Trust Me

Rating: R
Category: AU
Pairing(s): Vincent/Cid.
Warnings: None.
Summary: Never play a player.
Notes: If you have never read anything by the author Richard Bach, you have probably at least heard of his most famous book; ‘Jonathan Livingston Seagull’. I adore his work. He’s a pilot, and he writes about what he loves – flying, flight, and the spiritualism of it. My personal favourite among the books he has written is ‘Stranger to the Ground’. Some of what Cid says is paraphrased from that book.

The name of Cid’s business is, of course, a tip of the hat to Skunk Works, makers of the amazing SR-71, known more commonly as the Blackbird.

This story has two accompanying illustrations by the incomparable Animama.

It was early Sunday evening, and the hangar was deserted save for two figures standing on a low scaffolding beside a white jet. Cid was practically inside of the engine cowling of the small aircraft, working on… something, Vincent wasn’t really certain what. Aircraft were pretty much an enigma to him, though he was learning, albeit slowly. It was hard not to learn about airships and aircraft and all things aerial when one lived with Cid. Vincent swore he thought the things were alive, and he spoke of them in terms that were almost sensual.

Flying lessons were Vincent’s favourite part of life with Cid. These were usually conducted on the bridge of The Highwind at night, with no one else around. Cid’s large, strong body would stand behind Vincent’s slim one as he faced the wheel of the great airship. He could feel Cid’s breath on his neck, his strong arms keeping him safe as he spoke in his ear, breathing two words as he placed Vincent’s hands on the helm.

“Trust me.”

Vincent did not trust well or easily. But he had faith in Cid, and would let him guide him through take offs and landings, taking comfort in the smell of cigarettes, the occasional touch of stubble on his cheek, and the sound of his low voice in his ear.

“An air ship is a living thing. Respect it, and it will do anything you ask, even at risk to its own existence. It will tell you how it feels. Give it what it needs, and an air ship sings. Push it too hard, and an air ship screams.”

Cid was a natural teacher; he never became impatient or irritated, and despite frequently referring to any less-experienced engineer he was instructing as ‘moron’, it was clear he didn’t mean it in a derogatory way. Besides, Cid called everybody on his crew ‘moron’. Everybody, that is, but Vincent, who had the dubious honour of being ‘dipstick’, which supposedly was less mean than ‘moron’. Vincent didn’t especially mind being called ‘dipstick’ by his husband; it was the fact that the name stuck fast and became how he was known among the crew that irked him, at least at first. His cultured upbringing had shrieked in protest against the irreverent moniker, and he was further incensed to learn that the reason it clung like engine grease was because of his very thin frame and tendency to wear black. He did not wear his cloak in the hangar; it was no place for long, draping swaths of fabric that could easily be sucked into engines. Vincent would leave his signature cape in the house, so there was no disguising his slender body.

Vincent, however, eventually realized that earning a nickname among this crew, who had at first very much viewed him as a freak and a fifth wheel who was only there because he was warming Cid’s bed, was a good thing. He wasn’t as experienced or as knowledgeable as they were, but he was learning fast, and he got just as dirty as the rest of them without looking for special treatment. The nickname meant he had been accepted in his own right, and he was just as welcome in the hangar as Cid.

“You’re sure this is a good thing?” Vincent asked Cid one day as someone shouted “HEY DIPSTICK!”

Cid laughed, and gently took his chin in his hand to kiss him lightly. “Trust me.”

Currently, however, there was no one there but the two of them, doing an emergency repair on Rufus’ private jet. Vincent winced as Cid yanked a bundle of feathers that used to be a bird out of the engine.

“Blue jay!” he said, grinning.

Vincent turned green. “I thought you once said you couldn’t tell one bird from another.”

“Well not out in a tree, no, but run it through an engine…”

“Ech.”

Cid wrapped the remains dead bird in a scrap of rag to await burial and set it aside. Vincent smiled faintly, but said nothing. Dear, loud, foul-mouthed, chain-smoking, hard-drinking Cid. Under all the grease and nicotine he was pure gold. Vincent moved closer, reaching up to rest his left hand on Cid’s shoulder and kiss him. Cid raised his own gloved hand to rest it over Vincent’s brass-encased one, and felt a hitch in the workings, the fingers not flexing as well as they should. He looked at the gauntlet, then at Vincent.

