Aaaand the anticlimactic follow-up to last week's cliffhanger. :D
"I- wha- ?" Cid very nearly began panicking in earnest as Vincent fell, pulling Cid with him. He was very much chagrined for not having the foresight to catch Vincent as he fell, but then he was otherwise occupied. He bent over Vincent's still body, concerned for half a second that the other man might have died. Painstakingly, he lifted Vincent's body, though he knew he should probably leave him alone. Cid carried him to the couch and lay him on it, then returned to the kitchen for a glass of water in case Vincent wanted it when he woke. He sat, still stunned, on the floor next to the sofa and waited for Vincent to come back to him, running a hand through the dark locks as he did.
Several minutes later and with a soft groan, Vincent's eyes fluttered open. He was looking at a ceiling, pristine, white, and smooth. He shifted a little and heard the creaking of worn, old leather. He was on a couch that was not his own, in an apartment that was, likewise, not his own. He brought his hands up and rubbed his face, then blinked rapidly and focused on a familiar face peering down at him. Resituating his head upon the pillow that was under it, he frowned slightly as he took in Cid's pale, concerned face. Lines of worry creased the cop's forehead, and the man's lips were pressed together in a tight line, while his blue eyes gazed at him warily as if waiting for something. "Cid?" He asked, confusion clouding his mind. "What happened?"
"You-" he had to stop talking as a sigh of relief left him in a huge gust of breath. "Guess y'kinda…freaked out on me. Yer head all right? Y'hit th'floor 'cause I didn't see it comin'." Vincent seemed aware of Cid now, and he wasn't going to mention the…incident. Not even to himself, apparently; he caught his mind already skimming over the details and trying to erase them.
Vincent frowned. "Hit the flo-" He trailed off as the details began to come back to him in a rush. "Oooohhhh, " he breathed, hand coming up to cover his mouth. "Oh, Cid, I'm so sorry, I-" He didn't know what to say. He had indeed "freaked out". "I suppose I owe you an explanation, don't I?" he asked softly.
Cid shook his head. "No, you don't owe me anything, Vincent. It's enough fer me that y've snapped out of it now. But you do know I'd never use ya like that, right?" His eyes stared into Vincent's, needing to see the answer as well as hear it to determine its sincerity. Cid took Vincent's hand away from his mouth and held it between his own hands. "It…it scared me, seein' you like that," he admitted. "It was my fault. I shouldn't'a pushed like I did. I'm sorry," he said, kissing the hand in his grasp.
"Oh, Cid," Vincent said sadly. "I know you wouldn't, and I'm sorry you had to see that. I just- I just felt…trapped." He pulled his hand out of Cid's grasp to lay it against the man's cheek. "You do not need to apologize; I should not have reacted that way." He averted his eyes. "I am…damaged, I know this. But it is not you. I-" He took a deep, unsteady breath and plunged ahead. "I have never…sought the companionship of another man before…by choice. My only experiences have been…unpleasant…ones." He knew he was babbling, and it embarrassed him, but he somehow wanted Cid to know that the man had done nothing wrong. "Do you still wish to try? Knowing what you know? Even if it means we might never be able to…" He couldn't finish, blushing furiously and fidgeting where he lay.
Cid leaned into Vincent's hand. "'Course I do. Ain't none o' that news t'me, Vincent." He kissed the palm of the hand on his face. "Th'real question is if you still wanna try. I'll be with ya as long as y'll let me, an' I don't- I don't need anything in return, but I'm gonna want. I can't help that, but I can restrain m'self, unlike everyone else y'seem to've been with. Don't ever need t'feel trapped. All y'gotta do is tell me t'back off, an' I will. Might not be happy about it at first, but I'll know we're both better off goin' at a pace yer comf'table with." He felt so guilty now for wanting Vincent so badly and for being so ready to take things Vincent was not ready to give. "Doesn't matter what we do an' don't do, so long as y'let me stay close." He was caught, too, on Vincent's use of the word "damaged." He wanted to protest it, to offer some alternative- but what was there to say? "I'm shit at lots o' things, Vincent, but I c'n fix just about anything. If y're 'damaged,' like ya seem t'think, I reckon it's my job t'make it better."
