Title: Stray Cat, Looking for a Good Home
Author: bnomiko
Rating: PG-13
Pairing(s): Cid Highwind + Vincent Valentine
Spoilers: to about the middle of the OG game
Disclaimer: Final Fantasy VII is the creation and property of Square Co., Ltd. / Square Enix. This is a not-for-profit fanwork and I do not own any of these characters.
Summary: Cid Highwind has never questioned his preferences. He's also pretty darn sure that he hates labels or being told what to do. So what if he wants to snuggle with Vincent Valentine, he's just trying to make sure they both get a good night's sleep. It has nothing to do with the fact that the man is drop dead gorgeous and maybe a little cute too, in borrowed pajamas. Foul mouthed engineer who can't stop wanting to fix things + stoic and emotionally damaged ex-Turk in need of a hug.
Archived at: http://www.phenixsol.com/Miko/FF/

* * *

Stray Cat, Looking for a Good Home

* * *

Foreword: I really did want to adhere to the original Final Fantasy VII canon as much as possible - it's just something I do - but it just wasn't happening here because I wanted to use the Highwind for the setting while also having Vincent being the last addition to the group, and I *think* timing wise that isn't possible. Correct me if I'm wrong but I think the party was locked out of the mansion in Nibelhelm by the time the Highwind was available. So... creative license was taken. But then again I'm equating Vincent to a stray cat so rearranging the timing of the setting is far from the worst thing here : p

I made sure every playable character got a name drop, but it really is just Cid and Vincent for 95% of this.

* * *

The first time Cid wrapped his arms around Vincent, he knew he was sunk. Despite the deceptively thin frame normally hidden underneath the bulk of a crimson cloak, the man's body was like iron cord. Despite his fearsome claw and arsenal of guns and devilish red gaze - and the threat of very literal demons that had to be constantly held at bay - Vincent was also incredibly quiet and insecure. Insubstantial as a shadow, yet reliable as the North Star.

The contradiction was going to kill him.

Cid admired strong people, and other than Cloud there probably wasn't anyone else in their group who was truly a one-man army. But the stupidly roaring masculine part of the engineer also wanted someone to protect, to coddle even. And Cid was fairly certain he'd never met anyone who spent more time teetering on the edge of a massive breakdown than Vincent.

The blond hadn't gone along with the others the morning Vincent had been freed so he never saw the coffin, the dismal basement, the nightmarish labs that had made up the raven-haired man's "home" for thirty long years. He'd been busy with needed repairs to the ship, so he'd barely even noticed the group returning with one extra member. All he knew was when he'd finally stopped to take a breather, Yuffie was obnoxiously waving him over to "Come meet the new guy!" and just to shut her up, he did.

Cid's first impression was the tall man was a helluva looker, even though he could barely make out most of his face: he could see a long, straight nose under thick, jet black locks spilling over a red headband; the lower half of his face was otherwise tucked into the cowl of his cloak. The sliver of skin left exposed was extremely pale, the color of a flawless pearl, setting off a pair of extremely unusual eyes - facets of garnet dancing with sparks of fire, with an occasional glimpse of smoldering gold flickering around the left pupil like the sun's corona during an eclipse.

Based solely on looks, Cid rated the guy a ten out of ten. Too bad his personality, in contrast, was more flat and depressing than a deflated balloon.

Vincent didn't say a word in greeting when Cid finally got to the rear of the room where he, Yuffie, Nanaki and Cait Sith were standing. Nor did he say anything when Cid stuck out his hand and welcomed him aboard. He'd shaken it for the briefest of moments, but that was all; he immediately withdrew his limb back into the folds of his blood red cloak as if human contact was distasteful. Cait was the one who actually introduced him by name, seeing that Vincent didn't seem inclined to mention it himself. After that, Cid got back to work and the next time he saw Vincent, the man was standing in the back station of the bridge, seemingly listening to everything around him as he stared at the various dials and screens, but refusing to participate himself. He didn't even bother to show up for dinner, disappearing somewhere during the scheduled meal time only to reappear on the bridge once it was dark.

At least Cid had been able to gather some scraps of information about the strange newcomer in his absence. Vincent Valentine, former Turk. Seemed like he was another one of Hojo's many unfortunate victims, since he'd joined after asking if they were going after the creepy scientist. Supposedly he'd had a quartet of monsters implanted in his body, and then had been locked in a coffin and abandoned for thirty years... Cid had almost scoffed at that as the guy didn't look a day over twenty-five (from the little he'd seen), but then again, if Hojo was involved, anything was possible.

By the time evening fell it became clear that no one, not even Vincent, had thought about where to put an extra body. The Highwind had never been designed to house a large crew, so now with a full compliment aboard plus AVALANCHE, every room and bed were spoken for. Which meant that Cid was going to have to suck it up and take one for the team, unless he planned on leaving the man loitering on the bridge forever...

