Chapter Text
“FUCK!”
That was louder than usual. Vincent looked up.
“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck…”
Perhaps it was louder than usual because the Bronco’s engines had stopped making any noise. Aside from Cid’s swearing, there was only the sound of the waves and the sea birds.
“What happened?” asked Tifa, looking worried and grabbing Cloud’s wrist.
“Are we gonna drown?” whined Yuffie, her head still half-buried in a paper bag.
“How exciting!” said Cait Sith, completely unhelpfully.
“We ain’t gonna fuckin’ drown, we just gotta—shit,” Cid interrupted himself, squinting at the dashboard and messing with the controls.
“I cannot swim,” said Red XIII, forgetting to drop his voice to the more mature octave he usually used. His fiery tail swished anxiously, causing Barret beside him to try and fail to make himself smaller to avoid it. Aerith, to Red XIII’s other side, scratched behind his ears in an attempt to soothe him.
“We ain’t even sinkin’, calm the fuck down!” Cid snapped. Without looking back, he called, “Vince? There’s a compartment behind yer head, open that.”
There was indeed. Cid knew where Vincent preferred to sit. Inside was a pack of inflatable life vests.
“Give Red one first. Red and the cat stay in here. Everybody else, get out on the wings and put that shit on.”
*
Helping to push a downed airplane-turned-ship to shore was not something Vincent had expected to do today. He probably should have left his boots in the cabin. The saltwater couldn’t be good for the metal. His arm felt waterlogged as well. At least he had had the forethought not to wear the cloak. Still, what was done was done. The day was warm. Everyone should dry out soon enough.
Barret and Tifa had helped Cid to pull the Tiny Bronco entirely up onto the sand. Cid got to work immediately, taking no time to rest after the swim. He had a lot of energy for someone who complained as much as he did.
“I wonder where we are,” said Aerith, smiling at the landscape with undampened cheer. “It’s pretty here.”
It was. The land uphill from the beach was green and grassy, with what looked like farmhouses in the distance. A few sparse clouds rolled across the blue sky. Idyllic. Much too bright for a creature like Vincent—hopefully they wouldn’t have to stay long.
“Hmm… let’s see… my tracker says we’re pretty close to the Saucer, actually,” said Cait Sith, fur perfectly dry for having waited inside the plane. Vincent still had no idea how its body operated, but it probably wasn’t waterproof. “A wee bit south of there across the river, far eastern end of the Gongaga region. Nearest town should be a place called Asbroo.”
“Ffffffffffffuck,” Cid groaned from under an engine.
“Are you alright down there?” Vincent asked him.
“Peachy. Just fuckin’ peachy.” His voice had more venom than before—perhaps the damage was worse than expected.
“Are we fucked?” asked Barret. He looked lopsided without the gun attachment on his arm—he’d set it on a rock to drain out. Vincent wasn’t the only person who had to worry about water damage. “Long way out from where we left the buggy. Not lookin’ forward to walkin’.”
“Hold yer fuckin’ chocobos,” Cid barked, “she’s fixable. I just can’t fix ‘er right now.” And he pulled himself away from his work, scowling. “Of all the goddamn son of a…”
“Don’t have the parts?” Cloud asked.
“Don’t have the manpower.” Cid started fishing a cigarette out of its box up under his goggles where he’d kept them dry, handling his lighter as though it had offended him. “Not to do it quick, anyhow. This’s gotta be a two-man job, and ain’t none of y’all are men for it.”
“The fuck is that supposed to mean!?”
“Yer missin’ a whole arm, Barret. You ain’t got the dexterity. And I don’t trust Cloud to so much as send an email, let alone handle fine technology like this.”
“Hey.”
“So I’m gonna need to recruit some outside help,” Cid went on, ignoring Cloud’s complaint entirely. “We got real lucky with where we landed, I know exactly who best to call ‘round here, it’s just…”
“I know how to use email,” Cloud insisted, sounding less like a man defending his reputation and more like a child denying a playground accusation.
Cid just waved him off, puffing away at his cigarette. “Sure you do.”
It probably wasn’t the right time, but Vincent had to ask, “…What is ‘email’?”
“Don’t worry yer pretty little head about it. I gotta go make a phone call.” And Cid stomped up into the plane’s cabin, slamming the door behind him.
“You know,” said Aerith after Cid had stepped away, “I’m kind of mad that I can’t prove him wrong.”
“Right?” agreed Tifa, shaking her head and sighing. “But the best I could do is hold it up for him. I don’t know anything about planes.”
“Yeah, I don’t either,” Barret conceded begrudgingly, “but it pisses me off, him dismissin’ me out of hand like that.”
“You do only have one arm, though, Barret,” Tifa reminded him, “That’s true.”
“Still! It’s the principle of the thing!”
“At least he dismissed you without insulting you,” Cloud pointed out, sulking. “I’m not that bad at this stuff…”
“Aww,” Aerith cooed, patting him on the shoulder.
Vincent felt a poke at his midsection—Yuffie had snuck in near him somehow and elbowed him. She grinned mischievously. “You seriously don’t know what email is?”
“No,” he replied, stoic in the face of her laughter. Cid could explain it to him later—there were more important things to consider. “Who do you suppose he’s calling?”
