Learning to Fly
Chapter One of Two

Rating:R
Category: DoC Game-verse AU
Pairing(s): Cid/?
Warnings: Angst, language.
Summary: Vincent suffers an injury that Cid may never recover from.
Notes: This is the first part of a two-part fic.

A soul in tension that's learning to fly,
Condition grounded but determined to try.
Can't keep my eyes from the circling skies,
Tongue-tied and twisted, just an earth-bound misfit, I.
- Pink Floyd, “Learning to Fly.”

They had sent Vincent into the depths of Midgar, far beneath the wreckage of the dead city to do battle with the most powerful warriors Deepground had to offer. That had been three weeks ago. Now Deepground was still, the city was silent, and all around was destruction sitting mutely in the night, rats skipping from pile to pile in the cold nocturnal air, their forms illuminated by a few sickly lights dangling from broken light poles.

Cid’s boots crunched on the scattered bits of debris in the streets, the ember of his cigarette glowing brightly. He glanced towards Barret, who was listening to the darkness.

“You hear anything?” asked Cid.

Barret shook his head. “Naw. Notta thing. Don’t know what Vincent did down there, but ain’t nothing coming up.”

Yuffie came to stand between the two very large men, shivering slightly. “Do you think Vincent’s okay?” she asked in a small voice. “It’s… been a really long time.”

“He’s fine,” said Barret. “He’s just… making sure he didn’t miss anything. Right Cid?”

Cid gave Yuffie a pat on the shoulder. “Yeah, he’s just mopping up. He’s fine. He’ll be back any time.”

“Yeah,” said Yuffie. “You’re right. Any time. And then we can rag on him for making us worry.”

The three friends stood in the ruined street and knew they were lying to one another. They didn’t think Vincent was coming back. Yuffie wiped at her eyes with her hand, not resisting as Barret put a comforting arm around her shoulders. She took a few deep breaths to get herself under control.

“I’m going to go back to Reeve and see if he wants me on the search detail or doing something else,” she said quietly, and left.

Cid sighed, and had a drag from his cigarette. He then nudged Barret.

“Well, come on, let’s get searching.”

“Yeah guess we hafta,” said Barret.

***---***

The WRO, with assistance from Cloud, Barret, Yuffie, Tifa, Cid, Nanaki and Cait, searched the city, looking for bodies and survivors in the wreckage. They saw no sign of Deepground at all, indicating they had likely been driven out of the area or destroyed. Cid and Barret had been given the task of searching the lowest levels of their stronghold, but as they cautiously made their way through the vast complex, they saw not so much as a corpse. Deepground were simply gone. So was Vincent Valentine.

“They must have killed him,” said Barret.

Cid leaned on his lance and looked around at the crumbling buildings, an eerie little town where only the dead dwelled, far beneath the surface of Midgar. Carrion birds had somehow found their way there, and flew with the leaden rush of great wings over the broken rooftops in the unnatural light, searching for the source of the stink of blood, completing the Lovecraftian atmosphere.

“Guess you’re right,” Cid said quietly. “Bloody shame. Vincent was a good guy, real decent. Man I loved to watch him fly.”

“Fly?” said Barret. “What, you mean as Chaos, with those big-ass wings?”

“No, I mean the way he would sorta leap straight up, like gravity didn’t matter, and just… twist and spin in the air. And he was so damned casual about it, too. Always in control. You don’t know what I’d give to be able to do that.” Cid shook his head. “And Deepground killed him. It’s not fair. Still I wish we would find a body or something. Knowing how long he can go without food and water, I would hate to think he’s trapped down here in some hole.”

“Well if Deepground caught him, where would they take him?” asked Barret.

“Don’t know,” said Cid. “The labs, maybe? To turn him into one of them? Might be worth checking out.”

Cid and Barret made their way to the laboratories where Deepground converted humans into conscienceless monsters, walking in silence through rooms with damaged walls and floors covered in debris, their windows smashed. Cid’s boot kicked something that skipped across the floor with a metallic sound. He spied the glinting object as it bounced, hitting a wall before coming to a stop. Cid knelt down to pick the small item up, and showed it to Barret.

“Does that look like a shell casing to you?”

Barret took the thing, palming it, studying it.

“Yeah looks like a casing to me. Strange calibre, too. Looks like it’s a custom make.” Barret glanced up at Cid. “There’s only one person I know who makes his own bullets because his gun doesn’t take standard rounds.”

“Vincent,” said Cid. “Well at least now we know we’re on his path. Let’s see where the bullet holes and shell casings lead.”

They followed the trail Vincent had left in his wake; one marked by bullet holes, blood, and shell casings. It led them deep into the building, down to levels that were dark and damp, constructed of brick, and clearly of great age. They descended down slimy steps of decaying wood, finally reaching the lowest level, at last reaching a room that held a pit. Both chamber and pit were very dark, emitting cold air along with a stench of human waste and dead flesh. They walked to the edge of the hole and peered into the darkness, but were unable to see anything.

