Breakdown ahead, guys. I didn't cut anything from this chapter, so you get the whole experience? Also, you may notice a vaguely familiar line in this chapter, hm? *winks* Free shortfic to the first one to pick it out!

When Cid had started applying the salve it had stung like nothing else, but gradually the anesthetic had kicked in, and now Vincent was seated rather comfortably, eyelids lowered in relieved bliss. Dimly, he wondered if Tseng's grandmother had used some sort of heavy narcotic, but presently he could care less. He hummed his approval, and smiled his thanks up at Cid when the man pulled back from the kiss. "Not anymore than it involved me," he lied smoothly. He reached out and took Cid's hand and squeezed it briefly before letting it drop. "Don't worry. You're safe. Very soon Rufus will have much more to worry about than what some random cop might have theoretically heard." He cocked his head, looking up into Cid's weary, and nervous, face. "You look exhausted, Cid. Not to mention wound tighter than a bedspring. Come," Vincent grunted as he tried to get up, failed with a thump back down onto the toilet seat, then tried again with more success. He took Cid's hand and tugged gently until the cop followed him back into the living room. "Lie down, please, and get comfortable. I wish to share with you a little technique that I learned from my mother." As soon as Cid was comfortable, Vincent sat down at the other end and took one of Cid's bare feet into his lap. When Cid tensed, Vincent murmured, "Easy." Finally, when Cid relaxed again, Vincent began rubbing the cop's foot, slowly kneading the muscles and tendons of heel, sole, instep, toes and then moving up the man's calf. When he looked up, he quirked an eyebrow at Cid's queer expression. "If this truly bothers you I will stop, Cid."

"Ain't about me bein' safe," Cid had murmured in response to Vincent's vague reply. "I ain't at all worried about that." He had been loath to follow Vincent for some reason; had in fact been reluctant to accept any touch from him at all tonight, and could not understand why he was so nervous. He hadn't wanted to lie down, as he had no idea what Vincent had in mind, and that too made him uncomfortable, even though he was mostly certain that Vincent wouldn't hurt him. In the end, he hadn't been able to deny Vincent, but when the man's hands started working on his foot, instinct had been to jerk away violently. He could not remember the last time anyone had touched his feet, if anyone ever had. He didn't like it, but it wasn't harming him, and he saw no reason not to tolerate the attention if it pleased Vincent…for whatever reason that might be. After finally talking himself into relaxing, Cid found that the touch was almost pleasant. At any rate, it was certainly not unpleasant. He shook his head belatedly in reply to Vincent's inquiring statement; he was a bit bothered, but he didn't want Vincent to stop because he was afraid that would end their contact for the night, and that would be even worse. He kept his head turned away from the couch, looking out over the expanse of the room, and kept quiet. "I reckon it'd prob'ly feel good," he said meekly, "if'n I didn't already feel so bad. M'sorry." He turned his eyes to Vincent's, hoping he had not offended him.

"For what?" Vincent said gently, releasing Cid's foot, but leaving it resting in his lap. "Does my touch offend you that much? Am I to accept yours, but not be allowed to return in kind?" He was puzzled. Highwind was always quick to touch him; a caress here, a squeeze there. But when he attempted something beyond fingertips in a forward manner, Cid pulled away. "I don't understand." Vincent whispered, hurt. "I only wish to help you to relax, I meant no offense."

"No, Vincent, don't think that," Cid said, caught between scrabbling to sit up and simply lying where he was, because now that the unfamiliar touch had ceased, he was actually quite comfortable. He chose to remain. "Don't think it's your fault, or that y'offended me. S'just…nobody touches me like that. Nobody wants to. Not used to it past hugs from Shera, y'know? I'm usually th'one who gives the attention, 'cause it's 'bout the one thing I'm good at –an' m'only half-decent in even that, really- an' th'last time anybody bothered returnin' th'favor…" He grimaced wryly. "Well, I got played like th'fool I am, didn't I? So it ain't you. I trust ya, I really do, an' I love that y'wanna help me calm down. But I just don't think I can t'night. Way too wound up."

