Other Fan Fiction / Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Distorted Perception ❯ Less Than a Celebration ( Chapter 8 )

Chapter Eight

Less Than a Celebration

 

Cid and Aeris had barely registered the sight of Sephiroth atop an injured and transformed Vincent, when a gust of air passed by and Cloud had already torn across the room to remove the silver haired warrior from the gunman.

 

Shortly behind, the corridors of the facility not broad enough to fit all their forms at breadth, Tifa and Yuffie still managed to see what was going on.

 

In a blur of swiftly moving forms, Cloud struck Sephiroth's countering sword over and over again.

 

Awestruck, and perhaps a bit fearful, the remaining companions stood just within the room. The moment they'd arrived, having dwindled precious time away by not knowing where to go, the surprising scene had been presented to them.

 

“Well, fuck a duck,” Cid eventually commented, “The kid's been holdin' out on us.”

 

“What should we do?” Yuffie questioned.

 

Between not having the spiky haired ex-Soldier to give them orders and the feeling that there was little they could do given the way Cloud seemed to be handling it, the four members stood for another prolonged moment.

 

Eventually, Tifa grumbled angrily under her breath and charged forth. Sprinting, she cried out before joining the fight. While the talented young woman was quite the fighter, her number of hits and ability to keep up with the impossibly fast movement was nothing in comparison to what Cloud was doing.

 

“Aeris, I'd suggest using some of that magic of yours on Red and the vamp.” Glancing warily at the writhing demon that was the pale gunman with wings and blood, Cid warned, “If you can't get near Vince, then leave him.”

 

Nodding in understanding, Aeris trotted off, careful not to draw any unwanted attention.

 

“Come on you klepto,” the pilot continued to direct, “Let's kill the bad guy.”

 

**

 

It had been two full days with no signs that Vincent would wake up any time soon.

 

Cloud paced back and forth, completely absorbed in his own world of worry for the raven-haired gunman.

 

Clothes torn and battered from the scarce few nicks Sephiroth had managed, Cloud no longer wore his Soldier's uniform. His dark navy blue pants weren't tapered to tuck into his boots, but hung loosely, casually. Gone was the woolen scratchiness that almost seemed a requirement for all things Soldier, the material seemed a mix of denim and cotton, strong but soft. His shirt was a simple sweater tank top, with small pleats woven vertically. The turtleneck was unzipped to relieve that asphyxiated feeling he had with anything clinging to his throat. Along his left side, which had sported the most scratches, he wore an extra layer of draping guard. While his clothing was not going to be stopping any bullets or blades, every little bit counted. The final battle hadn't lasted long, but it had shown just how open he tended to leave his left side while favoring his right when wielding his sword. With a shoulder piece that might be considered armor, a single long sleeve draped down. From his waist, in a similar manner as his sleeve, the half skirt fell like a cloak.

 

The Highwind was airborne, and had been for most of that dreary day. Heavy clouds obscured any view of the earth below, casting an eerie white fog across the helm's windows. It was bright, what little sun shining from the atmosphere above reflected off the surrounding cloud cover and lit the cabin up. It didn't quite match the heavy mood that permeated throughout every nook of the ship.

 

Though it wasn't necessary, Cid stood at the wheel, casually smoking and minding his own. Every so often, he'd glance up at the spiky haired boy's mutterings before returning his focus to the swimsuit magazine he'd been halfheartedly flipping through, which was ten years old and had been photographically memorized long ago.

 

In the pilot's opinion, their oh-so-powerful leader should be out celebrating and getting drunk, not to mention getting a well deserved lay. That's exactly what he'd be doing too if everyone didn't seem so damn depressed.

 

In a world that was no longer fit for a middle aged man with dreams, his only friends had been the group of misfits that decided being heroes might be fun. So, when that same group of misfits ended the game with a grand finale and wound up sulking, it put a damper on any form of celebrating.

 

Every so often Cid would have the urge to say something to the swordsman, but when he looked up and saw that worried expression, he knew nothing he said would matter.

 

It seemed as though no one was going to return home or break out any bottles of whiskey until the pansy-boy woke up again. And, considering what happened to the gunman, it might not be any time soon. Cid knew that if it had been him to take it up the ass from Sephiroth-the-insane, he'd likely sleep the rest of his life away.