"Thank you." Vincent breathed, relieved. "Thank you." But he felt that he needed to give Cid something. Shakily, he sat up and faced Cid, studying the earnest face in front of him before he leaned forward and kissed Cid's lips. "I will try, Cid. That is all that I can promise right now." He traced the lines on Cid's forehead with cold fingers. "You have awakened such things inside of me…feelings I have not felt since Lucrecia." He was surprised that saying her name came so easily, and the pain that he had expected to feel was dull, muted. "What would I give to be able to put words to those feelings," he wondered thoughtfully. "I am in a different world when I am with you. When I am with you, everything else seems like a dream, a bad dream, and that is all." He could see from Cid's expression that guilt was still very prevalent. "You did nothing wrong, Cid, and I do not blame you." He just hoped that Cid would believe him.
I didn't do anything right, either, Cid thought, but smiled for Vincent when he pulled away. "Thank ya. It kills me, thinkin' I mighta hurt ya." Lucrecia. Cid loved her and hated her; was angry at her and grateful to her. She had hurt Vincent, had left him vulnerable and alone –though it was not entirely her own choice- but without that, Cid would likely have never met the man, let alone have a shot at…this, whatever this tentative arrangement was. He kissed both of Vincent's hands, then turned around and rested his head against Vincent's knees. That was all the contact he deserved, and all he would request. "Lessee what's on th'TV, huh?" he asked, injecting a smile into his voice. They had hardly started eating before everything had hit the fan, but he, for one, was not hungry anymore. He leaned more heavily against Vincent's legs to counter the distance he knew he was probably projecting. Cid would much prefer a quiet, moderately intimate moment between the two of them, but he knew he would find a way to ruin that if it were granted to him, so he satisfied himself with this.
Vincent left him alone, instead opting for separating his legs so that Cid had to either lean back uncomfortably or scoot back to rest against the couch, which the man chose to do. When Cid was comfortable again, Vincent began running his fingers through the cop's wild blond hair, which was thicker than it looked. He didn't really pay attention to Cid's infuriating channel surfing, rather he was completely absorbed in petting Cid's hair; running his fingers through it and scratching Cid's scalp lightly. "You have had a hard life, haven't you, Cid Highwind?" He asked distractedly. "I have been so selfish, whining about my own petty problems, while the world slowly ate away at you." He rested his chin on his hand that was propped on the armrest, while the other ran through Cid's hair and he continued to talk to himself. He didn't expect Cid to answer, given the man's melancholy state that he had done such a spectacular job at inducing. "I admire you; holding out while the world tried to crush you under its heel. And I only helped it along didn't I? I shall do better. Yes, I shall do better by you." He smiled in a weird sort of serenity right before a loud gurgle made his hand still and his face heat up in embarrassment. "Hm, it would seem that that sandwich has resumed its appeal after all."
Disbelief materialized alongside the growing guilt that preyed upon Cid at Vincent's little monologue. He wasn't complaining about his problems; he never would in light of Vincent's, and he could not understand why it was suddenly about him, or why Vincent's presence suddenly felt so hostile despite the hair-stroking and pleasant, thoughtful tone. Cid set down the remote carefully to avoid the thud that would come with dropping it before crossing his arms over his chest. He was almost angry, he realized as he felt himself starting to shake. He'd apologized, hadn't he? He'd tried to understand even though he knew he never could. Why, Vincent? "Then go eat. Ain't nobody stoppin' ya."
He was being bitter, though he had no right to do so, but today was threatening to stretch his emotions beyond their limits. Only barely resisting the urge to jerk his head away from Vincent's hand, he thought, I can't do anything but try, either, Vincent. There's really no need t'be so cruel. "M'sorry," he said grudgingly, realizing that he was allowing himself to do exactly what Vincent had accused him of doing, "I shouldn't snap. I'll just wait here."
