Disclaimer: Final Fantasy VII and all related franchises don't belong to me. Such a shame. Or not.

Summary: Cid contemplates Shera and the Shera, along with the minor details of life in a post-Meteor and –Kadaj world. Rated for safety, in case some teens out there have virgin ears.

Here's the finale.

A/N 1-2-07: I edited this chapter so that Vincent's advice sounds a little more in-character.

Arc 2

"Goddamn, Tifa, how many fuckin' kids you planning on adopting?" Cid demanded as he lifted a leg to avoid colliding against another child, the eighth one since walking into Seventh Heaven.

"As many as we can house," Tifa laughed, and lightly added, "and watch the language, Cid, I don't want to send these kids to school with a vocabulary that would make their teacher blush."

"Aw, c'mon old man," Yuffie jabbed a finger at him, "admit it, you're just intimidated by all the youthful energy in here that your smoke-filled lungs can't keep up with."

"Da—rn it Yuffie, for the last time I ain't the old man here," Cid growled. "Barret's three years my senior, that makes him the old man of the group."

"Technically," Vincent muttered as he walked past them both to give Tifa a one-armed hug, "I am older than all of you, which gives me the authority to tell you both to shut it and enjoy the Gathering."

Blindsided by Vincent's riposte, Cid and Yuffie stared in shock as the man made his way to the back to greet Marlene and snatch a glass of whiskey. Tifa grinned, and chose to make use of their silence to bring them fully into the party.

Three hours and innumerable shots of alcohol later, Cid was pleasantly witnessing a war of Egyptian Ratscrew between Cloud, Yuffie, Reno, Rude, Marlene, and Reeve. The ladies were currently kicking the men's asses, but Marlene shocked them all by reacting quicker than the famed ninja princess. Reno complained loudly that both women were cheating somehow, and Tseng mentioned once or twice that Reno was simply being a sore loser, which instigated a brief brawl that only ended with a threat by Tifa to withhold the alcohol. After that, Cid, Rude, and even Rufus made damn certain to keep Reno and anyone else who would start a fight under check. The pithy alliance between he and Rufus for just that instance drove Cid to another bottle of vodka, but after four more shots he had forgotten what exactly it was that had made him dislike the President so much.

Eventually the Gathering moved from the bar to the Shera, where the airship was taken high up to the sky to observe a fireworks show over the sea. Drunk Reno, Rude, Barret, and Yuffie felt the show was a bit too dull and had nearly destroyed the airship by casting several rounds of Comet2 and Ultima. Cid had cussed up a storm and even spouted some words he didn't even realize he knew, but in the end he had a good laugh with them (after taking away their materia and locking it away for later retrieval, at least).

By the time the sun slipped over the horizon Yuffie was sprawled on a crate using Red as a pillow, arms splayed on Rude's unconscious form, and legs getting crushed by a collapsed Elena. Reno had managed to fall in a sitting position against a wall nearby, letting Denzel and Marlene curl at his sides and head tilted back with a line of drool down his chin. Barret was also lying on the ground, using Cait's deactivated body as a limp pillow and an unknowing Tseng as a blanket. Cloud and Tifa had found their own little corner, cuddled together with Tifa's head on Cloud's shoulder. The only thing that marred their blissful togetherness was Rufus slumped at their feet and utilizing Reeve's legs as his pillow.

Vincent and Cid silently watched the group over the brim of their respective glasses, sitting on a crate contemplatively. Cid felt a shot or two closer to passing out, but damn Vincent seemed as sober as he had been nearly twelve hours ago. And there was no way he was going to pass out and wind up damn fucking cuddling with the gunslinger. He'd sooner . . . sooner . . . well, shit, he didn't know, but there was something worse than that.

"Strange how liquor and sleep brings us closer to our foes than a common goal," Vincent said quietly, taking another sip of his whiskey.

"If you say so," Cid drawled. "'M feelin' a bit tipsy myself."

"Hmm," Vincent nodded. Cid couldn't figure out if that was his agreement that he, too, was feeling faint or his consent that Cid may drop to the floor unconscious.

"Cid," the pilot jerked his head back, bringing his gaze to Vincent. He realized the man had been addressing him for a while.

"What Vin'nt?" Cid replied.

"What's in the box?" Vincent asked, nodding to Cid's hand.

Bemused, the pilot looked down. The velvety sapphire box was in his hand, yet Cid couldn't remember bringing it out. His thumb was also rubbing up and down, even though the glove prevented him from feeling the texture.