“Seems to be running a little rough,” said Cid.

Vincent nodded. “I know.”

Cid gently took the gauntlet and slid it off Vincent’s arm. For the longest time, Cid and the other members of their tight little group had believed it to be a prosthesis, having literally never seen Vincent without it; he had even been known to come out of the shower wearing nothing but a towel and that gauntlet. It was not until his babies were born and he feared the delicately shaped and lethally sharp claws would cut them that he began removing it, but only when dealing with the children, and then he always wore a glove. The truth was Vincent’s left arm had been weakened and damaged, either by Lucrecia’s experiments or Hojo’s. The gauntlet had been constructed for a SOLDIER first class who had nerve damage in his arm to be a weapon, and to make the arm just as strong, if not stronger, than it had been. The fact that the unknown SOLDIER and Vincent had damaged the same arm was pure luck. Cid examined the exquisitely balanced and finely crafted device, cigarette in his teeth.

“Nice piece of work. Beautifully made. I’m surprised it’s held up as well as it has.”

“Shinra technology at its finest,” said Vincent.

“Well, they may have been bastards, but I can’t fault their work.”

Vincent smiled faintly, watching Cid examine his gauntlet with an intensity that meant, for the moment, Rufus’ jet was being ignored. He was surprised when Cid found a panel on the back that Vincent had never noticed and deftly popped it open. A spider ran out, and used a string of silk to beat a hasty retreat down to the scaffolding.

“Vin, when’s the last time you cleaned this?”

“Since I had no idea that panel was there, the answer would be never.”

Cid rolled his eyes and sighed. “Dipstick,” he muttered affectionately, then kissed him. “Let me look this over, probably just needs a cleaning.”

Vincent nodded. They climbed off the scaffolding down to where Cid had a box of tools better suited to working on very small parts, and he sat on the floor to begin working on the gauntlet.

“I’ll go check the kids,” Vincent said.

“Bring beer,” said Cid.

Vincent left the hangar, his shadow following his thin body. He walked to their house, entering the gothic-looking structure that Cid had designed. Vincent loved the house, though his friends were all greatly amused by the fact that his brand new home looked as if it had been standing there for three hundred years. Once inside, he found his mother had dozed off in her favourite chair, listening to classical piano music. Benji and Aiden were also asleep, flopped in small heaps on their large play mat. Completing the picture was the massive shaggy form of Skippy, sleeping beside the mat, one enormous paw resting on his treasured toy chocobo.

Vincent picked up Aiden first, smiling as the small child remained steadfastly asleep. He carried him into the nursery, changing him into a clean diaper and sleepers before putting him in his crib. He next went for Benji, who large enough to pass for a baby several months older than his current eighteen months. Benji woke up long enough to let Vincent know what he thought of being changed, but once he was in his own crib with his furry blue stuffed kitty, he quickly went back to sleep.

Satisfied all was well with his family, Vincent went to the fridge and grabbed a couple bottles of beer, then began making his way back to the hangar. He paused once he stepped outside his stone house and saw a little yellow roadster parked near the hangar, and at first thought Cynthia must have come by for a visit. But as he drew closer, he realized that this was not her roadster. It was very similar, but it had red upholstery, not fawn, and a red stripe down the side. Vincent narrowed his eyes, and seethed as he stared at the vehicle.

It was not in Vincent’s nature to hate. Beneath his quiet and seemingly cold demeanour was a man with a very easy-going and forgiving nature. The only person on the planet he truly, violently despised was Hojo, and Hojo had worked very hard for the privilege. Apart from him, Vincent really could not think of anybody he actually hated, and it had stayed that way until one fine day the hangar door opened and in walked Tiffany Hayden.

And Vincent knew it was hate at first sight.

To an outsider, it was easy to assume Cid had money. After all, he had his own company, his own house, an airfield, and a hangar with a full crew and the latest equipment. However the truth was Cid didn’t have money; Cid had debt, great bottomless pits of it. He was literally millions of gil in the hole, and the only reason he had the hangar and house and crew and airfield was because Rufus Shinra needed him, and had paid for everything. Virtually every nickel Cid made went back to Rufus, who had been decent enough to not charge interest in exchange for being made a major stock holder, though leaving Cid the controlling share. Still, Highwind Duck Works was doing very well, and Cid’s reputation was well known in the industry. Rufus Shinra was not worried about taking a loss on his investment, but anyone who thought Cid had cash to burn was sadly mistaken. Rufus had cash to burn. Cid had account ledgers written in vibrant red ink.

