Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Something smelled good.

It was enough to pull Cid's attention off the blueprint he'd been working on. Food. It was definitely food, and goddamn, it smelled goddamn delicious. About time, too, he was suddenly starvin'.

"Vince!" he called. "You there?"

He didn't answer, of course. Cid could just picture him, standin' in the kitchen, fuckin' lost in whatever task he was doing. Alright. So he was gonna make Cid do all the work and actually get up, huh. He let out an exasperated breath and pushed his chair back, heading out to investigate.

He stopped in the doorway of the kitchen. Vincent was there alright. Hadn't noticed him yet, standing in front of a pot, his metal hand carefully holding the side while the other one slowly stirred, an absent expression on his face. How fuckin' long had he been standing there?

Long enough for whatever was in the pot to start smelling like dinner, anyway.

Cid stepped up behind him, slinging an arm over one of Vincent's shoulders. "Whatcha makin'? I'm starvin'."

"Stew," Vincent told him, still a little dreamy.

Cid rolled his eyes. "What's in the stew then?"

Vincent shifted slightly under Cid's weight. "Things you like." Cid opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Vincent added, "Meat. Potatoes. Carrots. Nothing green."

Fuck. "You know just how to make a man happy," Cid said, grinning. "You're a goddamn treasure, you know that?"

Vincent let out a soft, disbelieving snort, but Cid could see the small curve of his mouth, quietly pleased.

"It's almost done," Vincent informed him.

Cid couldn't wait.

Chapter Text

Cid twitched in his sleep. A dark force hovered ominously at the edges of his consciousness, slowly manifesting from the shadows of his workshop. He could feel it, but he couldn't shake free of its influence. Couldn't wake up in time to stop whatever dark thing was coming. It loomed up behind him, rearing tall and too thin. Cid twitched, snorting loud enough to startle himself almost awake. It was here—

—and relaxed into sleep as warmth enveloped him, a blanket wrapping gently around his shoulders.

"Sleep well, Chief," a low voice murmured, and Cid drifted off again.

Chapter Text

Vincent watched Cid work on his latest project, tea in hand and nothing on his mind. It was a pleasant change of pace. Here, there were no rogue armies to fight. No children to save. There wasn't a single spire to perch on, looking down to see if anyone needed help. There wasn't even a particularly tall tree. Only Cid, yelling curses and throwing screwdrivers.

Vincent ducked out of the way and took another sip of his tea.

"Fuck!" Cid let out explosively. "Goddamn piece of trash! How fuckin' hard is it to just stay put!"

Vincent blinked.

"I just—" Cid grunted, doing something in the innards of the latest plane part he'd bought. He was a mess, hair sticking out at odd angles, grease stains everywhere, "—need to get this—" he grunted again, "—damn—" and trailed off, patting the empty ground next to him. He finally pulled his head out of the airplane part, looking down at the ground next to him. "Hell did it go?" he muttered. His eyes lifted and fell on Vincent. "You," he called.

Vincent shifted, focusing.

"Make yourself useful and hand me that insulated screwdriver."

Insulated…? Vincent turned, looking over Cid's workspace. There was a screwdriver sitting at a haphazard angle on the bench, but he wasn't sure if it was insulated.

"'s got a red handle," Cid said, talking around something in his mouth. A screw, Vincent realized, instead of the usual cigarette.

The screwdriver on the bench had a red handle. Vincent picked it up and brought it over to him.

Cid barely glanced at it. Took the screw out of his mouth and put it—somewhere. Took the insulated screwdriver. "Thanks, Vince," he muttered absently, and got back to work.

Chapter Text

Cid walked out of the garage a few hours later, his chest bare, shirt wadded up in one hand. The smeared grease on his face had almost disappeared, with only a few faint smudges left behind. 

He'd no doubt attempted to use his sweaty shirt to clean his dirty face. Vincent sighed.

He was also rolling one shoulder, a grimace on his face. "Messed up my back."

Vincent looked at him. "You threw it out when you threw the screwdriver."

Cid looked back, his face a thundercloud, before the storm suddenly broke and he threw back his head laughing. "Threw the shoulder out with the bath water, huh?" 

Vincent wasn't sure if that was supposed to make sense, so he let it go.

"Really wanted to get that part put in today," Cid said, still talking, "but hell, not with this damn thing actin' up."

