Vincent Comes Home

I want to thank Lost Cause (you clearly rock) and Tincent (I didn't mind the rambling, don't worry. And thank you for the Merry Christmas. I don't give a shit about most of that ridiculous 'political correctness' stuff! So hurrah!) both for leaving me such nice reviews. And Nevaeh Bluden, of course, for her direction on 'kinkyness'--I'll be reading up on that later.

I also realize that, at the beginning of the story, when Vincent steps off the Northwater, that I mention frost as if the weather was cold. And I never mention it again, so--I'll likely be going back to add in 'cold' details. :)


And I just noticed that title said bathrubs instead of bathtubs which made me laugh, because it was kind of right. :)


Through the Wardrobe!


“Tifa…”

Tifa pulled away from Vincent, looking at him. “Hmm?”

But Vincent was looking down at Cloud. She turned.

Cloud cleared his vision. “Tifa…”

“Cloud!” Tifa turned away from Vincent to help Cloud sit up.

“I’ll leave,” Vincent murmured.

Tifa paused, looking swiftly several times between Cloud and Vincent. “Vincent, you don’t have to—“

But he was already out the door.


Vincent quickened his pace at the sound of her voice, suddenly fearful she might come after him and ask him to stay. Worse, he knew he would stay if she asked him. Suddenly, he stopped, turned around and considered going back. What was the harm? What was the harm…?


And he kissed her.
She drew away, staring at him as if she’d never seen him before. “Vincent…”

He swallowed hard. “Lucrecia.”

She started to shake her head, stepping backwards uncertainly. “No, Vincent…”

“Lucrecia…”

“I’m here for work...Vincent. I can’t…no.”

“Lucrecia. I—“

“Lucrecia!”

They both turned to look to the doorway. Hojo was standing there. He was staring at Vincent, a strange sort of brightness in his eyes. “My dear. The work in the lab will not do itself.”

Lucrecia nodded and, shooting one last glance at Vincent, she walked past Hojo to leave the room.

Hojo stared at Vincent.

He smiled.

“Sir,” said Vincent, more respectfully than he felt, and more carefully than usual.

Hojo nodded, raising his eyebrows, smiling that eerie smile. He slowly turned away and left the room.

Vincent felt another shudder of unease creep up his spine. Creepy bastard…

Vincent shook such thoughts away and entered his room. He tore off the suit jacket and outstretched his claw. Flipping it over, he undid the clasps.

It had taken him a very long time to notice the clasps. When the arm had first been attached, he had thought that, somehow, Hojo had removed the mangled stump. But, when Cloud released him from his prison and he began to travel again, he noted them. It had taken him even longer for him to get up idea to try and work with them. Eventually he had, and he found that he could remove the claw. It had taken a lot of work. There were metal rods and screws, wiring and detachable pieces. Bit by bit, he had disabled the whole thing, figured out it’s working and put it back together so he might remove it at his leisure. Of course, every time he did, the long metal screws curled themselves out of his arm automatically—which was something he could not change. But at least he could remove the thing without too much hassle if he wished.

Undoing the clasps, he let the metal fall to the floor with a thud. In the dim lighting, he examined, again, the mangled piece that remained of his whole arm. He didn’t know why he did this. It just suddenly seemed important to remind himself of what he was.

And that Tifa had not been a part of that.

Why the sudden concern over Tifa?

“That a gift from Hojo?”

Vincent spun around, automatically pulling his gun and aiming at…

Reno.

“What are you doing here?” Vincent lowered his weapon, tossing it on the bed and picking up the claw again. He reattached it, forcing himself not to flinch when the screws drove back into him.

Reno was sitting backwards on a chair, arms hanging over the back very casually. “Jus’ thought I’d come pay ya a little visit.”

Vincent did not sit, suddenly put on edge. “What do you want?”

Reno shrugged. “What’s a little camaraderie between ex-Turks?”