“You think he’s down there?” asked Barret.

Cid shrugged. “I don’t know. Seems to me he should be able to get out of a pit without much trouble, and this one’s not that deep. Pass me a flashlight.”

Barret did, and Cid took the device and turned it on. Almost immediately they saw a scrap of red cloth among the filth and debris at the bottom of the pit.

“You stay up here,” said Barret, “I’ll check it out.”

Cid nodded, and watched as Barret climbed down into the pit, using an iron ladder attached to the stone walls, corroded and dripping rusty water. The stone also was tricking water, long algae clinging to the rock like a witch’s stringy green hair. Barret felt the iron flake beneath his one good hand, the ladder ready to pull away from the crumbling mortar. He hoped it survived the climb back up; he didn’t think Cid would be able to haul him out if it broke.

His boots sank into the sticky mire beneath his feet, making sucking sounds as he walked over to the scrap of bright red fabric. There was the body of a Deepground soldier lying close, and Barret distastefully moved the rotting thing aside with his foot, gagging on the stench.

“How do things look?” asked Cid, crouching at the edge of the pit, peering down at his friend.

“Been a hell of a fight down here,” said Barret. He caught a glimpse of something in the stone, and raised his hand to touch it, his fingertips following the four long, deep, scratches. “Claw marks. Vincent was definitely down here.”

“Keep searching.”

Barret did, tossing bodies into a heap, sorting through rot and death. He grabbed up what he thought to be one more body, when it struck out, abruptly coming alive in his hands, writhing like a cat, claws slashing down to catch Barret’s cheek. Barret dropped the man, and stepped back, watching as the mangled body curled into a ball and lay still.

“Cid it’s Vincent!”

Cid hopped down into the pit, landing heavily, and moved quickly to the motionless and filthy heap. He crouched beside Vincent and began opening the buckles on the cloak, pulling it off. He and Barret stared in utter horror at the mess they found beneath it. Then Barret turned away and puked as Cid abruptly recoiled in horror, realizing what he was staring at.

“He’s not alive,” said Cid, shaking, feeling his mouth water in a way that let him know he was about to be sick as well. “BARRET TELL ME HE’S NOT ALIVE!”

Barret was unable to speak. Cid just stared, unable to fully comprehend what he was looking at, the sheer horror of it leaving him in the realm of disbelief, his brain adamantly refusing to admit that what he was seeing was real. As if he were being directed by something else, Cid got to his feet and went up the ladder, reaching the edge of the pit and grabbing hold of his pack. He yanked it open, pulling out two emergency blankets, and then hopped off the ladder, landing in the pit once more. He ran over to Vincent and began gently gathering him up, wrapping him in the blankets.

“Barret! Barret get your shit together, we have to get him out of here.”

Barret nodded, fighting to control his stomach. Finally he turned to face Cid, and nodded.

“Okay. I’m ready.”

Cid slowly and carefully picked up Vincent, and gently handed him to Barret. “You hold him. I’ll climb out of the pit, and you pass him up.”

Barret nodded, cradling the body he held, tears in his eyes. “Damn Cid, we… we can’t help him and I’m not sure it’s fair to try! Look at him! Look at…”

“We’ll argue about that once he’s out of this pit. I’m not leaving him down here like shit in an outhouse.”

Barret nodded, falling silent. Cid climbed up to the top of the pit, and then turned to peer down at Barret.

“Okay, hand him up.”

Barret did, the two friends managing to get Vincent as well as themselves out of the hole. Cid carefully laid Vincent down on the stone floor of the chamber, opening the blanket and examined the mess. A few maggots tumbled out, and this time Cid did puke, turning away abruptly and vomiting into the pit.

“Cid, we can’t save him,” said Barret softly. “Ain’t no doctor alive going to be able to put that mess back together.”

Cid hung over the pit, his body shaking, and nodded. “Okay. We’ll… we’ll shoot him in the head. Then we’ll just tell the others he was dead when we found him.”

Barret nodded, and waited for Cid to stand up, coming to his side, looking down at the ruined bag of meat and bones that used to be Vincent. Barret took a few steadying breaths.

“Damn, man, this is gonna haunt me.”

“It’s gonna haunt me, too,” said Cid softly. “But you’re right. He’s… he’s not going to recover.”

Barret raised his gun-arm and levelled it at Vincent’s head. The gun trembled faintly, and Barret felt the bile rise in his throat once more, sweat forming on his brow. ‘C’mon, Barret,’ he thought to himself. ‘Just pull the trigger, and it’s all over. He won’t suffer no more.’

