AN: This little (ha!) ficbit bit me in the shower today, and wouldn't let me alone till I wrote the silly thing. Funny thing is, the discussion near the end and, well, the end, pretty much showed up fully formed. Weird thing was, it wouldn't work until I wrote the first three-quarters. Oy. Aaaanyway, it's rated because Cid is rampantly abusive towards the poor apostrophes, and because he has this teeny tendency towards swearing. There is also slashy subtext, although only if you squint. So be warned.

Disclaimer: Not mine, as much as I might wish they were.

"Yo Chuckles, get your ass in gear, we're goin' to th' bar," Cid announced in his inimitable fashion as he barged into Vincent's hotel room. "Everyone's gonna be at the Lucky Chocobo tonight."

Vincent looked up from his book, saw the look on Cid's face and realized there really wasn't any point to arguing, it would get him nowhere. "Very well, Highwind," he replied resignedly.

Cid grinned. "So glad you decided to come, Vin. 'Cuz, you know, you don't have to, not if you don't wanna."

Vincent merely shot him a look that said he knew very well he had had no choice in the matter, and that this was the path of least resistance. The grin changed into a smirk, and Cid sniggered quietly.

Neither man bothered changing clothes. Vincent, because it took much more than a trip to a bar to get him out of his cloak, and Cid, because he liked what he was wearing, and anyone who had a problem with it could kiss his ass, dammit. Besides, they knew that no one in their group would bother to change. After all, after you've saved the world for a second time, what you were wearing at the time practically became a badge of honour.

The taxi ride from the hotel to the bar was short, quiet, and comfortable. Cid puffed on his ever-present cigarette, blithely ignoring the no-smoking sign in the cab, and Vincent just stared out the window at the lights of the city. Mostly because they were the most interesting thing in sight.

Once at the bar, Vincent gave the driver a healthy tip as a way of apologizing for Cid, and they made their way inside. For a Wednesday night, it was surprisingly full, but after a demon attack and supernatural storm that came out of nowhere, Vincent supposed it made sense. Then he felt Cid stiffen at his side. He'd been scanning the room through the haze of smoke and the lousy lighting for their friends, and had seen who was sitting with them.

"Vincent, those damn Turks are here. The hell are they doing here? They're not supposed to be here. …'Specially not the redhead, I remember him."

It was indeed the Turks, although only three out of the four they knew. The blonde girl, Elena was sitting with Tifa, the big burly bald one was alternating between listening politely to Barret and Cloud, and keeping a tight leash on the redhead. Reno, Vincent finally remembered, was…well, he was more than a little drunk, judging from the number of empty glasses laying forlornly in front of him, and he appeared to be doing his level best to do a striptease for Yuffie. Thankfully, for all their sakes, Rude was doing an excellent job of keeping Reno's clothes on. Although Yuffie seemed a little disappointed by that turn of events, and Vincent was not going any further down that mental road.

Vincent glanced sideways at Cid, who was shaking his head and groaning at their friends' taste in drinking buddies. "At least say hello, Cid. They did help us today, you remember," he prodded gently.

Cid sighed, and replied, "Yeah, yeah, I know. They blew shit up and took on those damned clones, and helped Cloud. I'll be good." Under his breath, however, he muttered something about pansy-ass Turks that Vincent didn't quite catch.

As they wove their way through the crush of patrons to the crowded corner table, Cloud was the first to see them. He raised a laconic hand in welcome, to let everyone else know that their last two friends had finally shown up.

As they returned the group's various welcomes, Vincent noticed Reno and Yuffie sporting identical, evil grins, and whispering to each other. He made a mental note to keep an eye on those two; it could only mean trouble later on.

Finally, Cid got a chance to inquire about the Turks' presence, and did so with his usual charm and grace.

"The fuck are they doin' here?" He punctuated this with an accusing finger. Reno flipped him the bird, Elena sniffled a little and Rude deigned to answer.

"Reno decided that after helping today, the least we could do was join you for a celebratory drink. Elena…mentioned something about Tseng being on a date tonight," he replied quietly. Elena sniffled again, and Reno downed another shot.

"Eh, fine. Guess that works," Cid said. "Shove over, Barret, I wanna sit down. Vincent, get a chair or something. We're having a party!"

Reno cheered this announcement heartily, and ordered another round for the entire table.

Several hours later, Tifa had dragged Cloud, Elena and Rude (who had gone suspiciously quietly) out onto the dance floor, Barret was snoring happily, and Reno and Yuffie were drawing something on the table napkins, and shooting the occasional avaricious glance at Cloud. At least, Vincent thought it was Cloud.

Cid and Vincent had migrated to the bar, and were perched on barstools that grew less and less uncomfortable with each new drink.

"Those clones today, those things…what do ya think it must have been like for 'em, knowing that they were just a means to an end, to bringing that smirking bastard back?" Cid stared down into his glass. From his tone, it sounded like it had been preying on him for a while.

Vincent turned slowly to him. "Excuse me?"

Cid looked up. "You know. All they knew was that they had to bring their damned 'Mother' back, and that they'd been fuckin' created for that, like some, some fuckin' experiment!" His voice hadn't risen at all, but rather had grown tense and unhappy.

Silence.

"…They had a purpose, they had a clear goal. It was rather unfortunate that their goal was to bring back their brother, and so destroy the world, but they knew what it was. They knew their place in the world."

"Shit, I don't think I've ever heard you say so much," cracked Cid. "But…why the hell would they want their lives to be like that? Duty ain't all it's cracked up to be."

"Oh, I don't disagree," Vincent said dryly. "It's just...you have a duty, a goal. You work and sweat and bleed for that duty, and then suddenly it's ripped away. Free will comes as something of a shock, you see."

"Yeah, guess you'd know somethin' 'bout that, huh."

"Indeed."

Cid spoke up halfway through their next round of drinks. "But you know, they were so damn alone, no wonder they couldn't kick off all that duty shit. They encouraged each other, fer cryin' out loud. 'S a reason people need friends. They need to stick together, so they don't go fuckin' nuts and try to destroy the world. Again. And they need to stay in touch, pick up the goddamn phone once in a while."

Vincent smiled into his glass. "Indeed. I'm sure if they'd had the friends they needed, they'd have relied on them. Although, even if they didn't talk to the friends, I'm sure they would always be thinking about them."

Cid smirked and raised his glass. "To friends who actually pick up the fucking phone once in a while."

"Indeed."

At that point, Yuffie and Reno ran past, with a bound, gagged and struggling Cloud slung over their shoulders.

Vincent turned to Cid. "Should we go after them?"

Cid drained the last of his whiskey and slammed down the glass. "Hell yeah, I was gettin' bored. And maybe this time I can kick that Reno punk's ass. You can help, o' course," he offered generously.

Vincent's mouth twitched. And as they ambled out of the bar and in pursuit of a Turk, a ninja and a rather traumatized SOLDIER, he decided that picking up the phone was something he'd quite like to try.

Notes: I am not responsible for any mental scarring resulting from Reno's striptease. However, if you enjoyed it, then yes, I am responsible for it. Concrit and reviews will be adored and squeed over, as always.