But Tiffany Hayden didn’t know that.

The moment Tiffany strutted into the room, Vincent knew he wanted to kill her. Vincent was very familiar with women like Tiffany. He had seen them often enough on the arms of Shinra executives. They were pretty, ornamental, vacuous, and compliant on the outside; inside they were all schemes and venom. Vincent had at the time been a Turk, and while he had hardly been underpaid, he was definitely in the category of ‘working class stiff’. Women like Tiffany had not paid him the slightest heed, but he had certainly paid heed to them, and learned the lessons they taught well. A very short skirt could cover an awful lot of sin. Tiffany’s body was her key into all the right parties and places to meet the men who would finance her lifestyle, and her complete lack of conscience kept her from being bothered by trivial little details like whether the men she ruined had families devastated by his infidelity.

She breezed into the immense structure as if she had every right to be there, wearing a tight skirt too short to hide a faint glimpse of pink silk panties, and a very low cut white blouse that struggled to remain closed over some truly impressive breasts. Judging from the way they completely failed to move, Vincent could only assume they were little more than big bags of silicon. She had long brown hair, huge brown eyes, and long slender legs. On her feet she had tiny little cute shoes with extremely high heels that tied around her ankles with tiny little cute bows. She was tanned and lithe and gorgeous, and she walked right up to Cid and flashed him a huge smile. She clasped her hands before her in a cute little-girl way that made her breasts almost squeeze out of her top, and asked if he could help her find a plane. Vincent stared at her, eyes burning holes in her flesh, while the two crewmen beside him began sniffing the air.

“D’you smell brimstone?” asked one.

Cid did find Tiffany a plane. He sold her a flashy little bird perfect for hopping from one ‘hot spot’ to another, and that was when Tiffany told him that she hadn’t the faintest idea how to fly, and could he be her pilot pwetty pweeaassee?

Cid recommended a guy he knew. Slightly miffed, Tiffany left, but was back in just a few days. It seemed her new plane had turned out to be too small for in-air parties, but The Highwind looked nice and big. Cid told her she had a better chance of buying Rufus Shinra’s left nut. But he did find her a new plane, this one large enough for her and seventy of her dearest friends to have an orgy with the rock band of their choosing. She left, but she came back only three days later, wanting it another colour. Slowly, but surely, Tiffany was edging her way, millimetre by millimetre, into their lives.

Vincent wanted nothing more than to get her alone and introduce her to one of his alternate forms. The only reason he had not was because, so far, she hadn’t done anything inappropriate, and he did not want to look like an irrational and jealous lover. So far Tiffany had kept everything professional. She knew her game, and did not want to give Vincent a reason to react until she was certain she had a halter on Cid. By then it would be too late.

Tiffany was very aware of Vincent’s existence, and that Cid had twin sons with him, though she had never been introduced to him or indeed had even caught more than a few glimpses of him. She made it a point to know. It was part of the game. She would ask Cid about Vincent and the twins, and melt over the baby pictures Cid showed her. Once Tiffany had even showed up with gifts for the babies, talking to them as they sat in the sunlight with their grandmother. Then she turned to Cid and sighed, blithely unaware of a distant shade in the long grass, tracking her skull through his sniper scope and dry-firing.

“It must be so hard for you, raising babies without a mommy,” she pouted, batting her lashes at Cid.

“Well they have a mommy,” said Cid.

“But I mean a proper mommy, who makes cookies and keeps the house neat and reads them stories.”

Cid just snorted, and Tiffany decided she had found an angle to work in order to insert herself into the marriage bed. Vincent’s mother wasn’t fooled by Tiffany for a moment, and after she walked away, Serafina turned to look at Cid.

“You know what she’s doing, don’t you?”

Cid just shrugged and waved a hand dismissively. It was the first time Vincent was worried about his relationship. Telling himself that he should just trust his husband, Vincent tried to put his fears aside. Cid loved him. Cid wouldn’t hurt him.

Of course Lucrecia had said she loved him, too. And look how that turned out.