"You're getting old," Vincent informed him.

Cid gave him a startled glance. "Shit! Don't joke around about that!"

"You are getting older," Vincent pointed out.

"If I'm old, then you're goddamn ancient."

Vincent's mouth twitched. "Hmm."

Cid shook his head in mock disgust and reached up for his pack of cigarettes. Winced and dropped his hand to poke at the shoulder instead. "Shit."

It must really hurt if it stopped him from smoking. Vincent sighed. "Sit down."

"Huh?"

He pointed at a nearby rock, and Cid slunk over to it like a dog who wasn't sure if he was about to be punished or not. Vincent moved behind him and started working the muscles there.

Cid tensed up for a minute before relaxing into it. "Goddamn," he muttered, leaning back into Vincent's hands. "The Turks teach you this?"

Vincent let out a short huff of amusement. "No."

"Well—" he stopped, rolling his neck, exposing the knotted muscles, and Vincent got to work. Cid let out an explosive breath. "Yeaaah," he groaned, practically melting under Vincent's hands. "That's the spot. Fuck." 

He let Vincent knead the muscle, working Cid's back in quiet silence for a full minute before Cid mumbled, words loose, "'member when Cait Sith tried to give us free back rubs with our fortunes?"

"…I do not," Vincent informed him. It sounded terrible. He frowned, focusing his efforts on a particularly stubborn knot. "…Was I there?"

Cid thought about it. "Dunno. Probably. Brooding in a corner, maybe. Anyway—" and didn't give Vincent the chance to respond before launching into the story.

Chapter Text

They left Cid's carefully maintained yard and headed out towards the grass-covered hills that lay adjacent to his land, Cid swinging the picnic basket Vincent had carefully packed in one hand. He was whistling, the string of notes happy and meandering. As far as Vincent knew, he was making up the melody as he went, but Vincent also did not recognize most of the songs Cid insisted on playing whenever he was behind the wheel of the Highwind.

Vincent's thoughts were also meandering, fluttering from topic to topic like a butterfly, never bothering to land on any one thing. It was... pleasant, to let himself just be. To enjoy the sun warming his clothes, the soft rush of wind blowing through the tall grass. Out here, no one needed him. Out here, he could relax and follow Cid's lead.

They crossed hill and field and stream, Cid hopping across the water from rock to rock. He was almost over when a foot slipped, and he landed in the water with a splash.

Vincent chose to forego the indignity, flipping over the stream with a somersault, landing safely on the other bank with his cape settling dramatically back down around his shoulders.

"Fucking piece of shit river!" Cid was shouting as the stream calmly flowed past him. He splashed angrily out of the water. "Fuckin' slippery ass rocks!"

Vincent waited patiently for Cid to finish yelling at the stream and the rocks who had betrayed him. He just had to get it out of his system and then they could continue.

After a while, the shouting subsided to grumbling, and they started out again. Vincent could already see their destination. It was one of his favorite spots: a big, beautiful tree on a nearby hill, its branches spread in welcome, its bark twisting around the trunk like an embrace. It must have stood there for centuries, enduring storms and Meteorfall alike.

It was an oddly comforting thought.

They'd barely stepped under its shade when Cid dropped the basket he'd been carrying to tug his boots off. They looked… extremely wet. He let them fall with a sodden thud. "That's better," he breathed, wriggling his toes with satisfaction in the grass.

Vincent pulled his canister of tea out from the basket and settled himself in the dappled shade, the sweet scent of grass warm in the air.

"Reminds me of the time me and my buddy crash landed in a swamp," Cid was saying. He was still barefoot. "It started on the most goddamn beautiful day. Sky was bluer than blue, clouds softer than cotton. It was the perfect day to test out one of Shinra's new planes. Well, to make a long story short—"

Vincent leaned back against the trunk of the tree, settling in. Cid's short stories always ended up taking a while, but Vincent didn't mind. He was happy to listen.

Chapter Text

Vincent sighed. Cid's repairs had not gone to plan. Somehow, they never did. There was always some complication—he didn't have the right size screwdriver, or a herd of elfadunks trampled through his yard, or he got distracted by eight other "small fixes" that seemed to take the entire day. There was often swearing. And it was not uncommon to for Cid to injure himself at some point in the process.