"So's seein' as we're at max capacity and everyone else is already roomin' with someone or other, you get th' Captain's room. Lucky you, new guy..." Cid drawled as he walked the group's most recent recruit to his own quarters, grabbing the folded cot from the hallway where a crewman had left it for him, before unlocking the door and pushing it open.

"Vincent."

Cid half-turned in the direction of the silky smooth, moderately deep voice. The man had been silent since the moment of their introduction; Cid had figured it was rude to ask if he was a mute, so he'd reined in his curiosity and hadn't said a thing about it. "Huh?"

"It's Vincent."

"Oh so you do talk," Cid blurted out. If he can talk, why was Cait havin' ta introduce him?? "Well yeah, I know. Again, nice ta meet ya, Vince."

"Vincent," the raven-haired man repeated, eyes narrowing slightly. He didn't care for nicknames, and most people backed down if he glared at them long enough.

Cid rolled his own baby blues. Okay, maybe he'd been too optimistic... the guy sounded like a broken record. And he'd thought Cloud was a lousy conversationalist! "Okay, Vincent. ANYHOW like I was sayin'... lucky you, ya only gotta share a bathroom with me," and he quickly gestured at a side door, "but unlucky you, I don't have a bunk in here, so yer gonna have to live with a cot. Not like ya have a choice unless ya wanna bribe someone to switch rooms, but... ya good with that?"

Vincent looked around the room, then slowly nodded. Cid's cabin was a little bigger than the rest of the crew quarters, allowing for a double sized bed along with a bolted down table and chair that swung out from the support leg, plus a cabinet with latched double doors that served as both bookcase and armoire / dresser. But otherwise it was fairly spartan: plain white sheets and a blue blanket, same as the rest of the crew; a pair of wall lamps, a metal footlocker, a large framed photo of a plane, and a striped rug were the only other extras.

"I'm sure ya can tell, but I smoke in here, Captain's privilege 'n all. That gonna be a problem?" Cid asked, his voice drifting in like smoke as he dropped the cot by the wall, then snagged a cigarette from the pack strapped under his goggles, and waited...

Long black locks swayed slightly as Vincent shook his head. Even he had casually smoked during downtime while he was with the Turks. In fact he was itching for one now, mostly to give his hands something to do, but Cid hadn't offered and it was rude to ask for more when the captain was having to share a room with him, so that was that.

"Great - we should get along jus' dandy then!" Cid went ahead and lit up, wandering to his bed to pull an ashtray out of a narrow drawer hidden behind the headboard. "Should go without sayin', but since the cot isn't secured to the wall or floor, you'll hafta take it down durin' the day and stow it, then put it back up at night, okay?"

Vincent nodded. Easy enough, and it was the least he could do.

"Ya need me to show ya how to do it?"

Another shake of the head. The cot was no more complicated than a folding table, and the ex-Turk had it set up with its padded top within minutes. It was harder arranging the sheets with only one hand, but he saw no reason to ask for help when he could manage well enough with enough time. Once he was done, he pulled back one corner of the blanket and began to climb on, but the pilot's voice suddenly rang out.

"Yer... not goin' to bed like that, are ya?" Cid suddenly asked.

Vincent turned, one brow twitching up in question only to immediately disappear under his headband. Cid tugged at the collar of his own jacket, then did a quick up and down wave of his hand to indicate the rest of his clothes. Vincent relaxed slightly, then shrugged his shoulders. The clothes on his body were all that he had, and they weren't even his per se, just discarded old garments, fit for a freak, that Hojo had tossed on him to spare himself from looking at a naked man. He didn't have anything else, not even a spare set of socks or a gil to his name.

"Shit... do ya really have nothing?" the pilot muttered, though now that he thought about it, that was apparently the case. He didn't recall seeing the man with a satchel or any other form of luggage, just a few guns strapped to his body, that wicked looking gauntlet, and a cape that was in desperate need of a good washing. In contrast, Yuffie had shown up with an entire trunk of stuff (all stolen, most likely) and hell, even Cloud had brought a military rucksack with him, crammed with essentials. But then again neither one had been woken from a thirty-year slumber in a long forgotten basement...

With a sigh, Cid stepped over to the cabinet, opened it and rummaged around in the drawers until he found something that looked suitable enough. "Here, these should fit. Comfy too," he said, handing Vincent a bundle of fabric, before pointing him towards the attached bathroom. "Don't say I didn't do anythin' nice fer ya!"

A few minutes went by, long enough that Cid had finished his smoke and started to wonder if the sharpshooter had just keeled over and died somewhere next to the shower, then the door unlocked and Vincent stepped out, his usual clothing and even his headband neatly bundled in his arms, looking... confused?