Vincent did however find some measure of comfort in the fact that Tifa and Reno didn’t like Tiffany any more than he did. Tifa of course tried not to let it show, but Cloud’s slinky redhead with the master’s degree in ‘bitch’ had no problem at all venting his opinion. Vincent particularly relished the memory of the day Tiffany popped by while both Tifa and Reno were over, plotting Cloud’s birthday. Tiffany was playing her concerned little mummy routine, and, with no regard at all over the fact that Vincent was in the next room, asked them whether or not they thought she should come by more often, just because she was sooo worried about Benji and Aiden not having a mommy in their lives. Well, not a real mommy, not a woman to provide a feminine influence. Tifa had been trying to think of something diplomatic to say when Reno just went straight for the jugular.

“Blow-up dolls don’t count as women, yo. But they might have a use for you in about twenty-one years.” He turned his head to look at Tifa, who was just staring in horror, and said “Rubber lasts that long, doesn’t it?”

Vincent had learned to adore Reno.

Vincent turned from the car and walked to the hangar, pausing by the gigantic doors to peer inside. Cid was still on the floor, working on the gauntlet, while Tiffany sat cutely on a crate, watching him. She was wearing a little pink dress with a little pink flouncy skirt and a neckline that clearly had been designed to be worn with something beneath it. Vincent had a brief fantasy of fetching his sniping rifle and using it to explode both her breasts before doing the same to her head. Tiffany had not noticed Vincent lurking in the shadows by the door; she finally had Cid alone, and she was working him for all she was worth.

“You’re just so talented. I can’t believe you can fix something so complicated!”

Vincent winced as Cid did something to make one of the fingers of his gauntlet fall off. It hit the floor with a metallic ‘ping!’

“Yeah, well,” said Cid, “it’s just a matter of experience.”

“I bet you’ve got all sorts of experience,” she purred.

Vincent watched as Cid paused, processing the remark to see if it was a compliment. He finally decided to ignore it. Tiffany changed tactics.

“So what is this?” she asked sweetly, training her fingers suggestively up and down the glinting brass.

“It’s a prosthesis that doubles as a weapon.”

“Oh. Oh I think I’ve seen it on that guy, what’s his name? Dip something?”

“Vincent,” said Cid shortly, and Vincent could not hide a smile. Apparently his nickname was for crew use only.

“Oh, is that Vincent? Awful small, isn’t he? I like big, strong men. Like you.”

“I don’t,” said Cid. “Don’t much care for guys.”

She nudged him coyly with the toe of her shoe. “Well it’s a good thing I’m not a guy then, isn’t it?”

Cid snorted, then sighed as something went springing out of the gauntlet. Tiffany giggled, but Cid was beginning to get that harried, irate look he wore when something mechanical wasn’t respecting him.

“Can you please get your foot away from me?” he snarked.

Tiffany moved her foot, and pouted cutely. Cid was too busy looking for the spring to notice.

“You know, we should go out sometime,” said Tiffany. “Maybe to a club.”

“A club? What the hell for?”

“For fun! You know, a little drinking, a little dancing, maybe some dinner. Maybe a little dessert afterwards in a nice hotel room…”

“Who the hell rents a hotel room to eat dessert?”

Tiffany giggled, and nudged him with her foot again. “Depends on the dessert.”

Cid froze, then slowly turned his head to look at her. He narrowed his eyes.

“And I suppose dessert would be you.”

She giggled cutely. “Well only if you wanted me. I do like you, you know. And no one has to know. We could just… go play, have a little fun…” She reached out and trailed a perfectly manicured finger down Cid’s check. “Just get away for a while.”

“Uh huh. And what would you like me to tell my family?”

“Who says you have to tell them anything? I just thought you might like a little fun. You said yourself you don’t like men, I thought you might… ”

Cid cut her off. “Tiffany, I don’t go for guys as a general rule. Vincent is the exception to that rule, and I love him. And you know what? Even if I wasn’t completely and hopelessly in love with him, even if I hadn’t lost half my friends announcing I fully intend to spend the rest of my life with him, and even if I hadn’t made two children with him, I still wouldn’t take off with you, because he’s not just my lover, he’s my best friend. And even if he wasn’t my best friend, I STILL wouldn’t take off with you because he has saved my ass a dozen times over. Vincent has something that you don’t get, which is integrity and loyalty. And Vincent has something else you don’t get, which is ME. By the way, Wing Walkers make good planes, why don’t you go bug them?”