Vincent had recoiled at Cid's tone, pulling his hand away as though bitten, painfully confused. What did I say? he thought, bewildered. He eased out from behind Cid silently and went back in to sit at the cursed table that he would rather see turned into scrap lumber. Alongside his confusion was hurt, mild anger that was mostly directed at himself and a kind of desperation. He didn't really want the sandwich, especially now, but the necessity of food drove him to sit at the table, leaning heavily on an elbow and slowly begin to finish it. He wanted to be away from Cid right now, he wanted to call Tseng, but forced himself not to because of the problems that would create. Suddenly the apartment stopped feeling warm and welcoming, it felt cold and foreign. Who am I kidding, he thought acidly. I'll try? He snorted to himself. I'm more suited to my life than I had realized. All I am good at is destroying. I pride myself at reading emotions, but when have I become so superficial? Hate, that was what he felt now. A dark, and violent cloud that settled around him, wrapping its icy fingers about his throat. You were right, Sephiroth, all along. Everything you told me in The Pen was right, just as everything you told me in your dream was right. I have lost my way. He finished the sandwich, but continued to sit at the table, staring sightlessly at the wall. He felt, disjointed, numb, as though he were looking at his life from the outside, objectively. Am I finished here? What is keeping me here? Loyalty? Pity? Hope? Friendship? He didn't know anymore.
Now that Vincent was gone, Cid wished he hadn't been so cold. He wrapped his arms around himself tighter, feeling the chain and hearing the clink of the tags Vincent had given him. Did they still mean anything now? To Cid, they did. They meant all they had meant the night before, as did the words he planned to put on them…as did Vincent. He loved no less, never could; he had only made yet another mistake to add to his infinitely long list. He wrapped a hand around the tags as he ran the other through his hair, sighing gustily. He still loved, and he would fight for it…as soon as he figured out how. He owed that to the both of them. Standing, Cid made for the kitchen uncertainly and took the seat across from Vincent, making as little noise as he could.
He rested his head in his hands, eyes covered, for a few seconds until he looked up and rested his chin in them instead. Absurdly, he wanted to smile as he reflected on all the good things they had experienced together. Where was that tenderness they'd found this morning in the shower? Had it left them with the last traces of the night? No; the sun had been fully awake when Vincent had cooked for him. "Skillet," he croaked, nodding at the frying pan that still sat on the stove.
"Excuse me?" Vincent asked, glancing up at Cid and looking somewhat affronted.
Cid sighed again. "Look, Vincent…what is this? What're we doin'?" Why do I always hurt ya so much?
Vincent stared at Cid a moment, expressionless, before he said coldly. "Why don't you tell me?" He narrowed his eyes slightly. "Tell me what's on your mind."
"On my mind," Cid muttered wonderingly. "You want me t'tell ya so you c'n turn it against me again an' make me out t'be th'kind o' man y're used to? I'm not that kind o' man, Vincent. Never thought I was better'n you. Never thought I was worth more'n you. Never once have I even so much as thought that my sufferin' even compared t'yours. Why did you say that?" he demanded, a fresh wave of hurt washing over him at the recollection of the stinging words.
Vincent snorted. "No, you are not 'better' than me and I can give you a long list of reasons why you are not. And no, you are not that kind of man. But that is not the issue here. It has never been the issue for some time now." He leaned forward and pinned Cid with a level stare. "I can predict people, Highwind. That is what I do, that is what I deal with every day. But you…you I cannot predict. You want to know why I said that?" He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his scarred chest. "Because I foolishly thought you might want to know that someone actually cares about you. That someone might actually want to know about your life that made you who you are. But I guess I was wrong." He would have left it at that, but then he figured that it all needed to be on the table, so he finished with, "And I really hate how weak you make me feel. That is 'why I said that'. All I do when I come here is relive my failures. I fall into your arms like a weak-willed female, weep and bemoan my life. So you shall have to forgive me my recognizing my inattentiveness to you and your needs."