Cid sucked in a breath. Vincent had washed his face and pushed back his bangs a bit; they stuck out haphazardly, like porcupine quills. That gave the engineer his first good look at Vincent's face - and really, it was even more attractive than what Cid had imagined. Guys weren't supposed to be pretty but this one definitely was, with perfectly balanced features that gave him a classic, ageless look. Though just as quickly Cid's giddiness was tempered by the realization that even a looker like Vincent bore his share of scars. Even with just his face and neck revealed, Cid could see a couple of circular marks, almost like pilot holes, near the hairline, and there was a puncture mark in the V above the shirt's top button, like someone had jammed a breathing tube directly into the guy's throat.

Vincent suddenly turned his head away, face even paler than before, and Cid realized he was staring a little too hard.

"Well... they mostly fit," the blond commented, pretending that all he was looking at was the sight of his new teammate in his borrowed attire.

The well-worn pajamas - sky blue, with fluffy white clouds and tiny red planes - were a gift from Shera several birthdays ago. Cid only wore them in winter, when the chill of the air made it impossible to sleep in just his boxers. But that was enough to fade the blue background into a color resembling worn denim, to stretch out the waistband enough that Vincent had to pull in the drawstrings and cinch it around his waist to keep them up.

Shera had said that Cid looked like a charming old man in the pajamas. Cid had grumbled over that, but they were comfortable so he'd hung on to them. But on Vincent, they looked almost childish, the overall sizing too large, leaving excess material curtaining around his slender frame. He was still wearing the golden armor on his left arm (leaving Cid to continue to wonder if it was a prosthetic or a gauntlet) and those odd, pointy boots, meaning he had to ruck up the pant hem and one sleeve to accommodate those items, but he'd at least removed the glove from his right hand, of all the small miracles.

"Are ya seriously wearing th' fuckin' boots to bed?" the pilot asked as Vincent tucked his things under the cot, having no other place to put them. Okay, that wasn't what he wanted to know at all ("What's your type?" would've been a far better question) but it was the first damn thing that fell out of his mouth, so he was stuck with it.

Vincent just turned and stared at him with those haunting eyes. Cid stared back, his jaw clenching, determined to get the guy to answer or tell him to shove off or anything.

"... No."

"Damn, it's like pullin' teeth with ya," Cid groaned. So damn pretty, yet so reluctant to talk. "Anyhow, 'nless you need th' shower or toilet, I'm gettin' ready for bed and turnin' in right after." He gave it another moment's thought, then decided to throw his roommate a bone, given that he seemed to be either extremely shy, or sensitive about anyone looking too long as his face or body. "You can turn off the light if ya want, I know my way through 'ere with my eyes closed," he told him before heading into the bathroom himself.

* * *

The lights were out by the time Cid crept out of the bathroom, so he made his way to bed as stealthily as he could, slid under the blankets, and conked out mere minutes later. He'd been tired enough that he should've been able to sleep through the night, no problem, but it felt like he'd barely closed his eyes when he was awakened by a soft groaning sound.

The blond froze for a moment as his sluggish brain tried to process what he'd heard. Then he remembered... he wasn't alone. He turned his head toward Vincent, though he couldn't make out anything in the dark.

"Vince?" he whispered.

No response. There was nothing but the faint sound of the ship's engines, which was merely white noise to Cid.

... Mebbe I was dreamin'?

Shutting his eyes again, Cid rolled over, burying his face back into his pillow, when he heard it again - a low, pained moan. His head jerked up. "Vin?" he tried again, a little louder than before. "That you?"

Again, nothing. Concern now warring with annoyance, Cid pushed himself out of bed, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the minimal moonlight coming through the ports, before approaching the cot sitting against the wall. "Hey..." he murmured, reaching out to shake the other man awake.

The moment his hand touched Vincent's shoulder, a few things happened in rapid succession. There was a shocked cry, the sound of tearing fabric, and then Cid was thrown far enough that his back hit his mattress on the other side of the room. Pain bloomed across his upper arm, and the pilot fumbled for the light, thinking he'd been stabbed or something. His guess wasn't far off the mark - there was a trio of evenly spaced cuts across his bicep, welling blood. "Shit! Wha... what the heck?" He whirled back around to demand an explanation, but the ex-Turk looked even more shocked than Cid himself, his jaw slack, his eyes wide like an owl's. The golden corona in his left eye had erupted like a solar flare.

"... I'm so sorry," Vincent said in a barely perceptible whisper, gaze fixated on the damage as his claws twitched just above the blanket. He couldn't remember what he'd been dreaming about, but his nightmares were always the same; he must've mistaken his new teammate for Hojo.

"Talk to me. What's goin' on?"

Vincent merely shook his head, curling in on himself tightly, before suddenly exploding off the cot and darting from the room.

"Hey, don't run! Git back here and... damn it!" Cid yelled, before reining in his anger and muting his voice, not wanting to wake any crewmembers with rooms in the same hallway. Never mind that he wasn't at all dressed to chase anyone around, being barefoot and clad in nothing but boxers.

