Fluffy morning after? Uh, no. AAAAAAAngst ahead. Hooray!

The mist swirled around his hips and thighs; the cold, moisture-laden air caused gooseflesh to rise on his arms, chest and legs. But what had him frightened was the fact that he was alone here, whereas there had always been that presence before. "Hello?" he called, only to have the mist dampen his voice so that is sounded muted and contained.

"You've lost your focus." The voice was everywhere this time, and Vincent whirled around as he tried in vain to make out a form.

"What? N-No, I haven't! Things are progressing…" he stammered nervously.

"No," came the interruption, the voice lethal and colder than the mist. "You have lost sight of your true goal, and that is unforgivable."

"You don't understand!" Vincent tried again, desperately. "Something has come up, they're trying to pin a murder on me…"

"Irrelevant."

"You're wrong!" he shot back, taking confidence from the mellow sound of that horrible voice. "If something happens to me then you'll not get what you want."

There was a pregnant pause. Finally, "Perhaps I misjudged the situation."

Suddenly the darkness seemed to coalesce into a solid form right behind Vincent, and no matter how hard he tried to turn around to see his friend-his enemy, he found that he was frozen in place. The figure stood nearly pressed flush against his back, but gave off no heat that would confirm the presence of life. Peripherally to his right, Vincent caught a quick flash of spun silver. "Perhaps you have," Vincent murmured, shivering.

"Maybe you need a little more…incentive," hissed the voice into his ear.

"What are you talking about?" Vincent gasped, wanting to turn around so badly that he was beginning to sweat.

"Deal with this little oversight however you wish…but dispose of your distraction, or I shall do it for you."

"Distraction…" Vincent breathed, a knot of fear beginning to clench in his belly, turning it to stone and making him want to run. But the fact that he was locked in place only threatened to make him panic instead.

"Your little…" There was a brief flutter of cold lips on his ear, which caused Vincent to moan in despair as he realized who was being mentioned. "…carnal distraction. I can hear your thoughts, feel what you feel, and you…are losing…focus, Vincent."

"Please," Vincent whispered, "leave him out of it. He knows nothing…"

"He doesn't have to. Only you matter to me, and you are straying from your path," purred the voice, and Vincent jumped when he felt the glacial impact of an intimate touch. "He is making you stray. And I cannot have that. Not when we are so very close." Lips brushed his neck, and Vincent moaned again. "Get rid of him, Vincent, if not for me then for his own safety. Because I will kill him. And you know it."

And abruptly the presence was gone, freeing Vincent's limbs, and allowing him to fall to his knees. He put his face into his hands and sobbed.

Waking to find Vincent's warm body still beside him made Cid certain he was the happiest man in Midgar. For a long time he could only stare at the body that lay curled away from him, the dark hair draped over soft green pillows, his own darker arm around the pale waist. He could almost pretend they were lying outside in the sunlight after making love in the grass, regardless of who saw them, for all to know that they belonged together. He knew that could never be –for one thing, there was little grass in Midgar- and knowing that only made him want it more. Maybe he would take Vincent away from here after all, find a sunny patch of earth untouched by all this trouble- but Vincent would never be happy in such a simple life, would he? He was far too intelligent for that.

Cid pushed more hair away from the handsome face that showed emotion best, it seemed, when its bearer was sleeping. He kissed Vincent's cheek and sat up slowly, thinking over the night before and finding that he regretted nothing…but would Vincent feel the same way? Cid doubted he would. As he lowered himself back into a reclining position, he gently tugged the other man to rest on his chest and ran a hand through his hair. "I've meant it every time I've said I love ya, an' now I c'n only mean it more," he said quietly, and he could see Vincent begin to stir a bit. "Don't wake up yet," he whispered. "Y're gonna hurt me soon's ya do, so just sleep a little longer."

