A FFVII Fanfiction

By Princess Artemis

© copyright S.D.Green, 2000, 2001, 2002, excepting for the copyright Square obviousness!

Once upon a time,

There was a man who appeared from nowhere.

He was young, but he flew better than did the most experienced pilots.

Many wondered from whence he came, but there was nothing to go on.

No father, no mother, no family.

Some said he was never born but appeared as suddenly as plants after a desert rain.

Others said he was the stormy son of Chupon.

With his starlust discovered, they said he was Bahamut’s.

Some said he was just a bastard from the gutters of Midgar.

He would never say, and no one was allowed to ask or speak of the origins of the legendary pilot...

For the real answer, it is said, one should ask the Turks.

...And to the Turks no one went.

Cid held a plastic cup on his chest and looked at it, wondering if he should make an attempt to drink out of it without sitting up. The last time he tried ended with mixed results; on the one hand, he had dribbled a good bit of the iced tea into his ear…while on the other, Shera had seen this mid-way through her own sip and ended up spraying tea all over herself when she laughed. He tapped the side of the cup with one gloved finger, smirking. Would it be worth tea in his ear to see Shera laugh so hard she spewed her drink on herself again? He glanced over at her, his blue eyes full of mischief.

Shera caught the look, and with a smirk of her own, she deftly flicked her cup, just enough so that a little tea flew out and struck the side of Cid’s face. The pilot gasped in outrage. He immediately jumped up, spilling a little more tea in the process, and advanced threateningly on Shera. She was already up and on her way. Cid managed to throw some of his remaining tea at her, hitting her in the back and soaking her white coat while in hot pursuit.

While they ran, Shera unexpectedly turned on her heels, flinging the last of her tea in a wide arc. The glittering liquid cut a slash across and up Cid’s chest, ending up in his face. Startled, he skidded to a halt, but not in time to avoid a collision. So down they went, in a heap, Shera giggling hysterically and Cid shouting curses.

After a long pause, Shera Stargazer held up her empty cup to the sky and smiled. "I won," she declared in a tone much more solemn than her position laid out on Cid’s back warranted.

"You what?!" Cid barked, attempting to wiggle out from under Shera.

Shera turned over and sat on Cid’s back, her legs criss-crossed so they rested on his shoulder blades. She smiled again and repeated, "I won."

Now unable to move without some effort, Cid gave up, not really caring one way or the other. "When did tea-tossing become a sport?" he asked, bemused.

"When I won," Shera answered cockily. She then tipped the empty cup over Cid’s head, allowing the last few drops of tea to fall in his hair.

Cid snorted in mock-annoyance, setting his chin on his crossed arms, still amused. "Sure."

Shera rearranged herself and scooted off the pilot’s back and sat next to him. "I think it’s fun," she explained, "playing like kids at our age."

To this Cid merely made a non-committal grunt. Shera leaned down and looked at him, at the side of his face. "You were having fun, I know it."

Cid slid his eyes over to glance at her for a second, but said nothing.

Shera wondered at the rather sudden change in Cid’s mood. His face held little expression, which was unusual for Cid; he was almost never guarded and silent. Deciding to pry a little, Shera asked, "Didn’t you play like this when you were little?"

Cid sat up and grabbed a cigarette, sticking it quickly in his mouth and lighting it. "I don’t want to talk about it."

"Oh," Shera said softly. "I’m sorry."

Cid shrugged a little, face still a mask. "Not your fault."

Twirling her empty cup around, fiddling with it unconsciously, Shera looked at the ground and thought. Now her interest was peaked; rather suddenly she realized Cid never had spoken of his childhood. They talked about everything…just…how was it they had avoided that subject for so long? She thought back to times she had talked about her younger days…Cid had listened, had joined in, in fact, he seemed to enjoy hearing her stories. It wasn’t a common subject of conversation, as he never brought it up…and he deflected questions about his past very well.

She turned her gaze to Cid, watching him smoke in silence. She frowned once, then came to a decision. Yes, she was curious, so she would probably nudge a little more in that direction, but for now, she had been enjoying the day way too much to leave it in this state of gloom. She gently pushed Cid on the side of his head, making him splutter and glare. "Come on, Cid, no need to brood. The day’s much too nice for sitting in a stew."

Cid narrowed his eyes at Shera, but eventually cracked a smile. "Yeah."

"Get up, let’s go flying or something."

The smile widened. "Said the magic words, Shera." Cid grabbed her hand and started dragging her toward the Tiny Bronco II, enthusiastic again.

* * *

Reeve sat in his office twiddling with some reports from what was left of Midgar. Meteor hadn’t thoroughly destroyed the great city; in fact, most of the slums were intact and livable, though people were leaving in droves. It was what was above the plates that had been razed. So there were still reports to read as the de-facto head of urban development.

Most reports were boring, but occasionally one would come up that made the back of Reeve’s brain tickle slightly. That was a clue to him that it was really Cait Sith that was interested, being the curious cat that he is. Well…he was Cait Sith…but…truth be told, Cait Sith had been around for a long time before the first robot had ever been built. Mostly as a little niggling internal whisper; but he was satisfied and relieved when Cait had been given a voice, as if something trapped deep inside had been finally given release. It was remarkably easy for him to fall in and out of Cait…and reports like the one in front of him made it all that much easier.

This particular bit of news was about a week old; news didn’t travel quickly now a days. It was a bit of a ghost story. Not that ghosts were particularly rare in Midgar; especially where Sector 7 used to be, around the old train yards, and more recently where the plate had fallen.

This one, however, wasn’t an ordinary ghost story. Ordinary ghosts didn’t actually haunt houses, and they didn’t feign an attack on the owner only to evaporate before any blows hit. The house owner seemed completely beside himself about it too. Must have been a frightening experience…

Cait Sith very nearly activated himself in his haste to find out what was going on.

* * *

In the past, Cid lived under the plate of Midgar, in Sector 2, where he was born, and where he was scared someday he might die. Not that he feared the other kids in the slum, or any of the hoods and drunks that populated the dirty roads; rather, he was afraid he would never get a chance to leave. He hated Midgar. The plate, so many stories above his head, with its dim lights and dark color felt like a cage. He had never seen anything else, except in picture books his mother had read to him when he was younger. He didn’t really know for sure if he should believe what the pictures showed, all the bright colors, the animals, the plants, the bright yellow circle in the sky his mother called ‘the sun’ or the silver-white circle with the spots she called ‘the moon’.

But it was nice to think about…that somewhere there was no roof over head, where no one could measure just how high up the world went. He thought it more likely that the yellow circle was stuck in a blue roof, but his mother always told him that there was no plate outside. His father never said much of anything about it.

At the moment he was laying on his stomach on the floor of his room, looking at one of those picture books. His house was empty; as usual, his father was away at work. His mother had died years ago.

Cid missed her a lot. When she died, she had taken with her something vital, something that held her small family together. Cid was her only son, and was much like her in appearance and personality…which became an unfortunate reminder to his devastated father. And instead of seeing it as a blessing that Cheryl Highwind still lived on in some manner, he took it as a curse; seeing her face in his son hurt too much, so he distanced himself from Cid. That he had to work to pay off the exorbitant medical bills his wife’s illness and death had accrued didn’t make Jay any kinder. His life was eaten up by debt to Cheryl’s death, misery over it, and one thirteen year-old reminder of what he lost.

But Cid wasn’t really aware of that…all he knew was his cold father who never touched him and rarely spoke to him and an emptiness, a hardness his mother’s untimely departure produced. He knew his father was rarely around…though when he was, he would sometimes take Cid to work with him, and teach him his trade, showed him how to build machines. But in relative silence, of course.

He turned another page in his picture book, looked at the photograph of the blue sky. He touched his finger to the page, tracing the outline of a bird. Some day he would go and find out if there were such things in the world.

Then, something occurred to him that had never occurred before. He knew his father would be gone for at least another day…what exactly was stopping him from taking a look outside Midgar today? A slow grin crossed his face, and then he sprang up, excited about his idea, quickly putting on a jacket and his shoes. He ran for the front door, letting it bang shut behind him.

