I.

Cool and moist morning air settled over Shera's skin and slightly dampened the fabric of her clothes. Droplets of dew stippled the leather of her boots, and long stalks of weeds deposited fuzzy burrs in the very edges of her socks. She held a hand like a visor to her forehead, allowing her eyes to squint out over the bright glint of a trickling creek ahead.

Her other hand, tightly clutched the corked handle of one of Cid's old fishing poles and a raggedy little bucket full of supplies. Shera took her eyes off the creek for just a moment to comb the ground below for snakes, ants, and hornets. The area appeared clear. She picked out her usual spot—grass patted down by her frequent visits—and unfolded an old wooden chair from beneath the shade of a tree.

She was beyond the yard, far off from the house (she pieced together the fishing rod and loosened the line) , back behind the tree line that enveloped Rocket Town (she changed the large hook already on the line to one suitable for creek fish) , and finally alone (she took a bit of bait and didn't bother looping on a bobber). One leg was crossed over the other; phone silenced in her shorts pocket.

The ambiance of her surroundings soothed normally cluttered thoughts into a comfortable blank. That is, until she remembered the time she offered Cid to venture back to the creek with her. Honest to his character, Cid had no patience for fishing what-so-ever. Shera chuckled at the bit of shenaniganry that rustled the woods the last time she was here. Her chronically grumpy husband kept spooking the fish away. Oh well. Something was tugging at her line. They were going to have a very nice dinner at this rate.

II.

Back to back to back flights sucked the fuel right out of the Shera's ancient tanks. Her captain was on running two disgusting energy bars, and half a pot of coffee. Shera, who had agreed to help with the long haul, was running on fumes; nearly nothing. She couldn't remember the last time she sat, or ate.

She ran here, Cid was there, and when they tried to regroup again, they were both never in the same area they had left each other. The air craft was pushed to its limit along with the crew. Cid groaned the moment he felt the aftershock of some large scale part busting from being over heated. "Fuck! Not now." They were hardly done transporting all the people they needed to. Honestly, Cid had no idea what to do about the part. The air ship was birthed by the Ancients, so there were segments on the damn thing that no one knew jack shit about. Eventually though, they were able to slap everything (might as well have been using duct tape) back in place to complete the mission.

When the Captain and his First Mate made it back to Rocket Town, they were exhausted. Perhaps, a little more than exhausted. The house rustled at nearly three in the morning with their sluggish attempts to eat something and get ready for bed. Cid just about inhaled his food, and Shera didn't eat lightly either. The shower after making it up the stairs was lukewarm; lasting much longer than they intended because both of them were half asleep. Shera tugged on one of Cid's clean work shirts, nothing else one underneath, and he didn't even bother to dry himself off before collapsing in bed. That was that. Goodnight.

They slept through: early morning, late morning, four phone calls, and the mail carrier knocking on the door in the late afternoon. Cid had slobbered onto Shera's chest. There was a dark puddle in his shirt the size of Wutai. They hadn't moved all day.

III.

Shera looked young, and vibrant, and thoughtful sitting out on the back porch swing. The soft planes of sun filled the calico hazel of her transfixed irises, and highlighted the charming little bags she got under her eyes when she walked around the house without her glasses. All but her face was covered by a blanket. She was probably nursing beneath the cover. Cid almost didn't want to disturb whatever thought she was processing. He followed her line of sight to the empty launch pad off in the distance.

"Wonder why they ain't torn that thing down." He filled the brief silence after his comment with the sound of him swallowing the lemonade in his mug.

"It's 'Rocket Town', Sir." Shera uncrossed, and then re-crossed her legs. The fabric of her pajama pants was caught on the jagged edge of the swing seat, and she tore her eyes away from the horizon to pull at the cotton. "It wouldn't be much of a tourist attraction without some remnant of the rocket here. People come to see it. It still keeps the town going."

There were even people who traveled to Rocket to return parts partially burned, or fully charred from when they cascaded back down to the lithosphere. Shera found it interesting. Whatever was left from the rocket was scattered across the globe, eventually brought back home, and sold as a novelty. From what she heard, parts of Rocket No.26 tended to auction high.

"Been married for three years, Shera, and you still callin' me Sir?" Cid sat down at her side; pulling her bundled up legs onto his lap and gently squeezing one of her ankles with his palm. He was drinking from the mug again while glancing in her direction. "What you thinkin' 'bout?"

"How much has changed. I wonder what life would be like if things had gone differently."

"What'dya mean by that?" Cid was going to raise his cup to his lips for another swig, but paused. He knew what she meant.

"What if you launched when I told you it was okay to?" Shera shifted. The topic was a little uncomfortable, but she didn't appear to be.