The gun began to shake a little more, and Barret had to take hold of it with his other hand to steady it. Sweat stung at his eyes, and he felt his lip quiver, suddenly thinking that Vincent looked so helpless, his thin body coated in filth as he lay on his side. Barret’s stomach rolled over, and he ground his teeth together, trying to summon the courage to pull the trigger.

A hand slowly raised up, clad in a bloody gauntlet, fingers spread in a defensive pose, and Barret lowered the gun. He glanced at Cid.

“I don’t think Vincent likes this plan.”

“Well his vote is the only one that counts,” said Cid. “At least he has enough of his brain intact that he knows what we’re doing. Come on; let’s get him out of here.”

***---***

They carried him to the upper levels and out of the building, finding daylight. They located a small house, abandoned and partly destroyed, but suitable for a temporary base. The bathroom fixtures were still intact, and there was running water as well as a useable bed. Barret threw most of the towels he could find onto the bathroom floor, and Cid placed Vincent carefully down on them. He then began digging around for anything he could use to clean him up. Barret handed him the field medical kit he had been carrying.

“I’m gonna go get help. We can’t take Vincent any further without help. Too many large obstacles.”

Cid nodded. “Right. I’ll stay here and look after him. You be careful out there.”

“Thanks. Good luck.”

Cid snorted. He didn’t need good luck, he needed a miracle. As Barret left, Cid picked up a pair of scissors and began cutting off Vincent’s filthy clothing, disposing of it. The characteristic red cloak and scarf would never be seen again; the cloak still in the depths of the Deepground lair. The gauntlet he set aside to be cleaned. The brass shoes went into the trash after the scarf, breeches, gloves, and stockings.

“I wish Tifa was here,” said Cid quietly. “She’s been dying to cut that outfit off you and toss it into the trash for years.”

He sat back on his heels and looked at the long hair, caked in mud, matted with shit and insects. There was no cleaning it. The hair would have to go, too. Sighing, Cid shaved off the long black hair and tossed it into the garbage after the clothes.

Cid worked for hours, cleaning wounds, stitching wounds, splinting broken bones, packing gaping holes with sterile gauze, hauling maggots out of infected punctures, removing strange tubes that had been inserted into Vincent’s body for unknown reasons, cleaning and replacing exposed entrails. Vincent should not be alive. No person could survive what he had, and the only reason Cid could think of as to why Vincent had survived was his undead body simply refused to give up. But immortality did not protect one from mutilation. Vincent’s body had been smashed like an egg. It was highly unlikely he would be anything more than a cripple if he even survived. Cid thought about watching his friend in combat, the controlled artistry of his movements, the way he seemed to perform whole ballets in the air, while his friends gazed up from the ground, spellbound.

Vincent’s days as a bird were over. He was strictly a ground-dwelling creature now.

“Ain’t fair,” muttered Cid, feeling anger throughout his body. “Ain’t fair at all. You could almost fly, and they took that from you. It was the only gift Lucrecia gave you of any value, and they took it from you. Bastards.”

He picked Vincent up from the floor, where he had been lying on virtually every towel in the house. Cid carried him into the bedroom, placing him on the soft mattress and gently covering him over. He noticed the hair he had so recently shaved off was already a centimetre long. Just as well; a brush cut really was not Vincent’s style.

Cid went into the bathroom, gathering up the dirty towels and disposing of them, then taking a shower. He was exhausted and hungry, but he wanted rest more than food. Dressed in his shorts and an undershirt, he walked out of the bathroom and into the remains of the living room to find the couch was soaked with rain water and rodent urine. The only place to sleep was in the bedroom, with Vincent.

He walked, grumbling, into the bed chamber, finding Vincent feebly attempting to hold himself in a seated position with his one good arm. He was panting, and, as Cid watched and Vincent’s strength began to fail, the problem became clear. Vincent was having trouble breathing when he lay down, but he was too weak to arrange himself into a more comfortable pose.

“It’s okay, don’t wear yourself out,” said Cid gently. “C’mon, I’ve got you.”

Cid got into bed, carefully taking Vincent into his arms, arranging the both of them so that Cid was resting on pillows piled against the headboard, and Vincent was held against his chest. The position seemed to help, and Vincent sank against Cid without complaint, falling into a heavy sleep. Cid put an arm around him, and sighed.

“You know if Barret catches us like this, we’ll never hear the end of it.”

Cid’s phone rang, and he was glad he had thought to put it on the bedside table before getting into bed. Vincent didn’t move a muscle as Cid reached for the phone.

“What?”

“You are so rude,” said Yuffie.

“Fuck you.”

“I heard you found Vincent.”

“Yeah, we did. Has Barret made it back yet?”

“Yeah he’s here, but…there’s a small problem. We can’t reach you.”

Cid felt his heart sink. “You can’t reach me?”

