Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Shattered Dreams ❯ The Trouble with Family ( Chapter 52 )

Dream Sequence
(Voice in mind)
‘Internal speech’

Reviewer response at the bottom!!

Chapter 52: The Trouble with Family

Swirling darkness isolated him atop a singular building, several stories high and made of tons of concrete and glass. He stood alone with his sword, surrounded by curling tendrils of thick, grey smoke… the remnants of a fire or perhaps a battle. Cloud couldn’t entirely be sure, not with everything around him veiled in nothingness.

But his body felt fatigued, literally dragged down from the weight of constant fighting. His fingers curled tightly around the grip of his sword, sweat streaming down his skin as he struggled to draw in a breath that did not taste like fire. He ached as well… as if his body had been beaten with many large fists of stone. He was tired… so very tired.

Then, his senses tingled, the hairs on the back of his neck rising as something, some noise pierced the eerie silence. His head snapped up, mako eyes peering into the formless dark as a malevolent aura poured around him, pulsing and pounding at his fragile human skin. Though he could see nothing, he could feel that it was there, knew without a doubt he was being watched.

Laughter echoed around him, dark and mocking, growing louder with each passing minute. Chills raced up his spine, and he swallowed nervously at the prospect of fighting an enemy unseen, though he stood his ground. He had to. Somehow, he knew that if he didn’t, something would happen to his family. He had to protect them.

Some light flashed, but it was too quickly for him to discern before a searing pain ripped through his left shoulder, blood splashing to the concrete of the roof beneath him. He winced but refused to let go of his blade, in spite of the pain shooting through him. Cloud cursed aloud at the pure speed of the unknown assailant. There was no way he could have avoided that attack. None.

More laughter as hot warmth spilled down his arm. “Foolish mortals,” the distinctively male voice hissed. “Ignorant anima. Mwahaha.”

It was only then that he knew the speaker had to be Balaam. There was something in the raspy tone, a mocking revulsion that spoke volumes.

Cloud snarled in anger. “Quit hiding behind your shadows, Balaam! Fight me face to face!”

His only answer was to attack twice more, slicing open the blond’s right leg across the thigh and cutting him in the forehead so that his vision was nearly blinded by the dripping fluid. The human reeled from the blows, the heavy scent of warm copper filling the air around him. It was an unfortunately familiar odor, one that he had grown to hate. At the pain of the wounds, the realization came to him that he didn’t have any materia or items either.

Cloud was completely on his own.

The ground beneath him began to shake then as the edges of the unknown building slowly crumbled away, dropping without noise into the abyss around him. The darkness seemed to draw closer, almost as if it was suffocating him, and he nearly choked on the thick air.

Balaam sounded amused by this, laughing more as many pairs of glowing crimson eyes suddenly appeared out of the darkness, an evil aura permeating from them. Despair clawed at Cloud, despite his determination. As more agony assailed him, he raised his blade and glared at the mocking demi-deity, keeping his ground though it crumbled to dust around him.

“I will destroy you,” he vowed. “Even if it takes my dying breath!”

The cackling increased, seemingly unaffected by his threat. The building collapsed beneath him, and he was absorbed by the darkness as if it were a sponge. His footing disappeared, and his stomach leapt into his throat, the odd feeling of falling into nothingness causing his head to swoon.

“Your wish is my command,” taunted Balaam. “And when I’m through with you, they will be mine!”

Cloud frowned in confusion and anger, but the look was quickly replaced by agony. His eyes widened almost impossibly so as searing pain ripped through his abdomen, an invisible weapon piercing him as if his flesh were nothing more than butter. Blood gurgled from his lips as he fell backwards, sword slipping from nerveless fingers.

No… he had to protect them. No! He had to live… he had to…

More laughter echoed around him as his eyes slowly… slid… shut…

No!

Cloud leapt into awareness, heart pounding in his chest as the last remnants of pain reverberated through his body. He blinked, instantly glad that his scream had lodged in his throat when he realized that it had only been a nightmare. The sheets clung to his sweaty form, and with a shaking hand, he brushed away spiky and soaked hair from his brow.

