A Sticky Situation – An FFVII Fanfiction
Disclaimer: The FF7 characters do not belong to me. But Tai-Chung and the hybrid monsters are mine. Steal and DDIIIIEEE. X.x
This story was centred around a very common question.
"…What now?"
Accompanying this question was a very suspicious glutinous noise.
"…Damned if I know."
Now, to properly understand this sparse conversation, it is required for us to cast our eyes into the past… ten hours earlier, to be precise.
"Hell." Cid Highwind muttered irritably, thumping the engine of a vehicle he was currently labouring on. It sputtered a puff of near-poisonous black smoke before dying out, drawing a very long string of obscenities from the talented mechanic's lips. "Fuck fuckety fuck fuck fuckin fucko fuck fuckety…" He knew he was making no sense, but enjoyed saying the expletive anyway.
The huge metal door to the medium-sized workshop opened to reveal a man covered almost entirely in a red cape. Barrett tapped the metal walls of the spacious room to attract Cid's attention. The mechanic stared at the bulky man in amazement. "Don't ask."
"Huh. Marlene been watching Superman again?"
"I told you not to ask."
Cid shrugged, lighting himself a cigarette. "So… whatcha need me for?"
"Cloud's callin' for ya. Said somethin' 'bout a mission." Barrett wriggled, obviously uncomfortable in his tight blue suit. He unpinned the cape from his shirt and rolled it into a bundle in his arms. "Looked preddy pissed 'bout it, though. Ya bedder go see 'im quick."
Cid flicked the ashes from the end of his cigarette and puffed a wisp of smoke. "Yeah?" He took a long drag and finally snuffed out the cigarette on the dead engine he was working on a few minutes ago. He took off his oil-stained gloves and slipped on his cleaner ones, flexing his fingers to make sure it granted free movement to them.
"Is he alright?"
"Hmm… no. Getting slightly bedder, but not bedder enough to walk around on 'is own two legs."
The mechanic nodded at this. He checked his hair for his goggles. Yep, still there. "Well, he certainly fought too hard with that… thing."
"The Ruby Weapon, ya mean."
"What-fuckin'-ever." Cid grabbed his lance from a rack at the side of the room and stalked past Barrett to Cloud's room.
The slow mumbling ceased as the blond mechanic entered the luxurious room of their group leader. He looked around. Two excessively massive mahogany king-size beds. A lavish spread of shagpile carpet. A brilliant mini-chandelier. An extravagant bathrobe, hanging off of a very stylish coat stand. Thin Mako Transistor (TMT) screen with all-around speaker system. A wealth of flowing silk curtains, unfurling from a gold-plated curtain hanger. Luxurious, indeed. He absently compared it to his dingy room beside the shared toilet, where he couldn't even get a good hour of sleep yesterday because someone thought that flushing the toilet continuously all through the whole night was a form of bizarre entertainment. Well, he had heard that the owner of the inn they're currently lodging in liked to play favourites.
In the middle of the room, Cloud sat in one of the two separate beds, his face pale and unhealthy-looking. Despite his condition, he looked mildly enraged. Tifa sat loyally beside him, adjusting the woollen blankets around the swordsman according to his ever-shifting body position. Red was curled up at the foot of the bed, one lazy eye watching Cid as he approached Cloud, his spear ready in hand. Vincent was leaning casually against the wall on the other side of the room, beside the window. His eyes were closed and he appeared to be sleeping.
"Captain. We've been waiting for you." Cloud said tightly, his voice hoarse. Tifa offered him a glass of water, but he denied it. "A request just came in from the mayor of this town. It seems there have been some concerns about wild hybrid monsters running around on a nearby island off the coast. I told him that our party is tired from our recent encounter with the Ruby Weapon, but… he insisted, saying that he only needed some form of verification of the existence of these monsters, not their actual elimination."
"He sounds like a bastard to me." Cid grumbled nonchalantly, fingering the pack of cigarettes in the pocket of his jacket. Cloud almost nodded in agreement, but stopped himself for decency's sake.
