Being Vincent, Being Cid
Part One

Rating: PG
Category: AU
Pairing(s): Cid/Vincent
Warnings: Cid’s in it. What else do you want me to say?
Summary: Same world, different planets.
Notes:

**~~**

Depersonalization disorder. This disorder is characterized by a sense of being outside yourself, observing your actions from a distance as though watching a movie. Time may seem to slow down, and the world may seem unreal. Symptoms may last only a few moments or may wax and wane over many years. – SOURCE: MAYOCLINIC.COM

**~~**

Life hadn’t made much sense to Vincent when he was alive. Being undead hadn’t simplified things.

He thought too much. It was as easy as that. He had always thought too damned much. Locking himself in a coffin for thirty years hadn’t helped that little problem in the least; it just spared other people from having to deal with his perpetual self-analysis. He could lose track of whole days inside his head; just staring and thinking and trying to sort out the endless enigma that was his life. It had not made him a good Turk. No one liked having to shout for security for fifteen minutes while he debated endlessly about whether he should have tuna for lunch or just go for the chilli cheese dog. Fortunately in that particular instance it was merely a group of students trapped by a truly impressive wolf spider. Never could figure out why people were bothered by spiders…

A voice penetrated his invisible shell, rough and soft. “Vincent.”

Vincent turned his head to look at Cid, blinking his red eyes as he gazed at him.

“Hungry?” Cid asked.

Vincent thought about that. Was he? It was so hard to tell. He’d never had much of an appetite before he was dead. That’s right, he was dead now. Dead people didn’t eat, did they? Well there were those spirits called Hungry Ghosts…

Cid gently pressed a mug of something hot that smelled utterly delicious into his hands. Vincent held the cup in his hands and took a sip, feeling the heat of the broth warm him. He drew his first breath in over two hours and looked around. It was dark.

“I guess I tuned out again.”

“Yeah, ya did.”

Cid’s voice was soft, gentle. It was a tone he only seemed to use when addressing him. Vincent wasn’t sure why Cid would speak kindly to him when he had shouts and insults enough for everyone else. But very little made sense these days. Thirty years ago women walked behind men with their heads down and their hands folded, their bodies encased fully in clothing. These days clothing almost seemed optional, and anyone who told the trio of females they had with them to walk three paces behind was looking for a beating. Gay men had stayed in the closet and lived lives of quiet desperation, but Cloud and Reno would kiss each other passionately right on the street. Phones had hung on walls, cars were iron gas-guzzling tanks, and genetic manipulation was the stuff of which sci-fi movies were made.

He’d been asleep a long time.

It was a few minutes before he realized Cid was stroking his hair. He shivered, as if waking up, and looked at him, puzzled.

“Are you all right?” Cid asked.

Vincent blinked at Cid, trying to assimilate what was being said. He finally nodded.

“C’mon. Let’s get you to bed, okay? Poor little thing. Ya need a fucking head doctor, not eight idiots on a mission.”

Vincent let Cid pick him up, red eyes blinking sleepily, resting his head upon Cid’s shoulder. The world seemed far away and unimportant, and all he wanted was to go back to sleep.

**~~**

ex•tro•vert
Variant(s):
also ex•tra•vert \ˈek-strə-ˌvərt\
Function: noun

Etymology: modification of German extravertiert, from Latin extra- + vertere

Date: 1918
one whose personality is characterized by extroversion; broadly : a gregarious and unreserved person
Extroverted:
1. one who is interested in other people and things rather then their own feelings.
2. an outgoing person who enjoys, and often needs, the company of other people.
Also written as extraverted.

**~~**

“Passive little thing, aren’t you?”

Vincent didn’t say anything. But he rarely did. Outside it was dark, and the fire was lit. Tifa and Aeris were chatting quietly, talking about how hard it was to sleep on the road. Meanwhile inside the tent, Cid was lying beside Vincent, debating as he had on many nights whether it was a good idea to make a play for the skinny little gunslinger. Little. That was a laugh. He was the tallest guy in the party, lean and leggy, all clad in black leather and scarlet cloth. But Cid always thought of him as little. Perhaps it was because of how frightfully thin he was, wraith-like, almost skeletal. Perhaps it was the way he tended to huddle up in his cape, red eyes focused on nothing, far away inside his own head.

There was something deeply wrong with him, that was undeniable. They did not know his story. They knew little more than his name, and that he had some personal beef with Hojo over some bint named Lucrecia. But that was about the extent of it. He sat and said nothing and at times did not seem aware the others were even around him. Aeris said it looked like a dissociative disorder; that he had mentally shut himself off because of some trauma. Well nothing good could come of being locked in a coffin in the cellar of a creepy old house, that was for sure. Vincent had tuned out; his brain had left his body on autopilot and hung a ‘for lease’ sign behind his eyes. Whatever had been done to him, it had been bad.