He rubbed that same hand down the side of his face as he peeked over at his wife. She was still sleeping peacefully, her face serene and relaxed with a small smile. He breathed a sigh of relief before glancing at the clock. The bright, yellow luminescent reading confirmed his suspicions. It was only three in the morning. He had been sleeping for less than two hours. No surprise there.

With the strange and discouraging dream still fresh on his mind, Cloud knew falling back asleep would be nearly impossible. He eased the sheets away from his slightly trembling body and silently crept out of the bed, hoping not to wake Aeris. She didn’t move as he quietly slipped from the room, scowling at the wobbling in his legs. The house was silent as he descended the stairs, heading immediately for the kitchen. He moved easily in the dark, not bothering to flip a switch until he finally reached his destination.

The brightness of the fluorescent light flooded the room as he seated himself at the bar, reaching immediately for the vodka. He poured one shot and quickly downed it, enjoying the pleasant burn that chased away the remnants of the dream? … nightmare? Or was it a glimpse of things to come? He couldn’t really say for sure.

Cloud sighed, tapping his fingers against the countertop as he considered the images from the nightmare. He shivered.

It had felt so weird: the clamminess of the shadows, the searing pain of the wounds, and even Balaam’s disdain. He wasn’t a prophet; he didn’t have any gifts of sight, but he was certain that the dream was of some importance. But he hadn’t yet figured out why.

Recently, he had begun to sense a loss of his once strong battle energy. He was weary of fighting, weary of leading, but most of all, weary of fearing. He wanted peace. He was tired of seeing blood and worrying for the lives of those he cared about. Cloud just wanted to smile again without believing that the joy would soon be stolen. He wanted serenity for everyone, which would not happen until Balaam was destroyed, defeated, vanquished… whatever. Sephiroth might have thought that he was a god, but he wasn’t. Fighting Balaam would be far more difficult, and Cloud knew he hadn’t the strength or skill, especially since he could not even fight along his anima. Cloud began to doubt that he could even effectively be leader once more. In the battle between immortals, he was sorely lacking on all fronts.

(What are you going to do then?) questioned a familiar voice in the back of his mind. He had finally begun to listen to Iblion, even if the deity could not show up physically.

The blond opted to speak aloud, it being less taxing on his fatigued mind. “I haven’t yet decided.”

(I know you won’t just abandon them… but I am also aware of your thinly hatched plan. Do you really think you can trust him, or is it just your hero worship?)

Cloud sighed and rubbed his forehead. “I got over that when I watched him slay the one that I loved. Regardless, he is the best for the task.”

(You do trust him then. Interesting.) It was statement, not a question. (Yet, my true query is this: will everyone else? Will they even understand your reasons for doing so? I’m in your head, and I only vaguely grasp it.)

It was then that the realization struck him, nearly slapping him in the face. Perhaps the dream had been a warning! If he were to confront Balaam once the deity was finally located, Cloud would certainly find his death. It made sense, and in a way, supported the recent and uneasy feelings that had assailed him.

“They trust me,” he answered quietly. “And though it is a heavy burden, it should be enough.” With that, he poured and downed another shot of the vodka.

Iblion laughed lightly. (Aye, that they do… and rightly so. You’ve become a hero of sorts to them, Spike. If Cloud says they can, then by Kami, they believe they can.)

Cloud shook his head, snorting slightly at that. “It only goes to how desperate things were back then. I was a damned schizo, and the rest… well, I think we all were a bit off our rocker in some way or another.”

“But we came through in the end, and that’s what matters,” inserted another voice easily.

Cloud looked up to find Aeris leaning on the doorjamb to the kitchen, smiling sleepily at him. One hand rubbed her belly. She winked at him before strolling into the kitchen, climbing up on the stool next to him with his assistance.

“You’re up early,” she commented, gaze flickering to the alcohol and shot glass.

He shrugged. “Wasn’t sleeping too well… unpleasant dreams.” He reached over, placing a gentle hand on his wife’s distended belly, grinning when little Midori gave him an answering kick.

“What kind of dreams?” Aeris asked, frowning slightly. She gripped her mate’s hand in hers, jade eyes searching his face. “Cloud?”

He sighed and started toying with the vodka bottle. “The kind that makes you wake up sweating and frightened for the lives of everyone and everything you love.” He squeezed her hand in an attempt at reassurance. “But I’m fine now.”