He shook his head, eyes closing as the comfort he had procured slipped away. "I'll work on it, 'kay? I promise." He felt oddly melancholy suddenly, and he knew that he would only grow more so if he allowed it to fester. "Don't let me make ya stop tryin'," he said, smiling softly. "Stayin' th'night? M'afraid I'm gonna be fallin' asleep on ya real soon." He had slept away so many days, yet he was still tired- perhaps a side-effect from the number of pills he'd downed. "Y'want somethin' t'eat or anything first?" After another moment's quiet consideration, Cid removed his foot from Vincent's lap and silently offered the other foot as a replacement, a sheepish sort of grin forming on his face.

"No, I'm fine." Vincent said softly, as he slowly began rubbing Cid's feet again. "Try and get some sleep, Cid. I shall find something to do." He fell silent again as he bent to his task. His mind then wandered to the subject of who it was that might have hurt Highwind, and how they had done it. When he had finished rubbing Cid's feet, the cop was lying in a relaxed state, eyes glazed and somewhat unfocused, and Vincent didn't bother to disturb him. Cid needed to rest where and while he could, because Vincent had an unsettling feeling that things were going to get worse before they got better. He just had to try to keep Cid out from the middle of it as best he could.

Lifting the cop's legs, he slid out from under them, and walked over to the window. Easing back the curtains, he looked out and down onto the street below and the unmarked car that had been sitting out front since he had arrived. Amateurs, he thought acidly. He kept to the side of the window and out of sight, continuing to peer down at the cops that were positioned there, and thinking that this was the very situation he had dreaded when he had considered Highwind's offer.

The cop was on his way out, and now he had surveillance, probably 'round the clock since Scarlet suspected Cid's presence at the warehouse. But how did she know? That one was relatively easy. He figured Rufus probably told her. It hadn't exactly been a secret that he was meeting with Highwind, although he had taken great pains to keep the reason why invisible, so the fact that Rufus was questioning him specifically about where he had been the weekend past pointed to the fact that Rufus knew something. So how did Rufus know? Vincent clenched his jaw as the only two answers possible glared at him with malicious intent. The first was that Azul had told him, which was unlikely. The Cerulean was not known for being a 'team player', and the other possibility was that one of his own had talked. But who? And what exactly had been said? As a result, he had taken every precaution to reveal as little information about his plans for Rufus in the event that one of his was indeed owned by ShinRa.

Turning away from the window, he carefully leaned back against the wall and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. He was giving himself a headache with all of the 'what-ifs', possibilities and paranoia. For a moment he was gripped with the fear of not knowing what to do, but his never idle mind quickly started plodding forward once again and he knew that the only thing to do was what he had planned to do before he had walked through Highwind's door this evening: leave ShinRa, and take the man down as he went. The longer he waited now, the harder it would be to go through with it, given the fact that Rufus was spooked. If the mako arrangement with Cid fell through since Highwind no longer had authority, then he would manage. Besides, if all went according to plan, by the end of this, he would own Hojo, and the problem would be solved once and for all.

"Vi'cent? Cid slurred, missing the presence of the other man once he processed that he was not there. "Where'd y'go?" he asked, sitting up slowly and looking around, finally spotting Vincent at the window. "Oh." Standing and joining him there, Cid sighed and said, "Yeah, there's cops, but they're Lazard's." He grinned sleepily and tugged at Vincent's hand. "He told 'er, 'All th'ones under you 're idiots like that Highwind. Y'want 'em fallin' asleep on th'job? I'll hand-pick 'em for ya,' an' he did, an' he told 'em t'leave us alone. Don' worry 'bout it. Like you couldn't sneak right past 'em anyway," he said proudly, flashing a winning smile at Vincent, split lip and all. "I always knew just where y'were," he said, sounding as if he were in a daydream. "Always. Watched you fer a damned long time." He tugged again, clearly toward the bedroom. "C'mon. Stay by me while y're here. We'll talk 'r somethin' t'pass th'time. I don't think I wanna go t'sleep just yet, even if I am tired."

