Left alone, I exhale deeply and sink back into the pillows, relaxing. After a while I manage to get myself the glass of water Tifa had left by the bed. My arm hurts, but simple movement is possible. My fingers are free from the bandage wrapped around most of it. I can't hold anything much heavier than that glass of water, though. It hurts enough just to try and bring it to my lips. The medicine in my system makes me feel like a ton of bricks, and the water goes down like oil, sliding down my parched throat.

I drop myself back down to the pillow, soft and inviting, and occupy my muddled brain by looking out the window. By the occasionally changing angles of sunlight across the floor and bed, and the occasional slight change in G pressure I gather the Highwind is in flight.

…The Highwind. What a machine. I think I should be content to stay on it forever; never attaching myself to any specific place, coming and going from people's lives without the chance for getting hurt by the petty humanity. A wish for a more civilized time…

I remember the time when helicopters were a theory that Shinra wanted to peruse, and people laughed at the engineers and said they won't fly. Shinra built so many dreams, and destroyed so many others. I don't hate them. Never did. I have nothing against Shinra. They picked me up from Wutai and taught me how to be a team player and how to be alone. Taught me the common language and encouraged me to better my mind through extensive reading- thought me how to read. Taught me to observe people and learn them. They took a lowly Yakuza delivery boy like me and gave me a profession and something really close to a life. Without them I probably would have been an ignoramus delivery boy for the rest of my miserable existence. I'm aware it was them who reduced Wutai to it's current state, but that it hasn't been home for too long for me to care. In my mind the Wutai that exists today and the Wutai I grew up in are two very different and separate places.

You want to know who I hate? Hojo. A million times Hojo.

Say what you want about the motley Avalanche gang, without Cloud and the others, I would still be stuck in a small coffin, waiting for death. I don't know what I'm waiting for now, but I don't feel the urge to die as badly as before. I think I just want some time- some peace and quiet to think things over.

…Some 'peace and quiet' I'm not going to get right now because I can hear Cid approaching, and he is loud. He bursts into the room without a knock and just walks up to the bed and produces my missing limbs from a bag.

"First time doing maintenance on people." He says with a vibrant smile and little formality. No 'how are you?', no 'sorry I amputated you while you were sleeping'. Nothing.

"Not saying it's what I wanna do for a livin', but it's actually more interesting than I thought." His smile is infuriating. I'm tempted to retort with 'I'm glad I'm interesting research for you.' But I hold my tongue. He didn't mean it like that. I'm just being petty… and paranoid.

The arm looks much better than I could ever make it. The dents are practically gone, the bronze gleaming like new and I'm sure it works impeccably. Cid takes great pride in his work. I guess he noticed the way I admired his handy-work because he urges, "Put it back on."

I glare at him, just for good measure, then prop myself slowly so I'm leaning on the headboard of my bed. I take the arm from him carefully. It feels… wrong. Another glare at Cid shows he is waiting, expecting something. What is he up to?

I feel suddenly exposed, vulnerable. Here I am with my hand in my hand, my leg in a bag and my head so full of pain-killers I probably couldn't stand up if my bed was on fire. Pain-killers or no, this is going to hurt, and I don't want him to see me in pain. It was bad enough that I practically fainted in his arms back in the forest. I have my dignity, if nothing else. There is no choice, though; Cid won't give me the pleasure of keeping it. This has to be done.

Easier said- I try it a couple of times, but the hairline crack in my flesh hand is just enough to prevent the application of that kind of lateral pressure I need. I try twisting it on a few times, but it hurts my flesh arm too much and I don't have a good grip. I glance at Cid and notice he is giving me a look. Then he smiles and raises his eyebrows.

He wants me to say it, the bastard. He wants me to ask for his help. He always mocked the pride I took in taking care of my own business alone. Said that humans can't live in a vacuum. Bah.

I glare at him again, trying to tell him it won't happen. I won't say it. After a short while of this silent will-struggle Cid laughs and reaches out to help me. I didn't have to say it. Didn't mean I don't need his help.

Still, I swallow my pride for now and let him twist it onto the base. I look away and draw a quick breath, bracing for the pain with a tightly set jaw.

The pain never comes. My expression must show my surprise, because Cid laughs again.

"$ing Hojo," He explains at my shock- as I am flexing responsive fingers with ease, "He put a little gadget in there." He points at the wrist area, "There's a little thingamajig there to send the neural response to the fingers- it was fiddled with to make it as painful as possible." He shakes his head and draws a cigarette from his package, "Sloppy electronics, that. Zap ya when you connected." I am still staring at my arm. It feels light. I was never aware of any residual pain when my arm was on, but now that it was gone, it feels great.

"I fiddled it right." Cid says, and looks a little sheepish, as though I would be angry. I open my mouth, but it takes me a few moments and a few breaths just to muster a quiet "Thank you". He just taps the cigarette a few times on the top of its box and then returns it in.

I want to say something like "Thank you for caring enough to want to make a difference." But I don't. I don't know how to go about it and I can't think of any good way to say it. Don't get me wrong. I don't think Avalanche hates me. I don't think they want me to go away forever.

Again, too long taken to formulate what I wanted to say. He gives me a long look from the corner of his eye, telling me that perhaps he understood what I was trying to say. Is he smarter than he lets on?

I'm grateful, Cid. I am. He smiles again, that long look gone, "Nice seein' you without your bad fashion sense."

I look down to see that I am wearing a simple white T-shirt. From the size difference I can assume it is his. That means my face is exposed. I don't like it. Makes me feel uncomfortable, like people might see right through me. I say nothing.