It wouldn’t take long…he could be back before his father got home, easily…

The first difference to strike him as he stepped outside the confines of Midgar was the wind. Air didn’t move inside the city. The cool night breeze ruffling his hair and pulling at his clothes startled him in a way; he instinctively looked for the source of the wind, like a fast moving train or a car. But there was none.

The air moved all on its own, like a living thing.

A nervous and expectant smile lit Cid’s features. In a subconscious way, he knew something very fundamental had changed in his world. He took a few slow steps away from the Sector 2 gate, his whole body tingling with precarious anxiety just waiting to be released.

The wind even smelled alive…it was a foreign wonder, so much different than the stale dead air under Midgar’s plate…it frightened him, but in a good way. It was the unknown, but an unknown so pure that he longed to know it, to set right some imbalance he had never quite realized was wrong.

An old guard sat slumped in his chair just outside the gate, watching Cid with one half-open eye. Cid glanced at him, his jaw slack in a half-gape, and the old man’s face crinkled up in a rare smile.

Cid turned his head away from the guard and back to the expanse that lay out before him. Night darkened the landscape. The top edge of the plate still hung over the gate. After a moment to gather his courage, Cid began to walk, then run to the very last edge of Midgar, not sure what to expect but full of anticipation.

Then he saw them. The stars. The nervous wonder of feeling and breathing living air was swallowed up in the sheer overwhelming power of the glittering, silent heavens. He stopped short, stumbling to his knees, as if a great hand had pushed him.

A loud sigh, half-sobbed, escaped him, and he felt as though his soul went out with it. The quiet stars pulled him out of himself, letting him discard physical form and knowledge and be filled with dark, velvet night.

He fell back on the ground and silent tears wet his cheeks, but he didn’t feel it. He was in the sky, in the chill white stars, taken wholly by the wind and ether.

Cid spent the night like that, watching the sky wheel over head, watching the slow procession of stars make its way over the earth. Then morning came, and he was filled with a new and different wonder, seeing for the first time in his life the light of the sun. He watched the stars flee one by one from the dawn, one color after another filling the sky. Morning brought him back to himself.

When the sun rose, he looked around at the plain, shielding his eyes from a light he was unused to seeing. Midgar’s ‘day’ lights were dim and incomplete in spectrum. Cid laughed when he saw his hands and arms, thinking they were whiter than bleached cloth; he had never seen himself in daylight before. Then he stood up and ran farther from Midgar, toward the sun.

Soon another new thing greeted him. This time it was tall, green grass, damp with morning dew. He laughed again, feeling the joy of life in a way he never had before. He kept running, and as night made him forget himself, morning made him acutely aware, and he reveled in his movement and senses.

As he moved, Cid ran his bare hands through the grass, savoring the feel of cool, clean water on his skin. After a while, he slowed to a walk, taking a moment to inhale all the new scents…it was so beautiful. Too beautiful for words. Then a flickering black movement caught his attention…he turned to see what it was…

They were little black birds…a flock of small, ebony, glistening animals, lifting themselves off the ground, defying the earth to hold them. He watched them, awestruck. The dark night sky with its diamond stars, the clean, bright blue day…they he knew he would never forget and always love, but this! This!

"I’m gonna fly with you!" he shouted to the birds, all his soul poured out into that sound. If the birds heard, they made no response…but Cid knew something had heard, and responded, even if it was nothing else other than his own heart.

I’m gonna fly with you…

* * *

The next morning, Cid wandered into the kitchen, yawning and scratching his hair. He sniffed the air and grinned…Shera always made the best breakfasts. Walking over to her side, he peeked over her shoulder and said, "Whatcha makin’?"

Shera looked at him, and with a note of mock chastisement in her voice, she said, "Good morning, Cid."

He stuck his tongue out at her, then sat down at the table. After a short time, his expression changed dramatically; there was a rather sublime smile on his lips and a pensive look in his eyes. When Shera turned to set the plate of omelets down, she saw the look and paused. Then she finished setting out breakfast and sat down, watching Cid.

A few moments passed, and it seemed like Cid was lost in thought. So Shera reached over the table and nudged his shoulder. "What’s got you looking so thoughtful?"

Cid glanced at Shera then started serving himself an omelet. "Had a dream last night."

Curious, Shera asked, "Good dream?"

"Yeah…kinda," he replied quietly. "I forgot how good it felt to see the sky for the first time."

Shera blinked once in mild surprise. "You remember something like that?" She wanted to be careful…it had only been a few days since she realized he never talked about his younger days, and now here he was doing just that.

Cid looked down at his food, still smiling enigmatically. "I grew up in Midgar. Dunno if you realize it or not, but the plate’s been there for fifty or sixty years. ‘Course I remember…it was wonderful." He propped his chin on his gloved hand and got a far away look in his eyes, apparently having forgotten for a moment his usual hesitance. "I was thirteen. It was…it was one of the best days of my life." He said the last as if it were sufficient description and no more was needed.

After a moment more of staring into the distance, Cid started in on his breakfast with a vengeance. Between bites he declared, "I’m not stayin’ indoors today, no way in hell."

Shera smiled as she slowly ate her food. She’d had dreams like that…not usually like memories, but dreams that affected her mood for the rest of the day. She would revel in the leftover lightness of beautiful dreams when she had them. She guessed there wouldn’t be much that could pull Cid down today.

True to his word, Cid stayed out all day and most of the night, reliving old, forgotten memories that he wished hadn’t been lost with the rest. Shera stayed with him for part of the time, vicariously feeling a little of the wonder he felt. He was glad to have been reminded, for whatever reason, of the genesis of his love affair with the sky.

* * *

The great cave moogle held up a tattered map so the cat atop his head could see it. Cait Sith frowned at the paper for a moment then put his Marvelous Cheer to his lips and shouted, "Forward, Mog! We’re almost there!"

Mog flicked an ear back, wondering to himself why the cat on his head had to shout so loud when he was so close as he plodded forward with a bouncy gait. Shortly the two made their way to one particular run down house on the end of a strip of similar houses and near a factory. It wasn’t much to look at, but it was better than many of the trailers and lean-tos that comprised the majority of the homes under Midgar’s plate.

Cait approached the dark wood door with both trepidation and anticipation. This could be a real haunted house…who knew what dangers lurked inside? Mog pressed the doorbell and stood back to wait.

After a few moments, a man came to the door and opened it slowly. He was of medium height, well dressed, with short dark hair speckled gray and a pointed mustache and goatee. He looked worn and used up, as if life had not been especially kind to him; his face was heavily scarred and his bright blue eyes were cold. "Yes?" he asked in a low voice.

Mog scratched behind his ear, somewhat taken aback that the man wasn’t at all surprised to see a moogle-riding cat at his door. Cait recovered quickly, and said, "I’m Cait Sith, an investigator for what’s left o’ Midgar’s government. I hear y’all have a ghost in yer house?"

The man blanched, what color he had draining from his face in an instant. He worked his jaw for a moment, then replied in a shaky voice, "Y-yes…please come in…I’m James, by the way."

Cait tipped his crown to James and told Mog to take him inside. It was a tight fit, but they managed to enter in one piece. James motioned to his couch, which looked relatively new, while he himself sat down in a chair next to it. After puffing a few times and flapping his purple wings, Mog elected to stand so as not to crush the couch. Cait Sith hopped down and scooted to the end of the seat, leaning over the arm and peering at James with his golden eyes. The man seemed decidedly uncomfortable.

"Well, I’m here ter help ya with yer ghost problem if I can. I’m thinkin’ the first thing ter do would be fer me to ask some questions about it?" Cait said in a somewhat businesslike manner.

James nodded slowly, so Cait asked him how the spirit generally behaved. After a long pause, looking as though he was gathering a great deal of courage, he said, "It…tends to sneak up behind me a lot. I feel it there, and when I look, it…swings a fireplace poker at me…like it wants to kill me." The man shuddered and rubbed a spot on his stomach unconsciously.

Cait Sith’s whiskers were standing on end and his ears were pricked and quivering ever so slightly. "But it doesn’t hit you?"

He shook his head. "No, the blow I can almost feel hit me never comes."

"Hmm…what does this here ghost look like?" Cait asked after a moment.

Looking away, James’ expression became drawn and sad. "I think it’s the ghost of my son."

