As promised, post 2 of this week's 3. Here's hoping this makes up for yesterday's super-short chapter!

Everything seemed to be in order as Vincent got up from lighting a fire in the large black marble fireplace. He was in the mood for one and it seemed, somehow fitting given his thoughts and the situation. Walking back into the modern black glass, marble, and chrome kitchen, he checked on the elaborate pasta dish he had cooking to make sure it still looked like it should, breathing in the delicious aroma. He figured it was his turn to 'cook' and already had the bread baked and salad prepared. Tonight he figured he would get some answers from the cop, one way or another, as he was getting tired of living in paranoia. Rolling up the sleeves on his deep crimson silk shirt, he picked up his wine glass – it wasn't the good stuff, he figured he'd wait for his company before he popped the cork on the Mideel Red – and ambled over to the large wall of windows that looked out over the brightly lit city of Midgar to await his guest's arrival.

"First one on the –no,no. Last one on th'right? Furthest t'the right. That's it," Cid muttered to himself, smoothing his suit as he walked to the last elevator. "Owns th'whole top floor…damn rich boy ijit…dammit, Highwind, watch yer mouth…" Cid had a well-known habit of babbling when he was angry, humiliated, exhausted, nervous, happy, or to distract himself from any of the above and much more. Babbling often led to speaking without thinking, and he knew he could not do that in front of Vincent no matter what. When the "ding" and the slight shake of the elevator informed him that he had reached his destination, he stepped out cautiously and looked around, eyes widening at the spacious foyer and ornate doors. He doubted they were in Vincent's taste; other than the built-in decorations, the walls were bare and bland. One could assume that Vincent did not spend much time here. "Vincent?" he called, not seeing or hearing his host anywhere.

Fortunately Vincent's hearing was well above normal, a byproduct of his past and he heard the muffled call of his name through the 'front doors.' Arching a brow he walked through the living room and to said doors. He opened the right one and leaned against a narrow hip, sipping his wine, the other hand shoved into the pocket of his black slacks, as he watched the cop peering at one of the very few paintings he had hung on the wall above a narrow delicate table affixed with fake flowers. The man's expression was one of distaste and he doubted very much that Highwind even knew that he made that face. "Something not to your taste, Mr. Highwind?" he asked mildly, taking another sip of his wine.

"Hey, there you are! Nah, I was just thinkin' y'don't spend too much time here. It don't feel…lived in, not at all. Shame. Real nice place," he said, grinning his compliment. "So…can I come in, or didja just wanna show off the front here?"

Vincent snorted and stepped away from the entrance, gesturing with his wine glass. "By all means, won't you please come in? But only after you have finished scrutinizing my home," he said wryly. "I wouldn't want to rush you."

"Defensive, aintcha? Yeesh. I'll just keep my mouth good an' shut, then," Cid said huffily, crossing his arms as he walked past Vincent into the next room. He couldn't keep himself, though, from turning back and grinning as he pulled out the mako and held it out to Vincent. "I…thanks fer invitin' me here, I guess."

Frowning, Vincent eyed the mako. "The agreement was for one tube of mako, this is two," he said suspiciously. This was an unexpected turn of events, and it made him nervous.

"I don't remember specifyin'. I just was thinkin'… Sher's gonna be out a couple months when th'time comes, an' like I said, I c'n get someone else in if I need to, but…I thought maybe it'd be better t'stock up just in case." Cid didn't like the distrustful look Vincent was giving him, but he was slowly getting used to it.

"And what do I owe for this…generosity?" Vincent asked softly, reaching out to slip the mako from Highwind's loose grip. He then walked over and slipped the mako into the inside pocket of his suit coat. If he were in his office he could handle this, or even at a restaurant, but here in his home, on his turf, he found himself uncertain and very nearly afraid. He kept his back to the cop so that the man didn't see his expression, which he was sure was not a pleasant one.