There were plenty of things Cid could have responded with. He could have said he'd be lonely. He could have said he'd be living the rest of his life navigating through a thundering cumulonimbus of guilt. He could have said he would still be a bitter old, scruff faced mechanic (because ShinRa would have screwed him over eventually). He could have said he wouldn't have his beautiful baby girls. He could have said both of them would be dead. Cid responded with something simple and to the point.

"I wouldn't be content."

IV.

"I ain't sick!"

"Hmm…" Shera watched a thin dabble of drainage leak from Cid's right nostril. The rounded tip of his nose was red from wiping it with tissues all day. She could tell he was trying to alleviate the soreness in his throat without agitating crisp, annoying ass urges to cough. On top of that, he was so obviously congested. She could hear it in his voice.

"NO, m' NOT." Cid Highwind was not going to be put out of tip-top, working shape by microorganisms.

"Hmm…" Shera squinted. She'd made a decision before the Captain even opened his mouth to point out she was studying him. "I'll go get the thermometer."

V.

A whole year had past, and inhibitors of the Planet were still recovering from the turmoil the world had been swallowed in. Thankfully, aside from the missing rocket, not much had changed in town. Businesses fully opened again, alternative power supplies were installed, and after folks found their confidence, tourists began to trickle through. Today was normal. Normal was a deeply missed sensation.

Hands in his pockets, Cid mulled about the few shopping blocks Rocket Town had. He followed Shera around much like an adolescent would meander after their mother in the super market. He couldn't remember the last time he purchased new clothes. He wasn't much of a person to address shopping with much excitement. The Captain was already irritated after discovering his flight coat no longer fit. Months on the run and fending off antagonists with AVALANCHE had broadened his shoulders.

"Which clothes did you say no longer fit?" Shera adjusted the strap of her carrier bag, and pulled out a note pad and pen to make a list. She waited for him to answer.

"All my t-shirts. Jacket, too." Cid absently chewed on the drum stick sucker he took from a glass jar on the shop counter.

"So…ten shirts and a jacket." Shera scribbled it down. "What about pants, Captain?"

"Dunno." He shrugged and cut a bitterly narrowed eye at another patron who was nosily glancing over from across the cluttered racks. Folks had been like that since he and Shera had started appearing more 'partnered' in public.

"You wear thirty four at the waist?" If she remembered correctly. Shera tucked the note pad away in an easily accessible pocket. She was digging around for something else not a second later. Cid sighed through his nose. He hated shopping.

"Hell if I know. Probably c'aint check the tag." Was there even a tag left? It was probably shredded. Cid had had the same few pairs of pants for eons.

"Found it!" Shera yanked a little yellow role from the cluster of other useless junk in her bag.

"Is that a fucking tape measure?!"

"This can be a short trip, or a long one." Shera lectured. "Your pick."

VI.

She was fighting afternoon sluggishness, and the fullness in her stomach wasn't helping. Shera had already fought with Cid, and clawed her way out of bed this morning. He had licked, and sucked, and nibbled Shera's neck and shoulders; telling her she didn't have to go just yet. He knew good and well that they both had to high tail it to work before nine.

Lunch had been pleasant, though. She'd forgotten, for obvious reasons, to take a meal with her and eating out seemed to be a reasonable solution. Shera hadn't been in a restaurant by herself since…well, she didn't remember.

The rest of her food was polished off after checking the time. She was going to flag down her waiter when someone plopped down in front of her at the booth seat. "Hello, Mrs. Highwind!" Palmer stuffed himself behind the hard edge of the bracketed wooden table. "Long time no see!"

What the hell? Shera removed her glasses and rubbed them with the end of her t-shirt to make sure she was seeing things right. Palmer was a face she never thought she'd see again. He was still porky, horribly composed, unemployed, and his hair had thinned to near nonexistence.

"Can I help you? Oh, and I…we..." Shera lowered her head in embarrassment and hushed their conversation "Cid and I aren't married."

"Shame! Talk of the town says you are. But anyway, listen, er, I need some help."

"Shoot?" She offered with a high amount of wary.

"You know where I can get my hands on some of those nifty little rocket chunks?" His chubby grin was a hopeful one. Palmer almost seemed nervous. Shera deduced he was probably tight on gil personally, and sought her out because he was too much of a coward to get into a tangle with Cid. The Cosmo Canyon would freeze over, and half the word would be sucked into a black hole before Cid would ever be happy to see Palmer again.

"Rocket parts?" Shera was confused. She watched the rocket shatter and burn to a crisp on the surface of Meteor. "I'm sorry, we don't have any?" Or more so, Shera didn't have any she wanted to give. All she kept from her days working on the space craft was a lone bolt and washer, and she was rather attached to it.