“You’re worried.” It was a statement. “About Balaam. About the battle…. about yourself.”

He nodded. “That’s a good chunk of it.”

She chewed her lip in thought. “I wish I had something to say, but I don’t. I’m worried, too, especially for Midori and knowing that there’s nothing I can do.” Her free hand rubbed at her belly. “But I do know that I have faith in us, in the strength of our friends. We won’t lose because we can’t. Or as I heard Nanaki once say, ‘It doesn’t matter if we can, only that we have to.’ It is something that I have always held close.”

A smile formed at the edge of his lips as he looked over at his wife, leaning in for a soft and passionate kiss. “I knew there was a reason I married you,” he commented quietly.

“You mean other than my bright and cheery disposition, brilliant pick-up lines and angelic demeanor?” she questioned teasingly, giggling.

Would you like to buy a flower? Such a classy pick-up line for a handsome stranger that was near an echo to someone else she knew.

He laughed softly and slid down from the stool. “Let’s go back to bed,” he suggested as he aided her in her descent. “I think I can sleep now.”

“That’s what you said six months ago. And now look at me.” She shot him a baleful look and poked playfully at his shoulder.

Cloud shook his head. “Innocent angel, my ass. You just liked fooling everyone.” He led her back towards the stairs, leaving the glasses on the bar counter for him to clean in the morning. He flipped the light switch off as he passed, guiding her from where she could not see in the dark.

“I never claimed to be innocent. You just assumed so,” she clarified, wagging a finger at him. But then her tone changed, becoming somewhat sorrowful and wistful. “Besides, from the look that I saw in your eyes back then… you needed an angel.”

He sighed, admitting that she spoke the truth. “I think… that I’ve made a decision,” was his response. “I’m not sure how everyone will respond. But at this point, it’s the best I can do for them… and for us.”

She frowned thoughtfully, huffing slightly as they climbed the last little bit of stairs and eased their way towards the shared bedroom. “Will you tell me?”

“Not until I know for certain. I’m still debating, and I don’t want you to worry needlessly.”

She nodded, seeming to come to her own decision before she stopped them in the midst of the hallway, bringing his head up to close to hers before sharing another passionate kiss and threading her fingers with his. “Whatever you do decide, I’m certain it will be right. I’m with you, Cloud.”

Cloud grinned, the action visible within the small glow of the hallway night light. “Til death do us part.”

Aeris shook her head, pulling him into the bedroom. “Nope. Even further after. You’re stuck with me, Spike.”

The ex-SOLDIER rolled his eyes but followed her, suddenly finding his fatigue overwhelming him. Tomorrow, it would all be solved. Tomorrow, his decision would be made. But for now, he could rest knowing that at least one person was on his side.

(Hey!)

Make that two.

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This time around things were a little different. Vincent had returned to an empty room aboard the suspiciously silent and still Highwind. This was after he had trouble getting in because he didn’t know the new code. Cid had changed it three months before. Luckily, one of the crew had been watching the security feed and recognized him. He had been let in without a fuss.

But Cid had been nowhere to be found.

The gunman felt both relieved and disappointed. He wanted to work out the argument but wasn’t sure if he was ready for the questions. As a result, he hadn’t bothered to search for the missing pilot. He opted to change out of his clothing, bathe to wash off the unfortunate chocobo odor, and then climb tiredly into bed. The day had been more than draining for him.

Seeing Lucrecia always seemed to suck the vigor right out of him, as if her very presence was a leech on his soul. The love that he once harbored had faded and crumbled in the face of her deeds. Now, it was sufficient enough to claim that he blatantly pitied her but not enough to grant her peace in her death. He left that decision up to the child that she had wronged.

Vincent was still certain that never knowing was the best choice for them. He had just managed to release much of his guilt, and Sephiroth was beginning to experience all of his. It wouldn’t be fair to either of them. Perhaps in the future, if there even was one, he would reconsider.

His thoughts then turned towards what Erebus and the unnamed demi-deity had revealed. That he had been tricked, effectively duped by the chaotic and masterful Balaam. His sacrifice which hadn’t even been one; it was for naught. Jenova… Sephiroth… everything could be traced back to Balaam’s desire for freedom. It sickened him. He still loathed Hojo for what the scientist had done, but in a way, he had been used by Balaam as well… mortals in the hands of the gods, pawns in an immortal chess game.