"Owe? Ah, Vincent, y'don't-" Cid couldn't understand why Vincent continued to think the way he did. He was going to stand firm in his decision not to ask for anything, but he remembered Tseng's words: "He will never come to you." Instead, he heaved a sigh. "I- fine. I'll put a price on it. How 'bout a kiss?"

"I…" Vincent was a little shocked at such a simple request. He looked over his shoulder at the defeated man. "A…kiss?" Sighing in resignation, Vincent turned around and slowly approached the cop. He looked down into Highwind's mournful eyes a moment before murmuring, "Acceptable." He then placed both of his hands to either side of the blond's face gently, and lowered his lips to Cid's. At first it was just a light brush of contact. Cid's lips were dry, but soft and he nuzzled them a little more before slanting his own and pressing down more firmly. His eyelids fluttered briefly before finally falling shut and his tongue came out to hesitantly slide along the seam of Highwind's mouth until the cop's lips parted and accepted his advance, at which point Vincent promptly deepened the kiss. He thrust forward with his tongue, sliding his own against Cid's and feeling an answering tingle of awareness zing throughout his body and he shivered. Slowly the cop began to return the kiss, pressing back and seeking with his own tongue until Vincent was very nearly dizzy. Finally he ended it and pulled back, but kept his mouth just over Cid's, and his hands in place on the man's face. "Was that sufficient?" he breathed.

Cid nodded, wanting more with every fiber of his being but forcing himself to resist. "It was perfect," he breathed back, memorizing the feel of the hands on his face and nuzzling against one even as he remembered how cruel these hands could be. "Just exactly perfect." Vincent's mouth was still within reach of his, but Cid licked his own lips, swallowed, and somehow talked himself into pulling away. His body had reacted violently, especially when he had seen Vincent taking some pleasure from the kiss. He shuddered once more, thinking I could make you feel so good as the hands on his face slowly slipped away. I'd run m'hands all over ya…kiss you everywhere…

"Good," Vincent said softly as he took a step back, and his tongue came out to run over his bottom lip where he could still taste a little bit of the other man, but that too was fading. He had expected the cop to push him, to demand more, but when he didn't Vincent wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed. "Shall I pour us some wine then?" he said a little absently as his brain refused to forget the feel of Cid under his hands and lips.

Cid hesitated. "I don't…I don't know if that's such a good idea." He tended to be a lazy sort of drunk, even after only drinking enough to allow for a slight buzz, but he couldn't guarantee that that would be the case tonight. He had taken advantage of Vincent in a way the last time they had shared wine, and he feared that he would go too far if it came to that again. However, he couldn't help but feel he should accept the invitation anyway. "Mebbe just one glass."

Vincent nodded and moved into the kitchen. He retrieved the Mideel Red from its ice chest and popped the cork. He poured two glasses, and returned to hand one to the cop. He grinned a little and murmured, "The good stuff." He was about to say more when the fuzz in his head was cleared by the timer going off. He straightened and said pleasantly, "And that would be dinner. Please, Mr. Highwind, if you could take a seat, I'll bring it out shortly." Fortunately the salad and bread were already set out. "Help yourself." He grinned and moved back into the kitchen.

Cid wasn't much for salad, but he placed a small pile of it onto an empty plate after picking through the bowl with the provided tongs to make sure there was nothing on his plate but carrots and croutons. It appeared that Vincent had hand-sliced and tossed the salad himself, and it looked remarkable even in the aftermath of Cid's rummaging. The bread was much more appealing to him, and he took two pieces to start. He wouldn't eat until Vincent had served himself and taken his seat, so for now he sipped his wine slowly. He had no doubt that it was definitely "good stuff," as Valentine had claimed, but he planned to stretch this one glass through the duration of his visit. Through a slightly open door, he could see the edge of a piano, and Vincent's admission to having once played the instrument came rushing back to him. How he would love to hear it! He wished for one brief second that he would have thought to trade the mako for a chance to watch Vincent play, but then he remembered the kiss and was ashamed of himself for even considering wishing it away. Maybe he would be able to convince him anyway…

Those were his thoughts when Vincent reentered the dining room with a steaming tray of something Cid didn't recognize but wanted to try very soon. "Whatcha got there, Valentine?" he asked teasingly as Vincent set the tray in the center of the table.

