Disclaimer: Don't own FFVII
I greet you all with a hearty hello! This is a fic that just popped into my head when writing my other story, Doors of Perception. It is the story of Cid's life as a pilot in the Wutaian War. A lot of the ideas about the FFVII world are based on my other fic.
I don't know how many people will like this story, since I've seen hardly any Cid centered fics, and even less based on the war, but I have a good feeling about this one. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it, and don'tbe afraid to giv me an honest opinion.
This was a chapter in my other story but now I'm making it a separate fic. I want to let you guys know that materia is a drug in this story, which had been introduced in an earlier chapter of my fic. There will be elaboration on the subject next chapter, so don't worry your pretty little heads over it!
Read on!
A/N: I edited this a bit. All I have to say about it is, Holy Excessive Use of Commas, Batman! Ugh I'm sory for whoever had to read my atrocious grammar
You said you would be my dream. I could have you every night
and if, by morning, I had forgotten you, well, no big deal, it would be all right
'cause you are the reoccurring kind.
You are the reoccurring kind.
You never really leave my mind.
Bright Eyes; You Will. You? Will. You? Will. You? Will.
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"Shit"
A cigarette tumbled onto the jet's control panel. It was extinguished with a loud hiss when a drop of red liquid plopped on top of it. The speaker, who had barely noticed the cigarette fall from his mouth (much less it's miraculous death), sat transfixed... hands clenched so tightly on the controls that blood seeped through the palms of his gloves.
"Shit"
He repeated, eye's widening uncharacteristically at what they saw. Through the blurry windshield of his fighter jet he could make out missiles, most likely heat-seekers, heading straight for his malfunctioning heap of a plane.
Vainly he struggled with the controls, but it was no use. Nothing was responding.
The missiles were now only a few feet away. Resigned, he reclined as far as he could in the cramped cockpit his hands folded behind his head, staining his blond hair red.
Outside the window, he calmly gazed at the apocalypse. Left and right he could see jets, fellow soldiers,plummeting to the ground in flames. The Wutaian planes were outnumbered ten to one, but the instinct of survival-- to protect one's homeland, made them dangerous foes.
"It's funny" Cid mused, all gruffness abandoned at this enlightened moment. "I never realized how the screeching of bombs sounds just like someone crying."
He squinted defiantly as the bullets struck, tearing apart the metal as if it was a tin can.
The front half of the plane was gone. Now Cid could see the outside clearly now.
He was falling.
The red cigarette was whipped into the air and he gazed up at it, a glimmering speck, until it disappeared.
"Just like thousands of people, fuckin' screaming and crying"
Everything turned black, as the Wutaian forest rose up to crush it's insignificant tormenter.
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"Toruko? You've brought another one?"
A sturdy man possessing Wutaian features nodded gravely, gesturing to the cart he had been towing behind him. A single man was sprawled haphazardly across it.
Toruko began to lift the injured man from the cart, turning to his mistress for further instruction.
She bit her lip,pushing her wire rim glasses up the bridge of her nose. Her green eyes were rimmed in red, and dust covered her brown hair which was pulled into a messy bun.
The woman brushed off her white lab coat and said, "Oh Toruko… All of the beds are taken… We will have to put him in mine."
"Mistress Shera! You can't be serious! You need it!"
Shera Utomi smiled wearily and replied, "I can not turn an injured man away… let us just hope he gets well soon."
Reluctantly Toruko did as he was told and hauled his burden upstairs. The decomposing steps creaked under the men's combined weight. He awkwardly slid open the bamboo door with one hand and entered Shera's room.
"Shera," he called over his shoulder, "I believe this one should be thoroughly cleaned, so he will not soil your bed sheets."
"Right, set him on the floor mat and I will assess his condition in a moment."
Shera brushed some stray hairs away from her sweat stained face, and walked down the rows of beds that now filled her home turned hospital. It was an ancient residence of moderate size, with four rooms on the bottom and a single bedroom on top. Currently, two of the bottom floor rooms were filled with invalids, while the other two were filled with medical supplies and a scant amount of provisions.
Shera sighed, "Can't men see that war brings nothing but pain?"
Carefully, Shera inspected her more sickly patients. Seeing that they were doing as well as could be expected, she trudged upstairs.Shera's kneaded her eyes with her knuckles. The man's blood was already soaking into the floorboards.
Shera flipped him over gingerly, and examined his face. It had a rugged appearance, making it difficult to decipher his age, but Shera reasoned he couldn't be more than 25 years old, after closely inspecting it. She lifted a ragged pair of goggles from his forehead, and noticed the hue of his hair.
"Hmm, a Midgarian soldier. The first one we've had. Toruko is not going to be happy."
Using a damp cloth, she cleaned the man's face and hair of grime. He had strong, cutting features and Shera had to acknowledge that he was very handsome, in a savage sort of way.
She rolled up her sleeves and lifted a small scalpel from a tray of instruments Toruko had thoughtfully left for her. She cut away the man's charred attire, taking care since in many places his skin eagerly clung to the cloth. Letting out a low whistle at the depth of the wounds, Shera dipped the cloth in antiseptic and washed them clean.
Then she proceeded to sew the various gashes with a needle and some fishing line. Even though the wounds were now stitched, blood doggedly reeked from them still, and Shera suspected that the man's leg was badly broken. She summoned Toruko, who lifted him onto her bed.
