There was someone on his ship, gods damn it, Cid just *knew* it. For other pilots it would just be long-flight paranoia kicking in; the kind of phantoms the mind conjured up after days and nights all alone in a huge airship, flying cargo to remote destinations. But Cid knew his ship inside out and he could feel the infinitely small way the vibrations of the motors had changed since he had made that quick stop in Wutai, could read the minuscular off-balance shift in balance and output and he knew. He had a stowaway.

He would have suspected it to be some prank of Yuffies because of that stop in Wutai, but Yuffie was in Midgar, visiting Cloud and Tifa. It could be that damn cat doll of Reeves if Cid hadn't picked up new microchips for Reeve just the other day and would not be able to get them to the engineer/spy for at least a week. And your brain kinda broke if you tried to imagine Vincent or Barret or Nanaki jumping out of the shadows shouting 'surprise!'.

Cid put the Highwind on autopilot and grabbed a trusted old javelin. If anyone was hiding in the shadows of his ship, they were about to get a pointed surprise. If anyone wanted a flight on his ship they'd either pay for it or work for it. He really couldn't abide slackers.

Sneaking wasn't Cid's A-game but he did his best, following the off-centered vibrations towards the cargo hall and honing in on a particular shadow between some crates. It was noisy enough from the engines here to cover any sound his feet may make, so Cid just stayed out of sight and in a flash of inspiration climbed up some cargo boxes to peer down on his hidden 'guest'.

He almost fell down the boxes when his eyes adjusted enough to the gloom to see and he must have made some involuntary motion because at the scraping sound of his boots against cargo boxes, a beaten-up face turned upwards, the faint light glittering in broken shards of shades.

"What the actual sweet green fuck?!" jumping down, Cid quickly hid behind the box and then peered out from another angle. This clever ploy however seemed to fail as the soft brown eyes looked straight at him once more.

Cid quickly took cover behind the crates again.

"Hey!" He shouted since he wasn't doing much good trying to be sneaky. "You are one of those damn Turks, aren't ya? Crass, or Borish or whatever the hell your name was."

"Rude." Came the muttered answer, almost too low to be heard.

"Yeah, yeah, that's it." Cid quickly scanned the hall for sights of that other one, the red head. Those two usually came in a pair and together they would be dangerous even for him, especially if they got the drop on him. "The fuck are you doin' on my ship, ya bastard?!"

"…sorry." Came a whisper.

"Sorry for what…." Cid suddenly realized he was standing in something sticky, which was weird as oil spills were usually slick. Gorge rose in his throat for a second as he realized that he was standing in a spreading pool of warm blood. Fuck. "Yer hurt?!"

No answer. Cid debated with himself fervently, then swore as he risked another peak around the corner, fully expecting to get a face-full of EMR or bullets. Nothing happened and he dared look a bit longer.

The Turk was sitting propped up against a crate, his normally tanned face ashen-grey and full of bruises. The remnants of his shades were still on his broken nose and he was pressing his bundled up suit jacket against his side to little avail. There were blood everywhere.

Crouching and still peering after that damn red-head – who, Cid just remembered, could fly a helicopter and might already be on the Highwinds bridge, steering his beloved ship to all kinds of ruin – Cid approached. Rude had obviously passed out from blood loss, his skin cold and clammy and the wound pumping blood. It might be a rouse and Cid would not put it above those damn Turks to seriously harm one of their own just to create a diversion, but even so he couldn't let a man bleed to death in his cargo hall. That kind of ghosting his ship did not need.

He quickly employed a Cure, but it was low-level and probably just bought him a few minutes. Better put those to use damn quickly. Rude was tall and in no way a small fellow; besides he was hurt and if Cid tried to carry him around he'd do more damage than good. Instead Cid found his mechanic's roller; the wheeled, low board that he used to slide under cars and into other cramped spaces and carefully loaded the Turk on that. With the board as a makeshift stretcher, he rolled Rude towards the sickbay as fast as he could.

Cid did his best, he always did. Cutting Rude's shirt off his body and peeling the suit jacket from a gods damned hole in the man's side, he quickly got to it with thread and needle and antibiotics. At least the wound was straight through so no part of the bullet was stuck in the flesh. But damn, he must have been shot at close quarters. The damage to his face was almost as bad; pieces of shades was embedded in the skin and had to be plucked out with tweezers. And the broken nose popped into place with a grisly sound of cartilage and bone. Rude was passed out through the entire thing, which was a blessing.