"This," Vincent said, setting the dish down with a tiny little flourish, "is just a little something I had picked up on one of my many trips to Mideel, with a few embellishments of my own. I had stopped in at a small café," he pulled out an additional set of tongs designed specifically for the serving of pasta, "and had this. The owner didn't even have a name for it, calling it the "House Special". I told him I had to have the recipe and after some tough negotiations – yes, he retained all of his digits, so don't look at me like that Highwind – he let me look at the recipe. Fortunately for me, and unbeknownst to him, I have an eidetic memory, so once was enough." He served Cid first, pausing in momentary puzzlement at the pile of croutons and carrots on the man's salad plate before shrugging and moving on to serve himself. When food was distributed and he had poured himself a second glass of wine, he was seated and said curiously, "Does the wine not suit you? You have hardly touched it."

"No, it's good! I just…well, I wanna be walkin' on my own two feet when I leave later, yeah?" Cid teased, remembering how Vincent had stumbled at first at the end of their last meeting. "But you, uh, didn't really answer m'question. Mideel's an island, right? I'm allergic t'seafood. This got any o' that in there?" he asked, taking a bite of the bread.

Vincent frowned a little, remembering his go around with the cheap wine during his last visit to the cop's apartment, and not at all appreciating the off-hand inference that he was a lush, but he restrained himself from insulting his guest. His mother had trained him right, and lessons beaten into your skull at childhood are never, ever forgotten. "Well, you are not going to be 'stumbling drunk' from one, two or even three glasses of this wine, not with food in your stomach. And to answer your question, no, this has no seafood in it."

"Well, maybe I just don't feel like drinkin', then. Or do I not have any rights while'm here?" Cid took offense for some reason in the fact that Vincent seemed to take offense at everything Cid said and did. "An' I'll take yer word on that. It…smells real nice," he finished lamely, trying to make up for snapping. He took two tongs' worth of the pasta and stared at it for a while, wondering why nothing he cooked every looked this…edible. "Looks good too," he said, grinning as he leaned over his plate to take his first bite.

Vincent chuckled as he opened his linen napkin and placed it carefully on his lap. He picked up his salad fork, and took a bite of salad before answering after he swallowed the food. "Of course you have 'rights' here, Mr. Highwind. Business has been concluded in a satisfactory manner for both of us, and we are now merely 'friends' enjoying each other's company are we not?" he said easily.

"F'you say so," Cid answered skeptically distrustfully eyeing something that eerily resembled a mushroom. He pushed it surreptitiously to the edge of his plate, along with anything else that was of similar shape and size. He continued eating in silence for a while, careful not to drain his glass of the dwindling amount of wine in it. "Vincent," he asked finally, "why'm I still 'Mr. Highwind'?"

Vincent blinked, caught by surprise at such as unexpected question. He lowered his fork and sat back, eyeing his guest. "Does my calling you 'Mr. Highwind' bother you? I am merely being respectful."

"I know, an' I appreciate it, just…you said a while back that we were past formalities an' all, an' I just wondered if it was a hint that we really aren't an' that you'd prefer I went back t'callin' ya 'Valentine'." Not that doing so was very respectful, frankly, but it was a bit more so than just 'Vincent.'

Vincent resumed eating as he carefully considered his answer. Finally he said, "That is true. I did say that, and I meant what I said. If you wish to call me by my given name, then by all means do so, and I shall have to trust to your judgment that you shall know when to call me 'Vincent' as opposed to 'Mr. Valentine'." He continued eating for a few minutes before looking up at the cop curiously. "Does it make you uncomfortable for me to call you 'Mr. Highwind'?"

Cid paused a moment, taking his time to word his decision appropriately. "Not…uncomfortable. But when we're like this, like you said, just friends enjoyin' each other's company…well, it's hard t'pretend we're friends if you call me that." He toyed with the pile of things he had deemed inedible at the edge of his plate idly, wondering if he had unwittingly committed some faux pas. Perhaps he should not have raised the topic at all; it seemed to have become a rather big production.

