Sorry for the delay! I took a vacation to visit my co-author for this...naturally we were entirely unproductive the entire week, to the point of missing an update. But it's here now!

Thanks to all who've reviewed; I used to be so good about responding to each review. Don't know what happened to that...just know that we appreciate every word you leave us ^^

"Have lunch with me."

"Oh! Cid, I-"

"I know. I know y're busy an' important an' don't hardly have time t'breathe. But I really need-"

"What you need," Lazard scolded, "is to shut up and let me finish talking."

Cid blinked at the phone. Few people bothered anymore to tell him off about talking too much or talking over them. Made obedient by the unexpected reprimand, he answered simply, "'kay."

"Good. Now, what I was going to say was this:" -here Lazard paused to clear his throat and affect all the theatrics necessary to pretend he had only just answered the phone- "Cid! I was just about to call you! I wanted to talk with you. I've made reservations at Rockin' in Midgar; will you join me at dinner tomorrow afternoon?"

"Oh," Cid said stupidly, looking at the phone again in an attempt to show Lazard his confused face. "Well, it's a good thing you didn't call me. I ain't livin' there no more. S'part o' the reason I called."

"You're not? What happened? And where are you, then?"

"M'stayin' at Shera's fer the time bein', but I don't wanna impose much longer, y'know, what with ever'thin' goin' on. As fer what happened…well, it's a long story, an' I reckon I'll explain it to ya t'morra. Only, uh, y'sure y'wanna go there? It's a little nice fer me."

"You promised I could pick the place next time, remember?"

"Yeah, but y'can't go inta there wearin' jeans an' a scruffy ol' coat like what I got." Rockin' in Midgarwas not the most upstanding of places, but the guests were expected to dress formally and behave appropriately. The waitresses –called "Rockettes" as a team and each given a bubbly, cutesy nickname- dressed scantily but not tastelessly, and were meant only to entice. Cid, of course, had very little interest in women, but he kept up the persona in public for Lazard's sake.

"Didn't you have to rent a suit for that job at the gala a few days ago?"

"Uh…yeah, I did, but we'll talk about that later." Clumsily evading the question, or perhaps only postponing it, Cid directed the chatter elsewhere. "So you'll pick me up from here?" he asked uncomfortably, wishing he had the willpower to decline Lazard's invitation.

"Of course. What about that nice trench coat I got you for your birthday last year?"

Cid had to pause a moment to recall exactly what had happened to that. "Vincent," he muttered.

"What?"

"Uh, just one more thing we get t'talk about later. I got a button-up an' a tie an' some slacks I c'n prob'ly get together by then." He had already started the search for them.

"Good! Then I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Sure thing."

"Goodnight, Cid."

"'night."

Cid opened the door for Lazard when he arrived. "Shera'n'Johnny wanna see ya b'fore we go."

"Oh?"

"They miss ya. Well, Sher does. Johnny don't give a fuck. C'mon in."

Lazard didn't even bother to remove his coat, just stepped inside and followed Cid to where Shera, now almost obviously pregnant, was sitting and waiting for him. "Don't get up!" he chastised as she made to stand to approach him. "How have you been?" he asked, smiling as he eyed the roundness her hands rested on.

"Oh, you know. I'm almost used to it now. Or I think I am, but then something happens that surprises me. It usually isn't good, either," she laughed, happiness showing clearly in her face. "I just wanted to see you. We haven't in a long time, you know."

"I know. I often wish things were different," Lazard admitted.

"I don't," Shera whispered, then caught sight of Cid's conflicted face. "You boys go on. Have fun, but behave. I don't like the idea of that place, you know. I told Cid."

"She sure as hell did," Cid grouched, rubbing the place on the back of his neck she had smacked when he told her where they were going to dinner.

"Honestly, Shera, we're going for the food!" Lazard insisted as they ducked out the door, laughing at the expression on her face.

After a short ride, a surprisingly bouncy Lazard and an incredibly uncomfortable Cid walked into the restaurant. Lazard had to spell out "Deusericus" for the waitress to decide whether he had reservations, but after that, the service was excellent and the meals came quickly.

"So," Cid said around a mouthful of burger, "you asked me here. What happened?"

Lazard, more well-mannered, swallowed what he was chewing before answering, "I'm going to marry."

Cid kept looking, waiting for the rest of the statement. "Marry who?"

"Cid, you've met Elfé."

"Yeah. Oh! Hey, congratulations! Y'asked 'er?"

"Not officially, but we've discussed it before and I'm certain she'll agree."

Cid's own misery was lessened in the face of Lazard's happiness, and he was glad for that; it reminded him that he was still human and not entirely selfish. "That's great, y'know! Hell, I'm so happy for ya I might hafta buy you a drink."