Tiffany blinked, and sat back, surprised. “Look I was just…”

“No need to tell me, I know exactly what you are doing. You’re trying to edge your way into my family, split me and Vincent up, and then move in and help yourself to my money. Except I don’t have any money. I have a husband, two kids, a very large wolf who thinks he’s a dog, and an old woman who calls me ‘Gorilla’. I wish I did have millions, because that would make bouncing you out of here on your tight little fanny all the more fun, but I don’t. The sad truth is, toots, I have been onto you since you first waltzed in here, but since you were so willing to shell out a small fortune in order to have an excuse to hang around, I decided to just play dumb and go with the flow.”

Tiffany shot to her feet. “You son of a bitch, you played me!”

“Like the cheap kazoo you are.” He waved at her with Vincent’s gauntlet. “Bye.”

Tiffany stared at him, seething. Finally she turned and stormed off, stalking out of the hanger and getting into her yellow car, slamming the door violently. She tore off in a scream of rubber, heading into the night. Vincent watched her tail lights out of sight, then walked into the hangar and over to his husband, who was trying to put the finger of the gauntlet back on. Vincent sat on the crate and passed Cid a beer.

“Having fun?” he asked dryly.

Cid grumbled. “It’s a little more complicated than I thought.”

Vincent smiled, watching him work on the device, feeling a level of love for Cid that he could not express. He had trusted him, and for once his trust had been rewarded, and Vincent was so overwhelmed he thought he would either cry or burst into song. Cid loved him. Cid respected him. If someone tried to harm him, Cid would not merely stand back and watch as his blood and life drained away, and then use his body to test some theory. He would stand up for him. It was the greatest gift Vincent had ever been given, and it deserved rewarding.

“Remember that time you said you’d really like to make love to me right here on the floor of the hangar, on the tarp you use to catch the oil drips, and I said no?”

Cid paused, then looked up at Vincent, puzzled and intrigued by this turn of events.

“Yes?”

Vincent set his beer down, then stood up and smiled, red eyes gleaming. He began opening the front of his shirt as he slowly turned away, strolling towards the large rumpled heap of stained canvas at the back of the hangar.

“Leave the leather gloves on,” he said from over his shoulder. “I think they’re sexy.”

Vincent smiled as, after a brief pause, the gauntlet was dropped to the floor and Cid came tearing after him. He caught him, and they fell onto the pile of tarps. Cid kissed him hard, then pulled back to look into Vincent’s eyes, grinning that wicked grin of his as he stroked his hand over Vincent’s face.

“You heard me tell Tiffany to take a hike, didn’t you?”

Vincent lay on his back, drawing one leg up, resting his hands on Cid’s back. “Yeah. I did.” He kissed him softly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I had cost you some friends.”

Cid shrugged. “Look, if they are going to turn their back on me based on who I want to spend my life with, then they’re not my friends.” He reached up with one large hand, heavily encased in a leather glove, to lightly brush the long black hair from Vincent’s face. “I waited my whole life for you. I’m not throwing you away for anyone.” He began undressing Vincent. “And I would do anything to keep you.”

Vincent smiled, letting Cid remove his clothes, slipping his black jeans down over his slim hips and off his long legs. Soon he was naked beneath Cid’s massive form, and he uttered a soft moan as he felt himself caressed.

“Just… keep the fantasies involving engine grease to a minimum.”

“I got a doozy that involves you, me, and the aviation museum in Wutai.”

Vincent smiled. “I have one. It involves you, me, a fur blanket and a pint of vanilla body oil. I suppose we could sneak all that into the aviation museum in Wutai.”

Cid kissed him passionately, then drew back, looking down into the red eyes, gazing at the long tangled hair, the white skin, and the soft sheen of sweat covering his lover’s body. He lowered his head to kiss the wicked scar around Vincent’s throat. Vincent flinched slightly, and glanced up at the bright lights of the hanger, not liking the way they showed up every single disfigurement on his body in livid detail. Cid glanced up at the lights as well, and seemed to guess what he was thinking.

“You got nothing to worry about, Vincent. You’re beautiful.” He looked away from the lights back to Vincent, and smiled. “Trust me.”

Vincent breathed out a sigh and closed his eyes, relaxing into the canvas. “All right.”