"It's a Hunter's moon tonight," Vincent said, his voice distracted and mournful. "You can just see it through the plate." He shuddered, gripping Cid's hand, hard, then looked back out the window at the cops down below. "All the pieces are in place. All is needed is for the Queen to move, and leave the King unguarded." He looked at Cid, and whispered, "Checkmate. A storm is coming…" At that moment, he felt so lost and cold.

Then, like a child, he let Cid lead him to the bedroom, and sat down on the large bed, where he sat facing Cid, and crossed his legs. He sighed and smiled wistfully. "Tseng has always been an avid chess player…loved the game. Growing up, he would try and get me to learn how, but I always found it horrendously boring. He would always use chess metaphors, and I thought he sounded so wise." He looked down at his hands that rested in his lap. "It wasn't until the last three years that I actually developed a fondness for the game, though I shall never hold it such high regard as does Tseng." He looked back up at Cid, cocking his head. "What does Deusericus know about what's going on?"

"Hell, I don't know. Nothin' 'e's tellin' me, that's fer sure. I wanted t'ask ya b'fore I talked t'him about what we saw Saturday, but I just plumb forgot t'call ya. Didn't have time, actually," he revised. "But I reckon 'e knows somethin' or else he wouldn't'a been so involved an' all. He knows Shinra's bad news, that much I know." Cid shifted and settled against the pillows, wincing as he inadvertently put pressure on his bruised ribs. "I'd offer t'let ya talk to 'im now, but I don't know who might be buggin' th'line. There's always somebody higher up," he sighed. His turn, then. What kind of question to ask, though? Finally he settled on one, one that laid bare his insecurity and drew the conversation safely away from their current morbid topic. "Vincent, Saturday, when we made- when I was- when we had- well. On th'table…does it disgust ya that I wanted that? Only ask 'cause sometimes it seems like all I c'n do is hurt ya, an' I don't want…I don't want ya t'remember that as a time I hurt ya."

Vincent swallowed nervously, twitched and avoided eye-contact, but he answered as truthfully as he could. "It's supposed to hurt. But I don't- I don't blame you…if that is what you mean." He paused, his face becoming uncomfortably hot, and plucked idly at the comforter. "It meant something to you…to have my body, and I wanted to give you that. I will not lie; parts of it…felt good. You were as gentle as you could be, and considerate of my needs, and I am grateful for that." He stopped worrying the comforter, smoothing over it with his hand instead. Finally he looked back up to meet Cid's eyes through bangs that had fallen into his face. "I will not look back upon that night with regret, Cid," he said softly.

"S'good." Vincent's answer still left him with some guilt, but he figured it was the best he could hope for given their unique circumstances. "But it shouldn't hurt. I shouldn't'a let it. An' it means somethin' t'me, Vincent, 'cause I want all of ya, an' I wanna give ya all o' me. It's more'n your body, more'n my body. Not just a way fer me t'get off, an' not just a way fer me t'use ya." Surely Vincent knew this, but Cid said it again anyway. "M'first time…I regretted it. I was a kid; thought I was in love. Let m'self get dragged inta lots o' things, lots o' things I shouldn't'a done. Was real good at not gettin' caught back then." He sighed; this was no time to reminisce, and honestly, he didn't remember much of it anyway. "What I can't figure is how I got out. But this ain't th'time fer all that." He smiled sadly and tipped his head back, staring at the ceiling and thinking anyway of the eager boy with stronger dreams than Cid could manage now. "I wanted t'be a pilot," he said softly."I know I told ya already, but I mean I really, really wanted it, like nothin' else. Gave it all away so fast. So fast." He shook his head and let his eyes close. "Everything happens too damn fast." Cid sighed heavily and looked back at Vincent, holding out both arms. "I won't squeeze ya, won't touch ya if it hurts, just wantcha closer, 'fore you go away too." He let out another sigh. "M'takin' yer turn, sorry. You get two next time," Cid said wearily. "What happens when y'don't need mako from me anymore?" he asked carefully. It wasn't a question he necessarily wanted answered, but he did want to be prepared when that time came. Vincent would likely find a better offer somewhere, a less risky situation, and Cid would be of no more use to him.

