2.

Title: Convalescence
Timeframe: One month after the battle with Omega
Rating: M –Curse you Cid.
Spoilers: Major DoC

Notes: Basically my take on what happened between the beginning of the credits and the scene in the cave. While Vincent may be indestructible to an extent, not even he could walk away from something like that completely unscathed.

… Plus, Cid seriously needs more love. His dialogue is as fun as Cloud's is a pain.

Convalescence

"Where did you find him?"

"In Sector One."

"All the way out there?"

"Yeah."

Blur of tattered red and black on white. Wheels shrieking protest. So much white. Frantic calls and questions. Doctors summoned, while through it all a lone blonde stands stoic, phone to his ear. Beside him is another, swearing at the top of his voice, filling the space with noise enough for three people. They have dropped in from nowhere, bearing their companion, their surprising hero. He looks nothing of the sort right then. Attached to many machines, all calling out to one another. All informing the doctors, the visitors, the guardians, that despite appearances, the pale, washed out lump of occasional humanity still lives.

"… Will he wake up?"

"They hope so."

"Hope?"

He hands the phone to the other man, who pauses to put out the cigarette.

"Yeah, hope. Idiots got no fuckin' idea what's goin' on here. He ain't dead. Well… y'know. Deader. That much we got. He ain't even banged up too bad. 'Sides that, he's out colder 'an Northern Crater in the middle 'a winter."

"Should we come out there?"

"Eh, prolly. Bring the kid out 'ere too. Hell, maybe she can pester 'im awake, or somethin'. Y'know?"

"We're on our way."

For some reason, this time, the nausea did not abate as her feet touched the ground. Perhaps it was the sterile white of the treatment center—not surprisingly, the only part of WRO headquarters still in working order. Two weeks since she'd arrived, two weeks in the same room, watching over him, trying to mend her broken promise. As if sitting by his bed would atone for anything.

The others drifted in from day to day, most often Cloud, Tifa, and, when he could spare the time, Reeve. The others came when they could, but obligations required their attention elsewhere. She was the only one who could, and would, stay. Her phone went off many times, someone calling her away most likely, but she ignored it. This was her duty, after all. Even the girl, the computer, showed her face a few times. She didn't come too near the bed, however, preferring to stare with silent, mako eyes. Yuffie paid her little mind. If Shelke wanted to stare, to be cold, that was her business.

Yuffie's business lay beside her, ashen, silent, and, the doctors said, near catatonic. There were no injuries, not anymore. What beating his body had taken, it had healed even before their arrival. Only scars remained now, shiny, puckered lines slow to vanish. Why he would not awaken, no one could say. He simply lay there, eyes shut, heavy circles below them marring too-fair skin. His breathing, though easy, came shallowly, sparsely. They had taken his things, leaving his torso bare, for simple access of their instruments, they said. It made him look smaller, she thought, to be rid of cloak and leather.

Sometimes, the others would take over her vigil—most often Tifa. Gently, forcefully, they would pry her away from her chair, make sure she stayed fed, and, firmly sent her to bed like a reluctant child. She slept well, despite the anxiety. Nothing too terrible could happen if one of the others were there. Even so, her reprieve was always short-lived. Something would come up, and they would be forced to depart, promising to return as soon as something changed. It wasn't that they fretted any less than she did. They simply had more to attend to than she.

"Bullshit," grumbled the pilot on one of his visits. Errands and the demands of a marriage kept him away most of the time, but she found herself looking forward to his blustering mannerisms, as much as they annoyed her. At least he could fill the silence. "All this beepin' and whatnot. Bullshit's what it is. All he needs is sleep. Not this shit. You'll see."

"Ass," she told him. "You're not a doctor. How would you know?"

Cid only snorted. "Don't need t'be one t'figure this out," he said. He fumbled in his pockets, pulling out an abused pack of cigarettes. "You'll see, kid. Couple more days'a nappin', he'll be back an' chewin' us out fer coddlin' 'im like this." A frown. "Well… y'know if Vince ever chewed anyone out."

She found herself smiling. Her amusement, however, quickly turned into a tirade, as the pilot lit up next to her. A shouting match ensued, bringing everyone within earshot. He finally stormed out, raging, when Yuffie unceremoniously threw his pack out the narrow, boarded window.

"You should quit anyway, old man!" she shouted after him. "I don't know how Shera kisses you when you smell so nasty!"

That moment brought light to the day; she had never stopped enjoying harassing the man, after all. It faded quickly as twilight, as she returned to her post. Her hand slid back onto his, her smaller fingers tracing the smoother skin between his knuckles. It was an achingly familiar gesture, one that brought to light images of a Nibelhiem inn, months ago. It hadn't worked then… and it wasn't working now.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, one dark, lonely night. "I'm sorry I broke my promise…"

He didn't answer, not that she'd expected him to. All the same, her spirits sank. She pulled his hand close, resting it against her face. His skin was cool to the touch. Of their own volition, her eyes closed as the chilliness came into contact with them. Tears pooled in her eyes, just as they had so many nights past.

"I'm sorry," she said again. It was as if the words were a prayer.

"Why…? Did we… lose?"

For a moment, she couldn't breathe. If she moved at all, the moment would cease to exist. Slowly, her eyes slid open, flicking nervously to his face and half expecting to be dreaming.

Even as she met his bleary gaze, she felt as if she were dreaming. There was a new light there, a relief she had never before seen in the red depths. On that alone, it had to be a dream. Her fears were confirmed as, still groggy, he returned the pressure of her fingers, concern in his eyes. This had to be a dream. Such a thing could only happen in a dream.

"What's wrong…?"

She sputtered. "I… wha? What'd you…?"

He gave a slow blink. "You're crying," he informed her. "Did we lose…?"

Now she could feel the tears streaking her face. For the first time since the battle, they are from relief, from joy, instead of dread. A weak smile broke through, followed by an equally frail laugh. "Nah, Vinnie," she said. "Nah, we beat them good. So did you."

Amazingly, his lips twitched, the expression forming what most people considered the ghost of a smile. The sight of it sent more tears running down her cheeks. "I gotta call everyone," she managed. "They wanted to know when you woke up…"

"Was I out… that long?" He sounded tired still, and his eyes fluttered occasionally.

"Yeah…"

He opened an eye wide, studying her. "Then… I'm sorry."

Her fingers tighten around his hand. A smile is on her face. All is as it should be. "Just get better."

For an entire week, he allowed himself to stay. For only a week, her mind was at ease. Then, he was gone again, and she wanted nothing more than to punch him in his pale, stoic face.

And things were right again.