Grumbling about flighty, near-mute recluses, the captain opted for a temporary tactical retreat. He at least needed a shirt and pants and footwear, then he could go hunt down the other man. Vincent could run all he liked, but the ship wasn't called the Highwind for nothing. There wasn't a single nook or cranny that Cid wasn't aware of. Unless the man simply bailed in mid-air, Cid would find him.

* * *

The pilot began his search in what he felt was the most obvious spot: the engine room. Others might've tried the bridge or the cargo bay, but Cid had figured if he didn't want anyone finding him, he'd head for the noisiest, most mechanically cluttered section of the ship.

Technically the engine room was restricted access, but the lock was still broken from Shinra's occupation, so there was nothing stopping someone from slipping in if they were so inclined. Cid flicked on all the lights as he entered, looking about for any sign that someone had recently run in, but there was nothing obvious... that was, until he closed his eyes.

Listening intently, he gave it a minute, taking in every rattle and hum and ping, then opened his eyes once more and headed right. He went all the way to the wall, shut his eyes momentarily again, then confidently took a few steps back, turned to his left, and marched down to the end of the row of metal cylinders before crouching down and checking for a glimpse of a foot or a leg.

... Bingo.

"Wanna know how I found ya, Vinnie? Yer leanin' on the air intake housin'; I could hear the change in vibration," Cid began explaining as he managed to shove about half of his body into the small gap between a cylinder and some large pipes, so he could talk face to face with the other man instead of addressing the air. "Pretty good hidin' spot though. Too bad I know every last millimeter of this baby better than my own hand."

Whatever residual anger Cid felt swirled down the drain when he looked down at the sad sight of the thin figure curled up on the floor. His eyes were drawn to the too-short hem of the pants riding up high over narrow ankles. Even Vincent's bare feet were slender (and not covered in hair or scales like his mind had conjured up, when the man had refused to remove his boots in front of him). He really was too scrawny for Cid's comfort... it made the blond want to drag him to the galley and whip him up a steak sandwich or something, extra cheese and mayo.

"I'm sorry," Vincent repeated, refusing to meet his eyes. "I was startled. It wasn't intended."

Three short sentences. It was the most Vincent had said to him thus far, yet it was everything that Cid didn't want to hear.

"Tsk. I don't want yer apology," Cid began, but seeing the raven-haired man tighten his grip around his knees, he immediately realized that Vincent probably thought he'd chased him down to berate him, when that wasn't the case at all.

Trying again, Cid softened his voice as much as he was able to and said, "Ya didn't do anythin' wrong. It was on me fer wakin' ya like that, when you were havin' a bad dream."

The sharpshooter finally glanced up, responding to the change in tone, and zeroed in on Cid's bandaged bicep. He couldn't see any blood coming through the wrapping, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt. "How bad is the damage?"

Cid shrugged. "Not bad. It stings more than anythin'. I'll get Aerith to toss a Cure on it in the mornin'." Then a grin flashed across his face. "But if ya feel so bad about it, come out here and talk to me, eh?"

Vincent blinked, stunned. He'd attacked the pilot for no justifiable reason, yet rather than chew him out for it or tell him to sleep in the hallway, Cid wanted to... chat? "Captain, I..."

Cid shook his head. Normally he'd be fine with that; everybody called him Captain. But in this case, he was trying for more than just a surface connection... Vincent needed a friend at the very least, not a boss. He needed someone to care. "Don't hafta call me that, ya ain't my crew. Cid's fine. Or 'hey, you dumbass,' or whatever." He began reaching out, intending to help the other man up, before he stopped and reconsidered. He'd gotten slashed from having been too forward; Vincent didn't seem to like being touched, especially when he wasn't expecting it. So instead the blond turned his arm, palm up, and put the ball in Vincent's court. "If ya want a hand up, feel free."

Apparently it was the right thing to do, because after a moment's thought, Vincent reached out with his right hand and clasped onto Cid's, much to the shorter man's relief, as he'd been tired of half-crouching. Once they were both out of the little hidey hole and upright again, Cid went to slap Vincent on the shoulder before he caught himself yet again, and instead jerked his head towards the exit. "Mind if we continue this somewhere quieter and warmer? Or... if ya just need some time to yerself, you can have the room fer the night, and I'll go get some work done on the bridge." He looked down at their still-joined hands, then awkwardly scratched at the back of his head with his free hand. "I'd wager it's a bit overwhelmin' goin' from hauntin' a basement by yer lonesome, to bein' trapped in an airship with a talkative shit like me."

Vincent boggled at him. Was this really the same guy who called him Vinnie and Vince, who said he should be grateful for a cot and then complained about him going to bed in his regular clothes? When had he suddenly become so considerate?

"You... don't need to leave," Vincent answered.

"No, I don't. But I don't mind, if ya need it."

