I.
"As much as I would like to help, Ms. Joules, there isn't much that I can do."
The end of Ross' sigh was filled with phone static. She could hear the whir of the official's fax machine in the background. More racket passed, followed by several rushed voices. She was busy.
Shera anxiously twisted the charging cord around her finger, and waggled her fuzzy sock covered foot over the edge of the couch. Cid sat back at the other end; blankly staring into the late afternoon report on the TV. A crumbling graham cracker strip hung limply from the corner of his mouth. The Captain's brows were tense, and his jaw locked. He was nervous as hell.
"Are you sure, Ross?" Shera's foot drooped and sank to the floor. One possible scenario after another swirled through her head and churned brunch sitting in the pit of her stomach.
"Positive. I can't pursue Ms. Chartreuse on what she may consider publishing, or what she will publish. She can write what she wants, to an extent. However, if you want to pursue her for libel, you're welcome to…" there was a thoughtful pause. "I don't know what she might have pieced together, or what she assumes, or what she intends to report, but consider, that the both of you aren't exactly free of fault. And, unfortunately, neither am I. The predicament I have agreed not to mention, isn't untrue."
"I…understand." Shera glanced at Cid. He pulled his lack of attention from the television and met her eyes. They were wearing similar expressions.
"I can't talk for much longer." Ross' voice grew distant. "Good luck."
"Thank you…" Shera pressed off the phone and pushed it down into the hook on the coffee table. She nibbled her knuckle. The house was quiet for a moment or two.
"So?" The Captain was the first to speak. The rest of his cracker was wedged between his teeth. He crunched the ends, and then the rest disappeared in his scowling mouth.
Shera teetered over and flopped belly down across Cid's lap. She snapped her eyes shut, groaned, and stress-tugged the band right out her hair. "No dice."
"Shit…" Cid groused. He cleared the grit from his throat with a hot mug of tea. "So Official Hard Ass is tappin' out on us."
"Ross was saying that there really isn't much we can do. We can either go after her, or dread the paper." She turned onto her side, and Cid took a gentle hold of her visible ear. He brushed Shera's bangs from her neck, and assuaged the shell between his thumb and index finger.
"She ain't got any proof, right? Even if it's true, who's gonna believe her?" Tamar wasn't the most credible Rocket Town resident. Everyone knew that. But then again…she did provide a source of entertainment. The area was often starved. Everyone would probably continue to eat it up.
"I don't know who. And I don't know if she has any proof to back up whatever claim. She did have the experiment folder for a while. She went through Ross' phone records. She knows about Reeve." Shera fully turned onto her back. Her eyes were half lidded in a sudden swell of chill, and fatigue. She really needed a nap.
"It wouldn't be the first time she wrote somethin' awful on me. 'Cept, this time it'd be true." Guilt took a hold of his face. "I didn't mean to, but I did some bad things."
"You didn't make yourself this way, Cid."
"Nah, but I've been lyin' to the town about it. I hate havin' to sneak around. Don't feel right." Cid's eyes drifted up to stare out of the window. The distant landscape was bright and frigid; coated in several layers of unmelted snow. Pebbles of water dribbled down from hanging icicles over the rusted gutters.
" I coulda ate somebody." The thought still made him nauseous.
"But, you didn't." Shera sat up with a frown.
"But what if I had? I took a good bite out of you, didn't I?" He argued. "And the brat. Hell, you're both still hurtin'. Tifa was tellin' me about it the other day. Says her pops is real worried."
"But I'm here, and I'm fine." Really, all of this was beside the point. "And so is Yuffie. I'm sure anyone could understand why you wouldn't want to mention, Cid. I know you won't hurt anyone, now that we know more about what's wrong." Shera took a hold of the hair of his chin and gave Cid a firm tug. She brought his lips close enough for a comforting kiss.
"We could just…talk? To Tamar?"
"I don't wanna fuckin' talk to that good for nothing fly on the wall, alright?" That would be admitting defeat. Tamar would absolutely love to have them crawling back to her. "I don't want to give her anything else she could hold over our damn heads. Got better things to do anyway." Speaking of.
"You're probably right." Shera scooted from her place over Cid's legs after receiving a firm smack on her rear.
"C'mon, move it. I've got to show my face down at the warehouse before Vince comes back. The fellas are probably wondering where the hell I've been all day."
II.