 

At three hours and some odd minutes, he broke down. Sighing gruffly, the spear-wielding pilot shattered the patterned silence that had previously only contained Cloud's even footsteps and periodical mumblings.

 

“What's on your mind kid?” he asked in somewhat of a rhetorical manner.

 

Cloud stopped, looking up towards the platform the pilot was stationed at. “Vincent, what else?” the blond retorted evenly.

 

Ignoring the evasive air with which the swordsman spoke, he pressed further, “Look, he's gotta wake up eventually. Does it really make a difference if you wear a path into my ship by pacing until he does?”

 

“He should have woken up after being healed,” Cloud pointed out, “Something's wrong.”

 

“Well, there's nothing you can do about it, short of holding his hand and praying to the Ancients. But, considering we have our very own Ancient doin' just that, I doubt any pleading you do is gonna help.” Cid's sarcasm seemed lost on Cloud, for those Mako blue eyes just stared at him with fierce determination.

 

Cid fell silent. It wasn't like he wanted to talk in the first place, it was merely too annoying to watch Cloud pace back and forth.

 

After another interval of silence, the older man frowned in his own mental musings. Everyone was certainly concerned over the unconscious gunman's state. There was nothing odd about that, even if the pale vampire had joined them only a matter of weeks ago. Yet, he had the distinct impression that Cloud was affected by it all just a little too much.

 

Since when did the headstrong young man take it upon himself to be responsible for everyone else's welfare? Granted, Cloud was their leader, but they weren't blind followers, and as such had never been the boy's burden in any form.

 

So, that begged the question, why was Cloud so upset? Was it guilt?

 

Guilt wouldn't have accounted for the enraged instincts that kicked in when they'd arrived in that room in Shinra's now decimated research facility. Aside from tranced energy, built up power that had conveniently released to spur the younger blond on, there had definitely been some sort of protective rage that had taken over. It was a wonderous and frightening force, the instincts that were the most base of human nature.

 

If not guilt, then this exaggerated display of concern could only be explained by a limited number of possibilities, in Cid's opinion.

 

Before the pilot could voice any of the questions he had forming in his head, Yuffie came bounding into the main deck.

 

Bouncing gracefully, the light-footed ninja twirled as though performing a dance for an adoring audience. “He's awake!” she announced, taking a bow and shuffling out of the way since she knew what was about to come.

 

In a flutter of loosely hanging material, Cloud was passed Yuffie and out of the cabin.

 

“You'd think his wife was having a baby or something,” Cid grumbled, no longer able to question the younger blond.

 

Yuffie didn't giggle like she was prone to doing at all of the pilot's sarcastic comments. Instead, she turned her big round eyes to the older man and asked, “Vincent's going to be okay, right?”

 

Frowning, Cid took a moment to search for his half full pack of tobacco sticks, stored somewhere on his body. Without his jacket, he was prone to hiding them in one of the pockets on his cargo khaki pants. With success, he tapped out anther cigarette.

 

At sixteen, he wondered if the young girl knew what had happened exactly. If she didn't, he wasn't about to corrupt her innocent little mind. “You know what happened?” he questioned casually, flicking his lighter.

 

Shuffling at the uncomfortable memory, the Wutai native fisted her thin forest green tank top, and spoke, “He got raped… by Hojo and Sephiroth.”

 

Sky blue eyes widened momentarily. Cid coughed, choking on his lungful of toxic air. It wasn't the easy manner in which the girl knew what had happened, since he'd half expected her to know anyway, but the extra conclusion she'd drawn. “Hojo?” the pilot asked incredulously.

 

Uncertain for a moment, Yuffie scratched her bobbed black hair, wondering if she'd been wrong. “His pants were open, and I just figured that since they must have been there before Sephiroth was there….” She trailed off, looking for confirmation from the older, and therefore wiser, man.

 

Grumbling, Cid forgot his younger company and cursed openly, “A fucking rape festival wasn't it?”

 

“I doubt it was much of a festival,” the ninja commented dryly, casting a sad gaze towards the empty corridor through which she'd just come and cloud had just left.