Vincent sighed, and placed his silverware on his plate, carefully wiped his mouth with his napkin and set it too on the table. "Old habit, for me, Mr. Highwind. In this business I do not have 'friends' in the literal sense that I believe you to be speaking of. Please do not take offense, as I mean you none. Are you finished?"

"Yeah, guess so," Cid murmured, pushing his plate toward Vincent and standing. "Let me rephrase. I'd appreciate it if y'd consider callin' me Cid when we meet like this. Now, y'want some help cleanin' up?" he asked as he helped to gather the used silver and empty(-ish) plates and glasses.

"That will not be necessary, though I appreciate your offer. You are my guest, feel free to make yourself comfortable here, and I shall join you shortly." He collected the dishes and carried the first load into the kitchen. When he came back, the cop was still standing at the table. "Please Mr. High-…Cid." He fidgeted, not liking the sudden switch to informalities. "I have this, and I shall consider your request, though I make no guarantees as to the longevity of use in regards to the cessation of formal titles. Here," he reached for the cop's wine glass, refilled it, and handed it back to Cid. "The sitting room is quite comfortable and the view is spectacular. There is a balcony if you need to smoke and it can be accessed from there." Finally the cop left, and Vincent finished putting things away. He bagged the garbage and set it by the door to take down when he left. He had a cleaning crew come in once a week even though he didn't live there just to keep the dust down, and now they actually had something to do. He returned to the kitchen, poured himself another glass of wine and went in search of his 'guest'.

Cid had blinked at his refilled glass once and then firmly decided that he would have none of it. He didn't like being left alone here; it was so big and clean that he was nervous and jumpy. He had set his wine on a coaster sitting on the low glass table and begun slowly pacing around the room, finally pausing at the window. He didn't see what was so wonderful about the view. Buildings, street lights, city lights; it could all be seen well from so high up, but Cid had no interest in admiring such things. Night had fallen completely now, and Cid thought he could almost see a few stars through the smog. That brief spark of happiness died as he realized what he was really seeing: only lights on the upper plates, visible through framework under construction. He abandoned the window and began pacing again, not comfortable with sitting on the couch that appeared to have never before held a visitor. He had a dull craving for a cigarette, but he ignored it for the time being. For the moment, he just wondered why he was still here.

Vincent found Cid staring out of one of the large windows, tense and radiating his displeasure. He took up a position in a doorframe, leaning on a narrow hip and sipping his newly filled glass. "You are free to go at any time. Tseng is waiting downstairs and will return you to your new residence," he said quietly.

Cid turned and looked at Vincent in surprise. He had not heard the other man come in behind him. He nodded in response to Vincent's statement but made no move to leave. "So what, you just wanted t'do things the other way around? Show off yer place? Why'm I here, Vincent?" he asked, feeling that he had missed something very crucial.

Vincent arched an eyebrow and snorted. "Why would I 'show off my place'? You know money is no object to me. To be completely honest I cannot remember the last time I have set foot in this place. Rather I need somewhere controlled, someplace safe, particularly now that you have been compromised. Only Tseng, Reno, Rude, Verdot, myself, and now you, know of this place." Vincent shoved himself off of his hip and walked into the cavernous room and over to the fireplace and the dimming flames. He picked up a poker and idly began to stir the wood until the fire was brighter, the flames higher. He looked over his shoulder at Highwind. "Which brings me to my next question, Mr. Highwind. Just what did you tell Deusericus?"