Vincent was not fooled. He narrowed his eyes.

“You really look the part, y’know? The suit and everything. You shoul’ cut yer hair again. Then you’d look just like your old self.” Reno leaned his head onto a hand and then sat straight up. “If bein’ a Turk was as natural for you as it was for me then you’re probably already feelin’ it. Right?”

Vincent did not answer. “What are you doing here?” he repeated.

Reno stood, looking wary. He came around the side of the chair and leaned lightly against it, seeming casual. “You asked me this morning…,” Reno crossed his arms, a scowl coming over his face. “…about my father.”

Vincent went very still.

“You knew ‘im, right? Didn’t you? I saw how your eyes narrowed when I said you didn’t. But you did, didn’t you?”

“Edward Tarshil.”

“That’s him,” said Reno, a bitter smile spreading over his face. He tongued his cheek. “Why did you ask me about ‘im?”

Vincent felt as if this was an inquisition. If he didn’t say the correct thing, Reno would either leave or try to kill him. He couldn’t say what gave him that feeling. Perhaps it was just how Turks were taught to ask questions. Perhaps others felt the same way around him. It was a draining sort of intensity. Reno may have messed around a lot but when he’d been a Turk…he was excellent at what he did. People often underestimated him. Barret. Cid. And even Cloud when he had been whole of mind. But Reno didn’t care about that, as far as he was concerned it merely gave him an extra edge. The man was staring at him, eyes firey and bright, intense.

“I asked about him because I heard he was dead.”

“He is,” said Reno, very casually, as if it didn’t matter. “Died before I was born.”

Vincent froze and stared at him.

“Ah,” said Reno, scuffing the floor with a shoe. “I thought so.”

Vincent made a connection of understanding. “You know?”

Reno nodded. “My mom told me the story when I was fifteen. She’d told me up until that point that he’d been fucked up by a commander for insubordination. Dunno why the hell she told me that when the truth wasn’t any more interesting at the time. I didn’t know the guy. Didn’t matter for shit to me. But you know how kids are at that age, right?”

Vincent felt the urge to smile and suppressed it.

“She told me that he left one night, sayin’ he was gonna find out what happened to a friend. That friend had worked in Nibelheim and disappeared one day. No one heard from him. No one saw him leave. He just--poof--into the air. He was gone. So ol’ Eddy Tarshil went to Midgar, dispatched himself to Nibelheim and never came back.” Reno glared at Vincent. “They told my mother tha’ he’d gone AWOL. They said they would investigate the matter but they never showed up with anything.”

Ah…Vincent thought. So that’s what happened whenever a Turk was killed by the Turks. He’d always kind of wondered about that. Witherton’s splattered face flashed into his mind and, just as quickly, was gone.

“We all know what that means, of course,” continued Reno, with a chilling smile. “So she never found out what happened to him. Not that it mattered to me. As I said, I didn’t know the son-of-a-bitch. He was just the guy that fucked my mom.”

“What happened to your mother?”

“Dead,” said Reno, again, casually. “And good riddance. Woman was a nuisance.”

There was a pause as the two men considered each other.

“You want me to tell you what I know?” Vincent folded his arms.

Reno looked away, seemed to struggle with himself and then looked him in the eye. “Yeah. What did Hojo do to you? What happened to my dad? And what was he to you?”

“What do you mean?”

Reno scowled. “Why’d he feel the need to chase you if you were suppose to be dead?”

“We were friends.”

Vincent had joined the Turks when he was seventeen years old. He did not meet Edward Tarshil until he was nineteen, in his third year of training. They had graduated at twenty and both passed the final examinations. They had been inducted into the Turks at the same time. And, though they were separated to different commands, they kept in touch. They’d get together to play cards, go out for drinks and the like.

He always remembered Edward Tarshil as that tall, limber guy with the shock of red hair and gray eyes. He was a prankster, popular with his commander and peers and always with a bitter smile on his face. The last time Vincent had seen him, Edward had come to Nibelheim on a rare day off. He had received a letter when Edward had finally married his long-time fiancé. And then both had been busy and Vincent had become preoccupied with Lucrecia.