 

“He's a strong one,” Cid said, referring to the man the girl had initially questioned him about. “He'll probably go howl at the full moon this month and be better, or whatever it is vampires do.”

 

“That's werewolves, and I don't think he's a vampire.”

 

“Yeah, well, I don't think he's human either,” the pilot countered, taking another drag. He left off his additional thought on the matter, `cause there's no human that good looking.'

 

“Cid,” Yuffie began in all seriousness, “Do you think….” She fell short, not sure if she was being stupid for her thoughts.

 

“Speak up kid, it's not a good habit to leave your sentences unfinished,” the pilot chastised.

 

Sighing heavily, Yuffie took a few steps closer. Hefting her small frame up, she sat casually balanced on the rail that separated the elevated station of the captain's wheel and the rest of the main deck. “Do you think that stuff like that has happened to him before?”

 

“Shit kid,” Cid cursed, “You shouldn't be thinking that.” Aside from the fact that such a young girl shouldn't be dwelling on the idea of rape in any form, it also shouldn't have been her to put the pieces together. It should have been the rest of them.

 

**

 

It had been a wonderful sleep. Darkness that kept his red eyes from seeing, a deafened silence that kept his ears from hearing, and a fatigued lethargy that kept his body from feeling. Perhaps the best part of it was that there were no dreams. For the first time in thirty-two long years, Vincent Valentine slept without nightmares or guilt over using spells to put him in such a state.

 

Even upon waking up, his mind was delayed in taking stock of his surroundings and situation. There was comfortable warmth, a slightly heavy pressure against his side that moved subtly. Twitching the fingers in his right arm, he felt the soft fur brush his knuckles.

 

Once Vincent realized that he was in a bed, blankets drawn up with the sleeping form of Red XIII sprawled against him, the raven-haired gunman shot up. His actions disturbed the fire-tailed feline, who was careful to keep that fire lit tip propped away from any flammable cloth.

 

“How are you feeling?” Red XIII asked immediately, raising his head from atop crossed paws.

 

“Fine,” Vincent replied automatically. With brows furrowed the pale man looked about the empty room with confusion. “What happened?”

 

“I don't know,” the tiger answered, “After Sephiroth attacked, I didn't wake up until we were back on the ship. That was a couple days ago. You've been asleep since then.”

 

With a small nod of understanding, the gunman explained, “Chaos is strong. It took a lot out of me.” With a testing flex of his right hand, Vincent confirmed the conclusion by the sorely overused feel of his muscles.

 

Chuckling, Red XIII commented, “They said you had wings.”

 

Thoughtfully, Vincent came to another conclusion, “Such a demon would. I'm surprised I don't still have them.”

 

Ears twitching, the tiger corrected the notion, “It wasn't your true form, just that spirit thing inside of you. You return to normal after all the other transformations.”

 

Shaking his head, Vincent refuted, “I'm a monster, that is my true form.”

 

Shocked, Red XIII stared for a long moment. “Vincent,” he eventually spoke, “what makes you think that?”

 

Averting his crimson gaze, the gunman stiffly cast the blanket aside and made to stand up. A simple black t-shirt, that didn't belong to him, fit snuggly to his frame. Too short to fit properly, it revealed the pale skin of his midriff. Wearing long baggy flannel pants that barely managed to cling to his narrow waist, Vincent took a few steps to warm his muscles up. Stiff and sore was an understatement, but he wouldn't complain.

 

“You shouldn't be getting up. If you're still tired, then you can go back to sleep.”

 

“Am I to assume Sephiroth is dead?” Vincent asked, ignoring the feline's words.

 

“I'm told Cloud did a number on him,” Red XIII sighed, accepting the evasive mood the pale man seemed to be in. “Someone had the place rigged to explode, and we barely got out of there in time.”

 

“So he's dead too,” Vincent commented to himself. Thinking back upon the silver haired General, a small shiver ran through his body. Walking to the other side of the room, he kept his back turned and hid the pained expression on his face.

 

How many people would he defy and kill? Certainly, Sephiroth wasn't innocent, but the swordsman had been sent to punish him. There was only one option left. It was back to the mansion to sleep once again under the frozen stasis that would contain him and let him forever brood over his sins.