Today, it had been the herd of elfadunks. Cid had tried to drive them off, wildly waving his hoe and shouting swear words at them. They ignored him, of course. Vincent came out to help, and they'd had to kill a few of the beasts before the herd finally left. And now, Cid was attempting to fix his fence.

Vincent didn't know why he insisted on maintaining a fence. He had enough land there was no real need for one. Perhaps it was some deep-seated human need to keep the danger and chaos of the wilderness at bay. Whatever the reason, Cid seemed to take great pleasure in having a fence.

Vincent had gone inside shortly after the herd left. There were several crates of apples to attend to. A dumbapple tree had decided to fruit a few days ago, and they had gone out to gather as many as they could.

Perhaps juice. Cid would like that after working outside all day.

He'd just started cutting the apples when the door banged open.

"Vince!" Cid shouted. "You seen a hammer laying around?"

Vincent couldn't fathom why Cid would think he would know the answer to that question. He closed his eyes and sighed. "No."

"I can't find any of 'em anywhere!" Cid muttered a few swear words under his breath. "Dunno where the hell they go."

Vincent wasn't sure if he was supposed to reply, so instead, he turned on the juicer, feeding it until there was nothing left to juice.

Cid poked his head into the room. "The hell're you doin'?"

"Making juice," Vincent informed him, turning off the juicer. He gestured at the table in front of him.

Cid blinked at him. Blinked at the juicer on the table and the apples sitting to one side, waiting for their turn to be juiced. "Huh." Flashed a grin at him, sudden and enthusiastic, and gave Vincent a thumbs up before disappearing again.

The door crashed, open and shut, and Vincent began cutting up the next round of apples. A second later, though, the door clicked open again.

"You washed those damn claws before starting the dumb juice, right?" Cid shouted. "I saw how bloody they were!"

Vincent frowned down at his hands. His 'claws' looked fine. "These hands will never be clean of the blood that has stained them," he informed him.

"Goddammit, Vincent," Cid swore. "I meant from the fuckin' elfadunks."

"I washed my hands," Vincent said stiffly.

"Good." A pause. "After the fight, right?"

Vincent set his mouth, giving the direction of the door a scowl. "Yes."

"Good."

The door shut and Cid was finally gone. Vincent sighed and put the rest of the apples through the juicer.

It didn't take very long to finish, two glasses of fresh dumbapple juice waiting for them. He picked them up and carried them outside, to where Cid was working by the fence. It appeared he had just hit his thumb with a hammer, one hand wrapped around his thumb, hopping up and down and swearing.

Vincent waited until he was done before holding out one of the glasses to him. "Here."

Cid eyed it. "Don't see any blood." He took the glass and tilted his head back, taking a long sip, smacking his lips together. "Shit," he said appreciatively, "that hits the spot."

Vincent took a small sip. It was good. "Any sign of the remaining elfadunks?"

"They know better than to come back here again," Cid laughed, one hand on his hip and a wide grin on his face that showed far too many teeth. "Think we scared 'em off good." He raised his glass. "To good fights and fresh juice!"

"To fences that work," Vincent agreed, raising his own glass.

"And holding onto our land," Cid added, deep satisfaction in his voice.

Our land, he'd said.

Our land. It had a nice sound to it.

Vincent could drink to that.

Chapter Text

Cid was in the middle'a making homebrewed dumbapple cider when Vincent walked past the kitchen door. He stopped, hovering just in the doorway.

Cid ignored him. If he had a question, he could find the words to ask. He was just addin' the honey when Vincent finally opened his mouth.

"What's that?" From his gravelly voice, it came out more like a flat statement than a question, but Cid knew what he meant.

"Cider," Cid told him, pouring the honey, biting his tongue in concentration. Had to be careful not to fill up the funnel too fast. He'd found that out last time. It'd taken months before the counter'd stop being sticky.

After a moment of silence, he risked a glance over at Vincent. His frown was still on his face.

Cid let out a breath. "What."

"Did you sanitize the equipment?"

"Did I—'course I fuckin' santized the equipment!" Of all the goddamn questions. "I'm not an idiot."

"Hmm," Vincent said noncommittally.

Cid rolled his eyes. "I know how to make cider, Vince."

"……."

"For your information, I almost got the recipe perfected," Cid told him. "Been awhile since I could test it, though. That damn tree hasn't had fruit since last March."

"I thought you got sick last time."

