Journey
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AN: Damn, this chapter was exhausting. But definitely fun to write. More Cid and Vincent closeness, woot.
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Cid set the Huge Materia chest down in his Captain's quarters, creating a quiet THUNK in the silent room. There was nowhere else to store it that he felt the thieving ninja brat wouldn't get her hands on it. Not that she had anywhere to run off to, but it was a crucial object in their vague plans and he felt better knowing it was safe in his room.
He stood for a moment in the dark cabin, with the muffled hum of the Highwind's engines powering her through the air, feeling a strange passive calm possess him. He let his eyes glide over his room, his mind dredging up things he hadn't really given attention to. Like how he missed Shera… just a little; how things seemed to change so rapidly along these travels; and how easy it was for any of them to die. Any of them except Vincent. Vincent, who he couldn't stop thinking about lately, and who had exposed Cid to the true dark horrors of Shinra's quest for power. He knew he would never see the company in the same light again, he would never forgive Shinra, for what they had done to his space program and for what they had done to Vincent. And of course, for producing Sephiroth. Sephiroth, who killed Aerith, burned the small town of Nibelheim to the ground, murdered countless people and destroyed Cloud's mind. He was once a good man, a Soldier of the highest regard, a warrior for good. How easy it had been for his mind to completely break when he discovered what he really was.
Cid brushed a hand absently along the top of his nightstand, barely registering his own actions as he realized that Sephiroth's situation had probably been horrifying. Cid couldn't imagine how he would feel if he found out he was part alien, if he was an experiment.
And then it hit Cid that Vincent's situation had been very similar to Sephiroth's: He had been a victim of experimentation, he had been molded into something inhuman against his will, something with great power – he could have very easily followed the same destructive path. He could have woken from that coffin, discovered the full extent of his torture and lost his mind. But he didn't. Why did Sephiroth? Or maybe the question was why didn't Vincent? What leads a man to abandon his senses and turn into such a ruthless killer? Did he have to have that seed of instability already, for it to grow? Sephiroth was born a warrior, a fighter, he could have been harboring it all his life. But Vincent was a Turk, a trained assassin among other things, it would have been all too possible for him to carry that seed, too.
Cid blinked himself from his deep thoughts. This mission of theirs was changing him, never would he have even considered trying to understand the reason for Sephiroth's madness, he didn't like to dwell on things he couldn't change, it was pointless. But this journey was having a huge impact on them all. They had come together as a strange bunch of individually gifted friends, formed a bond that drove deeper than anything, and lost two of those friends to their cause. Cid was no longer the same man that had left Rocket Town on a whim. He was with this team – his team – until the end, and he would see it through even if he died along the way.
Something intangible emanated from behind him, drawing him from his thoughts rather abruptly. He turned around to find Vincent watching him from the doorway, haloed by the dim lights in the corridor. His cape fluttered slightly, his red eyes watching Cid gently.
"I was returning to my cabin," Vincent explained in a low, soft tone, as though he was reluctant to break the silence. "Your door was open." His was silent for a long moment, detecting a difference in mood from the usually brash Captain, and although he didn't verbalize it, his expression quite clearly asked 'are you okay?'
Cid looked at him for a moment, really looked at him. This man had lost thirty years of his life, he had lost his definition of humanity, lost his family and friends and his entire life. He had woken up all alone with nothing but revenge on his agenda. How easy it would have been for him and his newfound powers to do exactly what Sephiroth had done. But he hadn't. Granted, he had joined them simply to find and kill Hojo, but he could have turned into a true monster, a man with no morals and no care for anything but his own adjective. He hadn't. He had retained his humanity.
"Just lost in thought," Cid explained indifferently, letting his eyes wander along the walls rather than linger on the gunman. "It happens," he added in jest. His gaze flickered back to Vincent's glowing eyes. "I am suffering." Those words struck deep in Cid. Vincent wanted to end his life when he killed Hojo, but how long would that take? What if it was tomorrow? Would Vincent continue with them to defeat Sephiroth, or not? How much more time would Cid have with him?
Vincent's head inclined slightly and Cid realized he had been staring at him. Again. Those red eyes flashed with concern, a concern he had only ever directed at Cid.
"Wanna grab a drink with me?" Cid finally asked.