"There are more important things to discuss," Lazard said, pointing at the fading bruises on Cid's face and neck. "I didn't want to mention them in front of Shera, but you know I'm curious. I assume they're related to your eviction and the loss of the coat and suit?"

"Well…parts o' that 're right. Let's start back at th'beginnin'." Cid sighed and launched into the story. "I was workin' the gala, y'know that. Valentine was there, an'…somebody was followin' 'im. I…well, I better explain the other part first.

Another sigh, this one much heavier, accompanied his closed eyes as he allowed himself to admit what he'd been considering. "I think I'm fallin' for 'im. I tried t'fight it fer a long time…a long time, but it ended up happenin' anyway. I hate m'self for it a little, but I can't do nothin' about it." This sentence was punctuated with Cid's usual gestures that accompanied being overwhelmed. "Anyway, so I was payin' extra close attention to 'im. Somebody was followin' 'im, an' I tipped 'im off 'cause I figured they didn't want no murder at the ball, right?

"Wrong. Turns out it was Scarlet what had set the guy on 'im, an' I fucked everything up by lettin' 'im know. Also let Scarlet know that I've developed some kinda relationship with Valentine. I managed t'convince 'er after a little while that I was on her side, just gettin' as close to 'im as possible. She ain't that bright, y'know? Anyway, I was still wearin' the suit when they roughed me up, so that ain't no good t'nobody."

Another sigh started the conclusion of the story. "So she took away everything I had, pretty much –docked m'wages, kicked me outta th'place, etcet'ra. Guess she figured Valentine'd ask me t'move in with him or somethin', but I wouldn't let 'im do that. So I'm stayin' with Shera," Cid sighed, "an' feelin' like th'moochinest asshole ever lived while I do it."

Lazard, a stickler for details, had one other question before he would comment on Cid's confessions. "So you were wearing the coat over the suit?"

"Nah," Cid said, smiling for the first time between hearing Lazard's good news and delivering his own less good news. "Vincent's got m'coat. I told 'im keep it as long as he wanted it, an' he ain't brought it back yet." His voice was warm, as was his world every time he thought too long about Vincent lately. "I really care about him, y'know?"

"And I know what it takes for a man like you to admit that, even to me. Does he know?"

Cid shrugged. "I ain't told 'im. Don't think I'm goin' to. He don't need any o' that right now. I c'n live without, y'know? As long as I'm close to 'im, an' as long as no one's usin' 'im like ShinRa was, I'll be okay."

"You do care. Cid, he needs to know."

"No. It ain't my place t'care about 'im like that."

"Says who?"

Cid shrugged again and shifted his eyes away from Lazard, who smiled back.

"See? There's no reason to hide it."

"He might kill me."

"I doubt that very much." Cid had the unique ability to exasperate people quickly. Lazard sometimes pitied him for that, and sometimes envied him.

"He doesn't trust me, an' he doesn't have any reason to. I don't know th'last time someone he did business with was good to 'im. He's just been used so much, an' I'm not willin' t'let him think I'm the same way."

And, through years of learning, Lazard had honed the perfect counter to that ability of Cid's. Rhetorical questions made for weak argument, but to a man like Cid, they were starting points for seriously deep thought. Manipulative, maybe, but effective. "He knows you're not. Trust him to accept you. How can you care so deeply for him if you don't trust him? And why would you expect him to trust you?"

"Do you know that I hate you sometimes fer bein' able t'talk me inta stuff?"

"I'm sorry. Rephrase that; I'm not sorry at all. Cid, I have a proposition for you."

Cid replaced his glasses and let his eyes meet Lazard's again. "An' what's that?"

"I'll pay your rent for a place for as long as you need it, but you have to promise that you'll tell him what you're feeling." Lazard rested his chin on his hands and stared smugly at Cid, knowing what a difficult choice it would be. Make things easier for Shera, or more difficult for himself? "Take the chance, Cid. Shake on it."

First reluctantly, and then boldly, Cid extended his hand and shook.

Two days later, his small collection of belongings had been moved to his new place. It was nicer and in a better location than his old apartment, and still close enough to walk to work. Cid felt guilty allowing Lazard to pay for it, but he couldn't keep living off Shera. There was only one thing left to do: Call Valentine. He would be most unhappy, Cid figured, if he tried to visit this Friday and found that Cid no longer lived in No. 30upside-down-2.

And across Midgar, in the ShinRa Tower, Vincent frowned as his PHS rang abruptly. Very few knew his number and the fact that he knew where all four of his men were at this moment made this call rather disconcerting. He set his pen down and reached around to dig in his suit-coat pocket until he found the small phone. His frown deepened when he didn't recognize the number. He flipped it open and said abruptly, "Valentine."