“No. Some of the buildings have fallen over. The only way we can access you now is by air, but the helicopters can’t get under the collapsing plate and there’s nowhere to land. We can get you supplies, but…”

“You have to come get us! For crying out loud Vincent needs a doctor! He can hardly breathe, he’s covered in wounds, he’s got broken bones, he’s got fucking maggots living in one injury…”

“Cid we can’t reach you,” said Yuffie firmly. “We’re sending in Nanaki with medical supplies. What do you need?”

“A fucking surgeon! I had to stuff some of his entrails back into him with my own hands! I have no idea how badly some of these bones are broken, I’m having to hold him up while he sleeps so he can breathe!”

“I can’t do anything about that!” she shouted into the phone, clearly as upset as Cid was over the situation. “Just tell us what you need! How are you for clean water?”

Cid sighed in aggravation. This wasn’t Yuffie’s fault, there was no point screaming at her. “We’ve got water, we’ve got a bed. There’s some food but I don’t know if I trust it. I have no idea what Vincent needs. Bandages, antiseptic, fuck I don’t know, I’m no doctor. Yuffie we have to get him out of here.”

“We’re working on it, Cid. Don’t worry.”

“Just get your asses in gear!”

Cid could almost hear Yuffie roll her eyes. “Want some tampons to go with that PMS, Cid?”

Cid gave her a demonstration of his vocabulary and hung up. He set the phone aside, and looked down at Vincent, sound asleep, feeling his heart break at the sight of him.

“You could almost fly,” he whispered. “The greatest gift a man can have, and they took that from you. It’s just not fair,”

***---***

Nanaki arrived in two hours, wearing what could only be described as saddle bags attached to a harness. He woke Cid up by poking at him with his wet nose. Cid opened one eye to regard the massive red beast sourly.

“I’ve killed men for less.”

“Good thing I’m not a man,” said Nanaki. “Can you move Vincent?”

Cid did, carefully setting him aside, wincing as he heard the breathing become laboured.

“I hope you guys can reach us soon, I’m worried about him.”

“We’re doing our best,” said Nanaki, “but it may be several days.”

Cid unloaded the bags, finding WRO issue MREs, antiseptic, bandages, rubbing alcohol, antibiotics, pain killers, a small radio, and, doubtlessly from Yuffie, a box of tampons. Cid set them aside without comment.

“Is there anything else you may need?” asked Nanaki.

“No,” said Cid. “Though I wouldn’t mind having my small tool kit. I thought I could fix Vincent’s gauntlet while waiting for rescue. It’s a little bashed up.”

“I’ll bring it next time,” said Nanaki. “Be strong, Cid, we will have you out of here soon.”

***---***

It wasn’t soon. It was six weeks. Day after day, Cid had to watch Vincent as his shattered bones slowly healed into awkward positions, the ribs setting firmly in a manner that made it all but impossible for Vincent to breathe lying down, and wounds that had to be repeatedly cut open and drained became massive scars. By the time help arrived, Vincent was beyond aid. His friends stood in guilt-ridden silence as Cid carried Vincent out of the house, huddled deep in a blanket, only his nose visible from within the depths of the quilt. Vincent was broken and humiliated, new scars layered over old ones, his limbs bent, his hair gone. He didn’t wish to be seen this way.

“You’re coming to live with me,” said Cid quietly to the nose in the blanket.

“Live with you?” said Yuffie. “Don’t you think he has enough problems?”

Cid glared at her. “I want to make sure he’s looked after. Oh, and thanks for the tampons. Once I broke them apart and soaked them in WD-40 they worked perfectly for cleaning the crap out of the hinges on Vincent’s gauntlet.”

Yuffie slapped her had over her face. “Only you could find an alternative use for a tampon.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t think I was ever gonna use them they way they’re intended. But they worked great at cleaning dirt out of crevices.”

Yuffie just shook her head. Cid carried Vincent to a cabin on the airship, and settled him on the bed, not bothering to unwrap him. He understood too well how upset Vincent was.

“You’re going to live with me now,” said Cid softly. “I’ll look after you. Okay? We’ll find someone to fix your bones, and make it so you can breathe, and I’ll take care of you.”

The bundle on the bed shifted. “I should have let Barret shoot me.”

“No,” said Cid. “It will be all right. We’ll get you through this. I know you think you have to do everything yourself and find your way alone, but that’s not true. You can lean on me. I’m gonna teach you to fly again.”

“I’m never going to fly again, Cid. I’ll be lucky if I can go to the bathroom on my own.”

“You’re going to be fine. Okay? I made a promise to you and Cid Highwind does not go back on his promises. You’re going to be okay.”

“Cid, where are you going to keep me? I’ve seen your house. It’s a shoebox. You have two bedrooms, one crammed with crates of equipment, the other with engine parts and a half-built car. You have a bathroom that doubles as a tool shed and a kitchen that doubles as a livingroom. Where will you fit me?”