Vincent understood now why his eyes had changed and his skin tanned. It went along with the same reason his senses were no longer as acute and his body having finally begun to age. With the loss of the demi-deities from his body, all that remained was the mako and Jenova cells. He would still live longer and be able to see in the dark but his super-hearing and acute nose had been lost.

Although he hadn’t been free long enough for sure, Vincent recognized the feelings in his own body. At any rate, as Balaam’s power leaked from him, he slowly became nothing more than Cloud… not quite normal, but no longer a monster. His eyes still glowed, and he healed more quickly, but he was mortal.

He could die.

It was strange how people claimed they wanted to live forever. But he had always desired mortality, ever since the moment Hojo had fired at him. He didn’t want to continue, while everyone he knew or loved perished or exist forever in a cursed body. He was glad for his mortality, though he vowed to be a bit more cautious in the future. He wasn’t suicidal.

And before he could celebrate his release from the chains of the demi-deities, Balaam had to be destroyed. Yet, prior to that, he had to figure out whom the other presence in his head was. Vincent was certain that Cid could tell him exactly what happened in the crater, but he had to wait for the pilot to return first from wherever he was.

When Vincent awoke the next morning, Cid still hadn’t come back.

The gunman rose from their bed, worry beginning to mar his features and claw its way into his body, nestling very close to his heart. Cid shouldn’t have been gone this long.

What if somehow he had met something he couldn’t handle? What if he was hurt?

Concerned, Vincent dressed quickly, grabbed the Hell Fire, and left the room, tying his hair back as he did so. His first task was to seek out someone on the airship. Perhaps they knew where Cid had gone.

He first went to the bridge. The young man at the helm informed him that after taking Yuffie and Nanaki to Wutai the day before, no one had seen the Captain. He had left the Highwind without explaining his destination, so Vincent left the airship and headed into the remnants of Midgar and the beginnings of Edge. He was certain Reeve would be able to find Cid. And if anything, the president would have a phone, which the ex-Turk sorely lacked. He ran into a slightly morose and thoughtful Cloud who hadn’t seen Cid either. But the blond did offer to make some phone calls.

Thirty minutes later found a frustrated and slightly annoyed Vincent returning to the Highwind, empty-handed and with a headache. Gail, Reeve’s replacement secretary, a cousin of Tifa’s old friend Johnny and someone they could trust, had informed them that Reeve had taken a day off, an odd occurrence.

Further dialing only resulted in a busy signal from the President’s home. Neither Barret or Rude, currently getting sloshed at a bar for reason’s unknown, had seen the pilot either. Elena claimed that Cid had stopped by earlier looking for Archer, but she sounded preoccupied. Nor did she know where Tseng or Archer could be found. And it seemed no one had Archer’s home number as his cell phone appeared to be broken. Repeated dialing to Cid’s PHS sent them straight to voice mail, the device obviously dead or off.

Sigh.

Cloud attempted to assure Vincent that Cid was fine before leaving, now on his way to the ShinRa training center. Judging by the look in the blond’s eyes, the gunman didn’t dare ask. If Cloud had wanted someone to talk to or share with, he would have said something. Vincent sighed audibly afterwards, eyebrow twitching, thanked him, and returned to the Highwind where he was again met with an empty room.

If Cid had not yet returned, that meant he was still angry. It was an unfortunate thought that made him rub his forehead, feeling his headache turn into a migraine of epic proportions. He was quite certain that there was going to be an argument soon.

Vincent sat down on the bed and contemplated going to the common room, finding that his stomach was now protesting the extreme lack of food. He was about to rise and do just that when the handle of the door jiggled seconds before it opened wide, emitting one tired and slightly hung-over Cid Highwind.

The pilot didn’t notice Vincent’s presence at first, idly rubbing at his eyes and yawning widely. He sort of stumbled in, tripping over the doorjamb as the door shut behind him. The gunman watched it all with an impassive expression, waiting for the blond to say something… anything. It wasn’t until Cid stopped to take off his boots that he even realized he was not alone.