The robust man caught sight of the blond hair for the first time and growled, "A towhead!"
Rage flickered in his eyes. He roughly dropped the man on the bed, so his injured leg jarred against it's wooden post.
"Toruko!" Shera said, sternly, "You will not hurt one of my patients!"
"You would nurse a towhead? Midgarian soldiers are the reason you have so many patients! You know better than I that they ruin lives!"
Shera placed a hand on his shoulder, "I know… but I can not turn out a sick man."
Toruko's brow lowered, casting a grim shadow over his countenance. Silently he exited, slamming the door behind him.
Shera shook her head in agitation, and quickly finished bandaging the man. She bound his leg in a splint and, using torn sheets, suspended it in the air. Finally, she let out a breath of relief and collapsed on her arm chair. She glanced over at the unconscious man and blushed, realizing she had forgotten to cover his nakedness.
"What's wrong with me?" she thought, getting up, "I'm a professional, why does this man's body make me so nervous?"
She leaned over to pull the blankets up to his chin.
"What the FUCK do you think you're doing to me?"
Shera meeped and leapt back. The man was attempting to sit up while scowling at her in earnest. Through the cracks of his squinting eyes, she could see the irises were a light shade of blue.
He clenched his teeth, and lifted his upper lip growling, "Goddammit woman, stop staring at me like a goddamn retard, and tell me, what the HELL I'm doing here!"
Shera just stared in shock, causing him struggle even more. "What, can't you fucking talk? God help me, I'm stuck with a goddamn fucking mute! I can tell she's one of those fucking in-tell-lec-choo-als too! Shit, I was all ready to die earlier, and look at me now. I'm a fucking mess! Stuck in the… aaaahhh!"
His tirade was muffled by a small hand clasping over his face, and shoving him back against the pillow.
The woman glowered at him and said, "How dare you insult me, when I'm the one that saved your life? Now you lay still, or all my hard work will be for naught!"
She removed her hand and stood, arms crossed in front of her. The ornery man was about to sit up again, but her evil glare made him reconsider.
"Now what's your name?" she asked.
"Cid Highwind." He responded, grumpily.
Shera waited for him to ask her name, but instead he smirked mockingly and said, "You're hard work will be for fuckin' 'naught', eh? God, you must be one frigid bitch."
The woman frowned and haughtily lifted her chin at this. Cid couldn't help but note how full her lips were, and the way her hair gleamed in the dim light.
"You're a very sick man, so I'm going to forgive for saying this since you must be delirious if you're going to cross the person that is trying to save your life."
Cid chuckled with plenty of derision, but decided to lay off the insults…for now.
"Where am I? This place looks like a big fu-friggin' dump to me."
Cid was very proud of himself. He hadn't sworn once in that whole sentence!
Shera kneaded her eyes and thought, 'At least he's trying to act respectable.'
'This is my home. You are in the village of Tekoto, on the fringes of the Wutaian border. Since we are so near to the war zone, I have turned my house into a temporary hospital for the injured."
"Shit, so I'm in slant-eye territory, eh?"
This was too much. Shera wound her hand back, and slapped the man in the face. "At the moment a 'slant-eye' is the reason you're still alive. Abandon your prejedious sir, it will not be tolerated here."
Cid rubbed his cheek and squinted at her. "It's a little hard to let it go, when hundreds of my friends are dead, due to the underhanded tactics of those fuckers."
Shera was taken aback by the vehement way he spat out those words. She recovered quickly and angrily replied, "Please! Thousands more Wutaians have died! They're a peaceful people, and Midgarians attacked them when they had nothing to defend themselves with! And all on account of that stupid materia drug!"
"Materia? Midgar went to war because Wutai was fucking threatening to take over the whole goddamn eastern hemisphere!"
"With what? Arrows and stones? What ever you think you know about this war, you are sorely mistaken."
"Why do you fucking defend them anyways? You're not Wutaian, I can tell."
Shera clenched her fists, "My husband was Wutaian and a great man. He cared only for peace, yet during the first attack he was murdered by one of YOUR friends."
A single tear slipped down her cheek, and she looked so distraught that Cid had the irresistible urge to reach up and stroke her.
'What the fuck's wrong with me?' he thought in amazement.
Cid refrained from touching her, but lowered his voice a notch and said, "If you hate your own kind so much, then why did you help me?"
"I can't leave an injured man to die, no matter how obnoxious he is."
"Oh"
They sat and stared at each other for a moment. Both living, breathing things, separated by years of prejudice.
Their gazes were locked in a silent struggle, neither backing down. The man motioned for her to come closer, so she leaned in a bit.
"Closer." he whispered, pitifully.
She moved in a little more.
"Closer!" he croaked.
She was now right next to the bed.
"Closer!"
Shera's ear was right next to Cid's mouth. She waited for whatever all important thing he was about to say.
Suddenly, he wrapped his arms around her head, and pulled Shera's lips to his. Her eyes widened with fright and she tried to push away, but he had an iron grip. After a few seconds he finally let her go, and she pulled black, blushing madly.
Cid wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and said, with a huge grin on his face,
"Now, where can get a fucking cigarette?"
Did you like it? I like it a lot. If there's a good response I'll update faster! Well review, review, review, it makes me all warm and fuzzy inside.