"Well, it pays well, if that's any consolation. The plus side to this is that only two people are going on this particular mission, so there is more money spread over both of you."
Tapping his lance on the carpet, Cid frowned. "Eh? Two? Why only two?"
Tife answered this one. "Well, as you can see, Cloud's still recovering so I'm talking care of him, Red's got a stiff splint supporting his broken hind leg so he couldn't walk properly, Cait Sith is deactivated, Yuffie's visiting her hometown, and Barrett… well, he's spending some time with Marlene."
Cid recalled Barrett's tight-fitting Superman costume. "He's spending a little bit too much time with the little kid, I'd say." Cloud exploded into a coughing fit, sending Tifa into a panic.
"He might be devoted to his work, but he still feels the burden of his duty as a single parent. We should let him be with Marlene whenever he can." Red spoke up finally, not even bothering to open his eyes to look at his audience.
Silence.
Barrett barrelled past the door with Marlene on his shoulders. Both of them were flicking their lips with their forefinger, going, "Wibblewibblewibblewibblewibblewibble."
Utter silence.
Finally Cid scoffed, twisting the tip of his lance into the plush carpet. He smirked as it pierced through the material and carved the wooden floorboards underneath. Vincent, who had cracked open an eye to glance at the Wibblers, now glared at the pilot, failing in trying to do so with an expressionless face. Clearly he disliked other people destroying public property. Red had limped off to who-knows-where, apparently the slightest bit flustered that his philosophical deduction of Barrett was a complete waste of time and therefore money (as time is effectively money, someone from another universe had said); his legs between his tail… or was it his tail between his legs? The world will never know.
Cloud drank a glass of water before speaking again. "I am sorry to burden you with such a…" He searched for the right word, "…Bothersome task, but I can't very well refuse his plea, as this town is the only settlement with an inn within a twenty mile radius. We can't afford to let him throw us out. Red needs his rest."
"And you, too, Cloud. You have to take a break as well." Tifa spoke softly, placing a hand on the swordsman's shoulder. Cloud did not reply.
"Yeah, yeah." Actually, it wouldn't be a bad idea to escape that little hellhole the jackass of an inn owner calls a room, but for Cloud and Red's sake… "Just tell me who I'm going with already." Cid grumbled.
"Vincent will be accompanying you."
At this, the gunman promptly became erect in his stance. Cid simply nodded his approval. An almost-mute was better than that living radio labelled as Yuffie, or the overly-fatherly Barrett.
"Valentine, you look like you've got a plank plastered on yer back." The pilot went around the bed to prod at Vincent's stiff body. "Loosen up, girlie. We got us some asses to boot, sky-high style." He turned to Cloud and gave the swordsman a wink. "We'll get your wipe-the-mayor's-ass-able information. Geddit? Reli-able? Wipe-the-mayor's-ass-able? Eh? Eh? Geddit? Ya geddit?"
Tifa threw the PHS at him and he exited with Vincent and an elegant ping-pong-ball-shaped lump on his forehead.
Cloud coughed.
It was noon. Noon means that the sun was a little bit on the scorching side. Noon means a few kids daring each other to sunbathe on the beach without a sun lotion. Noon means eating your ice-cream at a speed comparable to that of a chocobo on crack to prevent it melting in the cones. Obviously, in this little hamlet, noon means hot, hot, hot.
Aboard the Highwind, Cid flicked a few buttons. His hands wandered all over the control board gently and slowly, as if he was caressing the body of a lover, his lover, his beloved Highwind…
It does sound incredibly sad to have a lover with the same name as you do.
Cid didn't mind though. Flying Highwind was like soaring in a permanent state of pre-orgasm.
Not that he would tell anyone that. Oh, no, no. You should just completely dismiss the idea that you had read the previous line and move on to the next, which is just down there, that sentence starting with the word 'Vincent'. Ya see it? Good! Very good.
