Give Me a Hand
Chapter Five: Took Cid to Reeve: Can't Make 'em Like Each Other

It was a strange sight; the town bar lighting up the night sky, like the remnants of some belated launch. No small wonder that the fire department was well trained to handle any sort of flaming calamity. It didn't take very long at all before the inferno was just a few smoldering campfires.

The two men watched the transformation without much expression, each with his own thoughts. Cid had long since rediscovered his spare lighter, and was - as calmly as a man like him could - exhaling the smoke. He approved of the brand with a slight huff of his throat, drawing his reluctant companion's attention.

"Are we getting into the arsenal anytime soon?" Reeve asked quietly, assessing the situation in his own way, having lit a cigarette himself, "Or are we going to sit here until the cops question us?" Cid smirked, and threw all that remained, the putrid filter, on the ground with a scoff.

"I AM the fucking police," he replied, grinding the butt into the ground, "I could throw your ass in jail... but I can't do this shit alone. Ya hear me?" Reeve nodded, tossing his own cigarette aside with a flick.

Cid grinned wickedly. He had never been a humble man, and his collection of armaments was... a thing of beauty to some. To fighting types, to beat around by life and society types. Reeve raised his eyebrow awaiting Cid's return to reality.

"Perhaps, Captain," Reeve started in a fairly condescending tone, "we should get a move on, whoever tried to snipe you and run me over is getting away."

Cid growled and sent a glare to the ex Turk. Reeve was leaning against his wall like he owned the place, in a relaxed slouch he never had liked. "I let you bull me around once, Turk. Unless you want yer ass kicked worse, can the shit."

In silence, they started to Cid's house and to his "special closet". The door slid back, lights flicking on as though some deity brought the room to light. Both men allowed slow smiles to creep on their faces. They then noticed each other and scowled.

"Stop acting like you've got a crush on me." Cid snapped, lighting another of Reeve's cigarettes. "I ain't yer type, told ya that from the get-go."

Reeve simply rolled his eyes and started into the closet of Cid's toys. Amidst the arsenal of surface to air scuds, blinking starters and missiles larger then either of them, Reeve found what he was looking for; three standard Turk issue Death Penalties. He adjusted the gun belts with practiced ease, walking out while spinning the clips and checking the barrels.

It didn't sit well with Cid, who lit another cigarette with the butt of his last one. He'd obviously wanted to wound the other man with his commentary, the fact that Reeve was making a good show of ignoring him didn't make Cid happy at all.

Before he could try again to insult the Turk, Reeve spoke up. "You never fired these?"

Cid snorted. "Fuck no. I'm not a two timing, assassin, professional whore of ShinRa." He snatched his lance from the closet. "I like making things personal."

To this Reeve only laughed. "You don't have enough finesse to be a Turk."

'Finesse?" Cid replied with a snort, "Finesse sure as hell isn't what you think it is. You people used guns made by slave labor from Wutain POWs... finesse is being able to make your own damn weapons, and knowing every inch of them." He grabbed one of the three guns, and with some deft finger movements, had it reduced to a pile of metal. He smiled satisfyingly to himself at Reeve's expression.

Reeve laughed. "You know, you're pretty vain to think that you're the only one," he closed his eyes, "who can do this sort of thing." Then without opening his eyes, Reeve assembled the weapon again. His eyes opened when he flipped the clip into the gun. The ex-Turk spun and fired, clipping the "12" off of Cid's kitchen clock.

He turned smugly back to the stunned pilot. "That would be Finesse."

Just as quickly as Reeve fired the weapon, Cid brought the back of his lance against Reeve's knees. Surprised, Reeve lost his grip of the gun and landed flat on his back. Dark eyes glared up from under the business end of the lance.

"And that, would be what I think of your fucking finesse." Cid snapped back.

Reeve pushed the tip of the lance delicately aside. "Point taken…"

Cid backed off, looking a little weary for the moment as he gazed over into his kitchen. Reeve soon got up, but he was already halfway to the stove. Both their nerves were a little ragged, and Cid knew something that would put him at ease enough to talk with the... Turk. Hopefully it would leave a less bitter taste in his mouth than the other man's presence would.

Not that Reeve was enjoying it. He stalked over to the kitchen and sat down, letting his head rest in his hands.

"Highwind?" Reeve asked again looking up. It was then that he saw the tea kettle, and attempted to keep back a chuckle. Cid tuned ignored it, quite used to men thinking him rather a pansy for his tea affinity.

"You can wipe that damn smirk on your face," Cid replied, setting it up to boil, "Tea helps people fucking think. There's some antioxidamn shit in it. Tea first; think later." Reeve didn't fully stop smirking, but instead turned away slightly.

They sat, in another of their seemingly common silences, each avoiding looking at the other. Quite like children who couldn't stand being in the same room with each other.