* * *

For hours, young Cid lay on his back with his hands folded on his chest, watching the birds fly around the blue sky. While he lay there, he plotted in his mind the ways of flight. He would have to catch a bird some day, to see how its body was shaped…to see how they worked, how wind and wing meshed together to lift them from the earth.

An eagle soared overhead…its feathers splayed out to catch the living air…Cid mimicked it with his arms, spreading his fingers. Not as a game, or as wishful thinking, though there was some of that; rather it was an act of reason, a way of learning. In his young mind he felt imaginary wings catch the wind. It would take some time to work out…but the seeds where planted in his mind and heart. He would fly some day…

In his singular occupation watching the birds, Cid didn’t hear the sound of footfalls coming up behind him. When a stern face entered his field of view, he cried out, startled. It was his father. After getting over his start, Cid smiled and stood up. He rarely ever smiled so warmly for his father, but right now he felt too good about his experience to frown and he wanted to share it.

He opened his mouth to speak, ready to spill out all the wonderful things he’d seen for the first time. But he stopped, seeing an unfamiliar tensing in his father’s face. Cid frowned, just in time for the back of Jay’s hand to strike him hard on the left side of his face. He fell, knocked down by the unexpected blow. It took a second for the sparkling black to clear out of his eyes, and he tasted blood in his mouth.

Before Cid could react, Jay picked him up roughly by the front of his shirt, made him stand on wobbling feet, and then backhanded him a second time. This time the older man left him on the ground.

Cid looked up at his father, tears in his eyes and rubbing gingerly the spot where he had been struck. The blood in his mouth started trickling down his chin, showing bright red on his pale face. He looked up, in shock, in confusion. His father never hit him. He hardly touched him at all, for any reason.

Jay looked down at his bewildered son, breath hissing between his teeth and his face red with anger. He pointed his thick finger at Cid and shouted, "Don’t you ever do this again! Do you have any idea how worried I was?!"

Tears started flowing freely now, and Cid started to say something, started to point up at the birds wheeling overhead, but his father interrupted him by quickly kneeling down and slamming Cid’s head against the ground. "Stop crying you little $%&$!" he growled.

Cid wasn’t sure he’d heard properly, but he couldn’t stop crying even if he had wanted to. The shock was as bad as the pain, and his mind felt fuzzy.

"I said STOP!" Jay screamed, knocking his son’s skull into the dirt a second time. The only response he got was a dazed expression. Cid blinked once, after that he gave up trying to make any sense of what was happening. His eyes slid closed, unaware of anything.

* * *

"Oooooaarghhh…damn…."

Darkness still covered the world. Cid glanced over at the clock on his nightstand. 3:12 AM. "$##*," he growled under his breath, then rubbed his forehead. Damn nightmare… Must be payback for yesterday, he thought to himself. Wouldn’t be right for his good fortune to leave him with one wonderful memory of the past without inflicting on him a bad one.

And a monster of a headache to go with it.

He started to get up, but stopped short at the sharp pain on the back of his head. Wondering, he scratched at it, making it hurt worse…and making him realize it was fresh. "What the hell?" His fingers came back slick and black in the darkness.

This time he did get up. Walking slowly to the bathroom, he wondered how in the world he could have hurt himself like that in the middle of the night. He flicked on the light, blinking furiously until his eyes adjusted to the brightness. As he opened up the medicine cabinet, he happened to steal a glance at his reflection.

Was…was that blood on his lips?

He closed the cabinet, taking a longer look at himself in the mirror. His eyes hadn’t lied; there was a small stream of fresh blood trickling out of his mouth.

And on the left side of his face sat a large bruise.

Cid growled…what in the world could have caused this? Muttering curses, he went to find Shera’s makeup. He didn’t want to deal with this.

Whatever ‘this’ was…

* * *

If the house he lived in had been cool and tense before, it was frigid now. Cid blinked several times, coming to in his bed. He was so confused…so utterly confused. And enraged. His father…tears pricked at his eyelids, but he refused to shed them. He crushed two handfuls of his covers in his white-knuckled fists, his arms shaking with the effort. It made his head hurt.

Slowly unclenching one hand, he gingerly touched the back of his head. It stung, and dampened his fingers. He brought his hand back, looking at the sticky blood on his fingertips. Why…? Why had his father done this?

Long ago, his father would never have hurt him, he thought bitterly. Not when Mother was still here, when they both had…loved him…

This time he did cry, a little bit. But times were changing, and a deep resentment was planted. It was a dangerous seed to plant in a passionate child like Cid, and from then on there was no peace in his house.

* * *

Cait Sith frowned. A man haunted by his own son? That would be horrible if it were true. "What makes ya think it’s yer son hauntin’ ya? Why would yer own boy want ter kill ya?"

James sighed deeply and wiped at his eyes. Cait regretted asking now, but he felt he needed to know more about the situation before he could do something about the ghost.

Finally James answered. "It’s because I killed him."

Cait flicked his ears back hard. Then James explained, "Of course I didn’t mean to…it…it was a terrible mistake. An accident. But I don’t blame him…it shouldn’t have happened."

"What happened?" the robotic cat asked slowly.

James didn’t seem to be listening. Instead, he started talking about his deceased son. "He was impossible…he ditched school all the time, and he would never listen to me. I did the best I could for him…I provided a home for him, I taught him everything I knew. I never understood why he hated me so much. Running away every chance he got. It was so frustrating…a son ought to respect his father, don’t you think? He frustrated me so much…he just wouldn’t listen. He wouldn’t stop running away, wouldn’t stop making me sick with worry. I guess it got to be too much, and I…lost control. And he died, and he almost took me with him. Maybe that’s what he wants. Finish what he started…I don’t blame him."

Ears still pressed to his skull, Cait ventured, "You…you got in a knock-down-drag-out with yer kid?"

James winced a little, still furiously wiping his eyes so that no tears would fall. "No, no, nothing like that…I got distracted…too much work then…he died later. Not before he…came after me with that fireplace poker. Nearly killed me."

Cait’s ears relaxed a little, and his whiskers twitched when he smirked humorlessly. "That sucks."

The older man just shrugged in response.

"When does yer ghost seem most active?"

"Late evening…night, mostly."

"So," Cait continued, "would it be OK if I were ter stay the night? I’d like ter git a look at the ghost if’n ya don’t mind."

Again, James shrugged. "That’s fine," he answered quietly. "I hope there is something you can do about it. I miss him terribly..."

Cait nodded and smiled, then bounded over to Mog to retrieve everything he’d need for a sleep-over in a haunted house. Perhaps he hadn’t come here with much more than curiosity and a faint notion that a magic cat might be able to do something with a ghost, but now he genuinely wanted to help this man. He felt sorry for him: how horrible to have had a son die because of a lack of self-control, only to have the ghost return, seeking revenge!

But it was still a sleep-over at a real haunted house…he couldn’t help but feel excited about it.

* * *

"Cid…are you all right?"

The pilot addressed nearly jumped out of his skin. He had managed to avoid Shera for much of the day; but somehow he knew this would only make her curious…and that she would catch up with him. "I’m fine, dammit," Cid hissed without turning to see her.

Shera stepped up behind Cid and set a hand on his shoulder. This only caused him to hunch his shoulders angrily. She sighed. "I know something’s wrong…you’ve been avoiding me all day. Is it something I did?"

"No dammit! &$$*, why do you always have to think it’s you?! Can’t I be in a #^$&^%$ bad mood without it causing a national %^$#$* crisis?!"

"Well…yes," Shera conceded with a dip of her head. "But yesterday you…."

Cid rounded on her, shoving her hand off of him. "That was YESTERDAY dammit! Can’t you take a %%$#*#* hint and leave me the hell alone?" He looked furious, and his face was red.

Cowed, Shera backed up a step and blinked. She was about to take his advice and beat a hasty retreat until she saw something suspicious on his face.

"That’s not…foundation, is it?"

Cid glared death at Shera for a second, then turned around and stalked away, his every movement broadcasting defensive anger. After a few seconds, Shera followed him, her pace just faster than his. When she caught up with him, she grabbed his shoulders and forced him to face her.

