cid stared at the night sky. Dawn was coming quick, and the sun was starting to fuck up the night sky, but he swore, he could see it. Off in the distance, a little glimmer in the atmosphere, his beautiful Rocket no. 27.
"Are you all right?" Vincent asked.
Cid realized a lone tear had fallen down his cheek. He wiped it away, and stared once more at the sky. At his beautiful Shera, getting her own dream for once.
"I'm better'n fine," he said with a smile. "Who wants some godamn tea?"