Second chapter; thank you guys for your reviews!
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Weeks passed. The battles wore on, Cloud fell ill, and Cid was dropped like lead into the position of leader. In a way I couldn't fault the others for choosing Cid for the role; he was a leader in his own town, a mayor, and visionary, and an idealist with just enough pragmatism to be useful.
Unfortunately, no one had time to consider the toll this took on Cid, and I, being the one who guards his sleep, was the only one to see the reprecussions of the group's decision.
It came to fruition the night after we rescued the Huge Materia at Corel. We stayed at the Gold Saucer again, having decided that an afternoon of gambling, gaming, and tacky decorum would do wonders for all our nerves. The others played in the video arcade, watched Chocobo races, rode the roller-coaster, but Cid almost immediately retired to the room that he and I were once again sharing. I gave most of my Gold Points to Yuffie, and I spent a few handfuls of Gil in the food court buying a quick dinner for Cid and myself; some heinous interpretation of chicken that I suspected had been a chocobo who lost his race.
When I returned to the room, I knocked, as it is difficult to balance a tray on a claw while one uses one's functional hand to open the door. But no one answered. It is often my nature to assume the worst, and so I did not hesitate to set the tray on the questionably-stained floor and proceed to dig my claws into the doorframe and pry it open.
Cid was sitting on the bed, stitching away at his scarf like he was mad. An ashtray full of cigarette butts sat next to him, ashes spilling over the side and onto the coverlet. The pack sitting in his goggles was nearly empty, and I knew it had been full when we checked into the hotel; only three more say patiently awaiting their demise.
His eyes were red, his fingers trembled and his whole body looked stiff and tense; a strange bowstring, growing tighter and tighter every time the arrow flies.
Nearly to the point of snapping, I thought.
"Cid?"
He jumped a mile, turned to me. "What?" His eyes, so bright and clear and hopeful, were laced with redness and there were dark circles under them.
I came and sat next to him, laid a hand over his. His voice came out so fragile, so soft, it was almost childlike.
"I'm tired, Vincent."
"Sleep, then," I said. "I'll see that you're not disturbed.."
"No!" he stood up, flinging cigarette ashes to the floor, his scarf half-sewn to his glove. "I can't just fuckin' sleep!" He began to pace the room like a caged tiger, running his hands through his nearly-white hair as if he'd like to tear it out. "The huge Materia.. I coulda been responsible for destroying Corel... and just..everything, just one thing after another...."
I retraced our steps over the past few days. Between Sephiroth, and Aeris, and the Black Materia, and Nibelheim- God, Nibelheim- our constantly being dogged by Shinra, Cloud's falling ill, and God knows what else might be plaguing the man's mind. He ranted on, but I wasn't listening by then, only watching him come apart at the seams; Cloud was a leader because he could detach from the stress, escape into his own mind, and all the while still hear the gentle reassurances of Aeris, while she was with us, and even now, of Tifa, who was with him even while he gibbered mindlessly in a mental ward.
Cid didn't have that. He dealt with everything head-on, when he could; it was just his way. And now it was just too much all at once.
"Cid," I said.
"What?" His voice was so tired, so tense.
I went to the door and walked out. "Come with me."
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Weeks passed. The battles wore on, Cloud fell ill, and Cid was dropped like lead into the position of leader. In a way I couldn't fault the others for choosing Cid for the role; he was a leader in his own town, a mayor, and visionary, and an idealist with just enough pragmatism to be useful.
Unfortunately, no one had time to consider the toll this took on Cid, and I, being the one who guards his sleep, was the only one to see the reprecussions of the group's decision.
It came to fruition the night after we rescued the Huge Materia at Corel. We stayed at the Gold Saucer again, having decided that an afternoon of gambling, gaming, and tacky decorum would do wonders for all our nerves. The others played in the video arcade, watched Chocobo races, rode the roller-coaster, but Cid almost immediately retired to the room that he and I were once again sharing. I gave most of my Gold Points to Yuffie, and I spent a few handfuls of Gil in the food court buying a quick dinner for Cid and myself; some heinous interpretation of chicken that I suspected had been a chocobo who lost his race.
When I returned to the room, I knocked, as it is difficult to balance a tray on a claw while one uses one's functional hand to open the door. But no one answered. It is often my nature to assume the worst, and so I did not hesitate to set the tray on the questionably-stained floor and proceed to dig my claws into the doorframe and pry it open.
Cid was sitting on the bed, stitching away at his scarf like he was mad. An ashtray full of cigarette butts sat next to him, ashes spilling over the side and onto the coverlet. The pack sitting in his goggles was nearly empty, and I knew it had been full when we checked into the hotel; only three more say patiently awaiting their demise.
His eyes were red, his fingers trembled and his whole body looked stiff and tense; a strange bowstring, growing tighter and tighter every time the arrow flies.
Nearly to the point of snapping, I thought.
"Cid?"
He jumped a mile, turned to me. "What?" His eyes, so bright and clear and hopeful, were laced with redness and there were dark circles under them.
I came and sat next to him, laid a hand over his. His voice came out so fragile, so soft, it was almost childlike.
"I'm tired, Vincent."
"Sleep, then," I said. "I'll see that you're not disturbed.."
"No!" he stood up, flinging cigarette ashes to the floor, his scarf half-sewn to his glove. "I can't just fuckin' sleep!" He began to pace the room like a caged tiger, running his hands through his nearly-white hair as if he'd like to tear it out. "The huge Materia.. I coulda been responsible for destroying Corel... and just..everything, just one thing after another...."
I retraced our steps over the past few days. Between Sephiroth, and Aeris, and the Black Materia, and Nibelheim- God, Nibelheim- our constantly being dogged by Shinra, Cloud's falling ill, and God knows what else might be plaguing the man's mind. He ranted on, but I wasn't listening by then, only watching him come apart at the seams; Cloud was a leader because he could detach from the stress, escape into his own mind, and all the while still hear the gentle reassurances of Aeris, while she was with us, and even now, of Tifa, who was with him even while he gibbered mindlessly in a mental ward.
Cid didn't have that. He dealt with everything head-on, when he could; it was just his way. And now it was just too much all at once.
"Cid," I said.
"What?" His voice was so tired, so tense.
I went to the door and walked out. "Come with me."