But then Vincent had been taken prisoner by Hojo. He didn’t know for how long he’d been there.

He told Reno how Hojo had come to him and told him about Edward’s death. He left nothing out and felt something akin to approval that Reno did not quail from the story.

Reno nodded, appearing puzzled. “That doesn’t seem to work.” Reno thought for a moment. “You were twenty-seven, right? You were down there with Hojo for some unknown length of time. About thirty years later, you were released by Cloud, yeah? Assumedly, you were with Hojo a year or less. Now I’m twenty-six. No. See, that doesn’t work. That’s—“ Reno counted on his fingers, making Vincent want to smile again. “—six years unaccounted for.”

Vincent frowned. “Perhaps I was there longer than I thought.”

“Or maybe my mother fucked around with someone else and was too much of a pussy to admit it.”

Vincent shrugged, feeling an odd sort of tenative kinship with Reno. “It’s possible, of course. Although the reason I asked you about Edward was that your hair is just like his. That shock of red is unmistakable. What does your mother look like?”

“Blond hair, green eyes.”

“Not from your mother then.”

“No,” Reno agreed.

“Did she ever use any…unnatural means of becoming pregnant?”

Reno looked at him, eyebrows raised. “Artificial insemination? S’pose it’s possible. Seems kind of an odd thing to save.” He grinned a wicked grin. “But I suppose if you could be put in stasis for thirty years and come out looking just like you did—it’s possible that his juice could still be preserved somehow. Of course," he continued with a laugh. "why would my mother have had that on hand is the question.”

Vincent shrugged, suddenly feeling out of his depth. “I don’t know that one.”

“They didn’t make ya do that in the old days of Turk-dom?” Reno asked, an impudent laugh in his voice.

“No,” said Vincent, giving in and letting the corners of his mouth crook into a tiny smile. “But your mother was rather attached to him. Perhaps…”

Reno grimaced. “That’s fucking weird. I don’t wanna think about that.”

Vincent allowed himself to relax, sitting down on the edge of his bed. Reno grinned at him and sat down backwards on the chair again.

“S’kinda fucking weird, don’t you think? You knew my dad and now you know me. You haven’t aged a day, Vincent, really.”

Vincent rolled his eyes and, for some reason, found himself really smiling. He knew that Reno would always make a joke of anything that happened to him or his friends. But, for some reason, when Reno made cruel jokes…they didn’t seem like jokes.


“Well,” said Reno, slapping the back of the chair. “I gotta run. Yuffie’s waitin’ on me.” He started to get up.

Vincent looked up at him. “Reno. How did you end up traveling with Yuffie?”

Reno grinned again. “I was afraid you’d ask that.”

Vincent raised an eyebrow.

“She saved my ass, actually.” Reno sat back down in the chair, setting his arms on the back and smiling ruefully. “Thought Tseng was well and truly fucked when he screwed around with Sephiroth. But, as it turns out, he and Rufus lived. Dunno how Rufus managed it—he was all covered in debris…burns and shit when we found him. He didn’t even know everything that had happened with Sephiroth until about two months after it was over. Turks were all but fucked by then. So we disbanded. Not like ShinRa was gonna be trusted with anything anymore. In the end, Tseng stayed with Rufus—because he’s one devoted son-of-a-bitch. I think Elena stayed with him. Not sure. I haven’t seen Rude in awhile. He went down to Costa del Sol for awhile. Just to hang out, chill, get his life together, you know?”

“And you?”