Bleary blue eyes looked up and locked on grey ones, slightly widening in surprise. Cid grunted, “Vince, ya finally came home.”

“I could say the same for you,” replied the ex-Turk coolly. “And in a terrible state, I might add.” Truthfully, the pilot’s clothes were rumpled looking, like he had slept in them. Vincent was certain they were the same that he had worn yesterday. His hair was all a mess, sticking up worse than usual, and he had the look of a man getting over a night of binge drinking and diving into the worst bars in town.

Cid shrugged as he slowly began to pull off his shirt, seeking a fresh one from the dresser drawers. “I got a little wasted last night,” he replied simply. In a more casual voice, showing a surprising attempt at subtlety, he continued, “Lucrecia was still living then?”

The gunman bit back a sigh as he regarded the pilot and his almost nonchalant questioning. “Yes. Unfortunately for her.”

Cid gave a small humph, a sound that Vincent barely heard. “Why bother with pity?”

“It’s not that simple,” the dark-haired man pointed out. “No matter what she did to me, she is still his mother. And he’s been given a second chance and--.”

“--and I suppose it doesn’t matter that you could be his father either,” Cid interrupted harshly as he stripped out of his dirty jeans, movements jerky and hurried.

Vincent’s brow furrowed even as his heart sank, the feared argument coming to fruition. “What?” He could come up with no better response, uncertain where the pilot was heading with that statement.

But the anger in the pilot’s movements and voice could not be denied. “One big happy fucking family, huh? Revive a dying flame? Dear old Sephiroth’s got parents now, a fairy tale ending. Nevermind that the very same man nearly destroyed Gaia six months ago… and that she ate your heart, chewed it up, and spat it back out!” He was not yelling, but his voice was low, harsh, and thick with emotion. Another pair of clean blue jeans snapped into place, but he still refused to turn and look at his lover.

“He’s not the same man,” Vincent insisted, hoping that Cid didn’t really believe he had gone to see her to rekindle their old relationship. “If you can believe me about not needing to atone, if you can forgive my past… then why can’t you see that?”

“Maybe because you didn’t try to kill me. The blame is not the same,” Cid retorted.

There was no purpose in arguing with Cid about Sephiroth… that was something that the pilot would have to come to grips with on his own. Just like convincing some of the others, it would take finding his own faith in the restored General. No amount of words could change his opinion, so Vincent sighed and changed the subject, returning to their original line of conversation.

“You were drinking all night? Where did you sleep?”

Cid paused in his movements, after pulling a clean shirt over his head and attempting to make some arrangement to his hair. “I was at Archer’s,” he replied quietly, without turning around. “I didn’t feel like drinking alone.” There was a slight hint of sorrow in his voice that Vincent did not fail to notice.

But it was quickly swallowed by the jealousy that flared up within the gunman. Cid was at his ex-boyfriend’s house all night… stayed there even. Drinking. Not that the pilot couldn’t handle his alcohol… but considering the state of their affairs the last time they had spoken, he couldn’t stop the blooming jealousy that threatened to consume him.

“Archer’s?”

It was then that Cid turned around, gazing at Vincent with an emotion that the gunman wasn’t sure how to interpret. Jealousy mirroring his own, sadness… regret?… fear? He couldn’t be sure; it all swirled together within sky-colored irises. “And you went to see Lucrecia,” he commented by way of answer.

Grey eyes narrowed. “No matter what you think, I no longer desire her.” There was only one way he could interpret Cid’s response. “Does Archer know that you used him?” he questioned critically, voice thick with venom and something else… that familiar, raw, and aching pain that always seemed to accompany his life. It was something akin to hurt.

Cid wouldn’t… would he? Do something so cruel to get back at him? Had time truly changed him?

The pilot’s eyes widened in surprise, jaw nearly dropping in shock. “I wouldn’t do that!” he denied loudly, hand drawing up into a fist. His face flared with hurt. “I’m not that vindictive! I love you, Vincent! Since the day I first saw you in the rocket with those *&$@ beautiful crimson eyes, I think I’ve loved you that long! I wouldn’t betray you!”

The gunman gulped at his passionate words, finding them painful, even though they hadn’t intended to be so.