Finally done as well as he could – the Turk wouldn't die of blood loss, but there could always be other complications – Cid allowed himself a paus with a smoke and a cup of tea. The bridge of the Highwind was still deserted when he arrived there and no one had messed with the autopilot. Perhaps that red-head was not on the plane after all.

He made a few minor adjustments to the flight course to avoid some bad weather ahead and then returned to the sickbay. Rude was still passed out and the stitched up wound looked puffy and angrily red. Cid poked at the bloodied jacket and pieces of cut-up shirt on the floor and frowned as his boot stabbed against something hard. He crouched down and fished out a pair of well used knuckledusters, and more interestingly, a cellphone. Several calls had been made to it without Rude picking up.

Curious, Cid started to listen in on voicemail. Yeah, it was a bit of a low and sneaky thing to do, but damn it, he hadn't invited the Turk and he needed to know what's what.

What he got was an earful of increasingly worried and desperate lower-plate drawls from what must be that red-head Turk, Reno. There was an almost panicking tone to on the voicemail for his 'partner' to pick up, to let them know what was happening. The last call was not five minutes ago. Cid must have been too busy with his make-shift first aid to hear it.

He debated with himself a bit, drank some more tea and then called back on Rude's phone.

"Rude? Rude?! What the Hell, yo?!" someone screamed in his ear after barely one ring.

"This ain't Rude, it's Cid Highwind." He growled back. "Lower yer voice, ya sound like a damn yapping lap dog!"

There was a short pause. Then the voice returned, significantly lower and significantly more threatening.

"What the fuck have you done to my partner?"

"Look let's clear this out." Cid sipped his tea, looking at the unconscious man on the stretcher. "Yer Reno, right? And yer partner is Rude? Got him here right with me. But he's seriously messed up."

"I'm gonna peel Shera's face of with a knife and nail it to a doorpost, ya scum sucking son of a street whore!" Presumably Reno screamed in the other end of the phone.

Cid sighed. This is what he got for messing with these damn psychopaths.

"I didn't hurt him, you little shit! I found him shot in my cargo hall and I've patched him up best I can! And you leave Shera the Hell alone, or I'm gonna…." He floundered for a while and then decided to go really low. "I'm gonna send Cloud after all of fucking ShinRa once more!" There was a silence in the other end of the phone. *Yeah that's right. My daddy can beat up your daddy any day!* Cid grinned to himself.

"Put him on the phone. Put Rude on the fucking phone." It was half a growl and half a whine.

"Can't. He's passed out, I told you. Now, I'll return him to ya soon as I can, but I'm in the middle of a three week supply run to the most far off reaches of North Continent, and I ain't calling that off 'cause of some damn stowaway Turk alright? Ya better learn patience."

"You fucking can't – " Reno started but Cid hung up on him.

Shera would be alright. She'd better be alright! Or he'd personally missile ShinRa tower to pieces once more.

Already regretting his decisions, Cid grumbled off to get a few hours of sleep.

He woke up by someone leaning over him and almost had a damn heart attack.

"What the Hell?!" He gasped as he bolted upright in the bed, fumbling for his spear.

The bloodied, bandaged apparition next to him grunted and almost keeled over. Then he steadied himself with a wheeze.

"Phone." He muttered, making a 'give me' gesture with his hand.

"What? Rude? The hell are ya doin' up, yer fucking bleeding all over the place!" The Turk must be delirious or something; Cid let go of the spear and started to get up. He needed to get Rude back to the sickbay before he hurt himself.

"*Phone*!" Rude insisted and Cid just blinked. Then he realized he had taken the cellphone with him after his shouting match with Reno. Wordlessly he handed it over and Rude immediately called, one hand still clutched to his gravely wounded side, blood trickling out between the stitches. In the silent room, Cid could hear Reno pick up as if it wasn't in the middle of fucking night.

"Rude?"

Rude grunted. Then he pressed out.

"Peachy."

Cid could almost hear Reno's sigh of relief.

"Alright. Talk to you later, yo."

Rude only had time to snap the phone shut before he keeled over and fainted right over Cid's bed.

"Yeah, yer just fucking peachy ain't ya, ya stupid git." Cid sighed. There were no way he could move the Turk now, in the middle of night and he wasn't about to go sleep on a couch for a Turks' sake. They would just have to share.

He grumbled about it, but finally just tossed the blanket over the two of them and got back to sleep.

TBC