The ex-Turk shook his head. He tried to convince himself he was only repaying Cid's thoughtfulness, but the truth was, he was already getting used to the other man's lively presence. He... wanted him to stay. Unable to voice such a thing, his cold fingers nevertheless tightened around Cid's as he allowed the pilot to guide him back towards their quarters.

* * *

Upon returning to their shared room, Vincent stalled out just past the door, like he'd run out of batteries; he didn't stop Cid from shutting it behind him, but seemed reluctant to move any further in. Cid opened his mouth, about to encourage him to come and sit, he wouldn't bite, but for once the raven-haired man beat him to the punch as he admitted in a small voice, "I'm afraid I also ripped your pajamas."

"Eh?" Sure enough on closer inspection, the back seam to the left sleeve was torn, likely from Vincent's swift swing at him. Cid hadn't noticed earlier because Vincent had kept his left arm tucked against his body, the forearm and claw hidden behind his back, but he inched it forward now, his hand still held in a loose fist, like a balled up armadillo. "Aww, dun worry about it, Vin. They were pretty old anyhow, 'n it just gives Shera an excuse to buy me new ones on my next birthday."

"Oh. They were a gift..." Vincent mumbled, even more dismayed than before. In the grand scheme of things he knew it wasn't a big deal, but the blond had been nothing but kind since being rudely awakened and accosted.

"I told ya, don't worry about it! I ain't mad," Cid replied, more fixated on the flash of pearl white skin visible beyond the tear; he swore he could see an old scar or two cutting across the pale expanse. More evidence of a painful past. He swallowed a sigh, then asked, "But if ya wanna make it up to me, how 'bout ya answer me a question?"

The ex-Turk nodded.

Cid was curious, but he had to tread carefully... "Uh... so's that thing a prosthetic or what?" He waved at the golden claw. "Like Barret's I mean. Can ya take it off, fer like, safety reasons?"

Vincent was clearly reluctant to respond, but Cid waited, giving him time to formulate an answer, if one was forthcoming. After a good half minute, Vincent finally said, "It's a gauntlet. My arm is... damaged."

"Why the pokey tips tho'?"

"I... was not granted any input on the design," Vincent said tightly, struggling against hiding it once more behind his back. As much as he hated it, the thought of anyone seeing what was underneath it was far worse. He'd lost one finger and half of another from reflexively trying to block the gunshot that had ended his old life; thanks to whatever Hojo had done, the remainder were gnarled and black, like they'd been charred over open flame. The rest of the hand and forearm also appeared desiccated, if not for the oversized blood vessels that thrummed and pulsed sluggishly with some sort of shadowy ichor. He barely had any mobility in his fingers or wrist without the support of the gauntlet; even with it, his range of motion was fairly limited.

"But it can come off, right?" Cid's question cut into the stifling silence.

Vincent didn't answer, but Cid's brain was already whirring as he looked at the pajama clad man, the small cot that was probably too short for the sharpshooter's height, and then back at his own bed. He shrugged. "Okay, I've decided." He pointed at his bed. "Get in, and if ya could take that damn thing off, I'd appreciate it."

Vincent's brow furrowed. He was completely confused on how one thing was leading to another. "You're giving me your bed?"

"Not quite. Come on, Vinnie, get in." Cid tugged down the covers.

It was such a strange request, yet it wasn't like Vincent wanted to sleep on the cot either. He was still reluctant to remove the gauntlet, but given how he'd reacted earlier to Cid trying to shake him out of a nightmare, maybe it was for the best.

With a weary sigh, he released the hidden fasteners holding the armor together, curling his arm against himself as he climbed into the bed, all while trying to figure out where he could put the gauntlet so he could snap it back into place at a moment's notice. Just in case. "Can I put it under the pillow?"

"Ah, sure. Wait, lemme grab the pillow you were already usin'." Cid turned, nabbed both pillow and blanket from the cot, and handed just the cushion to Vincent. "There ya go." Without explanation he tossed the blanket on top of the other one already on the bed, then began smoothing down the edge of the first.

"We're sharing the bed?" the raven-haired man asked, even as he switched pillows and rolled over, quickly shoving both gauntlet and arm under the replacement cushion. The bed was technically big enough for two, if the occupants didn't mind being cozy.

"Sure, unless ya got a problem with that? I figure I'm pretty beat, you probably are as well, 'n the cot's small and crappy. Shouldn't 'ave had ya sleepin' on th' piece of shit in the first place," the blond complained. He plunked his own pillow down, then hit the light and swung himself into bed, leaving the covers as the barrier between the two of them.

Vincent could only wordlessly lie there and stare at Cid (thanks to his enhancements he could see in the dark just fine) as the engineer rustled about, discarding his shirt and pants before pulling up his blanket.

Once Cid was finally situated, he quietly called out, "Hey, Vin?"

"... Yes?"

"Yer hand earlier... it was cold as Shiva's tits. Mind if I try warmin' ya up?"

