Resurfacing

“VINNNNNNNNNCEEEEEEEEEEE!”

"No."

“ HEY VINNNNNCEEEEEEE!! “

"No..please, n-"

"VINCENT!”

Vincent shot up, his body suddenly awake as the loud scream in the distance woke him out of his slumber, his heart racing. He knew that voice- it belonged to a certain loud mouthed pilot, and with every shout the voice got more and more agitated and worried, but it mingled with the scream from a different, not too long gone voice he'd heard in his all too current nightmare. It was as if he were back on the battlefield; Chaos laughing in the back of his mind, the screams, shouts and warning of his comrades coming from all around him, a light touch that had been so comforting that was forcibly taken away... He could feel his body stretching uncomfortably as he forced himself to stand up, bones snapping as he took his first few steps. The world was a swirling haze, and he could feel the cold, slick sweat sliding down his body.  “I-!...” The words left him as he stumbled over something, cursing under his breath as he fell to his hands and knees. He felt weak, and he couldn't move right. The back of his throat was scratchy as he tried to painfully clear it, wishing he could cry out words of assurance to the ones screaming for him. He pushed himself up, only to fall back down again as an intense pain shot up from his wrist through his arm. “AAAAHH!!” Promptly he slapped his hand over his mouth, biting on his bottom lip as he cradled his aching right hand to his chest, palm up. Blood was pooling into it, dripping down his wrist and arm as he stumbled forward. It hurt- he wouldn’t deny that. Vincent had no clue what he’d cut himself on but it wouldn’t stop bleeding- all he could do was carry himself forward on shaky legs towards the familiar silhouette on the horizon,  making sure not to scream out in pain like his throat so desperately wanted to. Damn, where WAS that man? Cid had left him not even half an hour past noon, and now the time was going on well past six, the sun was setting, and Cid must not have seen hide nor hair of the gunman since, and was screaming, no, yelling for him, and he had to answer the call...

 Cid had two conclusions about why Vince wasn't answering; one, he had either fallen asleep somewhere and couldn’t hear him (a thought that amused him ) or two, was hurt... or kidnapped by some sex-obsessed pervert (a thought that made him  pissed off). The first he could handle, the third he could fix if Vincent hadn't already of killed the bastard. He really hoped he wasn’t hurt. He glanced up as he caught something moving out of the corner of his eye, scowling over a smile as he watched the disheveled, yet unperverted gunman walk towards him. “Hey Vince, where the hell have you SHIVA ON HIGH WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED?!”

Vincent winced as Cid’s voice raised a few octaves, his blue eyes going wide as he stared down at the ever bleeding gash on Vincent’s wrist “Highwind, you're-" 

“DON’T WORRY VINCE, JUST RELAX, DON’T MOVE YOUR ARM!” 

"Cid, really I’m f-...” He got about two more vowels out before he felt himself being picked up- maybe scooped up- into the pilot’s arms, blinking in obvious surprise as his good left arm clung to Cid’s body in an attempt not to be jostled  as the blonde towards the house, making sure to warn everyone in the way he was coming. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“So much blood for such a little cut.”

“Little cut my ASS, he was fuckin’ DRIPPING BLOOD SHERA!!”

The two brunettes sighed, rolling their eyes to the ceiling. “Cid, he’s alright.” Shera shook her head, ignoring Vincent’s little flinches of protest as she dabbed the small wound with an antiseptic. Vincent himself sighed. Leave it up to him not to remember where his full Cure materia was, even at a time like this. Oh well- at least he got a show for his pain.

After heaving him at a full sprint towards the house in a cradle hold, Cid, literally, kicked the door down, leaving the wooden frame and several hinges of the front door not quite the same. Shera, who didn’t look even slightly perturbed, was the calmest (aside from Vincent) about it, her voice level and even partially amused as Cid put Vincent down, screaming about ‘calling the doc and telling him to get his ass here right the fuck now!’ as he ran for the phone. Vincent had to give Shera credit for her aim with a hardback novel as it struck Cid squarely in the back of the head, causing both of them a slight reprieve from Cid’s worry as he started screaming at her for it. At least it distracted Highwind from his injury, he thought, as he looked down at the wound Shera was cleaning. It was, indeed, quite small compared to how much it bleed, the angry red wound standing out against the paler skin it marred. He turned his attention to the blonde to his right, speaking softly. “It really IS just a small cut, Highwind, and I've head worse, really.”

The pilot snorted, unconvinced. “Yeah, right.” He didn’t want to say it, but for the first time in his life, even compared to when he was fighting Sephiroth, the clone war and then the whole Omega fiasco, he had been scared shitless.  Cuts, bleeding, broken limbs and busted body parts he expected while fighting, but to have seen Vincent, so pale, shaking and bleeding in his own back yard... He turned his head away, looking anywhere but at the flaming red cut on Vincents wrist. He'd tried taking his mind off of the gunner's injury by putting the door back in place, but it didn't work, and now he had taken to pacing the room while the splintered wood that used to be on hinges lay against the back of the couch.

“Alright, Vincent, there you go.” Shera smiled as she placed a band aid on the wound, carefully wrapping his wrist up with a light gauze. “You’ll be fine- just don’t lift anything heavy for a while, alright?”

Vincent nodded. “Thank you, Shera.” He gave the brunette a small nod as she stood, gathering things back into the first aid kit.