“I have a bed that pulls out of the wall. You’re going to stay there ‘til you get better.”

“I’m… going to share your bed? In your house?”

Cid grinned. “Why not? Look, Vincent, for the last six weeks we slept in the same bed so I could hold you up and you could breathe, what’s the problem now?”

“I just don’t want your neighbours to make any false assumptions about you.”

“Screw them. I mean it. Screw the bunch of them. If you hadn’t been willing to go down after Weiss and his bunch they’d all be dead. You got smashed to hell saving our lives, so, you know what? Fuck every damn one of them. And if anybody wants to ask me about it, I’ll be perfectly damned happy to send them to you on their hands and knees to say they are sorry.”

Vincent nodded. “Okay,” he said softly.

Cid gently pulled the blanket away, so he could now see the large red eyes as well as the nose. “I’m going to get you through this,” he said with quiet intensity. “That’s what friends do.”

***---***

That had been two years ago.

To be fair, Cid had done his best. He had searched out doctor after doctor, treatment after treatment, hospital after clinic after faith healer. No one could help Vincent. He was crippled, and there was nothing anyone could do about it.

Life with Cid was fine; it was more stable and organized than Vincent would have thought. Cid was a man of routine, and Vincent found the predictability of his days comforting. He lived on Cid’s bed, carefully propped up on pillows, a breathing ornament in his house, watching the days pass, watching Cid live his life, unable to be a part of the world around him. He didn’t complain; Vincent personally didn’t think he had anything to complain about. He was warm, dry, fed, and pain-free. He had a certain amount of mobility, enough that he could get his crippled body from point A to point B and back to A. Cid was good company; they had always enjoyed a close friendship, even as different as they were. The house was usually a disaster but that didn’t bother either of them. Like most bachelors, they were perfectly content to wallow in their own squalor. Most nights they would settle into bed and watch some dreadful action movie, Vincent supported against Cid’s broad chest.

Vincent didn’t become depressed until Cid met Missy. Vincent liked her well enough; she was a nice person and seemed to have a good heart, though he found her a trifle condescending. She was only twenty; a little young he thought for Cid, but he suspected that Cid was less interested in how much life experience she had than her more obvious attributes. What Missy saw in Cid, he had no idea. Most women fled screaming once they got a good look at the inside of his fridge. But whatever drew her to him, it was becoming more and more clear to Vincent that once again he was a stone in the stream of life, Things were passing him by, and he could only watch. He was anchored to the bed by his broken body, a spectator to his friend’s existence.

Most depressing were the nights Vincent would wake up, glance at the digital clock beside the bed, read the hour, and know Cid would not be home that evening. The first time it had happened, it had been frightening and very upsetting, lying in the dark, listening to every single noise. He had become so accustomed to hearing Cid’s heart beat, the quiet rhythm of his breathing, that to be alone again was unnerving. Cid did not make it home until ten in the morning, arriving in a very good mood that suggested to Vincent that Missy was a woman of unsung talent.

“Have fun?” inquired Vincent dryly.

“Repeatedly,” said Cid. “You want breakfast?”

So Missy became a part of Cid’s life. She was worked into their comfortable little routine, and nights that used to be spent together watching movies were now spent alone, Cid going out to meet with Missy, and often not making it home until morning. Vincent couldn’t blame him; it couldn’t be easy to build a relationship with a girl when there was this freakish crippled guy with red eyes stuck in the middle of the room. Eventually Cid would probably marry her, and Vincent would be pawned off on somebody else in the group; Barret most likely, or Tifa. Vincent learned to hate the nights, and to resent the growing sadness in his heart. He also learned to resent Missy, and the way she was taking Cid from him. He missed Cid desperately, wanted him home, here, in their bed, watching bad movies and eating popcorn and drinking beer. He wanted her to just go, and have things return to the way they were…

Vincent lay in bed, painfully resting against a pile of pillows. He closed his eyes, feeling his eyes become damp as realization slowly took hold, and he began to understand what he was feeling towards Cid. In their bed, in their home. With him, not with her. He was jealous. He managed a laugh at himself.

“It’s perfectly natural for a friend to be jealous,” he said quietly to the darkness.

But the longer Vincent lay in the gloom and the solitude, the more he realized this was not the jealously of a friend. This was something else entirely. For two years he had eaten with Cid, slept with Cid, talked with Cid. He had shared in his life, had let him help with his care and cleaning… for crying out loud they’d even taken baths together back when Vincent was in too much pain to do it himself. Cid had been his whole world for two years. It was small wonder he was having these feelings; feelings that Cid would never return.

“I don’t need this,” said Vincent quietly. “I do not need this. I do not need one more complication. I should have just let Barret shoot me.”