For a moment Vincent thought he was talking about the left one, but it was the right one, the one that still looked normal, that he'd held earlier. "No need, Cap... er, Chief? I don't really feel the cold."

"Chief...?" Huh, I kinda like that, Cid thought, momentarily distracted. It was fair play, given that he'd continued to ignore Vincent's request to use his full first name. He didn't really mean to, but it sounded like "Vince" didn't really mind anymore. "But wouldn't ya rather be warm, Sweetheart?" he drawled, pushing his luck.

Vincent didn't answer. He should've stopped while he was ahead. Bantering had never been his strong suit.

Meanwhile, Cid sighed, wondering if he'd crossed the line - again. "It's literally in yer name, ya know?" he explained gently. "Valent..."

"Please don't remind me," the ex-Turk groaned.

Cid chuckled softly. "Fair 'nough. Chief, though... I like it! You can call me that if ya want."

Vincent hummed agreeably as he chewed on the nickname a little while longer.

Cid swallowed, wondering if the next thought was too forward to voice, then decided to go ahead and say it anyway. "Anyone ever tell ya you have beautiful eyes?"

Vincent lowered his lids until his eyes were mere slits. Cid couldn't see in the dark, but that didn't matter when faced with a scarlet glow like a beacon in the night. "They're not natural. Very little of me is, anymore," he murmured, trying to discourage Cid's current line of thought. Surely the other man couldn't be interested in him?

"Mako eyes, right? That don't bother me. Yer hardly the only one with enhancements or modifications 'ere."

Vincent made a disgruntled sound. "I've had more than most..."

"I guess..." Cid hadn't meant to upset him, but Vincent was actually conversing instead of shutting him down, so he tried again. With as much sincere gentleness as he could muster, he said, "Ya have that gold glow that flares up in one of 'em too. It might not be somethin' you were born with, but it's amazin'! I've never seen anythin' like it. It's like starin' into the sun."

"That is not an inaccurate description. It means one of my implanted monstrous forms was close to surfacing. You'd be wise to stop staring before you go blind, and start running when you see that."

"But you have control over it! I startled ya bad enough that ya threw me back a couple meters. But ya didn't do more than scratch me even tho' I couldn't see shit to dodge or avoid; ya didn't keep comin' after me."

"You were fortunate that time. Don't count on that always being the case. A sensible man would know to fear me."

"Why? If yer havin' to suppress some murderous urges, I respect ya fer bein' able to do it. But fear? Nah." He snorted softly. "Actually, I was more scared you'd deck me for sayin' your eyes are beautiful."

Vincent paused, then exhaled. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Chief."

"Well now, I dunno 'bout that. If I'm thinkin' somethin', I'm gonna come out and say it. Sure, my big damn mouth gits me in trouble sometimes, but I'd rather take a chance than let an opportunity go by without tryin' at all. Life's too short to live with what-ifs," Cid declared. And with that said, he decided he wasn't going to wait any longer and reached out, patting his way across the blanket barrier in search of Vincent's right hand. "B'sides... I can't help but notice, ya still haven't told me off."

The sharpshooter fought against his instinct to pull away - or throw the captain across the room once again. Why hadn't he "told him off?" It would be the right thing to do, to put some distance between them - he hadn't intended to befriend anyone; he'd joined simply due to mutually agreed upon goals - but he probably should've done that before they ended up in the same bed. "... I wish I had your go-get-them attitude," he mused, faintly grimacing.

Cid chuckled warmly. "Mebbe you can work towards that. Like fer starters, gimme yer hand..." He wriggled his fingers, fairly certain he was somewhere in the vicinity of Vincent's lower arm.

With a soft sigh, Vincent reached out from under his blanket and met the other man halfway. Cid's fingers were rough with calluses - more than just a pilot, he was an engineer, a tinkerer, a fabricator... a dreamer too. A lively, spirited man, with broad, skilled hands that kept their warm temperature well, even with Vincent's cool skin rubbing up against it.

"I hope this helps, even if jus' a bit," Cid murmured, stroking circles into the back of a slender hand.

It did, but Vincent suddenly found himself wishing for more... and didn't know how to say it, or if it was even okay to think that way. When was the last time someone had touched him more than in passing? A touch meant for comfort or friendship, instead of pain and hurt? As a Turk, he'd had it beaten into his head to be wary - kindness was a trap for the unsuspecting. Lucrecia had been kind and friendly, and look at where it'd gotten him?

Without realizing it, Vincent began making soft, questioning noises. He shifted slightly closer to Cid, drawn to the promise of warmth, like a plant thawing out under the spring sunlight. Thirty years was a long time to be left frozen, in deep hibernation.

"If it's all right, Vinnie... can I hug ya?"

"What?"

"Figure if one hand is this cold, maybe the rest of ya could do with some warmin' up too."