"Well, you can't say y'didn't know I was bad at acceptin' attention. An' you'll hafta forgive me for not understandin' what y'meant to do, seein' as every other time anybody's said anything like that, they meant t'hurt me. It was only last night that I promised I'd work on it, 'member? I'm not th'type o' man who c'n change overnight. Look, Vincent, I never said you were wrong when y'said we come from two diff'rent worlds. We do, that's true enough. An' just coexistin' peacefully c'n be hard enough, never mind a relationship. An' y're right, too, that my life ain't been a piece o' cake. If I'd known y'meant what y'said th'way y'did, I would've responded th'way y'meant me to." He took a deep breath; he had no idea where the words came from, but they were coming, and that would do for now.
"Nobody ever promised me anything. Nobody ever told me I could be anything I wanted, or that I could grow up t'do wonderful things. I think that's th'way it should be, 'cause promises like that, they make people think things'll be easy. Nothin's easy, Vincent." He dragged his eyes away from the table, to which his glance had fled after a few moments of Vincent's stare. He looked into those eyes again. "An' you said yerself that y'feel stronger after y'leave here. Everybody's weak sometime, Vincent, and I'm honored that y'let it be around me. Th'weak are vulnerable, an' if you trust me enough t'look out for ya while y're feelin' weak…I think that says a lot. I'm tryin' t'learn t'do the same, because you deserve my trust too. I can say so easily that I love ya an' that I wanna give you everything, but I hold back, I know. I don't wanna get hurt any more than you do, but I'm not as strong as you. Not as brave as you." He set one hand on the table, palm up, in supplication. "Y've said that y'll try, Vincent, and those words are the only promise anyone's ever made me that hasn't been broken yet. Will you keep it fer all its struggles, an' keep me, fer all my faults?"
Vincent had stopped listening mid-way through Cid's little speech, the man wasn't saying anything that he didn't already know. He knew, better than anyone, that life was hard and that people didn't change overnight. Did Cid think he was really that stupid? But his attention was snapped back into focus by Cid's question, and he realized that he had trapped himself into this by his own word. But was it such a bad thing? Hadn't he been honest when he'd told Cid that the man had made him feel things that he hadn't felt in years? Hadn't he shown weakness to Cid, and had the man only sought to give him comfort? Didn't the cop listen to his fears, his sorrows without judgment? And yet those words of comfort were so quickly given! They had stopped carrying any meaning, and had only become words. Did he even care that Cid professed to love him? He searched his heart and found with a stab of sorrow that he did not. So how then, could he return those feelings? Vincent reached up and rubbed his suddenly throbbing temple. Indecision tore at him while his brain and his heart warred with each other. In the end his honor trumped them both. He had given his word, and he would stand by that, come what may. Without a word, he placed his hand in Cid's.
Cid flinched as Vincent's hand found his. It meant nothing; Vincent was operating like a robot. He wanted to pull his away, but that would only have made things worse. Instead, he held tighter, and said, "If my words, or my word, don't mean anything t'you, then why does yours? An' why should yours mean anything t'me when you give it like this?" he asked, lifting their joined hands as if examining them. "All right. Why don't you tell me, then? What's on your mind, Mr. Valentine?"
"You wish to know what is on my mind, Mr. Highwind?" Vincent said in a smooth voice. "All right, then I shall tell you. In two days time I am going to leave ShinRa and take down a giant. I shall inherit all of his wealth and assets, and own his company. I shall then have to placate and cater to all of the allies and contacts that Rufus has managed to acquire by any means necessary. I shall then have to avert multiple turf wars the interruption in power shall create in the mako supply and flow. I shall have to find out how to manage a madman who destroyed my life, without him knowing of my existence. I shall have to find some way to convince the authorities that I am legitimate while not alienating my current contacts and foreign business partners. All while I try to keep from getting killed. And now I find all of that complicated exponentially by one man. You. You, Cid Highwind, sitting here across from me and continuing to tell me that you love me. You, Mr. Highwind, are now the most powerful man in Midgar. You have usurped me. You now have the power to destroy me utterly; to unravel my world, unmake everything I have suffered to create. And that bothers me, it angers me…it frightens me." He squeezed Cid's hand unconsciously, not in anger, but rather as though he were searching for some kind of support, comfort, contact. "But what truly terrifies me, is the fact that I would give you all that I have, all that I am, if you asked it of me. Can you possibly wrap your brain around that? You have upended my world. You dangerously distract me from what needs to be done. I would walk away from you; wash my hands of you except for one thing." He held up a free forefinger. "Do you know what that one thing is, Mr. Highwind?