Vincent watched him a second longer, as though he was trying to judge the pilot's strangely contemplative mood. "Okay," he answered.
The Highwind was on route back towards the east continent, another long journey, another Huge Materia. They had plenty of time to kill and plenty of time to think, and right now Cid didn't trust himself to be alone with his own thoughts. The last thing he wanted to do was start thinking about all the shit he couldn't change.
As he sat down on a chair at a table in the galley, a rumble of thunder broke the quiet. It had turned dark outside as they passed through a storm, and even with the lights on it felt like night. Cid cupped his hot tea and found himself drawn to the ribbons of steam rising from it. They reminded him of the ethereal smoke that danced around Vincent during his transformation.
The gunman lowered himself into the chair opposite him with his own mug of tea, his eyes magnetized to Cid. They were alone in the galley, although occasionally one of the crew would walk past in the corridor. It was pleasantly intimate, just the two of them.
"Guess I'm not the only one who stares," Cid smirked a little, taking a sip.
Vincent was unfazed by his remark, his eyes switching between Cid's as though they held an answer to something. "What will you do if the planet is saved?" He asked.
Cid was surprised by the question; he hadn't been expecting Vincent to talk much at all, let alone initiate a conversation. "I guess I'll return to Rocket Town," he said without vigor. If there was a future, he would no doubt end up back there. "Gotta rebuild the Tiny Bronco. I suppose I'll just keep tinkerin' away." He huffed in amusement before adding, "Until the next apocalypse."
Vincent lowered his eyes to the table, thoughts clearly running through his mind. He nursed his drink and remained silent as Cid now watched him. The man's response to his joke hadn't provoked the reaction he had been hoping for, and instead he seemed disheartened. What surprised Cid was that he knew what Vincent – the master of masks – was contemplating.
"Y'know, yer can't get away that easily after yer waste Hojo," Cid began, leaning both elbows on the table and finding the gap between them closing just a little bit. At his words Vincent's eyes rose and Cid held them. "I still gotta take yer up in the Tiny Bronco when she's repaired."
Again, Vincent said nothing, but he didn't lower his eyes, and in their depths Cid caught a flash of want, a quick, hidden glimmer of longing and regret. Cid wanted to chase those negative emotions away.
Another growl of thunder followed, louder and closer but strangely calming. Muffled sounds of rain lashing on the Highwind's hull began to fill the quiet as the two men held their gazes. It was funny how the ambience of a raging weather could create a soothing atmosphere. The vague turmoil in Vincent's eyes melted away, and once again Cid was struck how stunning he was. He was gorgeous. Holy shit, I just called a guy gorgeous. What a man could do with a face like that. Cid found himself wondering if he had ever used it to his advantage, back when he had short hair. He had seen plenty of men who knew they looked handsome (smug sonuvabitches) gain favors and attention with their looks. Somehow, though, he couldn't see Vincent even remotely aware he was hot. Why did that just make him more endearing? Endearing, Damnit!
Vincent continued to hold the connection as he took a sip from his drink. Even his simple action was fascinating. Cid didn't know if it was his own tea – or gas – but warmth was curling in his belly in a familiar, pleasant way and it took him a moment to realize it was a calm knot of arousal.
"Are we havin' a starin' contest?" Cid broke the silence with a light jest, attempting to divert attention from the warm feeling. And the fact that they still hadn't looked away from each other.
A gleam of amusement had touched Vincent's eyes. "If we are, I win. You blinked."
Cid grinned. "Fuck. Well, I'm a sore loser. I demand a rematch."
Vincent seemed to accept. "Is this how you intend to pass the time?"
Cid half shrugged. "Can't think of anythin' better to look at." His heart jolted as Vincent's brow pinched together just slightly, comprehending Cid's words. The warm curling froze and Cid felt the need to explain. "'Cause, yer know, yer've got nice eyes." Epic. Fail. "I mean, unique eyes," Cid added, hoping he didn't sound like the complete ass he now felt, hoping the nonchalant second shrug might level out his word fuckery. He gesticulated with a hand. "Yer know what? Yer've won again," he broke the contact and took a casual gulp of his drink, swallowing past the scolding sensation. He finished it and rose to his feet. "Yer want another drink?"