For a while, they just stared at each other; Shera growing more and more concerned and Cid the angriest he’d been in a long time. Then Shera asked, "What is wrong, Cid?"

Her question was met with an uncharacteristic stony silence. Shera harumphed and proceeded to try to wipe some of the poorly applied makeup from Cid’s face. As soon as she did, Cid winced and pulled away, still glaring hotly. "Leave me alone, Shera."

"At least tell me why you’re wearing my makeup."

Grudgingly Cid finally admitted to himself that he just wasn’t going to be able to put this off any longer. He sighed, the anger draining away. "I got a bit banged up last night, that’s all."

"You didn’t get in a fight did you?"

"No…not that. I dunno how it happened. I woke up last night like this."

"Let me see," Shera demanded in a mothering tone.

Cid slumped and rolled his eyes, annoyed. Then he retrieved a rag from one of his pockets and wiped off some of the makeup, letting Shera examine the bruise underneath. Then he showed her the injury on the back of his head, all the while grimacing at her clucking manner.

"Cid...how did you do this to yourself?" Shera asked, her tone sounding annoyingly hennish in Cid’s ears.

"I already told you I don’t know, Shera," Cid hissed. After enduring a few more moments of examination, Cid waved her off and stood back a couple of steps.

"You weren’t sleepwalking, were you?"

"Now how the hell am I supposed to know that? I woke up in bed. ^&%$%&* hard to backhand yourself in bed." He went to scratch the side of his face but scratched his nose instead. It was a pretty ugly bruise.

Shera stood silent for a moment. "I hope you haven’t started sleep walking. Maybe you bumped into something." She sounded doubtful. And now that the foundation was removed, the angry bruise did look a little like the back of someone’s hand.

"Maybe," Cid grumbled, looking over at nothing.

* * *

As soon as Jay walked out the door, Cid was up and ready to go. He watched Jay’s retreating form carefully, making sure he was gone before he made a move. Jay always left on these trips; it was for work, and his jobs were almost always outside Midgar. It left Cid alone with up to a week to go outside without being caught.

Ever since that day Jay had knocked him out for not being home when he was supposed to be, there had been an ongoing battle between the two. Cid would not stop running away and spending his solitary days under the sun and the stars…but every time he was caught, Jay would hit him, each time hurting him more than the last.

And he was caught a lot.

Sometimes he would simply lose all sense of time gazing at the grandeur of his sky. And it was his, he felt; for all the people living under the plates of Midgar, he was one of the few to have seen it. He couldn’t share the experience with anyone, and honestly wouldn’t want to if he could.

His sky would swallow him up, and then suddenly Jay would be there, howling fury at him and beating him. Cid would run away, as fast as he could, which made it all that much worse…but Jay would catch up and knock him senseless; it was the only way to get him back to Midgar without a fight every step of the way. Then he would wake up in his bed, in his room, in Midgar, hurting and raging and learning to hate.

Other times he would get wrapped up in his own thoughts, his plans; in his mind’s eye metal and machinery became flying craft, as beautiful to him as the birds they were based on. And again, Jay would find him.

Fortunately, this didn’t always happen; he sneaked back home with hours to spare about half the time.

Satisfied that for now, Jay McKenzie was gone, Cid stepped out his front door, several sheaves of paper under his arm along with a straight edge and a mechanical pencil. He ran as fast as he could toward the gate, but not the gate that Jay used to exit. As soon as he was out, he sped toward the grassy plains far from Midgar’s shadow.

He smiled to himself, pausing for a moment to bask in the clean, golden sunlight. Then he settled down and lay out, remaining motionless so that the birds wheeling in the sky would perhaps come by and he could watch them.

Soon enough, a semi-tame raven flew down near him. Cid had seen this raven several times before. Occasionally he would try to catch it, but it was too fast for him. He would love to examine its wings so he could improve his designs.

He waited today, still watching the dark bird. Under his hand sat his papers, all drawings of birds and machines made to mimic the birds. No one had seen them; Jay would not be interested, and might even burn them for the defiant refusal to stay put and obey him they represented. Otherwise there was no one else to show them to.

There was one draft in particular that Cid liked the best…it didn’t have wings, not like the other machines…this one was going to be lighter than air. It was no where near complete, the design was lacking in many places, but he was working on it, and when it was done it would be a marvel and he would fly it and never land.

The raven stepped across the drawings and Cid watched it with acute intensity. It actually stretched its wings out, only a few inches from his face, and he looked at them and studied them and filed away every detail he saw. He examined the shape, saw the way the wings curved, and thought them the most beautiful things in the world, aside from the stars. Then suddenly the raven started and took off, and Cid felt the wind on his face.

He turned to look in the opposite direction, the way the raven had been looking, and to his horror he saw Jay striding up with furious steps. Cid bolted up and started running, leaving his sheaves and leading Jay away from them...he knew...or hoped...that he could come back for them sometime later.

As expected, Cid’s running enraged Jay, and he ran after, always a little faster. When Jay caught up with Cid, he reached a hand out to grab his arm, but Cid felt some inner power stirring and he moved out of the way so quickly and with such grace that Jay stood dumbstruck for a moment.

Cid was himself surprised at the movement, but he still felt the strange power in him, and he was no fool...he didn’t stop running. It didn’t take long for Jay to begin after him again, and when Cid looked back, he was shocked to see his father crying in his rage.

Jay caught up to him a second time, and a second time Cid eluded his grasp with unreal agility, jumping back. And when he jumped this time, he flew. Even in his fear of being caught, he felt the most incredible sense of rightness and wonder. Flying! He’d only meant to jump away, but he was really flying!

He didn’t travel far, not by the standards of winged things, but his jump had taken him nearly fifty feet away from Jay in one swift movement. He laughed, wondering what miracle had let him make a leap like that, and loving it. For a second he wasn’t even concerned that this had made Jay all the more infuriated, but he soon realized it and began to run again.

For the third time, Jay caught up with him, but this time he tackled Cid around the legs, so he couldn’t jump again. He was afraid, struggling to free his legs, but he couldn’t. Jay was strong, and his rage made him inescapable now. But it was a fight for him to hold on. Cid still had this newfound agility, and it made him almost as hard to hold as a snake.

But in the end, he was caught, and this time Jay’s anger was so high, and while Cid didn’t understand at the time, his memories of his wife so close to the surface that he couldn’t control his rage and he wrenched one of Cid’s legs so hard it dislocated, and none of his son’s cries reached him as he stood and kicked him, shouting how he never wanted to see any of that Dragoon crap again. He kicked Cid in the side and stomped on his injured leg, and just before he kicked him in the head, he yelled, "No son of mine is gonna dance like a $^*)*&^ girl!"

And again, Cid woke up in his bed, in his room, in Midgar, under the stifling plate.

* * *

Cid screamed in unrestrained rage, but only for a second. Partly he stopped because he realized he was only dreaming...and partly because it made his side flare up in white hot pain. "Owwwaaaaaaaa...." he groaned, holding his side, positive he had broken ribs. He closed his eyes for a few minutes, trying to get a hold of himself, letting the dream-rage bleed out of him, and trying to hold in the pain he felt in his side...and his leg...and his head.

When he opened his eyes, he saw Shera looking over him in concern. "What’s wrong?" she asked, her voice shaking. Cid realized he’d probably startled her out of a sound sleep.

He couldn’t think of anything to say, though. He was still too busy hurting like hell to talk.

Shera started looking him over, then after a long moment, when Cid seemed to be feeling just slightly better, she asked, "What were you doing?"

"Ahhhghh, I was sleeping, dammit!" he shouted, then instantly regretted it.

Shera pursed her lips then said, "You were screaming. You scared me."

"Sorry," Cid muttered. "Bad dream."

"It must have been," she replied, "if you got hurt so bad dreaming it. Maybe that’s what happened last night?"

Cid thought about that for a long while. "Might be," he said finally. Last night, and this night, these injuries he woke up with...the very same he had received in his dreams. "Strange thing to happen though...dreamin’ about gettin’ hurt and then wakin’ up hurt."

"Yeah," Shera agreed. "Let me see." She went to turn on a light and Cid groaned, grumbling about Shera going into mother-mode.

"Damn, woman, why do you have to be such a ^%*)(*^ hen?!"