The workers at the warehouse, cold and milling about, had been wondering what had happened to Cid. Though, most just assumed he slept in through the weather like everyone else in town. Perhaps, the only highlight of his day, was being able to mention the gold he'd struck in the very back corners of the woods. He wanted it all dug up, and brought to the working space for evaluation as soon as possible. It was a relief to the crew. No one had gotten much done without him. Not enough parts to move past a hollow frame.
The new task at hand was enough to briefly push thoughts of the town's Reporter out of Cid's head. What did he have to do again..? Call up Reeve. See if Vincent had returned yet from…whatever he was doing. Grab something to eat. Open up his new tester. Make more calls about the ship. Anticipate another round of snow. Dread going to sleep. Man, what a day.
The pulsing light of the cigarette between Cid's lips warmed the running underside of his nose. He flicked a bit of ash onto the snow that still littered the dirt paths. Home wasn't far. He'd called, wanting to ask Shera what she was interested in having for dinner, but she didn't answer. He just assumed that she was asleep. It was up to him now. Bundling his scarf around his neck, he took another turn, and decided to grab something to-go from the local diner. Maybe two orders of the fried steak would do, and some small cups of dumplings. Shera always liked eating that.
After rousing the tender at the front bar, Cid took a seat in a booth and smothered his cigarette in the table top ashtray. He rubbed tiredness from his tear ducts; keeping his eyes closed for just a moment to allow his day to sink in. The bell rang behind him, signaling the entry of another patron. The wheeze of the wind ceased with the prompt snap of the diner door, followed by very slow, slushy footsteps. Stale perfume greeted Cid's nostrils with the passing of a figure. He opened his eyes. A snake had slithered into the other side of the seat.
"Evening, big fella."
"I don't wanna talk." Cid lit another cigarette and placed his lighter back in his pocket. He gave Tamar hard, direct eye contact. His expression wasn't a welcoming one.
"Of course you don't." She took her recorder from her purse, and slowly placed it down between them. Tamar pressed play with her smallest finger, and drummed her polished fingernails over a discarded menu. "So, Captain Highwind, what do you take meds for?"
"That's a personal question. Doncha think? I don't really wanna answer that." Cid placed his freshly lit cigarette between his lips and blew out from his nose.
"The parcel the skinny guy in the red coat gave you this morning. It said it was an experimental, counteractive medication from the WRO." Tamar looked Cid up and down. "There's definitely something wrong with you, so what is it?"
"Maybe I like poppin' needles." Cid lied with a snort. He glanced back at the top counter. He hoped they would hurry the hell up with his food. He'd leave right then if he hadn't already paid.
"Needles, huh? Real funny."
"Okay, high blood pressure."
"Oh? Must be real, real serious if the WRO has to send you meds. I'd almost believe that." Tamar leaned in with a grin. She rested her chin on the back of her hand. "That folder I borrowed from your girlfriend said that those experiments were meant for people. Middle aged men? How old are you, exactly?"
"That ain't any of your business either. How old are you? One hundreds is a pretty tender age range ain't it? You should really stop smokin'. Ain't good for crones like you." Cid ashed his cigarette in the tray. His thigh jittered under the booth.
Tamar smothered her angry grin by biting down on the edge of her lip. Her other hand came up to coyly prop her head. "Thirties, forties, right?" Her gritty voice came down to an intimate whisper. "I bet it's not her. Did she know about you at first? Or were you too busy humping her leg for her to notice?"
"Don't you say another fuckin' word about her." Cid's nostrils flared. He ripped the cigarette from his mouth and stabbed it into the mount of ash already sitting in the tray. "Your mouth is a literal shithole when you speak. Do you fucking think I want to be this fucking way?! I ain't do this myself!"
The 'conversation' came to a complete stall. Tamar sat up; smug and pensive. She was scanning the Captain's tense, reddened face. That might as well have been a confession. On recording. God, she was just too fucking good. "You look like you'd rip something in half, Cap'n. You're the thing that's been gobbling up people's pets." Another pause. Some people were passing them by to another lamp lit table. "Listen, big boy. I can cut you and Jolts a deal."
She honestly had the fucking NERVE to- "What the hell do you want?!" Cid hissed.
"A little trade." Tamar shrugged and crossed her arms. "You can keep this recording and I'll spare some details, in exchange for a few snap shots."
"Of?" He already knew.
"You."
