What t$#%?$#%?

BY : larch
Category: Final Fantasy VII > Yaoi - Male/Male
Dragon prints: 515
Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy VII, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.



Vincent sat at the table, slowly scribbling names and clues about the mysterious murders on a piece of paper. Vincent’s aim wasn’t any worse from him having only one eye, as proved by the holes in the wall and the couch when Vincent opened the package from the police and started firing at Cid.


At least he was happy about getting his gun back.


Despite his good aim, Vincent seemed worried his handwriting would suffer and went agonizingly slow. This gave Cid some time to think.


Sephiroth, whom everyone ignored—an amazing feat considering what had conspired three years ago—sat and watched the two, now and then nibbling on Vincent’s lunch that Cid had prepared. Cid had tried to smooth things over with the gesture of making lunch for Vincent, but Vincent ignored it, and the fact that Sephiroth was eating it.


It was one of those days. It was one of those days when your ex and your arch nemesis siting at the same table and going over a body count was a good thing; you could keep an eye on both of them at the same time, and as long as the body count didn’t include you, they were too distracted to do anything to you.


Vincent knew Cid was thinking and hard. He seemed pleasbut but in no way less likely to kill Cid.


Indeed, Cid was thinking hard. Just not about the murders.


He was remembering the Vincent he used to know and was so distracted with that love managed to sneak up on him when he wasn’t looking.


The first few days after he arrived, Vincent had spent most of the time sleeping, silently complaining, eating, and vomiting. Stasis or not, Vincent hadn’t eaten in over thirty years and everything had twice as many preseivesives and sugar or was heavily deep-fried and nothing was the way Vincent remembered. Essentially, this turned Vincen’t stomach into a trampoline.


Vincent had taken an instant liking to Cid after he offered to share his bedroom. It was the captains quarters and had it’s own bathroom, unlike the others. Vincent had mistaken Cid’s desire to keep vomit off the floor of the plane for an invitation to cuddle. Not that either minded much. Vincent was just as cuddly the first few months as his mind slowly decided no one was going to sell him to Hojo, use him as an inhuman shield, or take advantage of him in any sort of way.


He just wasn’t as perverted when he cuddled, just extremely clingy, as if he feared someone abducting him in the middle of the night. Or maybe that was just Cid’s hands. The fact that he had started to complain every time he found Cid’s hands on his ass meant he was dealing with himself slightly better—nowhere near stable, but better.


Cid had walked in one day, no particular day at all, nothing special, and found Vincent standing perfectly silent and still in the middle of the room and looking at him. Cid was damn sure Vincent was the only person who could pullse tse two things off and be perfect at it.


Vincent pulled down the neck of his cape slightly parted his lips, his gaze unreadable. Those same lips suddenly pressed softly against Cid’s and after that he’d been obsessed with them. Every body part Vincent ever offered to Cid he was obsessed with. He spent last night tracing over those lips, waiting for Vincent to respond by trying to strangle him with the covers. He used to trace over every line and curve of Vincent’s chest once he’d been given the permission to touch him there. It drove them both nuts the way Cid tried to lick and tickle his passion away on Vincent’s thighs. It had been a good kind of nuts. At least, Cid thought it was and he was never able to stop once Vincent took his pants off.


Vincent had run away after the kiss. The kiss he’d started out of the blue. He ran off and hid for half a day, then left with Cloud to fight. He came back and they still shared the same room, the same bed. Cid had bothered to kiss him on the cheek before they both fell asleep.


Cid really didn’t know why, or how much that one gesture would end up solidifying something dangerous between them.


As much as Vincent liked touch—craved it even—he abhorred sex. He didn’t like Cid asking for it, he didn’t like Cid’s hands creeping down his underwear in the middle of the night, he didn’t like even thinking of the concept of having sex. He only showed mild annoyance in how obvious it was that Cid’s body was reacting to the proximity of his own. That part was natural and for the most part Cid ignored it and never brought it up, something Vincent appreciated. Cid’s hands, however, got him kicked out of his own room numerous times.


Vincent knew exactly how much and in what way Cid wanted him. Cid never got what he wanted until days after they accidentally wandered into Lucrecia. Cid knew that subject was like getting a rather brutal whipping for Vincent and stayed the hell away from it. Then they had to walk right into her living room in a cave. Vincent seemed rather composed and sane while talking to her, but after that, he was completely silent and collapsed as soon as they got back on the Highwind.


They had had to get a hotel because of Vincent. He didn’t eat, he didn’t talk and he almost never got out of bed. Tifa and Yuffie ganged up to drag him out, but gave up after dragging his dead weight only a few feet. He’d crawled back into bed after that. It was three days after they’d mistaken the cave for where the key was that Vincent finally talked. Yuffie wandered in to try and get him to eat, and Vincent, whispering, asked to see Cid.


Cid came in, thinking his friend needed to talk, and was jumped on and had Vincent’s tongue in his mouth before he knew what was happening.


Talking wasn’t going to heal Vincent, not now. Not yet. Vincent’s mind wasn’t working and was more muddled and harder to fix than an exploded engine part. He wanted something physical before he could deal with anything mental and Cid was happy to give it to him, although he wished the first time could have been under different circumstances.


Vincent got over it. They talked. Vincent talked to everyone and then went back to being his silent, invisible self.


Cid thought everything would be perfect after that. He’d dragged Vincent to Rocket Town and asked Vincent if he’d stay to live with him afterwards—provided they both survived—during the time Cloud gave everyone to think things over before the final battle.


Vincent had agreed, rather cheerfully, but in just six months after Cid returned to his town, his dream of space and desire for rockets and planes, everything had gone straight to hell.