Shera shrugged as she took a look at the marks on Cid’s face. "I don’t like to see you hurt, that’s all."

"Not like you can do anything about it," Cid growled, but not in anger.

Shera huffed. "I know a little first aid...it’s not like I’ve never helped some banged up techie or a certain Captain that gets himself in trouble over doing it when he builds things."

Cid made a face. "^&%$ you."

"I love you too, Cid," Shera snickered. She kept looking, crawling on her hands and knees on the side of Cid’s bed. After a moment, she asked, "Is your leg hurt?"

"Guh, yes. Dislocated."

Shera looked at him keenly. "How do you know?"

Cid growled low. “I just do. You ain’t gonna?,” He didn’t get a chance to finish; Shera was too quick, and she did know some first aid, and had already relocated his leg.

"GHAAAAA!!" Cid shrieked in pain, "WHY DON’T YOU %^%#^&@ WARN ME NEXT TIME!!"

"Sorry," she answered, without the tiniest bit of remorse. "Needed to be done...I thought it might hurt worse if you knew it was coming."

Cid set his head back on his pillow and wiped his head and eyes. "Why the hell can’t you use materia...?"

"You know materia wouldn’t have fixed that."

Cid merely grunted; she was right, but he didn’t have to admit it. "Why don’t you get me a Potion or something and let me go back to sleep."

Shera nodded and left, returning in a few moments with a small Potion and once she had given it to Cid, she turned out the light and said, "Good night."

"Not so far," he grumbled in reply, and waved her out. Once the door was shut, he tried to get comfortable and hoped he wouldn’t have any more dreams.

* * *

James was watching Cait with a singularly dumbfounded expression. This...this...thing...

There just weren’t words to describe it...cat...monster...childish feline beast...

Whatever the hell it was, Cait Sith was camping out in his living room.

As soon as he had said it was OK for the cat to spend the night, he had launched himself at the big white winged thing he rode and undid a zipper on its back, pulling all manner of objects out of it. A sleeping bag, blankets, night clothes, videos, bags of popcorn, stuffed toys, women’s makeup...

After a long moment of awed silence, James spluttered, "What the hell are you doing?!"

As Cait began rolling out his sleeping bag at the same time he was putting curlers in his fur, he said, "Sleepin’ over. What does it look like?" The giant moogle huffed and also began unrolling an extra-large sleeping bag. "After we watch the movie, we can give each other makeovers!"

James just shook his head and began wondering if he had been cursed or something.

* * *

The next night, Cid was loath to go to sleep. He was afraid that he would dream again, dream about any number of events in his near-forgotten past where he had been hurt and then wake up hurt the same way now. It had all been bad enough the first time around, but then he had time to recover...right now he felt pretty beat up. The Potions and Cure materia had helped a lot, but he had limped all that day, and he still felt it.

He was also somewhat scared to find out why his dreams of the past were haunting his present life.

There was no reason he could think of that would cause this strange phenomenon of dreaming injuries and then waking with them, fresh, as if they had been inflicted anew. And why were they dreams of his past?

They say the past always catches up with you, Cid thought to himself, but why this way, why now?

Cid’s past had been kept secret for a long time, and now he wondered if really anyone still alive knew the whole story of it. As far as he knew, Tseng was dead, killed by Sephiroth...there was always a possibility he was alive, but that was slight. Even he himself had forgotten much of it, or only remembered dimly; both by his own effort and just by the passage of time. Was Jay still alive?

Cid growled without realizing it. He didn’t want to think about Jay, wished he had stayed firmly where he was left, in the past, forgotten.

He sat on the edge of his bed, his elbows on his knees, his chin resting on his bare hands. One thumb rubbed lightly at a scar on his other hand. If there was any memory he wished to be spared dreaming it was that one. That, perhaps, scared him most of all. That he would end up dreaming about the time he came by that scar, and its mate on his other hand, and the other scars...the scars that he wore such long gloves to cover, so no one would see them and he could ignore them most of the time.

He shook his head, and pulled his hands apart, so he wouldn’t touch the scars anymore. There was still a reason to forget his past, or at least set it out of waking memory as much as possible. He finally lay back on his bed, and settled under his covers. He looked out his window, out at the stars of midnight, and hoped he dreamed of them tonight. Eventually he fell asleep, and dreamed...

...About four days later, Jay had gone back to work, somewhere out of Midgar again. Cid’s leg had been put back in place by a local doctor and his other hurts tended; his leg still hurt, and he limped, but that wouldn’t stop him from trying to get out of Midgar and recover his drawings.

As he made his slow way through the dusty, filthy streets, he thought about what Jay had said when he found him last, about the look on his face, and the tears he had shed. It had been a very long time since he had last seen Jay cry...and the only time he ever had that strange expression he had wore when he had pulled Cid’s leg out of joint was when he looked at that one picture of Cid’s mother he kept. Jay almost never looked at the picture, and even more rare were the moments when Cid saw him with it, but Cid remembered the look on Jay’s face, so unusual, so sad.

Cid considered this for a while, and realized he must have done something that reminded Jay of his mother. Then he thought again about what Jay had said...‘that Dragoon crap’...‘dancing like a girl’...

He had never tried dancing; he wondered why Jay would say that. But the thing about Dragoons...it brought to mind something Cid had forgotten, stories his mother had told him when she wasn’t reading to him from the picture books.

He tried to recall one story in particular as he walked to the gates of Midgar.

Once upon a time, Cheryl had told him, as Cid sat on her lap and looked up at her face, so long ago that they call it legend now, or myth, there was a kingdom called Baron. There was a great castle in the midst of Baron, and as all kingdoms did, Baron had knights, men sworn to guard their King and kingdom. There were Dark Knights, wielders of shadowy blades, knights of terror; and there were Dragon Knights, who wore armor shaped like dragons and they all used long, bright lances. In other kingdoms there were warrior monks, ninjas, mages both Black and White, and once there was a Holy Knight, a Paladin who helped to save our Planet. Sometime I will tell you that story, but this time I want to tell you about the Dragon Knights.

Why? he had asked, curious, wondering about the story with the Paladin, since it sounded like it would have many exciting adventures, and she answered, Let me finish, Cid...you’ll see that maybe this story is even more exciting. His mother smiled, and there was a glitter in her eyes.

So she continued. The Dark Knights were hand picked by the King of Baron to learn the arts of their profession, to learn how to spend a little of their life in sending out magic waves to harm their enemies. But the Dragon Knights, called Dragoons by some, were not picked by the King...they inherited their position, though some young men of the Dragon Knights would be picked by the King to be Dark Knights. The Dragon Knights were special; they had talents that no one else in the whole world had. They could summon small dragons to heal them, and they could jump so high that it was like they could fly. They often fought in the air as they jumped, for sometimes monsters would come that flew, and they would swing their lances as they fell. And they all had the same name, for they all were descended, in so long a line even Baron was young compared to it, from the same father, who some say was Bahamut, the King of Dragons. All of them were called Highwind.

Like you? Like you? Cid had asked excitedly, remembering his mother’s last name was Highwind.

Cheryl had smiled again, and said, Yes, like me...come outside, let me show you something! So they had gone outside their house in Midgar, and his mother had picked up a long handled mop as she went. She had told Cid to stay on the porch, and she had gone out into the street. She had looked around for a moment, back and forth, and satisfied there was no one around, she smiled at her son again and then she jumped!

And it had been no ordinary jump; Cid had watched her, his mouth gaping, as his mother turned a somersault in mid air, still flying up and up, and he had wondered if she might even reach the plate. But she hadn’t, and on her way down she had again twisted in mid air so that she now faced downward, as if to fly straight into the ground, and her mop she held like a weapon. He had been scared she would crash, but at the last second, she had speared the ground with the end of her mop, turned down to land on her feet, and quick as anything she leapt back several feet, to land back where she had started.

See, Cid, even though they say it is a myth, it’s true...the Highwind line is true. I’m not a Dragon Knight, she had said, as she danced back to the porch with uncanny grace and lifted up her son in her arms, but I learned I could still do some of the things they did.

Wow was all Cid could say for several minutes, gaping at his mother. Then he had asked, Am...am I a Highwind too? He knew his last name was McKenzie, like his father.