“How can you say it so easily?” questioned Vincent brokenly, words pulled from his mouth as he rose to his feet, hands clenched at his side. He didn’t understand. “You know nothing of me!”

“Easy? You think I can just speak of love as if it were some random emotion that flopped in and out of my life?” the pilot demanded incredulously.

Vincent shook his head, beginning to feel a headache pulsing at his temples. “I don’t know, Cid.” He paused, eyes searching the pilot’s face but not finding what he sought. “I don’t know you. Hell, up until a week ago, I didn’t even remember you!”

His voice echoed throughout the room, and in the back of their minds, they vaguely registered the sound of someone’s PHS ringing. But both ignored the device, the ring tone fading into obscurity.

Cid paled at the reminder, blue eyes darkening with the remembered pain, even as he yelled brokenly. “You didn’t want to remember!” he accused, forcing Vincent to face the truth he had long been avoiding. “That’s how you’ve always been! Hiding yourself and your secrets, not letting any of us in!” He took a step towards the gunman, nearly enveloping the gunman with the force of his emotions as they spilled from him in a cresting wave. “I don’t know you either, Vincent! Because you won’t let me. Always running away from us, from me!”

Vincent blinked even as he physically reeled from Cid, unconsciously taking a step backwards. “Running?” he repeated. It was the only coherent statement he could form.

“Yes, running!” Cid made a distinctive gesture with his hand, eyes flaring with pain. He reached for Vincent, but the gunman recoiled again, especially in the face of the pilot’s truth. “Anytime you don’t understand something or you feel you need something, you run! When it came time to fight Chaos, you did that on your own. You wouldn’t come to me, open up to me, no matter how hard I knocked! I loved you for far longer than I could say, but you would never let me!” His voice cracked, but he kept going, pushing forward to release the words that tumbled from his lips faster than he could stop them. “You damn bastard, you kept running the fuck away. So goddamned afraid…”

“Afraid?” Vincent responded, voice barely louder than a whisper. “Is that what you think of me… as some sort of coward?” Is that what they all believed of him?

The phone stopped ringing in the background, accentuating the tense silence as Cid struggled to regain control of himself, recognizing the haunted look that was beginning to take over Vincent’s features. He darted forward, nearly trapping the gunman as he grabbed him by the shoulders and forced his lover to look at him, sky blue meeting stone grey.

The phone began to ring again, the same familiar tune, but he ignored it. Mr. Fucking President could wait for his damned ride. This was far more important.

“No,” Cid replied calmly, taking a deep breath. “I think of you as my lover! As the only one who means anything… everything to me!” His hands tightened their hold on Vincent’s shoulders, eyes threatening to tear. “But I’m dying to be let in! I’m tired of standing on the outside with my nose pressed to the fucking glass! I want to know you, Vincent Valentine! I want you to goddamn trust me.” The last was said on a whisper, more like a plea.

It felt like the pilot could see right through him, realizing the truth about what he couldn’t understand himself. They didn’t know each other, and Vincent had always kept Cid away from his past, except for a single time. Yet, he refused to allow the pilot to accompany him… as if he were afraid. It was still too hard, too dangerous to trust. Even if he did love… he didn’t know if it was /enough/.

It was raw, aching… and all too familiar. “Well, I can’t!” roared Vincent, unable to keep his calm. “It’s not that simple. It’s never that easy!

Blue eyes dimmed with pain, voice dropping dangerously low. “So that’s how it is then?” he said with regret. “Secrets for the rest of our lives, you standing there… and me over here with a wall of ice, your sacred damn past and secrets, between us. Always… /her/.”

Confusion overcame him. He wasn’t even sure what they were arguing about anymore. Her? Did Cid still believe he cared for Lucrecia simply because he sought to spare the pilot from unnecessary pain? Words escaped him and he found he couldn’t even continue to speak. He had no response to give. He turned his gaze away, following the motion with his body and removing Cid’s gentle touch from his shoulders. His mind settled on the sound that had been disturbing his consciousness, finding nothing better to say.

“Answer your phone,” he responded hoarsely, voice slightly icy. Vincent wasn’t able to see the flurry of emotions that flickered across the pilot’s face before he stormed across the room and angrily snatched up the ringing device from the desk top.

