. . . Chorophobia . . .

Fourth Stanza: Shera MacDowell-Highwind

I am a scrap of wood thrown in your fire,
And quickly reduced to smoke.

I saw you and became empty
This emptiness, more beautiful than existence,
It obliterates existence, and yet when it comes,
Existence thrives and creates more existence!

- Rumi Buoyancy

The spectacle had given her an idea. A delicious and terrible idea. And he would have to deal with it, every last bit of it. Because this was her day, and no grumpy old pilot was going to convince her otherwise. He had told her so, only hours before, that if anyone "pissed on yer fire, they'd have Hell ta pay." Not that she entirely knew what that meant exactly, but she understood the sentiment all the same.

"No," Cid stated firmly, pressing his index finger into the tablecloth, "Dontcha get any damn ideas."

She pouted at him, crossing her arms. They knew each other too well, that was certain. He could catch her good ideas before they even passed across her face. Nearly telepathic, if not for the fact he still did occasionally do things that made her angry. Not that she'd complain...

"Please," she whispered placing her hand lightly on his, "Just this once." He frowned, but she could feel his fingers relaxing under hers.

"I said no," he replied, turning so he couldn't look at her. She almost had him, she could tell. She just had to play her trump card. And what a trump card she had.

"Cid, I had your son," she said, soft and firm, "This is the least you could do for me." He didn't look at her right away, but instead looked over at her trump card; a blond haired boy of six who was currently playing with Elmyra. His jaw tightened, but his hand relaxed more.

She had him. She tried to hide the smirk that would certainly grace her face, but failed. He over at her and scowled.

"Yer gonna enjoy this ain't ya?" he muttered, with a few underhanded metaphors between breaths, "Makin' a damn fool of yer husband and all..."

Husband. Sounds so strange still. You used to hate looking at me.

"Cid. C'mon, it's not like we haven't done it before," she replied, with that soothing tone she had become expert at with him. His mouth twitched into a quick grin. She blushed.

I didn't mean that...

He stood up quickly, like he was going to lose his nerve. He probably would, if she didn't act quickly. She'd been dying to embarrass him with this secret, this hidden talent that only seemed to occur while he was in the shower...

"Dammit woman," he said impatiently, "I'm not the only one who'll be made a fool of." She smiled coolly at him, with a confidence that she'd learn to mirror off of his. He gritted his teeth and grabbed her wrist, proceeding to half drag her towards the band.

They passed by, a blur of light green and white and black, past the faces of friends that didn't quite know what to expect out of them. She could hear their comments as they passed and she grinned to herself, knowing that it hadn't even begun. One particular whisper made her chuckle:

"Please don't tell me that human mating rituals are public," Nanaki muttered at Tifa's elbow. She giggled.

"Only if they have consumed too much alcohol," Vincent replied nonchalantly, face hiding the humor in the statement.

Tifa lost it, and Shera could still hear her laughter as they made it to the front of the dance floor, close to the band. They had taken a quick break, and were just beginning to set things up again.

"I need ta barrow that," Cid said, pointing to the lonely microphone on the stand in front of the small band. The leader, presumably, nodded. Cid then motioned for the man to come closer and whispered something in his ear. The man grinned widely.

"Sure thing," he said, and had a few words with the rest of the band.

"Which one?" she asked, feeling a little nervous for a moment. He grinned.

"You'll know it right away," he said, and then frowned, "At least ya'd better."

And the band began to play. He was right, she did know this one, and was again surprised that he'd remembered. She needed to give him more credit, once in a while. He closed his eyes, and she could see a little bit of sweat trickle down his temple as he held the microphone between them.

"I know I stand in line, until you think you have the time," they belted out, with a little uncertainty, "To spend an evening with me"

They both were terrible dancers; only the very slow songs ever merited them on the dance floor. But Shera had discovered that Cid could sing. And she had kept that secret for a long long time.

"And if we go someplace to dance, I know that there's a chance," they continued, steadying in their duetted parts, "You won't be leaving with me."

She always could sing decently; her parents were good churchgoer types, and they insisted that she join the choir since she was quite young. He'd caught her while in the hangar, fitting some parts that he'd needed. He'd been ready to tell her off, too, but he stopped when he realized it wasn't a radio.

"And afterwards we drop into a quiet little place," their parts were smoother, more fluid, and everyone was certainly watching now, "And have a drink or two."

She'd always thought he looked like an old crooner, with his impossibly blue eyes and square jaw. He especially looked the part when he cleaned up a bit, as he was now. The white dress jacket and black pants were odd looking—but in a good way. He wasn't wearing a tie, though. Some things would probably never happen.

"And then I go and spoil it all, by saying something stupid," their voices melted together, and some toes were tapping, "Like: 'I love you'."

She could almost laugh at this song, at times, now that they were married. All that uncertainly, all that unease... it was still there, but now they had reasons. Everyday silly sorts of reasons. But he'd slipped once, and she'd been there to make him live up to it.

"I can see it in your eyes, that you despise the same old lies,

You heard the night before."

She didn't need to really think about the words of the song anymore. They'd sung it once, granted he was a bit drunk, but they both knew it by heart. He snuck a listen to songs like this like a child sneaks candy. She loved it when he pretended. She could keep him as her secret that way.

"And though it's just a line to you, for me it's true

It never seemed so right before."

And he still had his eyes closed, but he was enjoying it. It was natural for birds to sing. Even grizzly old Grosbeaks had a lovely tune.

"I practice every day to find some clever lines to say

To make the meaning come through."

But here she was, mousy old Shera, singing along with him. Because she had been consumed by him a long time ago, and had given up everything. He had been gloriously proud and beautiful in his youth, that was for certain. But she liked him better now, with his eyes closed, letting his voice make pleasant sounds for once.

"But then I think I'll wait until the evening gets late

And I'm alone with you."

Of course, he'd given up everything right back. He wouldn't be standing next to her otherwise.

"The time is right your perfume fills my head, the stars get red

And oh the night's so blue."

She didn't know if that was dancing or swaying she saw amongst his friends—her friends—but there was movement. And a giant smile on her, their, son's face. He looked so much like him, except the eyes. He had her eyes. She was glad to see that she had something in him after all.

"And then I go and spoil it all, by saying something stupid

Like 'I love you'."

It was ending soon, and she was almost sad about it. She knew she'd never get him in front of people again. He was so stubborn sometimes. So so stubborn.

"I love you."

Such a stubborn old man.

"I love you."

Her stubborn old man. And he had finished. Maybe she heard some clapping, and some laughter. She couldn't tell. He'd opened his eyes.

"Will ya leave me alone about it now?" he said, giving her a defiant stare. She nodded, too lost in the lines around his mouth. And he smiled, leaning in nearer.

"I could do this again sometime," he whispered in her ear, and her mouth dropped open. He grinned wider, and got closer to her ear.

"But this time I want a daughter," he whispered, causing her to giggle. There was always something he wanted. Good thing she was younger than him. He turned away from her a clenched his fists.

"Alright! I don't want ta hear one word out of ya goddamn idiots!" he yelled at some whoops and calls from Yuffie's general direction.

Some things never change. At least he quit smoking.

He felt around in his pockets and pulled out a familiar box. A box she thought she had gotten rid of.

I thought I smelled cigarettes... you dirty little...

He smiled at her before lighting it, before striding with all the pride he had left to his seat at the table. And she followed, happy to know that he'd have to quit again, when she held up her end of the bargain. A daughter it would be then.

Song courtesy of Frank Sinatra. Called "Something Stupid" appropriately. This chapter inspired by Dominus.