You’re mine, aren’t you? I’m a Highwind, so you are too, she had answered, still smiling. Maybe when you’re older I could teach you to jump like a Dragon Knight, like a Highwind, even if your last name is McKenzie. Cid had smiled, and Cheryl had carried him back into the house. He saw his father sitting in a chair, reading a newspaper, and then he looked up at Cid. Has your mother been showing off again? he asked, a twinkle in his eye and a smile on his face.

Cid shook his head, breaking the reverie, as he reached the gate. Things had been different then, when he had a father. He had disowned Jay long ago. But now he realized perhaps why Jay had been so angry four days ago. Cid had done as his mother had, moving in ways she had never lived to teach him, like a Dragoon, like a Highwind. It must have hurt Jay to see it...and suddenly Cid realized for the first time why he had no father. It wasn’t because he hurt him...not because he had disowned Jay for beating him, it had happened much earlier, when his mother died. Cid was too much like his mother, and Jay couldn’t deal with it. He had lost both of them that day, even if Jay still insisted that Cid was his son.

But Cid had no sympathy left for Jay, if he could have ever had any. He walked out the gate, and toward his drawings, not realizing tears were leaking from his eyes. "It doesn’t matter," he muttered to himself, "I don’t have a father, I don’t want him either."

It was a long walk, but eventually he reached the papers he had left in his flight from Jay. Some had been scattered by the wind, and thus lost, but most of them were still there, held down by the straightedge. Cid gathered them up and tucked them under his arm. He looked up at the sky, today cloudy and thick with impending rain. Rain was another thing he enjoyed, if only because it never rained in Midgar. But he couldn’t stay out in it today, not without risking his drawings.

So he limped back to Midgar, and said, "No father. I’m a Highwind, like my mother...." And his face was set like stone.

* * *

The next day was a thoughtful one. Those kinds of dreams Cid could deal with rather easier, because he didn’t wake up hurt. Last night’s dream had been a little uncomfortable, a bit of a mixed bag; on one hand there was the memory of realizing why Jay had been such a bastard, and on the other...a story out of better times, something to make him smile.

There was a bit of an irony here: very very few people knew it, but after Cid had joined the SAF, someone had dragged him to one of those fluffy, floozy ballets that the Midgar Dance Troupe had put on, and after he had offhandedly remarked that he could do that easy, more than one of his friends at the time had nearly forced him to prove it. So, essentially on a dare, to prove he wasn’t just blowing hot air like most SAF kids did, Cid had taken some dance classes. While he was by no means accomplished, he had the versatility and agility, and had he wished, he could have been a professional dancer. Those old friends of his had laughed pretty hard for a while, but Cid had the last; he’d given a few of them quite a sound thrashing while dancing at the same time, and he’d gotten quite a few more dates then they had. He was glad it never got widely published that he could dance as well as he could, because it made him uncomfortable, and now he remembered why...well, remembered there was a reason outside of the usual macho fighter-pilot mentality. Although the girls always seemed impressed.

So, it was a thoughtful day. When he saw Shera later, she was very relieved that Cid hadn’t ended up injured during the night. He told her the story he had remembered in his dream, about the Dragon Knights, and she thought it was a wonderful tale. She too remembered hearing stories of Baron and the crystals, of the Paladin. Cid and Shera spent most of the day swapping stories they had heard of those ancient days.

Cid didn’t tell her about his name, however. Cid McKenzie didn’t exist...

* * *

Cait Sith wiped his eyes with a handkerchief, sniffling at a particularly emotional moment in the film he had popped in James’ VCR. Mog was sobbing quietly, his huge white body shaking and heaving. Bits of popcorn lay strewn about the room. James, however, was more...entranced? Awestruck? Or perhaps simply stunned by the cat and the moogle. He really hadn’t watched the movie, not being one to go in for what was commonly called a ‘chick-flick’. Nothing against them existing...it was more that he didn’t like that they reminded him of his late wife. Cheryl watched them from time to time, but it wasn’t that; it was the emotions usually portrayed that dredged up painful memories.

But this Cait Sith was something else. Apparently, the cat had decided that ‘sleep-over’ meant ‘do all sorts of things teenaged girls would do’, and the threat of a makeover hung over James like a dark cloud. He would beat the cat dead with a broomstick before he would let it get anywhere near him with eyeshadow.

After watching the cat and moogle cry over the movie for a little longer, James asked, "Did I make some mistake? I had the impression that you were a male cat."

Cait Sith turned to him, startled. "Oh, well, yes, I am. I am a certifiable male magic cat."

"Then why...all...this?" James asked, motioning to the hair curlers in Cait’s fur, the movie, and the makeup.

Cait grinned sheepishly. "Well...ya see, ter be honest, while I really do wanna help ya with yer ghost problem, the idea of a sleep-over in a real live haunted house really tickled my fancy. Now don’t get me wrong, I take yer problem very seriously, especially after hearin’ the details. But why pass up such a golden opportunity? And isn’t this how a sleep-over should be properly conducted?"

"Well," James said, clearing his throat, "I suppose, if you are a teenaged girl."

"What’s that got to do with me? I’m Cait Sith, the Puss in Boots," Cait answered, showing off his little red boots at the appropriate moment, "And as such I am allowed to do unexpected things. I’m a trickster; didn’t anyone ever tell ya about me when you were a little kid?"

James frowned, "Yes, a few times. Heard you were a summon too. But...you aren’t here to play tricks on me, are you? Because I really don’t need any more tricks played on me. Having the ghost of my son ready to kill me at any moment is quite enough." His voice had grown harder as he spoke, wondering if perhaps Cait hadn’t arranged that himself, if he were a trickster as he said.

Cait flicked his ears back. "No, no, no...I didn’t come to play no tricks on ya." His little shoulders slumped. "Really. I am Cait Sith, but I don’t play that many tricks. I actually mostly just play games."

"So...this...‘sleep-over’. It’s just a game you’re playing?"

Cait brightened. "Yep! Just having fun. So, ready for your makeover?" The cat bounced up exuberantly.

James’ eyes suddenly flared. "No I am NOT."

"No?"

"No."

"Pedicure?"

"No."

"Manicure?"

"No!"

"Shampoo and style?"

"NO!"

"Facial?"

"NO!"

"Therapeutic massage?"

"NO!"

"Mudbath?"

"Oh dear GOD!"

* * *

When night came, Cid wasn’t as afraid as he had been the other nights. Last night’s dream hadn’t been so bad; he had some hope that perhaps he would escape from any nightmares tonight. He lay down on his bed and pulled the covers up, and after a few moments, he slept.

He did dream again that night, but hope failed him. Not only the hope of a night without terrible dreams, but also the hope that he would escape reliving the worst of the memories that haunted him.

* * *

Cid sat up quickly, his eyes squinted shut and jaw clenched. He sat very still for a moment, except for a slight tremor in his hands. Then, with a very soft, child-like crying, he tucked his hands under his arms, hunching down and holding himself tightly. He sat like that for a long while, rocking, trying not to think about the nightmare or the burns or the cuts…the scars long healed now bleeding again.

For a while he was alone like that, then Shera quietly opened the door to his room. Cid didn’t want her there…he just wanted to forget again, leave this nightmare in the past. But it wasn’t much use to say so, because the sentiment was very weak. When Shera sat down next to him and put her arm around him, Cid leaned into her, still wishing she would go away but relieved she didn’t.

Inevitably, Shera wanted to see what had happened this time…Cid felt far more reluctant to show her the strange nightmare wounds inflicted on him tonight than he had been on other nights. "Cid," she whispered softly, "let me dress them at least…I won’t ask where they came from."

He nodded slowly, sniffling still. Gingerly, he held out his right arm, sucking in his breath when he did. Shera bit back a slight gasp, surprised at what she saw. This wasn’t like the other nights…before, none of the strange injuries had any real look of deliberation to them. But this….

On the underside of Cid’s arm, just below his wrist and extending most the way down to his elbow, several small jagged letters had been burned into his skin. It was hard to see exactly what it said, but it looked like it might be a name. JMCKENZIE.