A shiver ran up Vincent's spine. Strange... he knew his body could no longer feel too cold or too hot the way normal humans would, but for a moment he was aware of just how chilled his skin was while at the same time, his face felt flushed with unnatural heat. "I... I don't know..." he mumbled.

"If that's too much ta ask, we can jus' stay like this, if that works fer ya?" Cid suggested, continuing with his impromptu hand massage. He didn't point out that Vincent had already closed some of the gap between them on his own. Maybe if he just waited long enough, Vincent would simply come to him instead?

Another tiny wiggle. "Okay."

Cid smiled. "Thanks fer talkin' to me at least. You were a hard nut ta crack, but now I'm glad yer the one I'm 'stuck' roomin' with."

Vincent sighed. "You as well, Chief."

That earned a short, hearty laugh. "G'night, Vincent."

They fell into a companionable silence and Cid let his weary eyes slide shut, now that he was relaxed enough to sleep. He was happy with the progress they'd already made. Maybe in a few more nights, Vincent would agree to a hug, and they could go from there. With that pleasant thought and hope for the future, he drifted off to sleep, still holding onto Vincent's hand.

* * *

The next morning, Cid awoke to a slight weight on his arm and the feel of silk threads gliding over his shoulder. Eyes flicking open in confusion, he barely turned his head before discovering Vincent sleeping with his face pressed against the crook of his neck, his black hair in beautiful disarray, his breath gusting across his throat in even puffs as his right hand gripped Cid's right arm just above the elbow.

Well I'll be... mused the pleased pilot as he did his best to hold still, lest he wake his dozing partner. He was dying to touch Vincent's hair, to trace the high cheekbones with a fingertip, but he kept his hands to himself and let his fantasies run loose instead. Maybe once all this craziness was all over, Vincent could come back to Rocket Town with him? He had space for another roommate. He and Shera could teach Vincent some engineering stuff and they could run cargo with the Highwind. Or maybe Cid would gain enough clout to get a new sponsor to fund fixing up the old rocket, and the two of them could fly amongst the moon and stars... now that would be a life's dream come true!

Cid sighed happily, the fantasy becoming more grandiose with each passing minute. But the sound was enough to finally wake Vincent, who stirred and murmured sleepily under his breath before his eyes snapped open as he suddenly became very aware of just how attached he'd gotten to Cid overnight.

The raven-haired man abruptly pushed back from Cid's torso until he hit the wall. "... I apologize!" he gasped, scrambling to keep the pillow clutched over his left arm.

The blond's kneejerk reaction was to reach out and grab onto his bedmate, but he forced himself to stay put and remain calm. "Fer what? Didn't bother me any, and ya looked ta be sleepin' better, so if it helped, I'm all fer it!"

Vincent blinked rapidly as the events of last night surfaced and swam through his thoughts. Cid had gone to find him after he'd run away. Cid had offered up use of his own bed, and held his hand, and told him his eyes were beautiful. None of it seemed real, but he was wearing Cid's pajamas... and there was no question he did not ended up in the shorter man's bed by accident. "Chief?"

"Yeah?"

Vincent licked his lips anxiously. Unlikely as it seemed, he must've fallen asleep still clutching at Cid's warm hand. He couldn't remember anything else after closing his eyes: no nightmares, no whispers from the monsters grafted into his body, no clenching of his non-existent heart at the thought of Lucrecia and failure and sin. "I think I did sleep well," he said, the words sounding more confident as if he'd finally puzzled it out. "Thank you."

Cid cheered up immediately. "Of course! Hey, if it really does help, we should do this again sometime!"

Vincent eyed the cot on the other side of the room. "Maybe..."

"Since we're both up, how's about some breakfast?" Cid asked, sitting up and stretching slightly, before he remembered he wasn't wearing anything but boxers. He flicked his gaze in Vincent's direction. At least the crimson eyes tracing over his body didn't seem repulsed. Cid knew he was in decent shape, but even he had his share of old scars and freckles and maybe his love handles were slightly more pronounced than he would've liked...

"I don't really need to eat..." the ex-Turk finally said after Cid picked his shirt off the floor and pulled it on.

"Don't need ta or can't? It's two different things. B'cause yer damn skinny and I'd feel better if ya eat."

"I'm fairly certain I can't gain weight either," Vincent said sadly.

"Hey, 'no' is for quitters. Didn't ya say you wanted ta change yer attitude?"

The sharpshooter thought back to last night, and nodded. He had implied that, yes.

Cid grinned, and for a moment Vincent thought the happiness radiating off the man was more brilliant than the sunlight streaming through the port window - and far less painful on his sensitive eyes. "So let's start with breakfast and go from there," Cid said reasonably. "Easy, right?"

Sounded simple enough. Vincent couldn't think of a reason to refuse, when it was put like that.

"I'll grab my stuff 'n get ready in the bathroom, and you can get dressed in here, 'kay?" Cid said, already standing up to fetch his pants off the rug before shuffling over to the dresser for anything else he needed.