“It’s the best part, really. M’getting there,” and he grinned, to show Vincent he was kidding. “I went to the Ancient City. Didn’t find shit. Took off. I was just traveling around, seeing the damage and stuff. I was going outside the city when I got jumped. You know the fucked up monsters that hang around there? ‘Specially when the Black Materia shot everything to shit. Well, so I’m fighting and out comes that little bitch. One those monsters fires and busts my arm. Dislocates my shoulder and shit. So she comes in, takes ‘em out and asks me, of all things, if I’ve seen you. I tell her no. I don’t know what happened then—but she told me somethin’ attacked us. I jus’ remember my arm hurting like a bitch.” He laughed here. “I woke up and she’s cast Cure on it and all that. Demands that I wake up and she acts like a real whore.”

Vincent straightened, narrowing his eyes.

“I don’t really mean she acted like a whore. Jus’ an expression of mine,” Reno quickly explained, waving his hand. “She told me she was lookin’ for you. ‘Cause you went up like smoke after you all went your separate ways. No one could find you. So hell, I didn’t have anything better to do and I had no one to report to, so I went with her.”

“What made you stay?”

Reno shrugged, acting very nonchalant. “She was good company. Argues with me all the time, which is a nice change from the women I used to hang out with.”

Vincent felt something akin to a smirk cross his face.

“What?”

“Well, there was talk about you being a womanizer.”

Reno gestured wide with his hands. “Yeah, maybe. M’not proud of it, but I’m not ashamed of it either. In any case I can’t do that with Yuffie.”

“Why not?”

“Because she’d probably break my neck! Besides,” he continued, shrugging. “I don’t really want to.”

Vincent tilted his head to the side. “Why is that?”

Reno looked at him and suddenly seemed uneasy. “Well, you know how it is, Vincent.” He suddenly made a great show of looking at an imaginary watch on his wrist. “Ah, I’m gonna be late. Yuffie’s waitin’ on me. See ya later, Vince.”

And he was up and out the door before Vincent could say another word.


“Tifa, where are we going…?”

Tifa smiled wearily and shifted her arm around Cloud’s back. “You need a bath, Cloud.”

“I can go by myself.”

Tifa looked at him, casting an exhausted gaze over him. He flinched from the look and cast his eyes down.

No, he couldn’t. And they both knew it. They’d been over this before.

Tifa walked Cloud out of his room and down to the showers. There were two separate showers for males and females off to the right and left—but straight ahead led to a small room with two bathtubs. Each enclosed by their own wall and door on opposite ends of the room.

Tifa took him to the one on the right side, opened the door and helped him in. There was a short, stocky bench in the little room for putting clothes and towels on. Tifa sat Cloud on this bench and began to help him undress.

Usually Cid performed this task. The first time Cloud had had such an episode after Cid had moved in, he had, unquestioningly, taken it over, relieving her of the stress and allowing her to rest. That was when Cid had first begun to see how at the end of her rope Tifa was.

She did not even entertain the thought of going to get the captain for this. He was taking her to the Crater. She owed him. And, while she didn’t doubt that Cid would drop what he was doing to help her, she didn’t want to press her luck. He seemed to be on the edge as it was.

She peeled off Cloud’s shirt, smelling his sweat, and tossed it aside to be cleaned. Hesitating only a moment, she steeled herself and helped Cloud remove his belt, pants and other clothes. If this was bad for her—think of how terrible it must be for him, she reminded herself. Cloud had always taken care of himself; he’d always been self-sufficient. Being treated like an invalid grated at him. It grated at his self-respect and his pride but nothing could be done for it.

Carefully keeping her eyes away from Cloud, she snatched a towel off a low rack by the door and handed it to him. He covered himself while she leaned over to turn the water on. She stood.

“I’ll be right back. I’m going to get you some clean clothes. Okay?”

Cloud nodded. She picked up his sweaty clothes and slipped out of the room.