Whispered words ghosted over his ears as Vincent slowly came awake, and his voice choked in his throat with sorrow, making him whisper hoarsely, "But I don't want to hurt you." But I am afraid that I will…all too soon. He snaked his arm around Cid's waist and held on to that warm, broad body under him. After the bone-searing cold of his dream, Cid's body was scorching hot, and he desperately needed to be warm, even if it was going to be for so fleeting a time as to be nearly negligible. His eyes fluttered open, and he stared at the wall for while, clinging shamelessly to Cid as denial flooded his body with false hopes and ill-placed dreams. When he left today, things would have to be reshuffled, lines redrawn and boundaries reset, but right now…right now, they only had each other. Pushing up on his arms, hair falling in a midnight curtain around them, he looked down into Cid's face, nearly losing himself in the blue of the man's eyes, a blue reminiscent of a sky that he hardly ever saw anymore. He feathered the backs of fingers over Cid's cheek before leaning down and forward to kiss Cid, hesitant at first, but quickly growing long and deep. When he pulled back, their lips only inches apart he whispered again, more strongly this time, "I don't want to hurt you."

"Then don't. Don't try t'make me let you go again." He put his arms around Vincent, clinging to him with the same sort of desperation he'd seen in Vincent's eyes moments before. "I understand th'rest, an' I know it won't ever be…normal…but don't tell me t'give up on ya." He framed Vincent's face with his hands, beginning to sit up again. "I love you, an' that's all I'm gonna say about that this mornin'. Now how 'bout some breakfast? You, uh, c'n put yer pants back on when we get inta the kitchen, if y're more comf'table dressed.. I didn't think t'bring any of it with us." There was a box of pancake mix in the pantry, and Cid was suddenly very eager to show that he could make something successfully. "Y'take yer pancakes with chocolate 'r without?" he asked, standing and stretching before offering Vincent his hand.

Vincent flushed awkwardly at Highwind's repeated declaration, and clutched the sheet over his lap self-consciously. "Plain, please," he murmured, before taking a deep breath and placing his hand into the cop's, to leave the sheet behind as the man pulled him to his feet. Cid gestured for him to go first, which he did and made a straight line for the kitchen and his discarded pants and shirt from the night before, pulling them on and blushing furiously as he studiously avoided looking at the table. Backing up, he stood in the doorway and fiddled with the collar of his shirt uncomfortably. "Would you mind if I waited for you in the sitting room, Cid?"

Cid felt only a little guilty for admiring Vincent's backside as he walked behind him. It proved to be a dangerous pastime; he wanted very much to squeeze it, if not completely reenact the previous night's activities. He settled for sneaking covert looks at it and those long, pale legs as he found a suitable frying pan during the time when Vincent was bent over slightly to pull his pants onto his legs. He was sure Vincent had caught on when he asked to wait in the sitting room, but then he remembered that the table deserved a good scrubbing before holding food again. "No problem, Vincent. You jest make yerself comf'table, an' I'll bring out a big ol' plate when they're done. Where's that damned pan…?" he wondered aloud, remembering only after hitting his head that he kept it above the sink for convenience's sake.

Sighing, he grabbed the pan and began heating it while mixing the batter. It was a good thing Vincent hadn't wanted chocolate chips; after checking for them, Cid found that he had none. He pulled on his shorts after the first cake was in the plate, and then, daydreaming all the while, continued to produce a plateful of perfect pancakes, the one dish he had never yet failed to succeed in making. He carried them, the butter, two forks, a knife and the syrup out to Vincent and set them on the small, unsullied table in the living room. "There ya go," he said, contentedly plopping down beside his guest after just barely managing to not drop anything. "Help yerself. But first…kiss the chef?" he asked hopefully, grinning and nudging Vincent with his elbow.

Embarrassed and feeling trapped, Vincent acquiesced and leaned for to place a quick peck on Cid's lips, before retreated back to his little 'corner' of the couch. Now that he was coming more fully awake, his mind ruthlessly replayed everything that had happened the night before, and Vincent felt vaguely sick to his stomach and nervous. Had he not told himself that joining with Cid would be a point of no return? Despair then filled him, and he had to force himself to reach for his plate and actually managed to down his food before he carefully replaced the plate on the table, and drew his legs up and wrapping his arms around them. Resting his chin on his knees he couldn't help but think about the inappropriateness of this situation, the uncertainty and near-fear that followed those thoughts. Suddenly he wanted to go back to the Tower, back to the world that he knew, the faces that were familiar, the business that governed his life. He wanted to see Tseng's stoic face and Reno's cocky grin. Hell, even Rude's silent, statue-like presence and Verdot's psychosis was sounding better and better right now.