“His personnel file says that his original hometown is in this general area,” Cait Sith supplied. If he ever explained how he had access to Shinra’s HR documents, he hadn’t said so in Vincent’s presence. “No doubt he still has connections.”
Hmm. Interesting.
“Alright.” Cid came back out, shoulders sagging. “He’s on his way. And we got a ride to the town over there, they got an inn. Won’t have to camp for the night. If we can patch my girl up quick, hopefully we won’t have to stay too long.” He was still frowning.
“How long will it take?” asked Cloud. He wore it well, but he was starting to look anxious. The news that Sephiroth was on the move had surely been eating at him, and they’d taken enough detours already.
“Him gettin’ here? Half an hour, 20 minutes maybe. The work? With the right help, a day or two. By myself, more like a week. So if you wanna keep lookin’ for information about that Temple or whatever it is, if you think it’s important to get there quick, this is what we’re gonna have to do. Ain’t no negotiatin’ with a busted engine. We are stuck here until this is done. Settle in.”
Cloud’s face was impassive, but he nodded. “Alright.” And he headed further up the beach to sit and wait. Most of the others headed that direction as well.
“So,” Vincent asked, after the attention was off them, “what is email?”
Cid shrugged, staring fixedly at the plane instead of looking at him. “Eh, you really don’t need to worry ‘bout it, it’s…” He shook his head and blew out a plume of smoke. “Don’t worry ‘bout it, you don’t need it.”
That seemed out of character. Thus far, Cid had explained any technology Vincent had asked of him, and he looked as though he enjoyed doing so. He clearly liked to talk, anyway. That was the main reason Vincent ever bothered asking. He didn’t need to know how a cordless phone worked, for example, but it was amusing to let Cid go on about it. He was surprisingly much better at explaining concepts than any of the other scientists Vincent had known, even Lucrecia. She used to explain her work as though she were giving a presentation at a conference of her peers. He admired her brilliance, and appreciated that she alone didn’t condescend to him as a layman, but nevertheless he didn’t understand anything she said. Perhaps it was the difference between research scientists and engineers, but Cid knew his audience.
Something was definitely off. “Who was it you called?”
Cid grimaced, and scratched at his head. He hemmed and hawed for a while, but eventually said, “I didn’t wanna, but I had to go and call my—”
But a truck started pulling up to the beach near them.
It was a model of Shinra pickup that Vincent used to see all the time, though not since waking. That meant it was probably at least thirty years old. Very well maintained for its age, though—hardly a dent in the body or a chip in the paint. The old man who got out of the driver’s side door had some very familiar features. He nodded once, without smiling. “Cid.”
Cid nodded back. “Pa.”
Ah. So that was it.
“So. You gon’ introduce me?”
“Right. Uh. Cloud, Tifa, Barret,” Cid pointed at each in turn, “Aerith, Red, Yuffie, Cait Sith… and this is Vincent,” he finished, nodding at Vincent beside him. “They got business, I’m carryin’ ‘em around. Uh, fellas, this is my dad, Vance Highwind.”
“Hello, Mr. Highwind!” said Aerith cheerfully. Some of the others nodded or waved.
Cid’s father nodded again, face unchanged. Apparently that was all the acknowledgement he needed. “Alright. Where’s the damage?”
*
The team hung near to see the men work for a while, but even the nosiest of them eventually grew bored and left to chat amongst themselves further up the beach.
Vincent did not grow bored. He doubted he could anymore. Instead he leaned against the Bronco’s wing and watched.
Cid’s father was clearly a skilled mechanic. Cid hardly had to explain anything of what needed to be done. Cloud or Barret trying to help would only have slowed them down. They truly were lucky in where they had landed, to have such talent available. But it left Vincent to wonder why Cid had seemed so reluctant to call him.
Vincent had never been especially close to his own father. Lucrecia had probably known him better than Vincent did, for as long as the two had worked together. He had been a kind man, but never a warm one. Vincent took after him in the coldness, if not the kindness. But the trajectory of their lives seldom coincided once Vincent had grown—Vincent had no head for studies, preferring more active occupations, and his father had time and attention for little but his studies, always buried in his books.
His father had once advised Vincent away from the Turks, saying that the job was dangerous. Ironic, then, that he was the one killed in the pursuit of his work, while Vincent had been killed merely incidentally. But at least Vincent’s father was allowed to fully die. Vincent himself earned no such peace.
The time passed, mostly in silence punctuated by the occasional profanity. It was probably the longest Vincent had ever seen Cid go without talking, at least while he was awake. But eventually, “So,” Cid’s father said. “When’re you gonna make an honest woman of that poor Shera?”
Cid’s shoulders stiffened. “We’re roommates, Pa.” It sounded like they’d had this conversation before.
“Hmph.”
“She don’t wanna marry me either.”
“Hmph. Damn indecent, livin’ together when you ain’t married.”
“We’re just friends!” Cid snapped. “Ain’t nothin’ to be indecent about! It’s just a house, ain’t like we’re sharing a bed!”
“Watch yer fuel line.”
Cid scowled, but turned back to his work. The silence resumed.
Perhaps the silence was preferable.
~