Vincent stared at Cid as the blond worked on getting Highwind ready for take off. His unflinching gaze was that usual pierce of focused attention. Of course, this unnerved the blond, who could already imagine himself being stabbed to death by this invisible force, but he was slowly getting used to it. The guy had lived in a coffin for some odd years. I mean, come on. Even I would go a bit wacky in the overhead compartment if I had to starve myself of oxygen all that while.
"So… uh… Vincent… uh… what do you for a living?"
Vincent ignored this rather pointless question and buried his mouth in the collars of his cloak. It was then that Cid decided to keep his conversation openers to himself, feeling a bit put down.
"Communications board… all clear. Flight 827 alias Highwind ready for take off from coordinates 265, -24. Average wind speed is 734 miles per hour and counting. Left and right wing blades functioning and ready for full throttle…" Cid mumbled to himself, slipping back into his routine checks before smoothly took Highwind into the air. From behind him, Vincent stood up and left for… somewhere.
Cid sighed. What had he done to deserve this silent treatment from the black-haired man? Had he annoyed him in any way? Stepped on his hair or something during their many nights spent camping outside? Used his gun to burn a hole in his cloak? (1) Accidentally spearing him in the gut in one of their more… interesting fights? Honestly, Cid didn't remember doing any of these things. It's must be the guy's genes… being coffin-ridden like that must've muddled his temperament someway, somehow.
The journey to the island went on for longer than neither of them expected. 'Right off the coast' was not the correct definition for the position of the island they were currently looking for. In fact, it was quite far off. Cid thought so, anyway. He couldn't even detect it in his radar.
"Hey Valentine, pass me the fuckin' PHS, will ya?"
The gunman, who had returned from wherever it was that he went to, grimaced, but complied.
Cid stabbed his thumb into the button Tifa had set on speed-dial. There was the usual ringing tone, then silence. The pilot considered the possibility that maybe a monster had ravaged the town while the gang were lounging around and cast 'Silence' on every civilian. Stuck with the inability to chant, speak and communicate, Tifa spent the rest of her days babying Cloud like a mute—
/"Hewwo?"/
Hynedammit. (2)
"Uh, hey, kid. Mind if I speak to your… er… pops?"
/"I like pops."/
"Yeah, whatever, kid, now listen—"
/"I like strawberry pops."/
Good Hyne.
"Great, now can I speak to your dad?"
/"Daddy's Superman. Whoooosh."/
Cid handed the PHS to Vincent, who looked at it as if it threatened to put him in a pink frilly dress and make him attend a transvestite's festival.
The pilot took it back. "Okay, listen you stupid little brat, put Barrett on the PHS now or I swear I'll make you kiss your fuckin' strawberry pops goodbye—"
/"No need to be vulgar, Captain."/
"Ah. Cloud. It's you."
/"You're right. It's me. What's your status?"/
"Bad, sir, bad. We're stuck in a blizzard and the temperature is minus ninety degrees and the wing blades are frozen and stuck and we're gonna plunge into that fuckin' ocean down below and WE'RE ALL GONNA FUCKIN' DIE. It might also benefit you to know that we haven't the faintest idea where this blasted island of yours is."
For the third time that day, there was silence.
/"Captain—"/
"Yes, kid, I was lyin' 'bout all that blizzard storm shit so fuckin' tell us where we are already."
/"A moment."/ There was a low buzzing sound, a crash, and a pained whimper before Cloud came back on. "You're almost there. I suggest steering Highwind in the north-west direction from now on. You should meet the island in an estimated time of twenty minutes."
The PHS went click.
Cid threw it over his shoulder and went back to work.
"Highwind."
The pilot jumped a foot in his seat.
"Who's there!"
"Vincent."
Cid relaxed. He turned around and was vaguely aware of his eyes widening.
"…Help."
"Oh… right."
He gruffly picked Vincent up from his position on the floor. Apparently the PHS had struck the gunman in the head and gave him a very brief concussion. And a bloody scalp.
"Erm. Sorry 'bout that."
Vincent said nothing and disappeared somewhere again.
This time, after setting the Highwind on auto-pilot, Cid followed him.