"Um. Vincent. Cid." Cid felt incredibly unintelligent quite suddenly, and as he struggled to gain hold of the conversation, he realized that Vincent had never referred to him as "Cid" before. "Uh, Highwind, that is. I just…well, I know we're s'posed'a meet Friday, right? Had, uh, a change of address. Wouldn't do for ya t'show up at the wrong place, right?"

Vincent's frown turned into a scowl as he leaned back in his chair. "A change of address? Care to explain to me what happened to warrant this?"

"Got kicked outta my old place," Cid admitted unhappily.

"'Kicked out of your old place.'" Vincent repeated in a mixture of irritation and incredulity. Now he would have to pull Verdot. Vincent ground his teeth, suddenly wanting very much to throttle Highwind. "What caused this?" he asked levelly, his voice soft and carefully measured.

"Savin' yer ass," Cid retorted. "I was supposed t'let you die, apparently. She was tryin'a get me closer to ya, I guess, thinkin' you'd ask me t'stay with you. Stupid woman still thinks I'm on her side. Me, I'm s'prised I still have m'job."

A tick began to work in Vincent's jaw. "'Saving my ass', this is getting redundant, Mr. Highwind." He leaned forward onto his elbows on his desk. Something about what the cop had said, had caused warning bells to go off in his brain. "You shall have to do better than that if you want me to believe you." Then he pinpointed it. Highwind had contradicted himself...in a big way. "You are not making sense, which leads me to conclude that you do know what is going on, and if I may be blunt: I am surprised that you still have your life." His voice dropped deeper with a warning. "It is out of respect for our arrangements that I tell you this, but I do not enjoy being played with, Mr. Highwind."

"I'm not playin' with ya, dammit, I'm tellin' ya what I know an' doin' what I can t'make sure nothin' goes wrong! I told ya when it happened I'd be s'prised if I lived through it, an' I was right. Scarlet had a hit out on ya, I interfered just 'cause that's what I do, an' now she's tryin'a get me t'use ya…an' I don't expect ya t'trust me, 'cause I gotta be doin' one o' y'all wrong. I'll promise you again that it is not you, but I know it don't mean much." Cid sighed. "I don't know how t'make you understand, but I ain't gonna give up tryin'."

Vincent ground his teeth and rubbed his temples with his free hand. This whole arrangement with Highwind was volatile at best. So why did he continue it? Because it's better than the alternative, he thought morosely. Still, he would have to proceed with caution. Clearly Highwind was compromised. "Be that as it may, if we are to continue meeting as arranged, I think we shall need a new location."

"Oh…well, all right. Up t'you, then. You prob'ly got a better grasp on what's safe an' what ain't. Or, well, the least unsafe o' the unsafe places, right? Just let me know, an' I'll find a way there."

Vincent sighed loudly. "No need. I shall have Tseng retrieve you on Friday."

Cid hesitated. "I don't really know that I'm okay with-" He stopped and sighed, remembering all his promises to various parties that he would trust Vincent. "All right. I'll be ready." He rattled off the new address. "Got that?"

Vincent jotted the new address down quickly on a scrap of paper. "Mm." Vincent grunted in affirmation. "I am familiar with this location. It is considerably closer to the upper plates. Whose residence is this?" He was curious to see if Highwind would tell him or not. If the cop was indeed his, he would answer appropriately.

"Yeah, it's- it's a lot nicer. Not payin' for it m'self o' course." Ah, shit, I don't know if this is what 'e meant when 'e said t'trust 'im…an' stop dodgin' questions. He already knows that. "An old friend o' mine's got me set up here. I owe him a lot, an' I care about 'im a lot…" But I'm very quickly startin'a care about you more. "I shouldn't bring him inta this…" Cid swallowed. If anything happened, Lazard was responsible for it, after all. "Lazard Deusericus, in charge o' sector four in the upper plates. You'll…leave 'im out of it, right? I've been meanin' t'have y'all both over one Friday, but he's just as busy as you are an' he don't hardly have th'time." Dammit. I oughta take better care o' my friends…an' I wonder why I don't have any. Sheesh.

Vincent's eyes widened, then narrowed as he recognized the name. "Deusericus. The DA? He's your friend?" He couldn't hide the disbelief in his voice. This was an unexpected boon. Deusericus was one of the only "straight" DAs left. And he was good. His success rate was indeed very impressive. If he could get Deusericus in his pocket… Vincent liked challenges.

"Yes, he is, and he's the only one I'm as loyal to as I am t'you, an' he returns the favor. He knows what I'm doin' with you to some extent, an' he supports it. I really would appreciate it if he doesn't get hurt because of all this." Cid regretted answering honestly for a moment, and he could not see anything good coming out of this next Friday, the days he usually looked forward to so much. "I'll see you Friday?"