Cid kept eating slowly, watching Vincent from the corner of his eye. Any attempts at conversation had been met with pointed evasion, so eventually he had fallen silent. He wanted to comfort Vincent now, seeing what was most likely embarrassment take over the other man, but he was afraid that would make it all worse. "Y're welcome t'the shower if y'want it. I'd offer t'run yer clothes through the wash, but I reckon they're better quality'n that." Now he knew he sounded indifferent and nearly cold, and he wanted to remedy that very quickly. "I…I really wish y'didn't hafta leave. I really like it when y're with me, Vincent, an' I'm sorry if I ever make ya uncomf'table. Don't let me do that to ya, 'kay?"

Vincent nodded distractedly. "I appreciate it. I'll phone Tseng and have him bring over a fresh suit when he comes." He flicked his gaze over to Cid and immediately regretted it. He saw concern, hurt, but the worst was the confusion deepening the premature lines on that rugged face. "Your company is not undesirable," he murmured before returning his gaze to the black television screen across the room. Finally the awkward silence became too much, and he stood up. Going into the room they had only recently vacated, he rummaged around in his discarded pants until he found his phone, flipped it open and hit the familiar speed dial button.

"Yes, sir?" came the instant greeting after one ring, and that rich voice was so welcome to Vincent's ears that he very nearly sobbed in relief.

"I'll be needing a ride back to the Tower, Tseng. And a clean suit, if you would be so kind," Vincent said softly.

"Are you all right, sir?" Tseng said, sounding concerned.

"Well enough. There is much that I need to discuss with you. We shall be having a busy week." He said.

"Very good, sir."

Vincent then flipped his phone shut, and stood. Taking a deep breath, he walked back out into the sitting area, noticing that Cid had not moved, and was looking sorrowfully pensive. Guilt wracked him mercilessly, twisting a knife right through his heart, but he knew it just had to be. Wordlessly he picked up his dirty plate and silverware, and carried them into the kitchen, where he rinsed them off, returning to the living room after first drying his hands. "Tseng is on his way now. If you have no further need of me, I-I'll just be taking a shower now." At Cid's dismissive wave of his hand, Vincent winced, and made his way into the bathroom. He needed to get himself under control.

After another few minutes of silent thinking, Cid rose and did his own dishes. He sighed heavily and leaned on both hands against the counter, looking into the shiny surface of the sink. Vincent had said his company was not undesirable, but it had sounded so forced, so untrue, that the attempt to make Cid feel better had only made things worse. I shouldn't'a let things get outta hand last night. Shoulda just gone back t'bed like we said an' not kissed 'im like that an' let m'self get so worked up… Cid stopped his thoughts suddenly, realizing that he was considering regretting what they had done together.

Such regret was unforgivable, and he chased it away quickly. But...he did not regret the events, only the circumstances. He wished that Vincent were not so frightened by such encounters…he wished he could kill with his bare hands Shinra and every other bastard who'd taught Vincent to expect pain. He wished he were better with words so Vincent would understand the things he could not say. Knowing that wishing would get him nowhere, Cid simply curled up on the couch and quietly awaited Vincent's departure.

Finishing his shower, Vincent dried off and pulled his borrowed clothes back on. As he walked back out of the bathroom, he saw Cid on the couch looking heartbroken, and he had to turn right back around and go into the guest room. Clutching his chest at the sudden pain there, he staggered over to the bed and sat down to bury his head in his hands. This was all wrong! It hurt like nothing else ever had, no beatings from Rufus, no injury he ever sustained could compare to what he felt now. But those words from his dream, that sickly beautiful voice: "Get rid of him, Vincent, if not for me then for his own safety. Because I will kill him. And you know it," made it abundantly clear that Cid had no place in his life. Because if he felt horrible now for hurting Highwind, then he would not be able to live with himself if Cid died because of his own selfishness. "Fuck you," he snarled, low and deadly. "You said you could hear my thoughts…" he looked up and was surprised to feel moisture on his cheeks. "FUCK YOU!" he shouted to the empty room, hoping to get his message across the infinite space of being and not-being. He knew the message was received when he heard a low, sadistic chuckle in the back of his mind, and Vincent moaned again. He was getting stronger, since Vincent could hear him now while he was awake, and he shivered, whispering one word. One word to sum up the misery that constricted his life to nothing but suffering, making him a slave to everyone else's will but his own: "Sephiroth."