"Hey, Valentine, where ya goin'?"
Vincent stopped in his silent tracks. Unsurprisingly, he said nothing.
"Okay, so now that we've established that you're a frickin' pillar at times, may I know where you're cannoning off to? You're a bit too keen on avoiding me. It's like I'm a skunk that just ate a whole lot of beans, and you're trying to get away from me before I can perform a root-a-toot. What's up, girlie? Afraid of big bad Cid?"
"…Highwind, you use the stupidest metaphors I've ever heard in my whole condemned life."
"Oh, wow, I'm glad I get to be the first person who draws such an overwhelming amount of syllables out of you today. Seriously, Valentine, something's rammed up your butt and I need to know what it is before I explode with frustration."
Vincent went dry for a full two minutes before he said, with a slight blush that Cid unfailingly noticed, "…Don't call me Valentine."
Cid managed an annoyed "What the fuck…?" before implications set in.
"Oh. OH. Oooooooh." The pilot nodded understandably for once and scratched the back of his head. "I see. You thought I was… right. I get it now. Don't worry, Val- I mean, Vincent, I won't call you Valentine ever again. Oops, just did."
The gunman glared weakly at the pilot before resuming his little walk-a-thon. Cid kept up with his pace easily despite his age and his more apparent limitations in physical metabolism—oh, ditch the sweet talk, I was trying to say that his body's aged more than Vincent's, alright?
"You still haven't told me where you're going."
"The Medic Room, Highwind. If you'd remember, you carelessly threw a heavy PHS over your shoulder and it had incidentally collided with my head."
"Are you—"
"And before you ask, yes, I am in a lot of pain at the moment."
Cid fell silent for a moment.
"Vincent…?"
"…"
"…Don't call me Highwind."
Cid watched as Vincent tried to aim a Cure spell at the back of his own head. As any rational person would know, this was an impossible thing to do, but Vincent had prided himself in not being an easy quitter. So there he was, trying to hold the mirror steady with his flesh hand, reflecting the back of his head while his metal arm held the Restore Materia.
After the twenty-seventh Cure attempt, his MP bar was starting to run out. He looked at Cid briefly with what the pilot would like to think as pleading eyes, but the expression disappeared as soon as the gunman looked away. The blond sighed.
"You can ask me for a favour, you know."
Vincent made it as if he didn't hear anything.
"Well, whatever, girlie. I have to keep a lookout for that island; we might've passed over it for all I know." Cid pushed himself off of the white wall he had been leaning against before and tramped out of the room casually.
"Cid…" A moan stopped his legs from moving. He turned back around and saw Vincent sitting (sulkily) on one of the sterile white beds he had installed five months ago. The mirror and the Materia lay forgotten on the white bedside table sitting beside the bed.
Cid picked his way carefully towards the gunman. "Yeah?"
"…Help."
The blond smirked. He picked up the Restore Materia and cast the Cure spell easily on the gash on Vincent's head. The wound sealed up even though the throbbing pain still remained. The gunman calmed down a bit and rubbed the spot where the blood clotted in his hair. Sticky.
"You're welcome, girlie. Now I'm off. You take a good long rest and don't get up even if you hear me being attacked by a Behemoth, ya hear?"
Vincent opened his mouth to say something, but stopped. Cid looked over him for a few seconds before leaving.
The gunman smiled at his back.
(1) Idea adapted from FF8 fics, where it is often said that Irvine had once used his gun to create many bullet holes in Zell's room. Obviously, this was in a Zell/Irvine fic. Duhr. This event is loosely connected to the events that Cid had imagined. Loosely.
(2) I'm not sure whether Hyne is a god in FF7. He IS a god in FF8, though. So I'm adopting him into FF7, just because I like the name and it rawks. Ch'yeah. :3 But if you DO know the name of the god in FF7 (if there is one), tell me and I'll edit it.
Chapter 2 will be up when I finish Chapter 4... or something. Don't worry, I don't think I'll take that long... hmmm...