"Well, let's see. He knows I'm correspondin' with ya some kinda way. He knows that I know you need the mako, 'cause he knew first. I don't know how, but I c'n try t'find out for ya. He knows I've met with ya a couple times. He does not know that we're negotiatin' in any way or that I'm supplyin' you with anything but vague information. Told 'im in very little detail about what happened at the gala, 'cause he'd helped me pick out that suit an' he wondered why I didn't wear it last time I had dinner with 'im. Coulda made somethin' up, I know, but…I can't lie t'people I expect t'be honest w'me. Other than that, anything he knows he found out somewhere else." After finishing, Cid sighed and folded his glasses into his shirt. He would not mention the rest of what he had told Lazard, nor would he fulfill that promise now; this was not the time. "I don't know what his motives are fer wantin' me in a higher position, but that was his idea. Sure as hell wasn't mine," he snorted, wondering just when he had become such an easily manipulated pawn. "He'd better have a damned good reason fer bringin' me inta this, s'all I know." Now he wanted a cigarette badly, but he decided to hold off for a while. No doubt he would have to field questions and accusations from Valentine, and his host would only grow more irritable if Cid walked onto the balcony now.

This information was troubling, very, very troubling. Vincent frowned. The logical course of action was the one he particularly did not want to take, at least not at the moment if he could help it. He wanted Deusericus working for him, not dead. Clearly there was a leak of information and he could no longer trust Highwind, which made him realize that he had in fact begun to trust the cop, and that unsettled him even further. The fact that he needed mako was not highly guarded, not when considering Rufus was in charge of the information. The fact that someone was manipulating Highwind into a position of power, and then having the cop so nonchalantly hand that manipulation over to him, was giving Vincent a headache. It was just one more thing for him to try to negotiate, and that was the last thing he needed. Briefly he considered cutting the cop loose. That would be the intelligent thing to do. The man was a blatant liability. Suddenly Vincent was exhausted. He walked over and sat down on the couch heavily. He set his wine glass down and put his head in his hands. "Do you know what kind of a position you have put me in, Mr. Highwind?" He asked wearily, looking back up at the cop. "Do you know what you have done to your 'friend'?"

"No. No, I guess I don't. I'll just lie to ya from now on, an' then y'won't hafta worry about it. How's that?" Cid said a little too loudly, picking up his pacing again. "What am I supposed t'do? I met with you once under his advice, and I made my own decision after that. I haven't told him anything since I decided to be yours except what happened the other night. Other'n that I don't- oh shit," he said, remembering that he did know where Lazard had gotten his information. "Shit. Them three- those silver-haired ones? Was them what told 'im y'needed it. I just remembered. He told me that th'first time when 'e said I should meet with ya." Finally defeated, Cid sat on the couch beside Vincent and parroted his pose. "Th'world's fucked up. Who th'hell are those sons o' bitches?"

"Then it appears that we are both being used, and that pisses me right off," Vincent growled low in his throat. He had fucked up, and fucked up very badly to not have followed up after those three, and now he was paying the consequences. He leaned back against the couch cushions, thinking hard. All this mess hinged around his need for mako, which in turn ran back to Sephiroth. By Kadaj's own mouth, he and the other two knew about Sephiroth, or at least of the man's existence. "They should be working for me," Vincent muttered darkly. "That was the agreement. If I find out for whom they are really working…" He needed to speak with Tseng and the others. He needed to locate those three and have a little word with them. He groaned softly. There were a lot of "need to's" in his schedule now. But none of that could be done tonight. "Do you think you can manage to find out what Deusericus knows?" he asked Cid wearily, rolling his head to the side to peer at the cop.

"I c'n try," Cid said softly, looking back at Vincent, "but I won't make you a promise I might not be able to keep." He reached out and placed a hand carefully on Vincent's shoulder nearest to him. "Fer that reason, I'm not gonna sit here an' tell ya that it's gonna all work out or any o' that shit. I will tell ya that I'll be here through all of it, on the chance that means anything t'you." His eyes were earnest as he found Vincent's and looked into them. "Should we bump up th'next meetin' so I c'n get the information back to ya right away?"

"We may have to," Vincent replied with a lopsided grin. "The longer we wait, the more can go wrong." And if they met every Friday, then he could finally get out from under Rufus and put the man away for good. He sighed again. "Well, the night is still relatively young. Is there anything you wish to do, or has my home thoroughly disgusted you into retiring for the evening?"