Vincent talked less and less until he was finally silent. He became more and more lethargic, sometimes refusing to even get out of bed. He stopped doing anything but lie in bed and wonder at the curtains.


Some days he even looked sick.


Cid had thought nothing could be more painful until he found himself handing Vincent a badly packed suitcase of all his things and telling him he couldn’t stay anymore.


It wasn’t Cid’s fault. He’d done the right thing. He told Vincent they couldn’t keep doing this and Vincent had to figure out his problems, his life. It had to be done. He said he’d help if Vincent ever needed it. He said he still loved him.


After all the pain and everything he’d sacrificed to tell Vincent to find a purpose in his life, it had ended up being to make Cid’s life as miserable as possible.


"Pay attention," Vincent chided, not looking up from his pile of notes.


"I am," Cid complained.


"I meant to the case."


"Case? What—Oh that case," Cid said. "Why not just get Cloud to help you if you’d rather take my head off than let me use it?"


"Because you’re the one with the keys to the plane," Vincent said. "Besides, Cloud’s keeping an eye on things at Kalm and Junon with the others."


"So did he find out anything, or did he get distracted by something shiny?"


"Three more people were killed. The cleaning lady, Reeve’s secretary, and one of the police investigating the crime scene. The police officer managed to report that Reeve’s files on us went missing. He seems to have taken a dive out a locked window a few hours later."


"Reeve kept files on us?"


"From while he was spying on us as Cait Sith. When he changed sides he kept them like an address book."


"So how’d you know about it?"


"Reeve asked if he could keep the file he’d made about me."


"Why didn’t he ask me?"


"I’m a lot touchier than you are."


"That’s a lie and you know it, Vince."


"I meant I was more likely to blast his head open for prying into my personal life than you were."


"Oh. That makes more sense."


"We’re in trouble, Cid."


"Well, I knew that part," Cid said.


"I meant more trouble."


"Yeah, well, trouble always did like to invite its friends over without tellin’ ya."


"I don’t think Reeve was killed just for the files. The others, maybe, but not him. This person was smart enough to find Hojo’s notes on his personal projects and how to use the information in them to his advantage. This isn’t just a job of cleaning up the messes he left behind. We’re a threat just by being alive. And he’s right," Vincent said, pointing to Sephiroth, who was quietly amused at how casual it was. "If they took his sword, they weren’t looking for a collector’s item, they wanted to scare the authorities away."


"However, they aren’t too keen on fighting techniques, considering how amateurishly they used it on him," Sephiroth commented, pointing to Vincent, or rahter, his wounds.


Cid and Vincent turned to him.


"What?" Sephiroth asked.


"Why are you still here?" Cid asked.


"I told you, I want my sword and you two seem to be interested in who took it."


"Are you at least going to get out my house once you got your stupid sword back?" Cid asked.


"Of course. I’ll probably go find Cloud, explain things to him and ask if anything important’s happened over the last few years."


Vincent was about to ask why a gigantic murder conspiracy, in which Sephiorth himself was a target in, wasn’t important, but Cid interrupted him before he could begin.


"Yeah, go talk to Cloud, I’ll bet he’ll be really glad to see you," Cid said sarcastically. "And he calls me stupid," Cid said, pointing to Vincent.


"You are stupid," Vincent said.


Cid was prevented from giving Vincent a pathetic retort by a knock on the door.


"We don’t want any cookies or religion and you can’t borrow anything!" Cid yelled before he opened the door. "You?" he yelled, angrier than before, seeing Daren standing on the po &q "Didn’t I tell you to go away and never come back?"


"Yes, many times, actually—"


"Then why don’t you do it? Besides, Shera’s not here."


"I know that, she's still unclogging the drain after I cleaned up from his surgery," Daren said, waving his hand at Vincent.


"What, you gonna give me a bill now?"


"Actually, I thought you might be interested in this," Daren said, holding up a few pieces of melted metal. "I tossed it away, thinking it was a piece of the building that fell on him, but when Shera pulled them out of the drain, I found I was mistaken."


"So what the fuck are they and why should I care?" Cid asked.


"May I come in please?"


"No!" Cid yelled.


"Yes, Vincent said.


"Hey, I said no!" Cid yelled at Vincent.


"Cid, this could be important."


"He can explain it outside."


"Hi, Vincent," Daren said, waving politely.


To Cid’s surprised, Vincent waved back.


"Hey, knock it off!" Cid complained. "You two know each other or something?"


"I… uh… it…" Daren started.

"So, what did you find?" Vincent asked.


"Once I got it cleaned off I realized it was shrapnel, not bits of a building. Shera confirmed it all came from some sort of bomb. Well, except this one, this one’s a bullet."


"Who the hell would try and kill you with a sword and a gun?" Cid asked, turning around. Vincent was right next to him. He hadn’t heard him approach.


"Damnit, knock that off!"


"My own gun," Vincent commented, after inspecting the bullet.


"The police said they were pretty sure the hotel fell down all by itself," Cid said. "Knowing them, I’m not surprised, they probably filled the damn report out in crayon."


"As much as I think they’re more incompetent than you—something I’m having trouble getting my mind around—I’d say that one wasn’t their fault," Vincent commented. "We’re already dealing with someone who knows who had what to do with Shinra and where to get the information they needed from anyone who used to work there. We’ve also got someone who doesn’t want any evidence of Hojo’s work running around on their own, and a dead TURK."


"Vince, that doesn’t add up. Do you realize you’re calling Shinra smart?"


"The TURKS weren’t dumb. Not last I checked. They also used a sort of bomb that regular police didn’t have the training to find any evidence of. And according to Reeve, bombs were Rude’s specialty once Tseng kicked the bucket."


"Great more zombies. What are you still doing here?" Cid yelled at Daren.





You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story