Cid shook his head, holding Vincent's gaze levelly. "What?" he whispered.
"I need you. You have somehow become invaluable to me, because you remind me that I am still alive…in here." He made a fist and thumped his chest firmly, once. "That is why I wish to 'try.' Because you make me feel warm, you make me feel as though I am not alone. I have Tseng, I have the others…but somehow you have transcended them, and I don't know how." He sat back in his chair, but kept their hands linked. "That is what is on my mind, Mr. Highwind," he whispered.
Cid had continued listening to and watching Vincent, surprised that he felt no guilt at the thought of having the power to make Vincent's entire world collapse around him. He felt only warmth at the knowledge that he would never allow it to happen as long as he lived. He should not have been surprised to know it; Vincent had become the center of his world as well, and Cid had given up the rest. Vincent could not afford to do that, but Cid sensed that he wished it were possible. He could wrap his brain around it, and easily; couldn't Vincent see that? Hadn't Cid already proven that he felt the same way? Not clearly enough, it seemed, or not in the right ways. "I can't say that I'm sorry fer that, so I won't try. And I won't be any help in strategies 'r negotiations or nothin', but I can promise t'be here for ya when y'need a break dealin' with all that. I mean, I know it don't go away just 'cause yer not directly dealin' with it, but just th'same. I c'n listen, an' I c'n make an effort t'distract ya, and I will not let you regret needin' me. That power y'say I have…I couldn't ever take advantage of it. And I would never ask you t'give everything t'me. That has t'be done on yer own decision, when y're ready, an' not just because I asked. Don't feel like you have any obligation t'me, Vincent, 'cause you don't. If I thought I c'd give that power back, I'd do it in a heartbeat t'let you have control over all o' this. But I can't, Vincent, because it ain't somethin' that happens at will, an' it'd prob'ly only make things worse for ya. Just rest assured knowin' that I'll never knowingly use it against ya. It's safe with me. You're safe with me."
Vincent hadn't expected Cid to fully comprehend the full magnitude of what he had to say, and he wasn't disappointed. But he did believe the man when Cid said that he was safe with him, and it eased some apprehension in him. But he also knew that every man could be broken, and he was concerned that Cid might be put in that position because of him. There was still a buzzing in his head- from what, he didn't know- and he rubbed his temple again, muttering, "My head hurts."
"Okay," Cid said. "Okay." He rubbed his thumb over the back of Vincent's hand a few more times before pulling his hand away and standing. He went to the bathroom to find a bottle of aspirin, but before he left, he stood in front of the bathroom mirror for a while, looking at himself and feeling wholly inadequate. He rested his head against the cool glass for another few seconds before returning triumphant to the kitchen and offering the bottle to Vincent.
Taking the bottle from Cid with a muttered "Thank you", Vincent shook out four and swallowed them, chasing it with some of the water he had left in his bottle. He looked soberly at Cid and asked, "So…now what?"
Cid shrugged. "We chase our tails around th'room s'more an' butt heads again? We seem t'be good at that." He looked back at Vincent, wondering about Lucrecia. He wanted to know…but he wasn't sure that he really wanted to know. "Will you…tell me about Lucrecia?" Maybe if he knew, he would better be able to judge when to mention her and when to leave her well out of the conversation.