Cid glared down the recorder on the table between them. The flashing red light leered back. "Fuck off." He shot out of his seat; snatching his food from the server on the way out. The diner door slammed; rattling the bell and causing it to pop off and onto the wooden floor.
Well, fine. She'd just get them herself.
III.
The heavy fall of Cid's boots on the hardwood stirred Shera right out of her sleep. She dragged herself from beneath the cover of an electric blanket, rubbed her glasses-less eyes, and groped an end table for her charging phone. She placed it down after checking the time, and inquisitively watched him cross the living room to the kitchen. She could sense a foul mood.
"Cid?"
"I brought home somethin' to eat. If you're hungry. Hope you weren't plannin' to cook." He dropped the bagged boxes on the dining table. His back was turned to hide the searing scowl on his face.
"Oh," Shera rolled onto her feet, and teetered over to the table "it smells good. What'd you get?" She peeled the paper bags open; noticing that Cid was still twisted away from her while washing his hands in the kitchen sink.
"Fried steaks, and those dumplings you like." Cid pivoted to the cabinet for plates. She was sure that something was wrong.
"I see now... Are you okay?" Shera left the bags to peek around his side. "Did something happen, Captain?"
He thought about lying for a second, but the thought stung. Cid thickly swallowed his pride and turned his head just enough for her to see. "The hag came into the diner while I was waiting on the boxes and grilled me. Shoulda served me for fuckin' dinner. She pissed me off."
Shera placed her hand on his forearm and squeezed. "…what did she say?"
"I don't wanna talk about it." Cid racked his hand through the mop of hair at the back of his head. He pinched the small rubber band holding the thicket in place. "All that I can say is that she knows."
"Oh…wonderful." Shera puffed out her cheeks and slowly exhaled through poised lips.
"I don't even care anymore. If it blows up in my damn face, fine." Cid chuckled silverware onto the table. He yanked the refrigerator door open and pushed his chilled medicine aside for the cider. "It ain't like I've never been in a major fuck-up that shredded my reputation." Cid pressed his mouth into a hard line. He mentally smacked himself over the noggin.
"Uh…sorry."
Shera crossed her arms and shrugged. "Unfair comparison, Sir. Apology under consideration for acceptance." She pursed her lips and shifted the topic for the time being. "Vincent hasn't come back yet."
Cid took an awkward seat at the table. "Shoulda known he wouldn't be. Fella's a little elusive."
"I noticed." Shera passed Cid his portion before opening up her own and sliding it onto a plate.
"I don't really know what he does when he slinks away. I guess we'll wait for em' in the morning." The Captain sheepishly scratched his chin. "That uh, tester is in there. You can stab me in keister if it'll make up for my big mouth."
Shera laughed. His favorite one; light and jingly. "I'm not angry, Captain, but I'll take you up on your offer." It meant the whole world for her to waltz around and kiss him on his little pissed-off forehead.
IV.
"Shit! Ow!"
"I think that you should be used to this by now, Cid."
"You love to hear me squeal, don't you, babe…"
V.
"More rain." The creak of the metal tub followed Shera's careful shifts in place. She paused; just so she could get a good listen at the icy water that pelted the bathroom window. The floor and vents were cool, but she had made sure the water was hot when she drew it out.
"More snow?" Cid stretched out his legs, as far as the space would allow. The hot water eased the fresh ache in his bottom. Soft mounds of generic soap swirled on the swaying surface.
"Probably." Shera hummed and gave herself more room over Cid's submerged lap. A snap echoed with the drip of the tap. Something cool slid down the crown of his head and made him shiver. It was sweet, like honey and spearmint; her shampoo. "I don't know why I bother."
"With what?" Cid pressed his eyes closed. The lather was slithering down from his hairline, and dribbling around the bridge of his nose. The gentle scratch of her nails warmed his scalp and sent the warm tingle down the unwinding line of his back. Cid forgot how old he was a moment.
"Giving you a bath. You're going to be filthy in the morning." When she was satisfied with the mount of crisply scented suds in the Captain's hair, Shera reached up to remove the shower nozzle.
"You don't know that." He closed his eyes a bit tighter and spoke over the concentrated pelt of water. "Damn thing could actually work this time."
Shera ran her fingers through the nape of his neck. It felt like she had gotten all of it. "I don't know. All of these testers have done…strange things. Reeve said they were optimistic about this one, but that usually means they dramatically changed something in the formula."