“And now that THAT crisis is over, I’M going to go finish laundry and enjoy the breeze.” She sighed at the remnants of the front door before she walked out through the back door, shutting it softly.

“Don’t you fuckin' ever do that again.” Vincent picked his eyes up from the bandage on his wrist to look into the blue eyes of the man sitting standing before him. Cid had his arms crossed, a glare of absolute anger on his face.

“It’s not like I did it on purpose, Highwind.  I heard you yelling, tried to get up and cut myself on something by the rocket lifts. Probably a stray piece of metal. I’M fine..are YOU alright?”

“No I’m not fuckin’ alright, Vincent Valentine!” Cid snapped out, snarling somewhat. He rolled his eyes to the ceiling dramatically, kicking a chair aside as he screamed. “I come out there expecting to find you hunky-dory as usual and instead you were bleeding like a fuckin' suicide victim, pale faced and shaking, saying you were FINE when you sure as hell weren’t! NO I’m NOT alright, I WAS FUCKIN’ SCARED AS SHIT, VINCENT!” He pushed flailed his arms as he paced, running his hands through his hair. Vincent knew Cid did that when angry or thinking, but now he looked like he was trying to pull his hair out all in one clump. The gunman sat there, staring up at the captain’s broad back as he paced back and forth, speechless. He looked back down at the table, trying to form words to say, words of comfort, anything to make Cid stop screaming. “I'm sorry."

Cid stopped, turning to look back down at the ex-turk. His hair now hung in his face as Vincent bowed his head, hiding it from the blue eyed man's view. A stillness hung in the air and he sighed heavily, closing his eyes as he lifted his head and breathed deeply. It was some kind of “anger management” exercise he could never quite manage to do until now. He took three deep breaths before he picked up the chair he had kicked over and sat down, running his hands through his hair again. “Vince.” He watched at the man sitting before him lifted his head slightly, red eyes staring into blue ones. “...I’m sorry, okay? I know I freaked...and I did, I freaked something bad didn’t I? It's just...damn...” Vincent watched as Cid tried to find the words to finish his sentance, his eyes darting to and fro from one wall to the other as he dug through his mental dictionary again, just sighing.

“It’s alright Highwind. I’m alright. I appreciate your concern. Really.” He kept his eyes trained on Cid as he looked down at him, eyebrows lifting. “It will heal, and soon it will become just another scar to add to my collection. One of many.” The pilot sat there, looking at Vincent with an unreadable face. He leaned over, gently picking Vincent's injured hand in his own slightly larger ones, running a surprisingly soft thumb over the middle of the gauze. He could see a slightly pink stain appear as he moved his thumb away, and his breath caught in his throat. He turned his head away, moving to pull his hand off Vincent’s only to find it trapped in the strongest grip he’d ever felt. He looked down, the gun slinger's hand wrapped around his tightly, then back up at the red eyes of its owner. They held an indefinable calm, the dark red of his irises glowing slightly in the dimmed light of the room. Vincent's face held the same kind of calm look, eyes slowly blinking as he looked into Cid’s eyes, taking in all of the raw emotion he could only guess the pilot must be feeling. “...Right.”

"I'm just...so glad -you're- alright."

This statement came as a shock to Cid. Vince, the cut up one, was glad -he- was alright? "What, did you expect me not to be?"

"I heard you shouting my name, and it sounded like you were hurt. Then again, that might have just been.." his voice, which had grown quieter and quieter, just trailed off.

"It just might have been a nightmare...hadn't it?" Cid could easily finish the sentence. He was no stranger to Vincent's nightmares, having been the man's room mate by popular vote every time they had to stop somewhere during their Avalanche days. Vincent's silence was answer enough. "I thought those had stopped after..."

"I guess not." Vincent turned his face away from Cid, closing his eyes. He seemed to be shrinking into himself, as he always did when the worst feelings he had suffered through over the years threatened to resurface.  Cid opened his mouth to say something, only to fall silent again as he watched Vincent receed.

Vincent's eyes stung, but he ignored it, held it back like always. He would not cave in, not when Highwind was perfectly safe. That was all he could ask for. But, without saying a word Cid wrapped an arm around Vincent’s back, pulling him to his chest in a hug, the gunman's injured hand pressed between their two bodies. Vincent blinked at the sudden intimate contact, his nostrils filling with the musky aroma that was cigarettes, engine oil and aftershave- everything that was Cid. He closed his eyes, his left hand resting gently on Cid's arm as he let himself be held, feeling the strong heartbeat of the strong man in front of him, holding him in a comforting way that no one else had ever tried to before.  How long had it been since he had been touched, ever been held this way? Not since he was a child, certainly, when his mother would comfort him in this exact same fashion, arms around him. He could feel the warmth of Cid's body, the hard yet soft hand of Cid's that caressed his hair back in reassurance and safety. Unbidden but laying just at the surface, he felt the tears spring up as he buried his face into the other man's neck. His free hand reached up, grasping the back of the other man's suit as his voice came out a dry sob. "T-thank the Gods..thank the Gods you're alive!" And altogether, in a violent wave of tears that stung, he let them go. Thirty years of pain he had held in washed over the pilot's neck and shoulder, his body shuddering and convulsing with the sobs, though never let out of that warm, firm embrace, the strong pillar that was Cid Highwind.

And Cid, who just sat there, closed his eyes too, letting the strong and fragile man in his arms cry.