The night slowly trickled on, dark and lonely, finally giving way to morning. Cid came in at ten sharp, whistling. And why shouldn’t he be happy, Vincent thought bitterly. It wasn’t him glued to this bed for life, forced to exist as some bizarre decoration. Cid had a life and a job and twenty-year-old bimbo to parade around with. Why the hell should he be unhappy?

“Hungry?” asked Cid.

“Cid I’m really not in the mood for an engine-grease omelette.”

“Are ya in the mood for warm crullers and hazel-nut coffee?”

Vincent raised his head, feeling some of his pissy mood depart. “Crullers?”

“Yup. And bagels with cream cheese and smoked fish.” Cid began setting things onto plates. “I… ah… sorta been neglecting you lately.”

‘Yeah, you have,’ thought Vincent, but aloud he said; “It’s all right. You’ve got a girlfriend. I understand.”

“Well, I told Missy that today was just going to be you and me. Don’t think she was pleased but she’ll get over it.”

‘Tell the bitch to get the fuck over herself, she can live without you for one day.’ “Well she’s young; she just wants to be with you.”

“Yeah, well, she can spare me for one day.” Cid passed Vincent a plate. “They’re playing ‘The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly’ tonight, and I know how much you like that film. I thought we’d have a few beers and you could tell me what’s wrong with the gun-play.”

Cid grabbed his own plate and sat down on the bed, and Vincent could see there was a certain amount of guilt hovering around him. They ate in silence for a brief time.

“How’s your breathing?” asked Cid.

“No worse than usual.”

“But it’s better when I’m here for you to lean on.”

‘Everything is better when you’re here.’ “I’m fine, Cid.”

“See I don’t think so. I worry. You never bitch, you never ask me for anything, you…”

“Would it make you happy if I constantly complained?”

“No I don’t want you to bitch all the time, I just… I just want you to be okay.”

“Cid, my life is as good as it is ever going to be. I have nothing to complain about.”

“There isn’t anything you want? Or need?”

Vincent gazed at him, looking into the blue eyes, suddenly feeling monstrous in ways that had nothing to do with how he looked. He lowered his head, letting his long black hair cover his face, drawing the covers up to his chin.

“No. I’m fine.”

“Vincent,” said Cid quietly, “you know you can tell me anything.”

‘No, I can’t, because if I tell you this, I might never see you again.’ “I know.”

There came a knock at the door, and Vincent huddled beneath the blankets, hiding. Cid rose from the bed and went to the door, opening it.

“Hi!” said Missy brightly. “I just came by to say I was sorry for getting upset over your silly boy’s night in. Hi Vincent!”

It took every ounce of self-control Vincent had not to give her the middle finger, complete with claw. Instead he ignored her.

“Ohhhh…” she crooned as if he was a cranky toddler. “Is ums sweepy…?”

“Missy, don’t talk to Vincent as if he’s a three-year-old.”

Go Cid!

“I was just teasing. Anyway I thought maybe you’d walk with me down to the liquor store. I wanted to get some wine and I thought you would probably want some beer, so we could go together!”

“Yeah, sure,” said Cid. “Just hang on a sec.”

Vincent heard Cid walk over to the bed, kneeling beside it, gently drawing the covers down so he could look into the crimson eyes.

“Vince? I’m going for beer. I’ll be back in an hour, okay? I promised you a Clint Eastwood movie.”

Vincent nodded. He watched as Cid left with Missy, and felt his heart sink, worrying he would be forgotten. Despite his concern and distress, he fell asleep against the pillows, struggling to breathe, too weak and exhausted to do anything about it.

***---***

Vincent opened his eyes, and looked around the small room in which he found himself. It was a white room, clean, orderly, neat, and the bed was not Cid’s huge comfy home-made contraption, but a narrow device on wheels with metal side-rails. There was something down his throat, and he suddenly thought he was back in the pit, tubes for experiments running in and out of his body. He panicked, and began ripping at the device, fighting it, trying to get it out of his throat.

“Mr. Valentine, calm down, you’re all right, you’re just fine, the tube is helping you breathe. Just relax, just…”

Vincent fought the tube, throwing himself off the bed, tearing the thing loose from the machine feeding him oxygen as he began gagging on the plastic hose. Then someone yanked it out, and he felt himself embraced tightly.

“You’re okay, just calm down, you’re fine. I got ya.”

It was Cid. Vincent pressed close, clutching him, shaking. Cid gently picked him up, settling him on the bed.

“You’re in the hospital,” said Cid quietly. “You stopped breathing while I was out.”

Vincent refused to release Cid, clinging tightly, shivering, fingers driving into the fabric of Cid’s shirt as he fought to breathe. Slowly he calmed, feeling his heart settle into a normal rhythm, his breathing easing. He closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of Cid’s hand stroking his hair. It was so good to be close to him, to hold him, to breathe his scent, to feel his hands on him. Vincent pressed his face against Cid’s neck.