Cid had miraculously not heard Vincent's outburst, so absorbed had he been in his own thoughts. He sat up quite suddenly, decided that he had no right to claim he loved Vincent if he just lay on the couch and waited for him to leave. Expecting rejection of the cruelest degree –but not at all prepared for it- Cid opened the door to the guest room and walked into it. He came to a stop just in front of Vincent, and was thrown very much off-guard by the look on his face. He seemed to be in pain, surely as much pain as Cid felt himself at the thought of losing this, but Cid still had no idea what to do to comfort him.

He chose not to try, and instead carefully lowered himself to kneel between Vincent's slightly parted legs. He leaned forward and wrapped his arms about Vincent's waist, leaning against him heavily. He had nothing to say, because words proved to be his enemies when he needed them most, so he said nothing. Please don't leave while we don't know what t'do with each other. I love you. Vincent's shirt bore the proof of the strength of his emotion; he and Vincent seemed to shed an awful lot of tears in each other's company. He hoped that would work itself out with time…if there was to be time at all.

Vincent shut his burning eyes and placed one hand on Cid's head, feathering his fingers through the wild blond hair and fisting there, hanging on in the only way that he knew how. "I don't want to hurt you," he whispered raggedly, but knowing that in end he would. "But I would rather hurt you than see you die." I'm so sorry, Cid. He then wrapped his arms around the cop and curled his body over the man protectively. They remained like that until there came a loud knocking on the front door.

And I'd rather die than see you hurt, Cid had tried to whisper back, but no sound had come. When the knocking came, Cid held tighter, in denial of the end to this moment. When Vincent next walked out the door, Cid knew there was a great chance of never being able to hold him this way again, and he did not want to face that. He wanted to tell Vincent at least once more that he loved him, but that would only hurt the both of them, and besides, they both knew already. He stood slowly, regretfully, and turned to go to the door, again offering his hand to Vincent but unable to look at him.

Vincent took Cid's offered hand and let the man pull him to his feet, but he did not follow him to the door, electing instead to remain behind. He could only tell himself so many times that this was for the best before it just sounded fake. He watched Cid leave, listening to the brief, muffled conversation between the cop and Tseng and when his second arrived in the doorway, Vincent was staring sightlessly out the window.

"I have your suit, sir." Tseng said softly and laid the garment bag upon the bed before showing himself out, and shutting the door behind him.

Vincent turned then and walked over to the bed, and unzipped the bag, looking down at the familiar suit. He shook his head sadly, and slowly got dressed. When he finished tying his tie and buttoning his jacket, he felt only marginally better, locked away in his familiar prison. Until this moment, he hadn't realized just how much he had come to need these clothes, to hide himself away from the world. He wore them like a shield. With considerable less care than Tseng had shown his garment bag, Vincent stuffed his rumpled suit, street clothes, gauntlet and Quicksilver into the duffel and zipped it up. Placing his fedora on his head, dark glasses in one hand, duffel in the other, he made one last sweep of the room and sighed heavily, feeling the weight of the world descend once again upon his shoulders. He exited the room, Tseng moving to his side to take the duffel from him and as a unit they moved to the door, Cid trailing after them. Tseng exited first and waited in the hallway while Vincent turned back and faced Cid, his heart in his eyes. The man looked fragile, brittle and he was afraid to touch him for fear the cop would fall apart. He leaned in close to Cid's ear and whispered, his voice shaking, "I'm sorry." He stepped back, placed his dark glasses upon his face and said evenly. "Goodbye, Mr. Highwind." He turned then, and without looking back preceded Tseng down the stairs and of the building to the waiting car.

Vincent's eyes and manner showed so much pain…pain that Cid had caused despite it being the last thing he wanted to do. He didn't know how to fix it for either of them, or if anything even needed to be fixed. Somewhere inside was the hope that it would all work out, but overwhelming proof to the contrary quickly smothered that hope. Cid, feeling empty, watched out the window with his hands pressed against the glass as the large black vehicle drove away.