Cloud sat on the wooden bench, covered by a blue towel. He stared at the ground. The self-loathing always came after these spasms. Because he felt nearly normal after them. He felt more like his old self. He felt, physically, anyway, like he could manage. But when he would stand on his own, his legs would give out and down he would go. It had been all right with Cid. The older man wouldn’t say anything to him. He’d support Cloud and kept his face blessedly blank. Just a few grunts and he’d help Cloud to sit in the bathtub and run some water for him. Then he would close the curtain and leave Cloud to do the rest, sitting on a chair in the bathroom just in case. But Tifa’s eyes were so tired and pitiful. Cloud couldn’t bring himself to look at her. He felt like a weak coward. And he knew he wasn’t but his body did not allow him to make it known. He felt helpless and that was, by far, the worst feeling of all.

Angry, Cloud reach out his hands to grasp the rim of the bathtub. Awkwardly, he pulled himself to it. His legs folded underneath him, the towel pooling uselessly at his knees, grinding into the floor. Taking a deep breath, Cloud lifted himself and snatched at the other side of the tub. His fingers slipped off the damp porcelain. Grunting, he tried again.

This time, he wrapped the ends of his fingers about the other rim and pulled hard. He came up, slid back and yanked. He slid himself upwards and flopped into the tub. Water sloshed everywhere, slapping up to hit the wall behind the tub and soaking the floor. Breathing hard, he rearranged and looked over his legs. They seemed all right.

He had to push himself to reach over and grab his blue towel to put on the floor so to sop up the water. Then he reached behind him to turn the water knobs off. Feeling as if he’d run about twenty miles, Cloud slumped into the bathtub, breathing hard.

A whistling shriek pierced through his head. Leaning back against the rim of the tub, he panted for breath, swallowed and breathed again and brought himself under control. These moments were like the dreams. Terrible nightmares from which he couldn’t wake.

Tifa opened the door then, slipping in and turned around. She stopped at the wet floor. She looked at Cloud and a very small, very sad smile came over her face. She understood. Of course she did. And she didn’t have the heart to reprimand him for him hating his inability to be independent.

She set some clean clothes on the bench and put a little plastic basket containing soap and other items next to the tub. She knelt down next to it.

They just stared at each other for a moment.

“I’ll give you a hand,” she muttered, softly.

Cloud looked away and, disgust for himself welling up in him, he nodded.

She washed his hair, helped him rinse it and tried to ignore him. Tried to make this as non-meaningful as possible. Almost professional. Tifa felt a little weird about that. They’d known each other since they were kids. Why bother trying to be ‘professional’? But the answer to that was easy once Tifa considered it. She was in love with him. And she hated seeing him this way. She knew he resented being taken care of—even though they both knew it was for the best. This was all besides the basic sexual attraction she felt for him. It was awkward bathing a naked man no matter how sick he was.

Really awkward.

She took out the soap, held onto it for a moment and then steeled herself. She rubbed the soap on her hands and set the bar aside. She placed her hands on his shoulders and worked them around his neck. He leaned back unconsciously, allowing her to rub the skin around his throat.

Tifa stared down at him while she worked, moving her hands over his shoulders down each of his arms. She studied the little details. The structure of his chin, the curve of his throat, how his damp hair stuck to his ear. She absorbed the fine muscle that still bulged in his arms and chest, how his nose went out into a trim little point, slightly upturned at the end. She noted how weary his eyes were, the dark circles that resided there as he relaxed under her hands. She felt warmth flutter through her when he leaned back against the rim of the tub and closed his eyes. It made him look younger. It made him seem healthy, normal…happy.

Tifa felt a wave of misery flush over her. She took a silent breath and held it, keeping tight control of herself. Tears fought to get out of her eyes. She blinked furiously, silently, turning aside and then, when she was under control, turning back. She swallowed hard, taking a deep, silent breath.

Cloud still sat back, eyes closed.

It was her hope at work. She wanted him to be happy. It hurt so much that he wasn’t. She wanted to be happy. It bogged her down. No.

No.

She took in another rallying breath. She would be tough. No tears for her. No more running. She renewed her efforts, working her soapy hands around so Cloud’s chest.