"Geeze, geeze, geeze. Thanks anyway." Palmer deflated…somewhat. "Oh, and uh, Ms. Joules?"

"Yes?"

"You've got a ah…You've got." He was trying to point out the dark blemishes on the sides of her neck.

Shera slapped her hand over her throat when she was able to get a good look at it from her darkened phone screen. She'd been walking around at work all morning with hickeys.

VII.

Without disturbing him, Shera moved out of a thick beam of moonlight and blinked to clear it from her vision. The room darkened again. Her cheek shifted over Cid's chest so she could see his face.

He was serene, and sound asleep. Shera's head returned to the tucked position it was in before, over his sternum. In tune with the hollow lull of his breathing and the soft gurgle of his stomach; Cid's heart beat was steady.

Shera listened until she fell asleep again.

VIII.

Shera could no longer say blue without her voice dipping in tone at the very tail end of the word, and the 'el' in well liked to round about these days, and her 'cans' had a strange 'y' inserted in the very center. She didn't always used to speak this way. She'd know it was terminal if she ever slipped up and uttered a 'y'all'.

IX.

Typically, if they were both up this late, it wasn't for a good thing. They spent the evening lazing around in front of the TV, and broke the routine by neglecting to travel upstairs and crawl into bed.

"You want to go out n' grab a beer?"

"Sure." Why not?

Cid's sat up at the bar front and called to the tender for a cold mug. Shera agreed to have one full class if the Captain ordered her a batter fried steak first. It wasn't anything like Seventh Heaven in Edge, but it would do. Aside from a few other souls up late and minding their business, they were the only ones there. Table tops were soaked in dusty, orange lights. Smoke from the cigarette hanging out the corner of Cid's mouth swirled in and out of the dim hues. They made very light conversation over the latenight news broadcasted on a small, analog television above.

"Is this a date?" Shera sighed and pushed her empty plate far off to her left. Cid didn't think she could polish off that country fried steak by herself, but she did. She had gravy on the tip of her nose. Nauseatingly adorable.

"If ya wanna call it that. You gonna kiss me goodnight, then?"

"Isn't that your job?"

"I'll get to ya when m' sure I won't taste the cooking grease."

"And you can get to me when you're sure I won't taste the tar."

It lingered into three am. Shera fell asleep against Cid's side at the counter. He drank the rest of her beer and carried her home. They turned out the lamp in the living room and curled up under a blanket on the couch.

X.

"We'll be back in a day er' two." Cid had placed, and warned Shera that she was on speaker. He needed both of his hands to work out the wiring in the panel above him. The last thing he wanted was a botched control board for the flight home. Buttons needed to work like they were intended to.

"You've made good time then. I'll be sure to have things ready for when all of you get back. Must have been tiring."

"No kidding." Cloud had been listening along with other members of AVALANCHE fatigued around the bridge

"You should head to bed, Shera. I'll call in the morning. Y'hear?" Cid grunted and cursed under his breath. He saw a bright spark up in the dark mass of cords. Probably ripped out something he didn't mean to. "Huh?" Being distracted, he didn't hear her reply correctly.

"What are you wearing?"

The area was silent for a long moment. Cid yanked out something he didn't intent to again, but this time it was purely an accident. Yuffie had a stupid, partially repulsed grin on her face. Tifa held a hand over mouth in a very poor attempt to hide her urge to snort. Barret and Cloud were equally amused. Nanaki wasn't quite sure what the alarm was. Vincent stared; expecting Cid to answer.

"What the hell, Shera?"

She was laughing, her jingly little laugh on the other end.

"Go the fuck to sleep."

"Fine." Her laughing ceased when the call did.

XI.

Vincent was the very first to notice the change in Cid's behavior. Being old, practiced, and investigative, Vincent took notes without having to think much about it.

Cid smoked fewer cigarettes; going through a pack every week or so instead of a pack a day. He made very subtle attempts to mind the sharp edge of his tongue. His scent had changed slightly, and Cid appeared a little less troubled than how Vincent first perceived him.

His friend's body language was shifting as well. Usually crossed arms, and stuffed pockets never remained that way for as long as they used to. Part of Vincent was jealous in a very reserved fashion, and another portion of him was pleased to see that his friend was gaining a firm grasp on life again.

"Cid?" Normally, Vincent wouldn't disclose any of his mental recordings and observations.

"SHIT!" Cid bumped his head on a pipe. He hadn't heard Vincent approach (nothing new).

"You do realize you have love-bites on your neck?" But, perhaps Cid would like to know before other crew members began clocking in.