“Goddammit, what?” the pilot barked into the receiver, half-expecting it to be Reeve.

Instead, a different familiar voice came through. “Captain--”

“Shera! Now is not the damn time! I’m busy,” he snapped impatiently, rubbing his forehead with a finger and vaguely noticing that his body was shaking. Gah, he really could use a cigarette… or twenty.

However, the engineer was in no mood for his crappy attitude. “Well make time,” she snapped angrily. “Your father is dead, Cid.”

For a moment, all the blood drained from his body, only to be quickly replaced by a seething rage. “What the hell do I care about that bastard for?”

Shera sighed, she being one of the only few who knew anything of the estranged Highwind family. As a result, it was she who they had been able to contact rather than Cid.

“You’re in his will, Cid. You have to come to the funeral.”

“I don’t want the damn money!” Cid roared, taking out his emotional pain on Shera as seemed usual for him. It was so much easier to revert to his “bastard attitude” than face his true feelings. And he had the nerve to call Vincent a coward.

“There’s only one thing I’ve wanted from him, and his money certainly ain’t going to make up for it.”

The brunette was a long way away from the old days; however, and was in no mood for his attitude, the hormones having changed her emotions rapidly.

“That is beyond the point! He’s family, Captain, and with the world going all to shit, the least you can do is remember that!” There was a huff before her final words came through, more of an order than anything. “Be there.”

The phone went dead in his hands, the annoying beeping sound of a disconnected call droning through the speaker.

Cid bit his lip, completely silent for a moment, until the hand holding his PHS tightened, nearly knuckle white and shook. He gave no warning before suddenly and angrily throwing the defenseless device against the wall, where it struck with a low thud and fell to the ground in pieces.

There was a moment where neither man looked at each other. The sound of Cid’s heavy breathing filled the eerie quiet and Vincent was especially confused since he had only heard one half of the conversation. Yet, compared to the swirling inside him, the confusion was easy to bear.

All at once, Cid moved. He snatched his goggles off the table, cigarette pack included, and strode for the door, forgetting even to grab his boots. He put his hand on the knob and yanked the door open, it creaking slightly. However, the pilot paused before heading out.

“We’re going to Costa del Sol. My father is dead,” he explained in a matter-of-fact voice, almost as if nothing had occurred.

“Cid--“

“I don’t want to hear it,” the blond interrupted easily. He paused, seeming to search for the right words before he continued, tone low and even, “You say you know nothing about me. Well, here’s your chance.” The sound of the door slamming shut accompanied the last of his words.

Vincent was left behind, staring in shock at the wall in front of him even as he dimly registered that he was shaking. His knees buckled, and he slumped down, connecting with the bed as he did so. He didn’t understand. How in hell had things gone so horribly wrong? Almost like the words weren’t his own, that his mind had taken its own course.

That had been their first true argument, though honestly it was a carry over from the minor disagreement of the previous day. And it hurt, knowing that Cid was angry and upset with him, even if he didn’t understand the reason. He had allowed himself to trust the pilot, allowed Cid to enter into his heart and although he didn’t think there would be a fairy tale ending, he had hoped that the time for serious sorrow had passed.

“What just happened?” Erebus’ clear tone suddenly filled the room as the demi-deity popped into existence.

The gunman looked up, a deeply confused expression in his face as he worked to calm the trembling of his body. “I don’t know,” he answered shaking his head. “Honestly, Erebus, I really don’t.”

The demi-god sighed. “Well, you had better find out,” he suggested. “Otherwise it’s going to get worse.”

Vincent’s grey gaze fell to the floor. “Yes,” he responded. “I know.”

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Thanks everyone for reading! Review please!!

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Chessy Kat: I do plan to continue that FF8 fic eventually. Right now, I’m working on three full-length fics as well as my original stuff so it’s kind of been put aside. But it’s not forgotten! I’m still hashing out some of the plot, trying to come up with something believable and original. I hate repeating others’ ideas. I’m glad you can appreciate the realism. I find it somewhat irritating when people think that once a couple is together, they never have any more problems, or that two people in love never fight or have their rough times. I’m happy to convert! And somewhere in the future... I have a Vincent/Tseng story in the works. It’s only in the baby stages but I do plan to write one. Thanks!!