Birdie Hops

Rating: PG
Category: AU - Fits into the Rabid TIger sequence
Pairing(s): Cloud/Reno, Cid/Vincent.
Warnings: Bishies forced into ludicrous situations by evil rodents.
Summary: Cid and Vincent have a spat.
Notes: This takes place shortly before ‘Misadventures in Baby-Sitting’.

Vincent didn’t know what started the fight, but it was a bad one. It had been brewing for a while, small things building upon each other, making him and Cid touchy and irritable. Cid was worried sick for Vincent because they still had yet to figure out what he was pregnant with, and how he had even come to be in that condition in the first place. His fretting was making Vincent crazy, and it was just a matter of time before the shit hit the fan.

It started small; some snarking and snapping. Then it began to build as issues came to surface. Then Vincent said something about Cid being an arrogant over-bearing Neanderthal tuned in to nothing more than the sound of his own bullshit, and suddenly there was silence.

Vincent regretted the statement as soon as he uttered it, and would have given anything for a time machine so he could go back and erase the moment, but it was too late. Cid just stared at him with huge blue eyes, and Vincent knew he had hurt him badly. Cid was very good at convincing people he was immune to hurtful remarks, but the hard oyster shell concealed a very soft inner being. Vincent had a talent for getting his claws into a person’s defences and ripping them open, leaving them exposed and raw. Normally he didn’t care about the aftermath; usually once he was angry enough to go for someone’s soft spot he was justified in doing so. But this was Cid, and just because Cid was a worry-wart did not mean he deserved remarks like that.

“Ooooo-kay…” said Cid, which was his own personal code for “That hurt, I’m out of here.” He reached for his coat.

“Cid…”

“I’m gonna go visit Cloud and Reno.”

“But… they’re not home…”

Cid was gone, banging the door behind him and walking away. Vincent immediately called his cell phone, then slammed his own shut when Cid’s phone rang from its place on the table. Since Cid never left home without it, the message was clear; you hurt my feelings, I’m not talking to you.

Vincent sighed, hating himself. “What’s wrong with me?” he asked the empty room.

Oh boy that was a big question. Let’s just not go there….

“He won’t be gone long,” Vincent said quietly, his tone hopeful.

Vincent waited. And waited. He dozed, woke up, rolled over, dozed some more, his stomach in a knot. Every tiny sound in the night caused him to raise his head, hoping it was Cid coming home.

Cid didn’t come home.

By 2:37 in the morning, Vincent couldn’t stand it anymore. He and Cid had fought before, but this time the message was cold and clear; Cid wasn’t taking abuse. Squabbles came and went, but name calling destroyed relationships. This time Vincent was going to have to do more than say he was sorry.

Slowly, carefully, Vincent got out of bed. He was not supposed to be out of bed; if Cid caught him like this he would have a fit. Except Cid wasn’t here to tell him no. Cid was across the street and up a flight of stone stairs, and probably keeping an eye on the little yellow house they called home if Vincent knew him half as well as he thought he did.

Slowly, carefully, Vincent dressed. This was not easy. Almost nothing fit him anymore. Dr. Gaywell was worried about the sheer size of him. It was a very strange thing indeed for Vincent to be almost as big around as he was tall. The only things that fit him were a pair of jeans Tifa bought for him at a shop that specialized in clothes for unusually fat people, and a green sweater that she had purchased at the same place. Now for a coat. It was November, and while Costa del Sol was never terribly cold, it was cool enough that Cid would have a fit if he found him running around outside without one.

Having Cid throw another fit would not at this point be considered a good thing.

Vincent pulled on his cloak, and stared at himself in the mirror. He looked like Zorro’s grossly obese badly-dressed zombie cousin. He sighed heavily, and began slowly, carefully walking through the tiny darkened house, making his way to the door. Having long ago lost sight of his feet made getting into shoes an exercise in futility. The small light shoes with the brass outer fittings were tucked away in the closet; there was no way he could sit down and adjust the straps and buckles that held them on. Instead he slipped into a pair of work boots he had taken the laces out of so he could step into and out of them. So he was dressed and had his shoes on, and it had only taken thirty minutes. Fabulous. Now to make it to Cloud and Reno’s house.

Vincent cautiously exited the house, boots clomping on the wooden walkway then led to the street. He hadn’t been out of the house in so long; he was just too heavy and uncomfortable. There were three wooden steps at the end of the walkway that led up to the street, and Vincent suddenly realized he had a problem – he could not get up them.