Vincent stilled instantly. "You have spoken to someone about our arrangements?" He felt a familiar rage begin to boil. Again he spoke carefully. "Mr. Highwind, to be honest, when you spoke of your stupidity, I confess that I did not entirely take you seriously. But now I see that you were in no way jesting. Do you have any idea what you have just done?"

"Yes, I do," Cid said, sighing as he accidentally knocked his glasses from his face onto the floor. "You'll notice I said 'to an extent.' Where, Mr. Valentine, do you think I got my information in the first place?"

Vincent was not satisfied...in the least. "I'm watching you, Mr. Highwind. I'll let this go, for now. But fair warning: watch your step." And terminated the call.

Cid hung up the phone and promptly fell across his bed, exhausted. I don't know how to make you understand…but I do know that I just brought us backwards a few steps, me an' my stupid-ass mouth.

After he ended the call, Vincent tapped his finger on his desk and frowned, then leaned forward and hit his intercom button. Tseng immediately answered. "I need to see you if you have a moment, please."

"Yes, sir."

A moment later Tseng knocked once and entered, shutting the door behind him. The tall Wutaian walked over to take a seat in one of the chairs across from Vincent and crossed his legs and arms. His friend looked concerned…and irritated. Never a good combination, and it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what might have put that expression on Vincent's face. "Let me hazard a guess…Highwind?"

"Mm," Vincent grunted and leaned back in his chair. He was silent a moment, gazing unseeingly at the surface of his desk before looking up to meet his second's black eyes. "I don't like this." He shook his head. "I don't like this at all, this…arrangement." He stood up then, and moved to stand in front of the tall windows, arms crossed over his chest and finger tapping his bicep agitatedly. He shook his head again. "The cop is too unstable, his position too precarious. The man cannot filter what comes out of his mouth. Did you know that he got, to use his own words, 'kicked outta my old place'? And when I questioned him regarding that he made reference to Scarlet wanting me eliminated, then that she wanted him closer to me." He looked back over his shoulder at Tseng who was glowering dangerously.

"That is troublesome, sir." Tseng said quietly. "What did you say to that?"

"I called him on it of course." Vincent came back over to sit on the edge of his desk. "And he just rattled off more bullshit about not 'betraying' me and throwing the word 'trust' around with alarming familiarity." He stood up then and began to pace, gesticulating absently. "I do not understand, Tseng. His position in the force, even with our most generous help, has not improved; in fact it seems to have gotten worse. Now he's telling me that he doesn't even want the position, but that he'd do it if I wanted him to. He is offering himself up to be a puppet. He stands to gain nothing from this arrangement, and to lose everything from it if he is discovered."

Tseng sighed and uncrossed his arms to rest them on the armrests of the chair. "Vincent, sit down. You're making me nervous." When his friend complied with a huff and turned an agitated red glare onto him, he asked, "Have you asked Highwind what he wants?"

"Yes!" Vincent said in exasperation. "Several times! In several different ways!" He caught himself and rubbed his eyes as he made himself calm down. "And always the answer is the same. There has to be something there, Tseng, but what is it? No one is that charitable, especially given the danger level of just what he is doing. I mean, I find it extremely difficult to believe that he is working for Scarlet what with the way she's been treating him. It would be a hell of a charade, and given what I've seen and what we know about the man's history…" Vincent snorted. "I'd have an easier time being convinced of ShinRa's running for the presidency of Midgar." Unless he is working for Deusericus…Vincent thought darkly, but he would save that consideration for later, when he knew more.

"I agree, there is considerably more risk involved with the arrangements that you have with him. But I still think Highwind is a better source than ShinRa."

"Unfortunately I am in agreement with you. Oh, and get this." Vincent cocked his head at Tseng. "Apparently he knows Lazard Deusericus, on a level to which the DA is putting him up in a new apartment. He says that they are "friends". And given the man's ridiculous inability to lie with any conviction, I have to believe him."

"Deusericus?" Tseng said in mild disbelief. "So this problem has a little silver lining after all. Vincent, if we could get Deusericus in our pocket…"

"I know," Vincent murmured. "Because I want Deusericus, I shall continue to play Highwind's little game. I'll just have to be very, very careful. And that brings me to this: on Friday, I need you to pick up Highwind. We've moved the meeting location." He leaned over his desk, and handed Tseng the scrap of paper with the new address on it.

Tseng nodded as he took the paper and studied it, frowning. "Understood. Where do you want me to bring him?"

"My penthouse. It's private, and only you four know about it," Vincent replied.

Tseng nodded again. "Will that be all, sir?"

"Yes, thank you," Vincent said, feeling a little bit better. Better enough anyway to continue with what he had been working on. But when Tseng opened the door he jerked his head up. "Oh, and Tseng?"

His second looked back over his shoulder. "I'll see what I can find out, sir."

Vincent nodded and smiled slightly. Really, he didn't know what he would do without his friend.