‘Why don’t you know that I love you? Why can’t you see it?’

The door to the hospital room opened. “Oh Vincent you’re awake! Cid was so worried about you…”

Vincent wanted to turn on Missy with every fibre in his being, but Cid stroked his hand over the back of his head, and Vincent decided just to focus on this one precious moment, relishing Cid’s closeness. Then Missy reached out to play with Vincent’s hair, and there was no foreseeing the reaction. He turned on her, and she suddenly found herself confronted with a gigantic demonic wolf’s head, baying full in her face. She leapt back with a shriek. Cid grabbed the long muzzle, deflecting Vincent’s wrath from his girlfriend, and Vincent winced, cringing. He could tell Cid had been about to hand him his head on a platter, but the way Vincent instantly submitted told Cid the reaction was one of stress and fear, not savagery. Cid sighed, and gently stroked the creature’s fur.

“Say you’re sorry to my lady.”

The ears lay down and the eyes softened in canine contrition. Cid looked at Missy.

“He’s sorry.”

Missy was in tears. “He’s a fucking freak!” she screamed, and stormed out of the room.

Cid sighed, stroking Vincent’s fur. “She didn’t mean that,” he said. “She’s just upset.”

Vincent nodded, feeling ashamed of his reaction. Missy wasn’t a bad person, and it wasn’t her fault he was here. He had no one to blame but himself.

“I’m gonna go talk to her,” said Cid. “I’ll be back in a couple minutes.”

Vincent nodded again, and watched as Cid left the room, following after Missy. Then he lowered his head, broken-hearted, and the nurse reached up to pat his broad furry skull. Vincent gave her a questioning look. She smiled.

“I’ve seen the transformation before. You’ve done it three times while unconscious.”

He sighed. Meanwhile the nurse produced a thermometer.

“Open wide.”

Vincent turned his head to one side, looking despondent. The nurse was in no mood for patient shenanigans as she brandished the thermometer, waggling it threateningly.

“Mr. Valentine, you choose which end this goes in.”

The massive jaws closed delicately around the tiny glass tube. He noted mentally that he was not shifting back as quickly as he would like; a sure sign he was stressed and upset. The nurse monitored his pulse, looking mildly put out about something. Then the door to the room opened and in stepped Tifa, Barret, and Cloud. They took one look at the gigantic blue-black furry wolfish monster with its long shaggy mane, seated on a hospital bed with a thermometer poking out of his mouth and stopped dead, staring in utter disbelief. Then Barret and Cloud began screaming with laughter, crying with hilarity as Tifa tried to remain sympathetic, and not managing to succeed. Despite himself, Vincent smiled. Then Tifa came over to tangle her hands into the luxuriant mane, stroking him, enjoying the gorgeous fur while it lasted.

“How are you feeling?” she asked gently, while Barret and Cloud fought to regain control of themselves.

He growled softly, and she made a sympathetic sound.

“Sucks being sick, doesn’t it?” Tifa hugged him, and Vincent felt some of the depression lift. At least his friends didn’t see him as a freak.

He closed his eyes and lowered his head, enjoying being hugged and skritched. Barret and Cloud finally managed to get off the floor and walked over to the bed, still giggling as the nurse took the thermometer and examined it, frowning slightly.

“How is he?” asked Tifa.

“Well, he has a mild temperature as a result of a persistent low-grade infection in his lungs. The doctor thinks that may be the main reason he has such a hard time breathing.”

“Can it be cured?” asked Barret.

“You would really have to ask the doctor about that. I’m just here to abuse patients with thermometers and tubes.”

She gave Vincent a pat before leaving the room, departing just as Cid returned, followed closely by Missy and the doctor. Cid walked over to Vincent and gazed at him, amused.

“So how long ya gonna stay furry?”

“Leave him alone,” said Tifa, “he’s stressed.”

Barret chuckled. “He stays stressed much longer and he’s gonna have fleas.”

Tifa patted Vincent’s muzzle. “You can bite him if you want.”

“Aw Vincent wouldn’t hurt a fly,” said Barret. “Not unless the fly hurt him first.”

Barret put out his enormous hand, resting it on the back of Vincent’s neck, the powerful fingers finding a spot that made his fur stand up and eyes squint in pleasure. He should probably resent the way Barret knew all the best places to rub and make him almost purr, but it just felt too damned good. Missy watched all this with disbelief.

“And… that doesn’t scare you?” she asked.

“What’s scary about it?” said Tifa. “It’s just Vincent.”