"Only one way to know." Cid cracked open one eye when it was safe. "Ain't got a clue when I'm plannin' to hit the hay." He was tired, clean, and rather sated. Maybe he didn't feel sleepy because he was too anxious. Too many things to think of.
Her arms wrapped around his shoulders. Shera pressed her lips to the wet, scratchiness of his jaw, and laid her body against his. "I wish that wasn't the case."
"Yeah, I don't want to sit out in the cold. I don't want to wait to see if everything's okay in the mornin'. I don't know about you, but I miss sleepin' in my own goddamn bed. Bet you miss sleepin' in my bed, too."
Shera laughed. Cid could feel the jingle of her voice in his chest. With every inhale, her breasts and soft belly were gentle pushes on his. Her tired sigh warmed the cooling shell of his ear. The feel of her skin and the suppleness of her lips on his neck hastened his heartbeat. Cid's hands had a mind of their own; grasping her hips beneath the surface of the steaming bath water.
"Love ya. You know that?"
There it was. His favorite laugh, and his favorite little grin.
"I got the impression. How much do you love me?"
He wasn't expecting her to ask that. Cid ran his thumb over the slightly raw crescents along her ribs. He carefully traced the patterned snap of his incisors. The sadness he felt was brief. "Enough to wanna give you the world. But all I've got is my hard head and nasty attitude."
"You don't have anything else you want to give me?" The tone of her voice was tender and suggestive in his neck. It caught him off guard; almost as much as her question.
"Woman, if you keep talkin' like that, I just might."
Talking. It reminded her of last night. Shera couldn't believe she had forgotten something so bizarre. "Captain." Her back stiffened, and she covered his eyes with her hands. Shera moved up over his lap. Cid mistook her sudden motion for something else. Flushed, he leaned back against the groaning surface of the tub and palmed her breasts.
"…Cid." He was massaging her nipples, making it hard to keep her train of thought. "You spoke to me last night."
"Hn?"
"No, I mean…The other you. When you were leading me to the digging site, you spoke. You knew your name, and you said some things I didn't quite understand." Shera paused, opened up, and peeked through the slits of her fingers. She could see his eyes through the darkened space. Cid's face was more confused than it was bothered. What exactly did that mean?
Removing her hands to wrap them around his wrists, Shera continued. "You knew your name, because that's what I called you, you said. And then, the underground hull…you told me it was mine."
Cid shook his head. He didn't have a clue. Not a shred of memory was left to pull to the surface of his daily consciousness when he woke. Everything that waxed and waned was lost somewhere he couldn't easily reach. He did know one thing, though. He was serious when he said he'd give Shera the world.
"You never spoke to me again after that." Shera closed her eyes and sighed. Her head lulled to the side with a hardly audible moan. "It was strange. And the wheel…"
"The one you ain't got any business havin'." Cid's teeth were on her collar. His hand had somehow found its way beneath the water and between her thighs.
"Yes…that one." She would have rolled her eyes if they weren't already. "You intended for me to have it, like it meant something important." Shera's thighs clamped around Cid's forearm and brought his touches to a halt.
"You're kinda sending me mixed signals here. You want what I have to give, or not, Sher?"
"I thought you said we couldn't do this?" She hoped he wasn't tuning her out. Maybe he just didn't know how to respond. It was probably strange not knowing much about himself.
"Darlin', I've decided there's a lot I can do without havin' to put my back into to it."
VI.
She gave up on trying to explain. For now, it didn't matter. They pulled the stopper from the tub, dried off, and tuned into the cold twinkle of snow on the window panes.
They tuned it out after an hour. Too busy kissing and wishing they didn't have so many problems. For the first time in four months, they laid each other down in Cid's bed. Just for a little while.
VII.
Heels dragged in the snow; one after the other to cover up the patches of blood Cid left behind in eating. She was cold, still a tad sleepy, but satisfied and calm. The hardest part was keeping Cid from falling asleep before she could drag him down the stairs and outside. Which was interesting, because that was usually the easiest part of the night. And the hardest, was currently stationary and content with lying in place a distance out in the yard.
The tester didn't work as either of them had hoped, again. This time, it made him questionably lethargic. Cid's lack of movement was somewhat concerning. At least he was relatively alert; his ears flicking in her changing direction.