This was an entirely new experience for Vincent. Even before the genetic modifications he had been light on his feet. He had lacked the power of the other Turks he had worked with, but his background as a dancer made him fast. He could go places the others were simply too large to fit. He had always been small and light and swift. So suddenly being unable to haul himself up a step was rather upsetting. Vincent stood at the bottom of steps, the darkness making him resemble a bowling ball with feet and a head, wrapped in a cape.

“Crap,” he muttered.

There had to be a way around this. Dammit he owed Cid an apology and he was not about to turn back now. He wanted his husband home, in bed, with him. Vincent looked across the short distance from where he stood and the little villa Cloud and Reno called home. The lights were on, and the kitchen curtains were open, which was odd for three in the morning. It seemed Cid had been watching the little yellow house after all, probably keeping an eye out for a light coming on. Except Vincent had extremely good night vision and rarely turned on lights. Cid’s night vision was good too, but even Cid needed a lamp to read by. Vincent didn’t.

Vincent stared at the steps leading up to the little villa.

“Crap,” he muttered again.

He reached out and took hold of the railing, trying to pull himself up. It wasn’t working, and he was reluctant to push himself. He was getting angry.

“Dammit!” he hissed in frustration.

He winced as he felt his body react to his emotional state. The baby turned, become aware of the agitation, and Chaos stirred and awoke. Vincent raised an eyebrow. Maybe Chaos could help. He closed his eyes and willed a transformation, but it didn’t quite work the way it normally did. Nothing changed, other than suddenly Chaos’ gigantic wings appeared. Great. He was now a winged bowling ball.

This just kept getting better and better.

Vincent sighed, then willed the great wings to flap. They were enormous, and could generate a huge amount of lift normally. Of course normally Vincent weighed considerably less. The wings beat harder, sounding like sails. The wind they made whipped the small bushes around him, and with considerable effort Vincent managed to hop up the steps. Well, that was one obstacle down. Vincent flipped his wings, attempting to get them folded. However they would not sit properly, and after a minute or two of wrestling with them he simply beat them once more and hopped like some tremendous and unlikely bird. The noise was loud and daunting, and by now probably every child in the area, as well as a few adults, was sitting up in bed thinking “What the hell was that?”

FLAP! FLAP! FLAP!

He bounced like the world’s most enormous wren across the street and made it to the bottom of the stone stairs that led up to the villa. He stood, panting, wings drooping, gathering himself, one small hand on his ponderous belly. Then when he felt strong enough to continue he began hopping up the stairs. The sound was bizarre at best; a tremendous whoosh followed by a loud clomp. And so it went all the way up; FLAP! WHOOSH! CLOMP! FLAP! WHOOSH! CLOMP! FLAP! WHOOSH! CLOMP!

It was not shaping up to be his finest hour. Certainly it wasn’t his most stealthy.

The door opened and a head poked out of the villa. “What the hell is going on out there?”

Vincent managed one last flap, and hopped onto the landing. He sank gracelessly down to the stone, wings out, panting. Oh this had been such a bad idea. The figure in the doorway knelt slowly before him, reaching out a gentle hand to touch his face.

“Vincent?”

Vincent panted, gazing at Cid with eyes that shone like ember-lit jewels.

“Can we talk?”

Cid’s expression was soft, but clearly he was still rather hurt.

“I dunno, do you want to talk to a Neanderthal that’s only in tune to the sound of his own bullshit?”

“Actually I was hoping to talk to you.”

Cid gazed at him, love and concern warring with injured feelings. “Okay. You… want me to help you inside?”

“Please.”

Cid picked him up; wings, belly, boots and all, carrying him into the tiny house, placing him gently on the couch, then seating himself beside him.

“What are you doing out of bed ya silly shit?”

Vincent’s lower lip trembled briefly. “I wanted you to come home,” he admitted in a small voice.

“And you couldn’t have just phoned?”

“You left your phone on the table!”

“But you knew I was here! You know Cloud’s number!”

“I guess I didn’t think of it. Besides… you’re worth the effort.”

The hurt was still there, but the anger was little more than smouldering ashes. Cid reached out and took Vincent’s hand.

“What happened in there?” Cid asked quietly. “We don’t fight like that.”

“We are under a lot of strain,” said Vincent. “We are spending much more than we are earning, the house is far too small for a family, we don’t know how I got pregnant or what I am carrying. Off hand I’d say we’re scared. I know I am.”

Cid nodded. “Yeah that’s for sure. But…” he glanced at Vincent. “Remarks like the one you came out with don’t form out of the clear blue sky. You had to have been thinking that for a while.”