Suddenly, one of his hands flashed out and grabbed her. “Tifa.”

She stopped. “Yeah…”

“Tifa…” He murmured something.

Tifa leaned down to his mouth. “Cloud?”

He squeezed her hand. His free hand lifted to her face, his eyes still closed as if—were he to open them—she might not be there.

Tifa ignored the warm water that dripped down her skin from Cloud’s rough hand. “Cloud…”


He put slight pressure on her neck, lowering her. She went, slowly. Her breath caught in her throat. She, very softly, kissed his lips. His hand loosened its hold on her and slipped back into the water. She raised her face.

Cloud had not moved, nor opened his eyes.

He was asleep.

Tifa’s mouth opened and then she closed it. A lump rose in her throat and suddenly the threat of tears was very real and very forceful. She choked on a gasp. She took her hands out of the water, dried them on a towel and put them in her lap.

Fucking pathetic. That’s what you are.

Her shoulders shook, she tried as hard as she could to keep it in…but it flowed from her, like a breaking damn. The sobs racked out of her. Despair welled up like a coming storm, black and horrible. The tears blurred her eyes and swept down her cheeks.

She heard the water whoosh beside her. Cloud had awakened. “Tifa! Are you all right?” He was struggling to sit up properly. He reached for her. “Tifa?”

She looked at him, sopping wet eyes making Cloud a blurry mess in front of her. She cleared her vision. “M’sorry…”

“Tifa…” Cloud’s eyebrows crooked with worry. He pulled himself, with effort, to the side of the tub and his fingertips touched her arms.

She was sitting up before she realized it, wrapping her arms around his warm, wet skin. She buried her head in his shoulder and cried. “M’sorry, Cloud. I wanted things to be…to’be better for you. And all I’ve done is…is …”

“Tifa, it’s no one’s fault…”

“We’re going to the Crater, Cloud. To the Crater. We can fix this there.”

Cloud nodded, totally blindsided by that but managaing not to show it as he took in her frantically hopeful eyes. He lifted his hand and stroked her cheek.

For some reason, this caused her to burst into a fresh wave of tears. She sniffed miserably. “Come on, Cloud. I’ll get you back to your room.”

Cloud said nothing. He let her help him up, help him dress and help him back to his room. But when she started to leave, he grabbed her arm again.

“Tifa. Stay with me.”

Tifa blinked several times, wiping her red eyes. “I’m pathetic, Cloud. And you know it.”

“Just forget it for right now. I don’t care if you’re pathetic or not. Stay here.”

Cid put the cup down. He looked into a dusty, cracked mirror in his room. “All right. All right. Fine.”

He ran his fingers through his hair—feeling odd without his goggles—and stepped out of the room. He swept past all the other cabins and made his way to the workshop, where she had been sent by Jeremiah. He paused outside the door, biting his lip and then opened it.

Several pairs of eyes looked up at him.

Ah, of course. He had a full house now.

Cid made a great show of looking over them, stalling for time to think of what would be a good excuse. He didn’t want to apologize in front of all these people. He already felt shitty enough. No need to humiliate himself further.

Zet glanced at him, did a double take, and then turned back to her work. She seemed to be reattaching something to a circuit board.

“Zet,” Cid barked, in his most savage captain’s voice. “You’re needed up deck. Leave that for someone else.”

He watched her now, really watched her—to see if he really saw the fear that Jeremiah evidently did.

Her shoulders tensed, she looked at him with very steady eyes. Then she looked down and put the board aside. She stood stiffly, turned to the man sitting next to her and murmured something to him. She nodded and then turned to go to him. He whipped around and left the room, waiting just outside the door.

When she left it, she turned back and securely refastened the door. She glanced at him and then settled her gaze at the floor, shifting it every few seconds at anywhere but him. She had a rather dark look on her face, part anxious, part angry.