Vincent's gratitude came floating over Cid's shoulder. "Thank you"

"Don't mention it! Anythin' fer ya, Vince."

* * *

As they left for breakfast the cot landed back in the hallway for a crewmember to pick up and put back into storage.

* * *

... Days later...

"Did the Captain domesticate Vincent or something?" Tifa jokingly asked Aerith as the three ladies were leaving the mess after breakfast. The aforementioned duo had disappeared from the dining area a good two or three minutes prior, but she just couldn't get the odd sight out of her mind. Cid and Vincent had shown up for breakfast together which seemed to be the norm nowadays. When they finished, Vincent returned their cups and trays to the bussing station while Cid went to the door and casually waited for Vincent to catch up, then held it open to let the other slip through first, all while bowing his head like a polite butler. And then Vincent had stopped and smiled in response - a brief, tiny one, but she'd clearly caught the upward tilt of his lips from her vantage point.

Aerith cocked her head. "Hm? What do you mean?"

"He still barely says more than two words to us any given day. But the past couple of days, every time I see Cid, Vincent's trailing behind him. Or he'll show up soon afterwards. He's hard to spot sometimes but if you wait long enough, you'll see a streak of red go by," Tifa explained.

"I've noticed that too!" Yuffie piped in. "Thought I was just seeing things, honestly. After all, who'd want to follow around that crusty old fart?"

The flower seller gave her young teammate a gentle scolding, then added, "Well, they've been rooming together, so it makes sense that Vincent's become more comfortable around him than the rest of us."

"Gross, can you imagine?" Yuffie complained, undeterred. She was grateful to have Nanaki as her bunkmate; it was far easier to get over a few hairballs when the alternative was a snoring, smoking, grump-face like Cid.

Tifa shrugged. "Good for them, I guess?" But unlike Yuffie, the pugilist's main complaint was that the engineer had been endlessly rude to everyone, including his actual housemate, Shera, whom he'd berated endlessly right in front of the party. So what made Vincent different? Because he didn't talk back? Because he was happy to follow Cid around like a stray cat starving for attention? But if they were both fine with spending most of their time together, she had no complaints. It was just... weirdly funny?

Aerith simply smiled. She'd already caught the two men sharing a smoke behind their tent the last time they'd set camp; it was obvious they had hit it off, and she was glad for it, as Vincent especially was in need of a friend. Of course just as she'd spotted them Vincent had spotted her, and Cid had asked her to be a pal and keep it on the down low, his eyes on Vincent's faintly flushed face the whole while. She'd quickly agreed without question, not wanting to break their confidence in her.

"You know something..." Yuffie sang shrewdly, her sharp eyes catching Aerith's expression as she scurried to get in front of her friend. Then just as quickly as the accusation came, the teen's expression soured. "Eww, what if they're dating or something? Two old men..."

"They're really not that old!" Tifa laughed.

"Psh - Cid acts like it and Vincent just doesn't look it. He's sooo old he doesn't even know what a PHS is!" Yuffie argued back.

"Don't you think it's good that they've become friends?" Aerith quickly cut in. "Vincent's been showing up for meals and team meetings; Cid's a little nicer overall. They watch each other's backs in combat. And the whole crew has been more relaxed. So, win-win."

The little ninja crossed her arms across her chest. "... Hmm, I guess."

"It's not like they're hitting on you," Tifa threw in.

Yuffie's eyes bugged out and she immediately started waving her arms like there was a foul odor in the air. "Ack! Why would you even say that?!" she complained as Tifa began running off, laughing.

Aerith watched as the two of them began a playful chase up the stairs, the little smile still playing on her lips. She had to be careful of what she said; Yuffie had hit the target without even realizing it. But if Cid and Vincent wanted to keep things between them for now, that was their business. She was more than happy to root them on from the sidelines.

* * *

Returning to Castlevania once I get Cid and Vincent out of my system, because I have a thing for pale, slender, angsty, not-quite-human gothic men rising out of coffins to fall into the arms of a foul-mouthed, scruffy guy with obvious addiction issues ^_^

* * *

Author's Notes:

- Tried to work in a few canon lines from the game (i.e. "Cid... I wish I had your go-get-them attitude"), but frankly there's woefully little dialogue between Vincent and Cid to work with.

- I couldn't find anything in the English OG or DoC to confirm Vincent using "Chief" as a nickname for Cid (thanks to the anonymous commentor on AO3 for pointing out that it happens on the train in Corel, if Vincent is along for the ride!) but it seems to have existed since the beginning of time for this pairing, so I helped myself to it as I like it a lot as a counterpoint to "Vince," which is at least used in DoC.

- I'm calling this a one-shot. I'm also working on a post-DoC sequel so what do I know : p

- Thanks to Nenya85 for beta work. Reviews are appreciated!

October 12, 2024