Missy stepped closer, the memory of him lunging at her too recent to be over-looked. She tentatively reached a hand towards him, and Vincent felt his hackles rise. He hated her. He hated her for reasons that had nothing to do with what sort of a person she was. Missy was a nice girl. And whether he liked it or not, she was Cid’s girlfriend. Slowly Vincent lowered his head and let her pat him, uncomplaining. There was nothing to complain about. He couldn’t change anything. Cid didn’t love him.

***---***

Vincent awoke, opening his eyes, blinking sleepily in the dim light. It was dark, and it was late, and his hospital room was full of people, speaking softly, likely trying to avoid waking him. He looked at the group, realizing everyone was there, all of his friends, as well as Reno and Reeve, Cait Sith held in the crook of his arm. Why would Reno be there? Reeve he at least had something of a friendship with, but Reno he hardly knew. And of course Missy was there too. Didn’t the bitch have a home?

“Are you certain you people are all relations?” asked the doctor dubiously.

The unlikely collection nodded, even Nanaki. Vincent smiled.

“So what’s wrong?” asked Cid, Vincent feeling his heart crush as he saw Cid’s hand stray to Missy’s back.

“Well, to be blunt, everything,” said the doctor. “He never received any proper treatment for his injuries, he’s riddled with infection, bone ailments, badly-healed fractures… and you say you sought medical attention for him?”

“Repeatedly,” said Cid, as Tifa, Barret and Cloud nodded in agreement. “No one would touch him because he’s been genetically altered.”

“Well he has been altered to a significant degree,” said the doctor. “That’s probably what kept him alive.” He consulted his chart, shaking his head. “Much as I would like to help him, this… this is out of my league, and I’m a big enough man to admit it. But I can recommend someone. However… there’s a catch.”

“Cost, right?” said Tifa.

“Afraid so. He’s a man with extensive knowledge of genetically altered patients; he’s worked with people in SOLDIER as well as other altered persons. He’s had years of experience and frankly he’s done admirable work. He’s even won awards. Frankly there’s no one better, but… he’s not cheap. You would be looking at a price tag somewhere between one and one point five million gil.”

Vincent watched his friends react with obvious dismay to the news, silently apologizing to them for being such a bother. He raised an eyebrow as Cloud’s arm slid around Reno’s thin waist, drawing him close, and Reno responded with a kiss. Well that explained Reno’s presence. They made a rather cute couple. What else had he missed while living on the proverbial shelf?

“Well we have to find a way to raise the money,” said Tifa. “There’s just no other choice.”

Cloud looked at Reno, and Vincent did not miss the way Reno gazed back at him; green eyes calm, reflecting the faith he had in his lover. Cloud touched his face, and kissed him tenderly. Then they turned to face the group.

“Reno and I have some money saved; it will be enough to get things started.”

“Oh but that’s your house,” said Tifa.

“There will be other houses,” said Cloud. He looked at Reno. “I’ve got what counts.”

“Gettin’ cavities,” grumbled Barret. “Well I got some savings I can toss in.”

“So do I,” said Tifa.

“I’ve got a university fund I’m never gonna use,” said Yuffie.

“I’ve got the ceremonial jewels in my mane,” said Nanaki.

“I can’t let you do that,” Vincent said softly.

All heads turned towards him, watching as he fought to sit up, struggling to draw breath.

“I can’t let you…”

“You don’t get a vote so lie down and shut up,” said Barret.

“What Barret is attempting to say,” said Tifa, glaring at him, “is we want to help.”

Vincent shook his head. “I can’t…”

Cid walked over to him, gently taking him by the shoulders and laying him down once more. “Vin, I don’t know if you realize this,” said Cid, covering him over once more, “but we’re all drawing breath because of what you did. If you hadn’t gone down and faced off with those bastards, we’d all have been loaded into metal containers and fed to that monster Omega by now.”

“Or murdered,” said Reno.

“So just let us help,” said Yuffie. “We’re going to do it anyway, whether you like it or not.”

“Kid’s right,” said Barret.

“But…” Vincent tried one more time.

“Hush,” said Cid affectionately.

“I don’t think…”

“Newsflash,” purred Reno.

Vincent glared at him. “It’s too much money.”

“And it’s ours so just let us blow it, and stop complaining or we’ll put you in the crooked nursing home we saw on the news,” said Yuffie.

“We will not!” said Tifa.

“We want to help,” said Cait.

“We do,” said Reeve. “We owe you a huge debt, Vincent. A lot of people owe you their lives. What’s money compared to that?”

Vincent gazed at them with crimson eyes. “I didn’t do it so you would feel you owed me anything.”

“And that’s why we don’t mind helping now,” said Cid. “So rest, okay?”

Vincent nodded, uncomfortable with the whole situation, but reluctantly accepting it. Moments later again he struggled back into a seated position, fighting to breathe. Cid looked at the doctor.

“Just call the man. We’ll find a way to pay.”

***---***

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