Watching him with a peculiar expression, Vincent shook his head slightly to Cid's question, He looked… confused, as though he was sure he had misunderstood Cid's words, or was trying to decipher some other meaning to them. Cid was tempted to say something along the lines of 'oh, come on! Yer tellin' me yer don't have nice eyes? Yer that thick?'
Taking his empty mug back to the countertop he proceeded to make himself another drink. He suddenly needed a beer more than tea, but he couldn't promise himself he'd stop at one and they would probably be encountering more Shinra troops at Fort Condor, so it'd be unwise to fight drunk. Learn from experience, Cid.
After he had poured his second drink he set the kettle back on the element, and it was then he felt the dull aches in his hands. He massaged one, feeling out the extent of pain, but it was merely a little bruised. Nothing big, luckily. His arms were sorer from working the levers.
"Sorry," Vincent's voice floated into the silence.
Cid turned back to him, unaware he had seen him rubbing his palm. "Don't apologize," he berated with a scowl, taking his drink back to the table. The awkward air had disintegrated and he found himself staring at the gunman once again, unable to look away for long. "Yer saved a town. Damn lucky to have yer on the team." When Vincent's eyes lowered despondently to the table Cid felt a little stab of anger at the man's negativity. "Hey, don't do that."
Vincent's gaze lifted, brow furrowed.
"Don't yer dare go thinkin' bad about yerself again," Cid told him firmly, pointing a finger accusingly at him with the same hand holding his mug. "I can't stand mopin'."
For a moment the gunman did nothing but stare. "When did I become so predicable?" He said, more to himself than to Cid, focus shifting to his drink.
Unsure what to say without insulting the man, Cid slapped a palm on the table and stood up, regaining Vincent's attention. "C'mon, I'm takin' yer to the bridge for a change in perspective." When his response was nothing more than a questioning frown, he said, "Wanna watch a storm?"
Seeming to ponder Cid's offer, Vincent rose to his feet slowly. They both left their drinks in the galley as they made their way to the bridge. The only crewmembers in there was Berto, his broken arm still resting in a sling, and Kejon, who was learning how to navigate through thick atmospheric turbulence. They exchanged pleasantries before they returned to their quiet talking, and Cid came to a stop at the glass dome with Vincent on his left.
The air outside was saturated with rain and heavy cloud. The Highwind was passing above a vast, beautiful valley of a large mountain and a massif, visible from a break in the dark clouds. Water streamed down the window, blurring their view somewhat.
"How's that for perspective?" Cid asked rhetorically, folding his arms as he gazed at the vast, impressive land rolling away beneath them.
Vincent was quiet for a considering second. "I didn't realize you meant it so literally."
Cid gave a soft nasal huff. "I wanted to show yer the land from above… and what we might lose if we don't defeat Sephiroth." He admired the changing mountain peaks, silent for a brief pause. He could feel the air around Vincent heavy with questioning. "There's only us fightin' for this world… Well, us and Shinra, but let's face it, there's a better chance of Sephiroth surrenderin' than then idiots stoppin' him. But, think about it: Just us against the unknown. With Cloud gone, we're down a major player." Cid turned to Vincent, watching reflected light from the streaming rain run down his profile. "That makes our chances really slim. But with you… We can't take down Sephiroth without yer." At this Vincent's eyes turned from their observation of the rain, finding Cid's. "We need yer."
Vincent didn't move or blink for a long moment, and Cid found himself captive in his gaze, unable to look away. Finally, Vincent broke their connection, glancing distantly to the view, expression tight with troubled thoughts. "I don't know if I can do that…" He admitted, his deep voice quiet, almost drowned out amongst the thrumming of the rain.
"Why not?" Cid found himself asking.
The gunman seemed lost in his trauma, eyebrows furrowing in reaction to his thoughts. "Sephiroth… what he's become... it's my sin."
Cid shifted to face Vincent fully. "What?"
Vincent deliberately avoided his eyes, choosing instead to fixate on a point outside. "I failed to stop it. The experiment."
Cid didn't blink. "What experiment?"
"… The Jenova Project."
Something icy slid down Cid's spine. "You were there when Sephiroth was created?"