Shera was beginning to settle herself. She considered bundling up her coat, and taking a seat, but then she remembered she'd completely forgotten to clock-in on her tablet. She could blame that on her conscious Cid in the morning. He was plenty distracting a few hours ago.
"Hey, you… Are you okay?" She wrapped the portable device in her scarf and kneeled down in the snow near Cid's head. Gloved fingers brushed caked slush from his eyes. They were closed. His nose twitched. There was a low rumble in place of a response.
"Hm? You okay?" She rubbed the grove of fur between his tear ducts and smoothed her palm over what she could reach on his forehead. Cid wasn't hot. His nose was wet. He wasn't sick to her knowledge, just tired?
Another grunt; lower this time. The flame flickering at the end of his tail left puddles were it rested. Every now and again; it would flick the other way, jingling the bell at his rump. It reminded her of her mother's old cat for some reason.
"Of all the nights for you to be still." Shera pushed back up onto her feet. She dusted off her knees and reconfirmed that she was clocked into Reeve's temporary server. She opened another tab and wiped the tablet lens clean with her thumb. "Might as well." Shera tapped the recorder; halfway expecting Cid to curiously lift his head. He didn't.
VIII.
He was sure he had a pound of sand in his throat. Because if he didn't, he would have been able to scream. The pain started no bigger than half a millimeter at the base of his neck, and crackled all the way down his spine. Was he on fire, or was it the sun making him sweat? He could hear the relief of the ocean, but the closer he got the farther away it became. Like a mirage on the swells of the desert.
IX.
Shera tucked the first few videos away and a layered album folder. She crawled around Cid's other side. Curious, but his eyes still weren't open. His jaws were parted just enough to see some of his teeth. Hoping not to disturb him, she pressed the recorder on again and gingerly rubbed the damp texture of his nose. Cid opened his mouth and yawned, showing more of the intended subject matter.
X.
God, she hated being out in the fucking bitter, ass, cold. Up late, lurking like the creep she was. But, she was a glutton for info, and the true conclusion to her horror story was reaping her of sleep, so she might as well indulge. Tamar tucked her camera beneath her scarf and gritted her teeth to keep her shiver under control. She could see it. The lights had been out since nine, but someone still had a shifty light going in their back yard.
XI.
His footsteps were solitary for miles. Another pair lurked from some other undetermined direction. He would lose sight of them, only to find them again inches behind his own. He walked faster. He was being followed, and some domineering force of nature commanded that he not turn around. Bright blue acid pebbled from his pores, rolled down from his hairline, and stung in the rims of his eyes. Seagulls, but no ocean. Trickling, but no babbling creek.
Cid was allowed to pause. He turned around, and there they were. Hunched, calculating, and waiting to stab him with the syringe to start the torture all over again. The gleam in the lenses of their glasses was a bright and suppressing search light. It was quick like a match and ignited a fire in his throat. The sand turned to glass and shattered; setting his voice free.
No.
NO.
NOT AGAIN.
XII.
It took a great deal of elbow grease to get Cid's paw to turn over while trying not to drop her expensive equipment. Gathering in a triumphant breath, Shera resumed recording. She pressed into his digits and displayed his partially retractable nails, and then splayed her miniscule hand over the collection of black pads for comparison. They were thick and rough, the hair between them wet. She was considering getting a good video of his back paws as well, but then she'd have to expend the effort to make them visible as well. Okay, maybe. Did she feel like it?
She did, until she sensed someone else there. Shera blinked snowflakes from her eyelashes, and squinted out into the distance. She hoped it was nothing, but the sinking feeling in her stomach told her otherwise.
Cid wasn't moving. Not his nose. Not his ears. She was just…being paranoid? If someone was coming, he would have alarmed her. Right? Right? Her nervousness was mounting.
Shera hollowed her breathing, and took one step forward.
And then there was a flash of the light.
XIII.
He was going to get them first.
Cid's snarl expelled Shera's heart from her chest. She fell with a thump onto her bottom and frantically shielded her face with her arms. Chunks of snow flew up with Cid's tensed limbs. He hunkered up off the ground and heaved like he'd drug his own body from hell. His muzzle was pulled back over his gums and displayed a vicious set of teeth. He barked, thundering and dripping in malice, at the source of the light in rapid succession; like someone had hopped over the fence, and the chain around his neck was one lunge short of snapping.
Maybe not a chain, but something snapped.. Whoever they were, whatever they were doing, he was going after them.
Every porch light in town snapped on.