Vincent didn't believe him. He wanted to, but he knew better. He sighed softly, and eased around until he could lean wincingly back against the pillows, and Cid. After some uncomfortable squirming, he finally found a position that was agreeable. "I am sorry for your regrets," he said softly, fiddling now with the fingers of one of Cid's hands. "It is so alarming how fast your dreams leave you. Being in the wrong place at the wrong time, crossing a street when you should have stayed where you were…talking to the wrong person at the right time, and your life changes permanently." He rested his head against Cid's shoulder companionably. "I do not know what will happen when I no longer need the mako. And that is the truth." There was a moment of bound silence, and then Vincent said sheepishly. "I'm sorry, Cid, but I'm getting goo all over your pillows…and you."

Cid only shrugged and grunted in reply, head aching suddenly. He faced away from Vincent but left his hand where it was, gripping Vincent's fingers lightly when they stilled and made to move away. "I'm tired," he said quietly. He turned again and rested his chin on the top of Vincent's head. "Thank ya fer stayin'," he said grudgingly, still a bit irked that Vincent was working so hard to keep the distance between them. He couldn't be truly upset, though; Vincent had more than one valid reason to be careful. It was just very, very frustrating for Cid when he was only ever open and honest with the other man. "Anything else y'wanna know?" he ventured, a little more warmly. He was tired, yes, but not sleepy yet, and more than willing to keep talking until he couldn't think anymore.

"No," Vincent breathed. "Who you were does not matter so much as who you are now." He huffed once. "You don't sound like you are glad I'm here." He felt a little ill, actually; conflicted and strangely detached. "I don't know what to do, what to think, what to feel. I just want to go back to being dead inside. I'm tired of trying to make people happy, give them what they want, do what they want. I just want to be left alone. It is so much less complicated that way." He sat up to move to the edge of the bed. "I feel so alone…I-"He stood up, and began wandering the room, agitatedly. Quite suddenly, and most unexpectedly, parts of his past came up to stab his frontal lobe viciously. The faces of ghosts, his mother, his wife, and his son floated in front of his eyes, and he moaned, sinking to his knees to lower his forehead to the carpet. "Oh, baby…" he said raggedly. "I tried…I tried so hard to be strong…" He heard Sephiroth's evil whispering in the back of his mind, taunting, teasing. "Stop it-stop it! Leave me alone…I know what I'm doing…what I have to do, I'm doing it! I'm-I'm working…on it, I'm…losing my mind." He sat back up then only to fall back onto his backside, slumping and completely unmindful of his cuts. "I have to get a grip, I have to think rationally…it will all be okay, I'll make it okay. I will…I will…" He gripped his head as a throbbing pain took up residence in his temples. "I can't think!" he moaned as he drew his knees up to his chest, breaking open several scabs as he wrapped his arms around them. His heart was beginning to race, and he couldn't seem to catch his breath no matter how hard he tried.

Cid had started to retort, but had very quickly grown silent when Vincent had begun speaking quickly and moving about. He watched, horror-struck, as Vincent went through what appeared to be an episode of panic and information overload. He didn't know who or what Vincent was talking about, but he did catch the words, and they hurt him. He was on his feet before Vincent had fallen, and he only grew more alarmed when he witnessed that. He inched closer, not knowing if he should get closer, speak, stay silent, leave the room...but he couldn't leave Vincent alone with his thoughts like this, just couldn't. When it finally appeared to be over, Cid leaned in said in a low, soft voice, "Breathe, Vincent. Shhh, it's all right, it's gonna be all right. Just breathe."

Vincent didn't look at him, but Cid did notice a gasp and a great heaving, which he could only assume meant Vincent had taken a large, if shallow, breath. "Good, that's good. Keep breathin'." He placed his hand on the back of Vincent's neck. "Now listen at me. You are strong. You are. An' don't let anybody tell ya any different. Don't worry 'bout thinkin', Vincent, just breathe," he said in response to a hint of the frenzy rising again. Cid moved his head closer, resting it against Vincent's head. "Lose yer mind if it helps. Let it go. Get it all out an' get rid of it." He used the other hand first to steady himself as he found a more stable position and then worked it gently under Vincent's chin to encourage him to raise his head.