Vincent's eyes glazed over, haunted, tormented as he relieved his painful memories. A ghosting emotion played across his features. He didn't respond to Cid, in fact he seemed to have forgotten the Captain was there. His right hand rose to his chest beneath his cape and covered his heart, his eyebrows twisting in recollection. It wasn't difficult for Cid to piece together the dotted information he'd received.
"Hojo shot yer for protestin' against the project…?"
Pulled from his visions, Vincent turned his eyes to Cid's. So many things flickered in them. He realized he was touching his chest and lowered his hand, averting his eyes once again as though ashamed he had dropped his carefully guarded mask. His eyes hardened once again, and Cid felt a small pang of disappointment.
"My journey ends when I have killed Hojo," he stated coolly, eyes ahead. "I can't go any further. I won't..."
"Then we're probably fucked," Cid told him a little harshly. He folded his arms and glared at the landscape. "Say goodbye to all this." He lingered a second longer before turning from the view, starting to walk away. "I hope you can pass away peacefully, then yer don't have to witness the rest of us burnin'." He left Vincent standing at the dome, leaving the bridge entirely. A burning anger was running through his veins, but he wasn't completely sure what contributed to it the most. Was it Vincent's warped sense of guilt? Was it the fact that he refused to help defeat Sephiroth? Or was it something else?
"Cid," Barret's voice called.
Cid wrenched himself from his thoughts to find himself passing the galley. The large gunman was stood in the doorway, a drink in hand.
"What's up with you?" Barret asked, noticing the pilot's clenched jaw.
Cid aborted a roll of his eyes and instead shook his head. "Nothin'. Just Vincent. What're yer doin'?"
Barret's eyebrows pinched together. "Vincent? His doom and gloom finally pissed ya off?"
The pilot sighed, propping his hands on his hips in an agitated manner. "He won't help us defeat Sephiroth. He just wants Hojo."
Barret shifted on his feet. "Well… it's gotta be tough for him. I can't blame him." When Cid frowned at him, puzzled, Barret continued. "Sephiroth is the child of the woman he once loved. I guess you didn't know that. I can't imagine how conflicted he must feel."
Cid's eyebrows had made their way up his forehead and, for a second, words deserted him. "How do you know that?"
"He pretty much told us when we woke him," Barret answered gravely. "He refused to join us when he heard we were going after Sephiroth, but he saw his chance to get Hojo."
Cid opened his mouth, but closed it wordlessly. Vincent's history just kept unraveling in segments, and with each new bit of information his situation became more and more shocking.
"If it's possible to convince him to help us against Sephiroth, though, you're the one to do it," Barret said, suddenly by the pilot's side, clapping a hand on his shoulder amicably. "He likes you. You're the only one he talks to."
Cid heard his last conversation with Vincent. "He might not any more. Damn, I'm such a dick."
Before Barret could enquire, Cid dismissed himself and headed to his Captain's quarters, wanting quiet. With each footstep he felt tiny bolts of guilt, and Barret's words repeating in his head. He had heard all these facts about Vincent and none of them had come from the man himself. Cloud, Tifa, Yuffie, Cait and Barret had all given him snippets of what they knew, and together it made an awful, horrendous story. Vincent had the right to be cold, he had the right to refuse more fighting.
At his door he paused, teetering on the brink of returning to the bridge to apologize to Vincent. But Cid was awkward with apologies, and he didn't trust himself for it to sound genuine instead of angry – because was was angry. With himself.
He entered his quarters and shut the door. How much longer until they reached Fort Condor? He didn't even think to ask Berto on the bridge. Cid flopped down on his bed, arms under his head, and stared at the ceiling for a few minutes, but the persistent buzz in his limps prevented any hope for napping, and his thoughts would not switch channel from Station Vincent.
"Goddamnit," he muttered, swinging his legs off the bed and sitting up. He owed Vincent that apology, and the sooner he got it done, the sooner he would stop feeling guilty.
He left his quarters and made his way back to the bridge. Barret was no longer in the galley, and Cid had to wonder where he and the rest of the team were lounging on the ship. They didn't have a cabin, and Cid hadn't seen them since they had left Corel.
Berto and Kejon were still on the bridge. But no one else. When asked, they told him Vincent had left a minute after Cid. With the only known source of guaranteed privacy being his quarters, Cid knew where to find him.
A minute later he knocked on the solid door. "Vincent."