"'Cause I drank too much! Shit."

The tiniest smile. "You do that often."

"I make a damn good cider," Cid informed him. The honey was almost all outta the jar now. He thought about it. "Maybe too good."

"You certainly seemed to enjoy it." Vincent paused. "While you were drinking it, anyway."

"You should try a bottle next time." He set the empty jar on the counter and leaned back. "Even your cold ass might like it."

"…Maybe."

Cid grinned at him. "It's a date."

Vincent stayed in the door for another moment. His face didn't change, but somehow he looked just a little softer. And then he vanished down the hall, off to go do whatever the hell he was doin'. 

It'd been a helluva day. Helluva summer, really, and now it was almost over. Cid sat brooding on the steps leading up to his house, bottle of cider in his hand, and looked out over his yard. He loved livin' out here, loved workin' with his hands again, building whatever he wanted instead of waiting for Shinra to finish scratching its ass and give him the go ahead. Or cancel the whole damn project. He took a drink, shaking his head. Goddamn bastards, the whole lot.

Except maybe Reeve. Maybe. He still hadn't decided what he thought of that asshole.

But hell. Even though he loved the peace out here, sometimes he missed the whole saving the world thing. 

He took another pull off the bottle. Maybe it was time to go visit Edge, see what everyone was up to. Cloud, Tifa, Barret, all of 'em.

He'd almost finished the bottle off when he felt more than heard Vincent step in behind him. 

"You ever miss it?" Cid asked him, still gazing moodily out at his yard.

"…It?"

"The action," Cid said, gesturing vaguely in front of him. "The drama. The not knowing if we were gonna defeat Sephiroth before he defeated us."

Vincent took that in. Eventually he said, "Do you miss it?"

That wasn't a goddamn answer. "Sometimes," Cid said anyway, pulling his knees closer to his chest. "Hell. Don't get me wrong, the peace an' quiet's nice." He raised his bottle. "The cider's great. But—"

Vincent frowned at him.

"—the last time I even came close to dyin' was when that elfadunk charged at me."

Vincent was still frowning at him.

Cid sighed, bottle halfway to his mouth. "Don't look at me like that. It was an elfadunk, Vincent."

The frown deepened. "What?"

So he wasn't upset about the elfadunk. "Never mind. What're you frownin' for?"

Vincent's gaze slid away. "You shouldn't be drinking that—"

"Sod off," Cid muttered pugnaciously, ready for a fight.

"—alone," Vincent finished.

Cid jerked his head to look up at him.

"We had a date," Vincent said, his words stiffer than usual.

A date? "The hell're you—" Cid started and stopped abruptly. “Shit! the cider! The date!” Vincent had wanted to try it. “Ah, crap, I totally forgot, Vince, I—”

Vincent shook his head. "It's fine."

"No," Cid told him, jumping up. "Stay put," and ran into the house to grab two more bottles. Ran back out before he’d got more than a foot inside. He threw the door open again. "I know where to find you, so don't even think about leavin'," he warned, and ran back inside.

Vincent was still there when he got back, perched on the steps, waiting for him.

Chapter Text

Cid was surveying his yard when he heard Vincent come out of the house, the door swinging shut behind him.

"Fence looks good," Cid said, nodding out at it. "Those damn elfadunks haven't touched it yet. They know better than to mess with me."

"Hmm," Vincent said at his side. "Tea?"

Cid turned, blinking at him. He was holding out a steaming mug of coffee in one hand. "Don't mind if I do," Cid grinned. Took it, looking out again, and hell. The land out here was somethin' else, the sun shining down with a warm, gentle light. The sky was the bluest goddamn blue he'd ever seen, grass greener than it had any right to be. He took a sip and hell, even that was good. "This is a damn good tea, Vince," he said with deep appreciation.

Vincent let out a quiet huff and Cid glanced over. He wasn't looking at the fence. He was looking over at Cid, a tiny, private smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Like if he managed to keep it small enough, he could trick even himself into thinking he was still miserable.

Cid knew better. "A damn good tea," he continued, "and a damn good day." He took another slow sip of tea. Maybe Vincent could hide it from himself, but Cid knew he was happy out here. "And damn good company."

Vincent let out a soft breath, turning his head away, but the smile had tugged up a little further.

They stood there, side by side, and watched the morning spread over their land together.