Vincent nodded, absently playing with the nearly-empty bottle of water in front of him. "I see no reason not to tell you about her." He sighed heavily. "She was my wife. From another time, another life." He gave a small, sad laugh. "Oh, how I loved her," he said on another sigh. "She was a scientist. We met in the Academy. She was…" he paused and looked at the ceiling; a small dreamy smile graced his lips. "Energetic, and laughed easily. She was always sharing her newest discoveries with me, even when half of the time I didn't know what she was talking about. Her enthusiasm was infectious though, and I loved to listen to her voice, even when she rambled for hours. She had long brown hair that she always wore up in a thick tail, even though I would pester her to wear it down. When she looked at me her brown eyes would light up. She would say, "There you are, Vincent! You won't believe what happened to me today!" As she wrapped her arms around my waist, and I would say, "Oh, but I'm sure you're going to tell me, aren't you?" Every time. We would walk and talk for hours. Sometimes we would travel out of Midgar and have a picnic in the fields near Kalm, lying together under an enormous tree, her head on my stomach, and we would watch the clouds and talk absolute nonsense." He paused and looked back down at his water bottle, twirling it slowly in between his fingers. "I had never been in a relationship before, never even really spoken to a girl before, and I was terrified when she came right up and started talking to me as if we had been friends for years. I stuttered and stumbled all over my words and she just giggled and asked me to dinner. We were near inseparable after that. There is not a day that goes by that I do not miss her in some way, shape or form."
Cid grinned. Though he was not sure he would have gotten along with the woman, he could see why Vincent had loved her. She was exactly the kind of person Vincent needed. She was, but Cid was not. Though, to be honest, he couldn't pinpoint precisely which qualities –besides the physical and intellectual…that was it. The intellectual. Vincent needed someone smart, someone with whom he could have intelligent conversations. Cid didn't think he'd ever be up to Vincent's standards in that regard. But he could ramble, and he could talk utter nonsense, and he could come on too strongly and be too forward and persist in pursuing Vincent and hell, he'd even dye his hair brown and grow it out, if that would help…no, he wouldn't. He was not going to attempt to replace Lucrecia.
That was disrespectful to them all, and he was ashamed for even considering it. "I'm sorry that you have to miss her, Vincent. I really am," he said, and he was sorry. Vincent deserved happiness so much. "Let's go laugh fer a little while. We've had enough o' the sad stuff t'day," he said, standing. "I'll make us some popcorn an' we'll find a movie, an' maybe durin' th'commercials you c'n tell me s'more about 'er."
Vincent nodded and stood up, rubbing the back of his neck as he did so. While Cid went into the kitchen to begin making popcorn, he lay down on the couch, pushing himself back into the cushions and dragging the afghan over his bare chest and shoulders. He hoped the aspirin would kick in soon.
That didn't feel like they were going to be laughing any time soon. And Cid had to admit that he was a little annoyed that Vincent had taken up the entire couch, but he didn't mind sitting on the floor. He could have taken a chair, but neither of them were close enough for popcorn-sharing. He took his seat with the big bowl of popcorn and an orange soda for each of them. He wasn't sure how long they'd been in the fridge, but they were there, and didn't seem to be in bad shape. Luckily, he wouldn't have to flip channels too much. Only three of them ever showed what he considered to be real movies, and he knew their numbers.
The first one was some sappy romance, and it lowered his opinion of the channel greatly. The second, rather ironically, claimed that it told the story of a cop and a big-time mobster whose lives were intertwined somehow. Cid considered just turning off the set. The last was almost just as bad as the others; something about a man-eating shark or some such, but it was just starting, so he left it. "Looks like another bad horror movie," he sighed, taking a handful of popcorn before offering the bowl to Vincent.
"Mm," Vincent murmured, taking a couple of popped kernels and nibbling on them. There was a throbbing at his temples that felt suspiciously like a pulse, and he wasn't feeling terribly enthusiastic about eating any more, but he took some to be polite. What a mess things had turned out to be. He had felt the entire range of the spectrum in regards to emotions, and he didn't know where he stood now. At the moment it was just easier to lie there, and stare at the flickering screen with the credits popping up to the background of some low, ominous music. Vincent blinked slowly, bringing one arm up behind his head, intrigued by the simple music and scene of the ocean. He'd like to visit the ocean actually. The only time he had ever seen the large body of water it had been from a wharf in a harbor or from high up in one of his helos on his way to some meeting or other. The screen showed what had to be the point of view of said man-eating shark as it swam through an underwater forest of seaweed and coral, and Vincent felt himself grow somewhat interested in what the movie might bring in the way of mindless entertainment. Right now, anything was better than the alternative.