Cid wanted him. He didn’t know why, he just did. He just knew he found something terribly attractive about Vincent. He had no idea what Vincent thought of him. Not much, he suspected. Cid had a feeling that Vincent had only two categories for people; avoid and ignore. Barret he avoided. Barret was as loud as he was big, and tended to talk with his hands. Aeris he avoided like the plague. She was happy and chipper and cute and perky and Cid had a feeling Vincent would like to duct-tape her mouth closed. Cloud he ignored, likewise Tifa. Yuffie was Escape at All Costs.

But Cid had a feeling he was not in either of those two categories. Vincent seemed to like his company. Maybe because Cid didn’t want to fix him or cheer him up or fuss over him. He left Vincent alone, and Vincent appreciated that. So much so that, when the weather began to turn cold and they had to start sleeping in tents, Vincent elected to share one with Cid. It had to mean he liked him, right? He could have shared a tent with anybody but no, he comes and plants himself in beside Cid. Well why not? Who wouldn’t want to sleep beside him? Big, strong, attractive… what was there not to love?

Cid stroked Vincent’s black hair, watching him blink sleepily. He didn’t seem to mind Cid touching him, no one else could seem to get near him. Cid wasn’t sure why that was. He had no idea how Vincent saw him. He just knew Vincent let him get away with things. Perhaps he liked the attention. Perhaps he just didn’t see any reason to object to it. The thought that Vincent might simply be so mentally tuned out he wasn’t even aware of it never crossed his mind. Cid gently trailed his fingers over Vincent’s face.

“Do you like me?” asked Cid.

Vincent closed his eyes. Great. He was going to sleep. Cid sighed, bored and mildly annoyed. He wasn’t good at this go slow business. He wanted Vincent to like him now, dammit! What could he do to show Vincent how much he liked him? Girls were easy. Girls you gave flowers and chocolates and poetry to. But a guy… what did guys want?

Oh. Yeah. He knew what guys wanted. That was easy…

**~~**

con•fu•sion (k n-fy zh n)
noun.
1a. The act of confusing or the state of being confused: Backstage confusion made the rehearsal difficult.
b. An instance of being confused: "After his awakening to Chicano identity, he briefly mastered his inner confusions and found an articulate voice" David C. Unger.
2. Psychology: Impaired orientation with respect to time, place, or person; a disturbed mental state.

**~~**

Aeris and Tifa sat by the fire and chatted quietly, enjoying the peace of the fall night, giggling at the sight of Barret and Cloud asleep in their tent. Barret was face down, snoring quietly. Cloud was a ball of blankets on top of him, shunning the cold earth for a warm living mattress. Little more of him could be seen than a tuft of blonde hair.

“It’s nice out here,” said Tifa, gazing up at the sky.

“It is,” said Aeris. “Lovely. Oh! Look! A shooting star!”

Tifa smiled, watching the brief streak of light streak across the heavens. “And another! You know I read once that shooting stars were long believed to be a sign of bad fortune.”

“Oh that’s nonsense,” said Aeris. “How could anything so lovely be a…?”

The noise Cid made at that moment could only have been described as a shriek; high-pitched and terrified. There was the roar of some highly-displeased creature, and a riot broke out in the small two-man pup tent. The shredding of nylon could be heard, and a gigantic bat-like wing emerged, flapping and sending debris flying. Tent poles bent and broke, lines snapped like threads, and Cid was violently evicted wearing only his shorts as a second wing erupted from the tent.

Cid rolled to his feet and turned to stare at the tangled heap of flapping dark blue nylon, the mighty wings making the entire mess hop up and down like a dysfunctional toy. Cid began apologizing profusely.

“Aw come on, baby, don’t be that way! It was just a little… NOT MY SEXTANT!! Naw baby please don’t do that, I just… NOT MY CHARTS!”

Items were disgorged at a rapid rate, flung out of the tent to land by Cid’s feet as the wings continued to beat. Finally the whole mess settled down, slowly creeping and hopping about; an enormous blue heap of what appeared to be flying laundry looking for an exit. Eventually it became quite clear to the creature in the tent that escape was not coming anytime soon. With the slow careful dignity of a cat that has fallen off a window ledge collecting itself, the wings folded over the nylon, causing it to resemble some great mutated bat-chrysalis hybrid, and the heap grew still. Growing bold, Tifa stepped forward.

“Vincent?” she inquired gently.

The heap rustled slightly. “Yes?”

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Just checking.” She then turned to look meaningfully at Cid, crossing her arms. “Well Mr. Highwind? What just happened?”

Cid stared at her with huge blue eyes, a bent cigarette in his mouth.

“How the fuck should I know?”

Ten minutes later, Cid attempts to make up, and becomes the only
person on the planet who can reduce a demon to speechlessness.

Click here to go to Part Two