There was a brief wait before the door slid open and the gunman looked at him from the dark cabin, eyes glowing dimly. There was no expression to gauge his mood, no indication that he was angry or annoyed.
"I'm sorry," Cid said quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. "I shouldn't have spoken to yer like that. Yer don't deserve that shit from me – or from anyone."
Vincent watched him soundlessly, something pensive working into his eyes. Cid saw a man who, now, had not only lost his life and family, but a loved one. And a reminder of that love was running around bent on dominating the planet, killing people and committing terrible acts. No wonder he was so averse to helping them defeat Sephiroth.
"Well… remember that apology," Cid said, starting to back away. "Yer one of only a handful of people to get one from me." He gave a redundant goodbye salute before turning away, but before he could take more than a few steps Vincent stopped him.
"Cid," he said, and the pilot turned back, waiting. "… When I defeat Hojo… I will consider staying with you. With Avalanche."
Something lifted from Cid's heart. "Vince, I'm sorry if I made yer feel guilty, but yer don't have to." He paused, wavering on the decision to say what he did next. "I heard about you and… Sephiroth's mother. I didn't realize."
Vincent looked briefly irritated that Cid had voiced that, but his expression dropped and he sighed softly. "It's in the past now. She is long gone…"
Something was pushing Cid to ask it, daring him: "He's not… yours, is he?"
Vincent didn't seem surprised by his question. He shook his head. "No… It was unrequited…"
Phew. Cid walked back slowly. "Sorry to hear that." And because Vincent obviously needed something lighthearted to chase away the darkness, he added, "The one I love hasn't returned my feelin's either." When Vincent looked at him, Cid said, "Well, she is cold and metal." He gestured to the airship around them.
Vincent's eyes warmed to his jest and Cid felt his heart fluttered just a little. Lame, but sadly true; he enjoyed coaxing smiles from the gunman, however small or vague they might be. When did Cid start craving that? When did he start feeling giddy and stupidly pleased whenever the man looked at him?
"I want yer there with us, at the end," Cid found himself blurting out. His mouth and brain were going to have to have serious talks. "Yer as much a part of Avalanche as I am. But I'll respect yer choice, whatever yer do."
Vincent stared at him. He was surprised, either by Cid's admission or his complete turn-around attitude (because, really, twenty minutes ago Cid had stormed off at the same topic). His features had softened and his mask had slipped. Cid's insides twisted pleasantly.
"Thank you, Cid," he said, his voice smooth and warm, carrying a grateful weight that slid down the Captain's spine.
They watched each other silently; unsure what else to say, unaware the gap between them had shorted significantly. Cid decided it would get awkward in the next few seconds whether he wanted to stay there or not, so he made to walk away again.
"Get some rest," he suggested, edging away. "We're probably a few more hours away from Fort Condor."
Vincent's lips parted, about to say something. But they closed and he nodded instead. Disappointed for some reason, Cid finally turned around and walked away, back to his own room. Once there, he closed the door, lent against it and stared off into the space beyond his room. His heart was doing strange things and he didn't like that he liked it…
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Some hours later, Berto's voice announced over the speaker system that they were approaching Fort Condor. Cid awoke from his light snooze, disorientated for a second. He hadn't expected to fall asleep with so many things circling his head, especially considering most of them were about Vincent. Cid pressed the heel of his palms into his eyes, rubbing away the haziness. By the time he had pulled on his boots, jacket, gloves and goggles the slight quivering of the Highwind's engines changed frequency. They were decreasing speed.
The team was already on the bridge by the time he had arrived. He caught Vincent's eye as he passed, making his way to the helm.
"Fort Condor ahead, Captain," Berto updated him, using his one good hand to steady the wheel. "Long range sensors have detected Shinra forces half a mile away."
"They want the Huge Materia," Red said, sat at the window dome.
"Is that a bird?" Yuffie questioned loudly.
From their clear vantage point in the sky they could easily see what appeared to be a huge, huge bird perched atop the mako reactor, which was situated at the top of the Fort. Its dark golden feathers shone under the sun, motionless.
Cid's nose scrunched in displeasure. "Why do I get the feelin' this ain't gonna be an easy mission?"
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AN: I find the Fort Condor mission boring, so I'm going to try and cut it as short as possible in the next chapter. Thanks for reading 8-)