The red eyes wouldn't meet his; they were shifting all over, and Vincent looked frighteningly aware of his surroundings. "I'll keep it safe for ya 'til it's cleaned out, an' then I'll give it back." At least, Cid reflected, he ain't spazzin' out. An' 'e's breathin' pretty normal an' not babblin' anymore. "So lose yer mind. Go right ahead," he said quietly, taking the hand from the back of Vincent's neck and moving it to stroke his cheek with his thumb instead, fingers in the dark hair, as he leaned in again to rest their foreheads together. 'C'n hold onta me, an' I'll make it be all right."

Vincent struggled to breathe, forcing the air in and out of his lungs in time to Cid's breath. Both of his hands came up to rest on either side of the man's face, more on Cid's strong jaw than his cheeks, and he swallowed hard as he rose to his knees. He pressed his forehead to Cid's firmly, as thoughts, feelings, scenes from just mere days past shot through his head at lightning speed to leave him reeling. He shut his eyes, and began to talk, but there was nothing intelligible to his words, most of which were in Wutainese anyway, and at some point he was sure he had begun to laugh. But finally he wore himself out, and just knelt there, on the floor, facing Cid. To calm his jittery nerves he focused upon Cid's smell; aftershave, faint sweat and cigarette smoke, barely noticeable beneath the overpowering smell of the salve. He focused upon how Cid's hand felt upon his face; rough textured, yet infinitely gentle, strong fingers with a confident caress. He focused upon the heat he felt coming off of the cop; the body heat, the presence that mingled with his own to slowly overshadow the shivering remnants of who he was. But most of all he listened to Cid's easy breathing- low and deep, and in perfect rhythm to the heartbeat just under the man's flesh, which, if he concentrated hard enough, he could hear.

Soon, Vincent's whole world narrowed down to those senses: touch, scent, hearing…he had seen those blue eyes, compassionate and fearful for his wellbeing, and now there was only one sense left. Without allowing himself to think about it, Vincent closed the minute distance between them, pressing his lips against Cid's. He angled his head to get a deeper, more thorough kiss, and Highwind's mouth opened willingly, almost eagerly under his own. And thus sealed his sensory possession. He tasted tea, and something slightly salty. He probed deeper with his tongue, and tasted the flavor that was unique to Cid. It was musky, masculine, and grounded his whirling thoughts, coalescing them down to, "Right here, right now…" he breathed, and sealed their mouths together once again.

"That's right," Cid said in return, helping this time to close the distance between them. That's all we have, right here, right now. He had no idea what Vincent had said to him when the babbling had abruptly started again, but he had been glad to listen to it; it sounded pleasant rather than panicked or sardonic, and he had been grateful to hear Vincent's laugh. Cid felt that this was somehow like being a kid again, experimenting with love for the first time, the way he eagerly, shamelessly awaited Vincent's kisses, on the verge of begging for more of them. After a time, he shifted again and rose to match Vincent. Up tall on his knees, he could smell Vincent's blood now. Could almost taste it, really, his senses were heightened by their contact.

And Vincent was so close... But he couldn't care about the blood now. He could do nothing but breathe and cling and cling and want. Vincent's hands tightened on his jaw, and Cid whimpered helplessly into the mouth that was still hungry on his. He thought again -for thought was beginning to return to him as he prepared to pull away- about the absurdity of the situation: here they sat, a failed cop and the soon-to-be leader of the most prominent crime organization on the continent, kissing desperately on the floor of Cid's apartment as if nothing else concerned them. And, truth be told, nothing else did. Still, Cid pulled away gently, sighing, and asked, "Right here, right now...what is y'want, Vincent?"

He knew what he wanted. He wanted to stay right here, to keep kissing until his tongue was numb and his lips were raw, maybe even bleeding, so he could bleed with Vincent. He dragged his eyes away from swollen lips to seek out red eyes that were no less frenzied than they had been before, but this was a different kind of madness.