 

Red XIII watched with slight apprehension over what was going on inside the gunman's head.

 

A soft knocking sounded at the door.

 

A startled gasp came as the door creaked open. “You're awake!” Aeris cried joyfully, swinging the door open further and bounding over to the gunman.

 

Falling short of throwing her arms about the tall man, she circled his thin frame with a scouring eye. “Are you hurt anywhere?” she questioned, coming around completely to stand before his confused gaze.

 

“No,” Vincent all but whispered solemnly.

 

“The others are anxious. If it's not too much to ask, would you let them see you?” Against her better judgment as a healer, the Ancient could not ignore the depressed look in Cloud's eyes.

 

“I didn't mean to worry you,” Vincent apologized, easily giving the go ahead to everyone to know he was all right.

 

“Nonsense,” Aeris brushed the matter aside with a flick of her hand. “It's not your fault.” Wearing her usual long pink dress, absent of the matching jacket, Aeris was the same as ever. Her long brown hair, however, was braided in a single thick pleat down her back.

 

Red XIII trotted down from the bed, unaccustomed to being in one. Patting closer, he sat next to Vincent, his head nearly reaching the gunman's waist.

 

“It is my fault,” Vincent assured with a small smile. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be your burden.”

 

Frowning, the kindly woman knew all too well where such a guilt-ridden mindset came from. There were a million questions she wanted to ask, but couldn't. “We'll discuss everything after dinner tonight. Right now, I think everyone just wants to know you're okay.” She used the word `okay' lightly. There was no way the gunman could be `okay', not after what happened in the Northern Crater and all those years ago.

 

With a small nod, Vincent gave the go ahead.

 

**

 

Pale cheeks blushed mildly at the news that he was wearing Tifa's shirt and Barrett's pants.

 

The dark skinned gunner stood and awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. “The pants had a drawstring, but my shirts were way too big for you,” Barrett explained, giving Aeris a sheepish glance.

 

“I'm mad though,” Tifa complained, forwardly walking up to the raven-haired man and tugging on the taut black material. “It looks better on you,” she teased with a bright, assuring smile.

 

Morbidly embarrassed at the trouble he'd caused, Vincent could find no words to excuse himself.

 

The room was crowded with five forms standing within the area meant to house one. Minutes before, it had held one more person, a young Wutai ninja, who had scampered off to inform the last two members.

 

When the doorway was suddenly filled with Cloud's resolute frame, all eyes turned to the swordsman.

 

“That was fast,” Tifa commented, wondering how long it took Yuffie to cross the length of the large airship and for Cloud to make his way here.

 

“I ran,” Cloud admitted absently. Striding forth, he made a beeline for the blushing gunman.

 

The next anybody knew, the spiky haired blond had pulled the lighter framed gunman into a fiercely protective hug. Holding the complacent form tightly, Cloud even ventured to openly twine his fingers in soft raven hair and sigh with relief into the junction of a pale shoulder.

 

At this last action however, Vincent went terribly rigid, not protesting, but obviously far from relaxed. Pulling back, Cloud looked with renewed concern into crimson eyes. “What's wrong?” he questioned softly.

 

An openly anguished expression contorted the delicate features of Vincent's face. “Nothing,” he mumbled softly, knowing he had no right to voice even the smallest of complaints. Cloud's actions were shockingly similar to the crazed General's, though they lacked the gruffly painful handling and the insane blood lusting gaze of green eyes.

 

“Hey,” the younger man cooed softly, completely oblivious to other shocked stares. Reaching a hand up, he softly stroked a smooth cheek. “Stop thinking so much,” he reprimanded lightly, seeing the distant look in red eyes.

 

Refocused eyes snapped to attention at Cloud's order. “I need to go to the mansion,” Vincent stated abruptly. At the continued hold of the blond, and the softly stroking thumb against the revealed skin of his lower back, he felt fear grow within. The last person he wanted to be dragged into the fate of having to punish him was Cloud. “I need to be sealed again.”

 

Outside the open doorway, two more new arrivals came into view. Vincent looked passed the concerned gaze of their leader, and locked eyes with the bluntly spoken pilot. “Please, can you take me there?” he pleaded, directing his words to the man who would steer the ship.