“Cid I love you in a way I never thought I would be able to love anyone. But… you’re a force of nature. You’re so big and loud, and… you can be very intimidating at times. I’m not good at making myself heard, and sometimes… I get frustrated.”

Cid exhaled quietly, as if he had suspected as much. “Yeah I… I do just kinda go my own way without much thinking how it affects those around me.”

“I’m sorry I said that. I love you.”

“I love you too. I’m just under so damned much pressure right now.” He trailed one hand along the structure of Vincent’s wing. “What’s with these?”

“It was the only way I could get up the steps.”

“So that’s what that noise was. I wish you had just thought to call, babe, I would have come home.”

“I wanted to come. I’ve been sick since I yelled at you. You didn’t deserve it.”

“It’s okay, it let off the steam. Wanna go home?”

Vincent nodded. “Yeah.”

“When’s the last time you ate?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t really felt like it. And I don’t have much strength to make myself something right now.”

Cid leaned forward and kissed him. “C’mon. Let’s get you home and into bed. I’ll make ya something. What do you want?”

“Anything so long as it’s waffles.”

“Waffles it is.” Cid kissed him again, running a large, powerful hand over Vincent’s belly. He drew back, and smiled. “Let’s not do this again.”

“Okay.”

They locked up the house and stepped outside. The night was clear and chilly, and the moon was full. The little town was bathed in cold blue light, and all was peaceful and silent as Vincent stood at the top of the stairs, gazing down. He sighed.

“Need help?” asked Cid.

“No I can do it.”

Reluctantly, Cid went to the bottom of the stairs, and gazed up at Vincent, worried.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“I’ve got a system.”

Vincent spread the gigantic wings, and, using their lift as a support, slowly hopped down the stairs. By the time he reached the pavement Cid was in a fit of hysterical laughter on the ground.

“I wish I had a camera!”

“I’m glad you don’t.”

They crossed the street, Vincent once more bouncing along like a great bird, reaching the three wooden steps. Vincent flapped, and hopped down to the wooden walkway, hearing Cid giggling like a hyena.

“Ya know what ya look like?”

Vincent sighed. “No but I’m sure you will tell me.”

“Like a big fuckin’ satanic chickadee.”

“Waffles, Highwind. Now.”

Cid skipped lightly down the stairs, all too happy to demonstrate his manoeuvrability. He moved passed him, walking to the little house and opening the door.

“C’mon birdie-boy.”

Vincent waddled his way into the kitchen and straight to the bedroom, only too happy to be back in his own bed. He kicked off the boots, and was about to change into his nightshirt when he realized he had a problem. The wings hadn’t gone down. And by the time Cid came in with his waffles, smothered in blueberry syrup and whipped cream, they still hadn’t. Vincent was sitting on the bed, tired and frustrated and heavily pregnant, his back against the headboard, legs out before him and crossed at the ankles, and Chaos’s wings spread out and taking up a great deal of room. The tips were grazing the ceiling. Cid paused, looking at him.

“Problems, babe?”

“Must be the hormones brought on by pregnancy. I can’t seem to get these to behave.”

“It’s cute.”

“You think everything I do is cute.”

“Because it is.”

Cid handed Vincent his plate, then briefly left the room, returning with a camera.

“Cid! I thought we agreed no more fights?”

“We did.”

“So why are you starting one?”

“Aw c’mon. Just one. Please? We can use it to make the kid feel guilty at some later point.”

“Fine. One.”

Cid took a few photos, then put the camera away, climbing onto the bed beside him. Vincent finished his waffles, setting aside the plate and slowly, clumsily, lay down and rolled towards Cid, his left wing jutting high into the air and flapping. Unable to make it recede and not knowing what else to do with it, Vincent finally just folded it around himself and Cid. Vincent cuddled close, laying his head on Cid’s chest, listening to his heart beat.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” said Cid quietly. “We’re both a little scared and on edge right now. And I should not have left you alone.”

“Just so long as you are here now. I just wish we could at least have make-up sex.”

“Ah we’ll just put it on hold for awhile. Besides, I’m sure I’ll do something else to piss you off at some point.”

Vincent smiled, and trailed a hand down Cid’s body, finding the edge of his sweater and tugging it up, seeking the warm flesh beneath it. He stroked his hand over the muscles, loving how strong Cid was. He grinned as a thought occurred to him, and he slipped his hand down to Cid’s belt.

“And what are you up to, short ‘n’ pregnant?”

“No reason at least one of us can’t have make-up sex.” He opened the belt, and slipped his hand beneath the heavy fabric of Cid’s jeans.