I'm not handsome, I have a bad face. It shows what I really am. I see it when I look in the mirror and I don't like it. I don't like making other people see, because they don't like it either. But they don't hate me, as I said, all I'm saying is that Avalanche was fine before I joined and the result would have been the same if I hadn't. If I went away they would come visit, but I would not be missed long, or often. You might say I was 'optional' in their trip. It was nice to have me as backup, but I wasn't vital. They could just as easily thrown away Hojo's note and left me to rot.

"….." I say, putting my claw in my lap and trying not to feel too self-conscious. I've only had this body for a year and a half, my time. Still not entirely at home with it. Still allowed to feel exposed in normal clothes. The shirt is too wide in the shoulders, too short in the stomach.

The 'Vincent Approach' doesn't work on Cid. Even if he gets it, he pretends not to. Just makes me actually say things. I open my mouth to ask 'who changed me' but it sounds dumb. So I end up closing my mouth and just grabbing my shirt, looking at Cid meaningfully. I even try cocking an eyebrow. Asshole just looks at me with fake curiosity. He wants me to say it. I yield, this time.

"Who."

You can get a Chocobo to the water, but you can't make him drink.

"'Who' what? If you mean the shirt, it's mine." He smiles. You know what I'm asking, jerk.

"Who…" How can I phrase it without giving him what he wants or sounding infantile? "Who cleaned my wounds?"

"Me and Tifa."

'Tifa and I' I correct internally, but say nothing. At least it was Tifa. She'd seen my chest before; she sort of took it upon herself to treat me when I was wounded during our 'quest'. Don't know why. Everyone else just assumed I was alright. She made comments about me being too thin, but never about the scars and the marks. She saw the Cerberus III tattoo on the back of my shoulder, but didn't judge or question. Hojo liked marking his specimens. I never asked why Cerberus, or who were the other two before me. Never wanted such a horrific answers. Never wanted to admit, to refer to myself as that. I learned to accept Tifa's nursing compulsions because she wasn't going to go away, and I tried, believe me.

I like people like her and Cid. People who just accept things and have firm opinions about stuff other people would be too afraid to speak up about. As much as Cid delights in making life difficult for me, I like him. Under different circumstances we may be friends. What different circumstances? The moment he stops being a total ass. I like him and Tifa, though. I do.

Not like Barret, who screamed and ranted and waved his gun-arm in my face when he heard I had been with the Turks. We all do what we have to. You don't see me accusing him of practically being an ecological terrorist, do you?

Either way as the day progresses I feel worse. The pain-killers I was given while unconscious start fading out, and pain starts fading in. My semi-coherent thoughts while on the pain-killers are replaced by the feverish blankness of a body too busy with itself to allow thinking.

I remember something about an operation table and needles, but it fades away as my mind reaches the shores of consciousness. I open my eyes to two pools of fine wine. It takes a moment for the picture to clear. These are eyes, and they belong to Tifa. The room is dark, suggesting a significant passage of time without my awareness. Tifa is seated on the bed again, a bowl of water and a cloth in her lap. Beside her is a Heal and Cure Materia. I feel my breath calming down from a labored pace, I feel my pulse slowing, blood rushing back and forth. Details in the room seem fuzzy and take a moment to clear. I know my eyes had been open for a while, but I can't remember for the life of me what I was seeing. I blink at Tifa. She seems worried, and the Vincent Approach yields its usual fruit, "You were unhappy there, for a moment." She says diplomatically. I think about it and decide to skip the 'when am I happy' sarcasm. She cautiously reaches to remove hair from my face. She knows I'm not big on physical contact, but she does it anyway. I don't mind; the only feeling in my chest and stomach right now is the relief from a pain I don't consciously remember, but my body does and my lungs do and my arms do as they relax from clawing the sheets and my chest. I guess I underestimated my injuries again. There are several questions surfacing in my rattled brain such as what is the actual extent of my remaining injuries and how long she's been there.

"Maybe next time we recommend you take your medicine you listen?" It's not so much criticism as it is a compassionate reprimand. After a moment of fishing I remember that there was a time earlier in the day when she asked me to take my medicine, but being so decidedly against anything vaguely medical, I refused... or forgot. Or forgot in a Freudian way- deliberately dropping the subject from my mind.

I am an idiot.

I'm sorry, Tifa.

She gets up and leaves the room, but makes sure to give a reassuring smile and leaves the door open ajar, in case I make any distressed noise. I force my body to relax and take some deep, shaky breathes. The half-open door paints a streak of light all the way to the bed and reflects on the metal of my arm. The Highwind is parked and I can see some large sources of light through the window- we have probably arrived in Midgar.

Hello again! As promised; a chapter on Saturday. All in all this story isn't going to be very long, I think. In terms of length I estimate it more along the lines of my Blind Love then Sether. I hope you guys are still enjoying the show! Thanks again to all those who've reviewed the last chapter. Your words of encouragement are truly affecting the way I regard my writing and my new style. The story so far has been a real growing experience for me, and I hope you'll enjoy what I have in store! I fixed the 'Tifa and me' and reposted as the correct 'Tifa and I'. Thanks, guys!
English is my second language, though I've learned much since moving to Canada.

Today's special thanks goes to all those already mentioned plus: The Tiramisu of Impending Doom, Erialti, darkmagnolia & Mystic Dragon Eyes. Thank you very much for your kind words. They make a difference in my day to day life.