Shaken but saying nothing, Shera quickly spread some ointment on the burns and covered them with gauze. After that, she noticed there were several deep, parallel cuts right at the point where his hand met his arm, bleeding freely. She wondered what had caused them…they didn’t look like cuts someone would intentionally make. Shaking her head a little, she covered them as well, after carefully mopping up some of the blood.

After she finished, Cid lowered that arm and exposed his left, which had the same sort of cuts, but no burns. She had half-expected to see something as bad as on his right, and was very glad she didn’t. She bound up the cuts quickly, then set his hand down.

Cid said nothing as Shera bound the wounds, just closed his eyes, trying to put the sight of them out of his mind. He hated seeing them, fresh as they were, bringing the memory of how he had acquired them the first time far too close to the surface. Once he felt Shera set his hand down, he opened his eyes again, glad to have the old scars covered again, the way they had been for sixteen years.

The two sat in silence for a long time; the only sound heard being Cid’s occasional sniffing. After a while, Shera started feeling uncomfortable, unsure if she’d overstayed her welcome. She shifted, then started to get up, but before she could get far, Cid moved his hand slightly. Just enough so that his little finger touched her leg: it was a subtle sign but impossible to misinterpret. So she stayed.

Eventually, Shera fell asleep, still sitting next to Cid with one arm behind him, having fallen from his shoulder earlier. Cid, still lost in thought, didn’t realize she’d fallen asleep until sometime later, when she had begun a slow slide down and back. He looked at her, smiling a very little, then decided to save her the trouble and laid her back on the bed, settling in beside her.

Cid watched her softly, for a moment letting himself go, glad to have the chance to do something else other than dwell on nightmares. Her glasses still sat on her nose, so he took them and set them on the nightstand. Then, after a long pause, he very gently touched her cheek, so lightly that if she had been awake, she might not have felt it. He didn’t think he’d ever done so before…touched her with his bare hands…

He saw the white gauze on his hand, slowly staining red, and frowned slightly. That was why…those scars from a time when he had wanted to cut off his hands with such ferocity he had almost reached bone. He hated seeing the old, tough skin, hated the strange tingling dullness he felt whenever anything touched the scars. And then there were the letters: that…brand…mark… Cid clenched his jaw, breath hissing from between his teeth. Feeling the cold chill of nightmares creep up on him, he shook his head a little and tried to ignore it.

He knew he was fighting a losing battle…it had never been easy to forget when memories surfaced. Wearing gloves all the time helped some, but not always. With a ragged breath, Cid shifted, moving as close as he could to Shera, close enough that his head rested on her shoulder now. He was glad she stayed.

"Maybe," he whispered quietly, voicelessly, "maybe…if…if I told you, it wouldn’t be so bad…they say that, don’t they?" Shera didn’t stir, but Cid hadn’t expected her to. Steeling himself, he began to whisper into the dark…

He was fast, always had been fast…but today, he moved like wind over water. Jay would never catch him.

Cid glanced behind him, grinning viciously. Jay was far behind him, and those two Shin-Ra goons were even farther. With a laugh, he turned forward again and continued running down Midgar’s filthy pathways. There was no way in Hell that bastard would keep him from the sky, not anymore. This was the last time. He wasn’t going to fight Jay anymore; he was never going back.

He was well aware that this only made Jay livid. Jay liked to try to keep Cid in line, but he never could. The only thing that worked was beating Cid senseless…and that only worked if he could catch him.

That wasn’t happening today.

When he realized he had turned down a dead end alley, Cid was not at all concerned. Vary rarely would Cid use the physical gifts his mother had left him…mostly out of ingrained fear, since Jay was relentless about keeping them hidden. He didn’t want his son to be a freak of nature, anything less than a full man, and every time Cid seemed to move a little faster, or with more grace than Jay felt befit a real McKenzie man, he tried to beat it out of him. Most the time it worked...but only for a little while, and only to keep them under the surface.

Highwind…not McKenzie. Never McKenzie.

He looked up at the high wall of stacked metal scrap. Then he jumped, and in an instant Cid stood on a slight outcrop halfway up, holding onto the wall with one hand. He looked back at the alley, and saw Jay and the two Shin-Ra just turn the corner.

Cid let out a harsh laugh, catching Jay’s attention. When he was sure the older man could see it clearly, Cid flipped him the bird. Jay turned an even deeper shade of red than he already was, his body visibly shaking with rage, and Cid laughed again. Then he turned back to the wall and leapt up to another outcrop about fifteen feet away.

He continued climbing in that manner, intending to find his way into the next Sector, where the Chocobos were kept. Cid planned on stealing one of them and riding it out of Midgar. He was by no means a thief, in fact, he hated the idea…but he would rather be a thief than go back. He looked up, searching for another place safe to jump to…but he never found one.

He staggered, swaying dangerously on his high perch. He looked down at the men far below…one Shin-Ra lowered his fist, the green glow of magic fading from around him. Cid held his head, feeling a mist fill his mind, and suddenly he had no idea what he was doing. He thought he was climbing up the wall, but he felt himself moving downward…then he felt himself fall, and hit the ground…somehow he managed to land on his feet.

Stumbling forward, Cid tried to figure out what he was doing, but nothing made any sense. Did he want to go in that direction? He took a halting step one way, but then spun back into another, unable to make his legs obey him. Soon he fell to his knees, trying to shake off the spell, but he couldn’t.

He saw Jay coming toward him, but couldn’t remember what he was supposed to feel about that, if anything. He felt Jay grab him roughly by the arms, and he looked up at him, completely bewildered. The butt of a Shin-Ra pistol quickly relieved him of his magic-induced confusion and his consciousness as well.

When Cid came to, his fury kindled instantly. He knew where he was…back home…in his room, lying in his bed, like so many times before. He tried to leap to his feet, but something held his hands bound. He looked up at his hands and saw they were handcuffed to the spindles of his headboard. He yanked on the metal cuffs, but they didn’t yield. He’d been caught… Shaking his fists, Cid screamed his frustration.

Then he heard hard footfalls coming into his room, and he glared harshly in their direction. It was Jay, just as he expected, and just as he expected the older man was nearly incoherent with fury. Cid bared his teeth at him.

Jay stalked over to Cid’s side and glared down at him with a heat he had rarely seen. It didn’t scare him, however…he had long since learned what Jay’s anger meant, and he could handle it. Cid hissed, "What the ^$%$ are you going to do? Not a damn thing you do will make any $$^#*&% difference, and you’ll burn in Hell for it Jay!"

Jay’s jaw clenched even tighter than before, and Cid could see him beginning to reach the breaking point. Jay grabbed Cid’s jaw, clenching his fingers so tightly there would be bruises later. "You will address me as your father, or so help me, I’ll make sure you never forget." Jay’s voice was very low and surprisingly calm, the voice of someone dangerously angry.

Cid just glared back, his blue eyes defiant. "Like hell I will. I don’t have a ^$$#**$ father."

Jay’s grip moved from Cid’s jaw to his throat, his grip tight. "You are mine Cid McKenzie, you worthless piece of ^%$#." His large fingers tightened, choking Cid.

Cid had just enough breath to gasp out, "H-high…ghh…win..nd." Jay shouted in incoherent rage and let Cid go, stomping out of the room. Cid called loudly after him, "^%#^%%$, you mean NOTHING to me! You’re no one, nothing but a cowardly %^#^! You can’t &^%$%& control me any more than you can catch the wind!"

Cid continued shouting curses at Jay, until he came back several minutes later. His eyebrows came together in curiosity, wondering what Jay brought back with him. The older man looked back at Cid, and there was a dark glint in his eyes that Cid didn’t care for. He watched in concern as Jay took a hammer and used it to tack a large nail to the windowsill near the bed.

When Jay turned and unlocked the handcuff holding Cid’s right hand, Cid immediately tried to stand and get away from Jay, but the older man was too quick. With Cid still struggling fiercely, Jay managed to wrap a belt around his wrist and yank it tight. Then he hooked the belt to the nail, pulling Cid’s arm to the side and holding it securely palm up. Cid tried to pull on it, but could only flex his arm a very little bit. "What are you gonna do, &^%$#$^&*%#@#?" he asked loudly, but he was scared to find out. Jay hurt him often, but not with such purpose…

As Jay bent the nail down with a quick blow of his hammer, he looked back at Cid and said, "Make sure you remember who you are." His voice was cold, and Cid shuddered involuntarily. He watched Jay pick up the fireplace poker they kept in the front room, and set it so the top was standing in front of the window. Then he picked up a blowtorch he had brought in, and lit it, applying the blue-hot flame to the tip of the poker.