Cid flipped the lid up. A gold ring with a series of perfect round-brilliant sapphires bordering the rose-cut, four carat diamond sat in a silk bed. The gems caught the poor light and reflected brilliantly in hues of blue and white.

Vincent said nothing for a while. Cautiously, slowly, Vincent picked up the box and tilted it this way and that, examining the ring. "Beautiful craftsmanship."

"Rocket's best known for our damned good engineers an' mechanics, but there's some rare talent that lives in town," Cid nodded. "Cost a bitch an' a half, but it's worth it if she's happy. Likes sapphires, y'know."

"I noticed," Vincent nodded, and handed the closed box back to him. "When do you plan to propose?"

Cid regarded the boxed ring, gently stuffing it into his pocket. "Dunno. Ev'rytime I get a chance, I get all worried an' fuck up. Ev'rytime I'm feelin' okay, she's not in a mood to hear it."

"How do you know she's not in the mood to hear a proposal of marriage, if she doesn't know you are going to propose?"

"'Ey," Cid raised a finger, "I lived with the woman for o'er ten years, I think I know Shera be'er 'an you."

Vincent eyed Cid, then shook his head. "I will tell you what someone told me long before: Women take joy in startling men. Take a chance, and you may be pleasantly surprised."

Hopping off the crate with enviable grace, Vincent strolled for the cockpit. Cid glared after the man, certain that there was some sort of slight against him but unsure what exactly Vincent had said.

Movement drew Cid's eyes from the retreating gunslinger to Tifa, Cloud, and their pile of tangled bodies. Cloud rose slowly, both out of care to ensure Tifa's sleep and from a hangover. The swordsman, once he was separated from the pile, teetered his way over to Cid and took Vincent's place.

"'Ey, Spikey," Cid greeted. "You leavin' Tifa to Rufus and Reeve?"

Cloud winced and turned his gaze over to the group. "Reeve and Rufus are in more danger of molesting each other than they are of taking advantage of Tifa. Heard what you and Vincent were talking about."

"Well, that makes two of you," Cid leaned his head back against the airship. "Me, I'm a li'l hazy on the details."

"Can I see it?" Cloud asked.

Raising a brow at the younger man, Cid fished the ring out of his pocket and gave it to him. "You lose it, I'm gonna rip you a new hole."

Cloud opened the box, inspecting the ring with the same reverence Vincent had treated it. "Damn."

Watching for his reaction, Cid snorted. "So, lemme see yours."

Jolting, Cloud nearly denied it when he looked Cid in the eye. With a sigh, he took out his own ring and gave it to Cid. "It's not nearly as extravagant as yours."

Cloud was correct, in that it was a simple gold band with a trio of one-carat diamonds and an ornament of tiny gold leaves around the bases. "It won't matter, Strife. You love Tif, Tifa loves you. She'd say yes to a goddamn alum'um Fury Ring."

They exchanged rings once more, but neither put theirs away. "Worst comes to worst, Tifa will punch me before she accepts," Cloud mused.

"Mm. An' Shera will ram a wrench into my Highwind. But ev'rything'll work out in the end."

Cloud stared skeptically. "Shouldn't you be more concerned with a . . . personal injury?"

"Wreckin' the Highwind is a per'onal injury!"

"Hey!" Reno's slurred voice brought their attention to the Turk. He glared drearily from his seat, raising a limp finger at them. "Keep it down! 'm tryin' to get some sleep here."

Cid huffed and glared at him, but lowered his voice (for the children, he told himself). "All the same, Cloud, you gotta just go out an' tell Tifa."

"Tell me what?" the woman asked, making both men jump. Somehow she had snuck up on them both, right in front of their eyes, and was watching them curiously. She kept her gaze more toward Cid, the pilot noticed through his hazy vision, but flickered her eyes at Cloud.

Expression reminiscent of a monster caught in Fenrir's headlight, Cloud stammered and made uncertain gestures. Rolling his eyes, Cid shoved the swordsman off the crate none-too-gently and growled, "Take it up to the deck, lover boy. Ain't gonna lose my fuckin' lunch o'er this."

Sparing a moment to glower, Cloud steered a confused Tifa up to the deck of Shera. Cid snorted, sliding down and making himself comfortable on the narrow crate. Just before he slept, Cid thought to himself, Hell, if Cloud can do it, there's no way I can fuck it up. Right? Right. Shera loves giving me fucking bombshells, this'll be one of those times. She'll get all teary and shit and ruin my good shirt with her crying and say yes and we'll get goddamn fuckin' married.

On a hard, splintery crate and completely drunk, looking forward to a hangover to end all hangovers, Cid slept the best in his life with that thought in mind.