Suddenly needing more time to think this through, Cid said, “This way.” He walked, rather randomly, to the left. He went past rooms and workshops, cabins and staircases, listening to her soft pattering behind him.

She didn’t walk delicately, he decided. She walked very, very quietly. Almost like Yuffie—except Yuffie was silent and infinitely better at it. He suddenly wondered what kinds of weapons Zet and Jeremiah fought with. The old captain had mentioned firearms and materia but was there anything else? Hell, he could use firearms and materia too, but it wasn’t his weapon of choice.

“Where are we going?”

Her low, rough voice pulled him from his thoughts.

Cid sighed. May as well get this fucking over with. “Somewhere where I can talk t’you.”

“Why?” she said immediately. He heard the guardedness in her voice. “I thought I was needed above?”

“Tha’ was a lie. I jus’ wanted to talk t’you.”

He practically felt the disgust lay over her face. “What do you want?”

Rolling his eyes, Cid chose a random door and opened it. There were a few men working in it. Frustration welled up in Cid. “Fine. Fucking fine.”

“What?”

Cid wordlessly went up to the top deck. She followed him, cautious, watching his every move as if she expected him to pull a gun on her. The wind pulled at her hair. Cid pulled his jacket tighter around him. He went to the railing and waited for her to join him. After a moment, she did, although she stood a little ways away from him.

“I’m not gonna do anythin’ t’you.”

Zet glared, turning her gaze out to the cold, rushing countryside. “What do you need?”

How to start? He felt like a fucking idiot apologizing to a kid. No, not a kid. She was Tifa’s age. She was a young adult. He scowled.

“Jeremiah says that yer afraid of me.”

It was as if he’d stuck a knife in her back. She tensed, her whole body seized upwards. “No, I’m not,” she said, far too quickly. “I just keep my distance.”

Cid tongued his cheek. That, in itself, didn’t bother him. If she was a loner, she was a loner. None of his fucking business. But something was persisting at him, telling him to keep poking at her.

“Why?”

She faced him, eyebrows furrowed. “S’not as if you’ve made any efforts to be friendly either.”

“Yer awfully fucking defensive.”

“Shut up.”

That lit a spark in Cid. “Why? Because you don’t wan’ t’admit it?”

“Is that why you called me out here? Jus’ so you could rub it in or something?”

“No,” Cid snapped, angry now. “I was callin’ y’up here to apologize.”

She jerked away from him, staring.

“What?” Cid said immediately. “Y’think a guy like me isn’t capable of such a thing?”

She raised her eyebrows at him.

“Well I fucking am, all righ’? Sorry. There.”

“Jeremy put you up to this?” There was a condescending sneer in her voice.

Cid whipped around to glare at her. “Who’s fucking Captain on the Highwind? Not Jeremiah. Me! I’m fucking captain of this ship. And I don’t have anyone givin’ me orders.” He ripped a cigarette out of his jacket pocket and attempted to light it in the rushing wind. “I felt like a real shithead for givin’ ya a hard time, okay?” He couldn’t light the end. He shoved it back in his pocket. “So, of my own choosing and everythin’, I apologized. Okay? That make you fucking feel better?” Agitated now, he watched her, daring her to make a face at him.

She didn’t. She looked away and stared at a point just beside his shoulder. She nodded. Cid let out a breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding. He got a grip on himself and calmed himself down. She glanced at him, nodding again and trying out a very tight smile that did not reach her eyes.

Cid sighed. “I am, all right? Sorry.”

This seemed to be the right thing to say. She nodded again but now she looked at him. “M’sorry too.”

Cid nodded and both turned away to stare out over the railing.

“Have you been drinking?”

Cid blinked. He frowned. “Yeah.”

“Is that why you—?“

“No.”

She nodded, still staring ahead. Another moment of silence.

“What was is?”

“What?”

“That you were drinking?”

“Scotch.”

“Mind if I have some?”

Cid paused and felt an incredulous half-smile reach into his eyes. “Sure.”


--