"What are you gonna do?" Cid whispered quietly, as the fire heated the metal poker until it shone with a red glow.

Jay picked up the poker from the handle, then held it just over Cid’s arm. The younger man could feel the heat coming off the hot metal. Jay clenched his jaw and after a second, he began burning marks into Cid’s arm.

Immediately Cid stiffened in pain, but he didn’t make a sound. Not at first…he didn’t want to give Jay the satisfaction…but it wasn’t until after that he realized he had been screaming. Every few minutes, Jay would reheat the iron, then go back to carefully burning marks into his son’s flesh.

When Jay was finished, he set the poker against the wall and pried the nail out of the sill. Cid just lay there in shock, his breath catching in quiet sobs, tears flowing and his throat sore. Jay pulled the belt off Cid’s arm and held it by the wrist, not touching any of the marks. He held his arm so Cid could see his handiwork.

"What does it say," Jay asked, his voice almost devoid of emotion.

After a moment to recover, Cid looked at the marks…it was a brand he realized, and he was so angry and hurt he could hardly see. He closed his eyes and hissed faintly, "I’m Cid Highwind…." Now more than ever before he knew he would rather die than take Jay’s name.

"WHAT DOES IT SAY!" Jay screamed. Then, in a quieter voice, "If you can’t read it…you have two arms…."

Cid’s eyes snapped open and he stared at Jay. He shook his head, almost disbelieving…but the sharp, hot pain in his arm wouldn’t let him. Nearly choking on his hate, he spat out finally, "It says J. McKenzie."

"That’s right," Jay whispered, "and what does that mean?"

He knew what Jay was after, but he would not bow. "HIGHWIND!!" Cid cried at the top of his lungs, tearing at his already sore throat, unwilling to let anything else pass his lips. He was his mother’s son…he had no father. "I AM CID HIGHWIND! YOU CAN’T TAKE THAT FROM ME!!"

Jay grabbed Cid’s arm with his other hand, closing his fingers over the burns and eliciting a stifled cry from his son. He roughly pushed Cid’s arm down and again secured the handcuff around his wrist. He looked down at him in rage, but he restrained it, for the first time in a long time. Then he spoke, biting off the words harshly. "I’m going to work now. I’ll be back tonight. And if you can’t remember who you are and whose son you are by then, I can make you another reminder." After that he stalked out of the room and slammed the door.

As soon as Cid heard Jay close the front door, he screamed out all the pent up rage and pain he felt, pulling at his restraints powerlessly.

One thing was for certain however: he was Cid Highwind, and nothing in heaven or hell would change that.

Cid had been thinking about it for most of the day, thinking about what he could say to keep Jay from branding him again and yet not give up what he felt was his birthright. His mother’s name…one that fit him so well…and his mother’s dynasty as a descendent of the Dragoons. That fit him as well, and he enjoyed the uncanny grace she had blessed him with.

He looked at the letters burned forever into his arm, blinking back tears, unable to ignore the fierce pain. He wanted to wipe away other dry tears that traced his cheeks, but he couldn’t, not trapped like he was. "What am I going to say?" he asked himself for the hundredth time, but he still had no answer.

Time slipped by, day going into night, with nothing but the dim lights of Midgar to mark it by. Cid was getting nervous, anticipating Jay’s return and dreading what he would do when he arrived. He absently chewed on his lip, half hoping Jay would come home soon and let him up…he was getting hungry.

As it turned out, Jay didn’t make it home that day. Cid lay on his bed all night, then all the next day, hungry and thirsty and nerve wracked.

He began pulling harder at the handcuffs, trying to squeeze his hands through, but to no avail. As day turned into night again, he began feeling desperate. He tried to swallow back more tears, but his throat was too dry to do it. At this point, he felt like he would sell his soul for a glass of water…there was no telling when Jay would be back…

Another day came and another night. By now Cid was not really aware of it, as things that couldn’t be real kept wandering about and his senses and his thinking was far too clouded. He was having trouble breathing through his nose; apparently, it had started bleeding heavily sometime the day before. He was so thirsty he had totally forgotten to be hungry, and when he looked at the handcuffs holding him he thought it perfectly reasonable that this was merely a puzzle to be solved. The best solution he could find was to cut his hands off, so he went about rubbing and pulling and scraping his wrists against the metal bands with singular determination.

He didn’t feel it when the edges of the cuffs finally cut into his skin and he started bleeding or when bits of his abused flesh dropped off, but eventually he gave up that tactic anyway. He had forgotten what he was doing and why.

He didn’t know if he had fallen asleep and started dreaming…but there was someone here, someone that touched him kindly… He tried to see her, but his sight was too dim. He heard her, and clung to that soft, low voice…he even felt cold water on his lips…but it was a mirage just like the rest. He smiled a little even so; at least she tried…

Everything hurt, but he wasn’t really aware of it. Breath was hot, and his skin was cold. It would be nice to get up…

Some indeterminate time later, Cid heard something, a regular rhythm, a thump, thump, thump, and it took several seconds for him to realize it was footsteps. Another voice, deeper…it…harsh…he didn’t like it… Was it sad? He felt his hands lower slightly and his cold fingers curl up…then a stinging pain that took forever to register. A little clinking, like metal against metal, and the sound of tears…he cried tearlessly, having long run out of tears to shed, but was that an answering sob? The thumping again…growing softer.

Without warning, molten hot fury coursed through his icy body, energy flowing into him from nowhere. Cid stood on shaky legs, his head hanging forward…but somehow he managed to grab the fire poker on the wall and carry it out into the front room. He could hardly see, but his dim sight took in enough. It was him…Jay…that man who left him…standing in the middle of the room…was he crying?

No matter… Cid lifted the poker over his head in one hand, then with a strength he should not have possessed, brought it down and across Jay’s back, gouging a long slash and causing him to cry out and stumble forward. The older man turned around just in time to see the metal come down a second time, across his face, taking a chunk of flesh with it.

Jay fell back, clutching his torn cheek, looking up at Cid, fear written in his dark eyes, but Cid’s held little expression. Again he swung the poker, striking Jay across the face a second time. He tried to back away, but Cid’s blows came faster. Now holding the poker as if it was a spear, Cid stabbed it into his father’s stomach and yanking it out with unnatural force. Jay made a choking, pained moaning noise as he saw some of his intestines being pulled out on the hook of the poker. Another strike to his arm broke it with a loud crunch.

Cid continued his assault, striking Jay at least a dozen more times, breaking more bones and ripping more bits of skin from his body. Then, as suddenly as it came, the strange energy bled out of him, and he dropped the poker on the ground. Jay was unconscious, with wounds that were very likely fatal. Cid saw the gore he had made, and felt nothing. Just before he too fell to the floor, he remembered the brand on his arm and the last four days, just well enough to grin slightly, coldly, thinking his rage justified. Then he knew nothing but the dark.

* * *

Cait was finished painting his claws, finished pretending he was at a slumber party. James had fallen asleep, and his Mog was also breathing heavily. So the feline slowly capped the nail polish and set it aside, having enjoyed himself and his game, even if James hadn’t played along.

Now he watched quietly, wondering about the ghost. He realized he had not seen any of the rest of the house, so without a hint of reservation, he promptly stood and began exploring. The first place he went was the last place anyone would want him: the master bedroom.

Padding through the house on silent cat feet, Cait Sith peeked in every crevice and pulled out every drawer he passed on his way. He saw junk, and papers; if it hadn’t been dark and if he hadn’t wanted to see the ghost so much, he would have stopped to read them.

He reached the master bedroom door and opened it, slipping inside like a thief. Walking around, he nosed through James’ closet, riffled through his sock drawer, and poked around in everything. The medicine cabinet in the bathroom contained aspirin, some headache medicine, and sleeping pills. Cait thought James probably did have trouble sleeping, thinking a ghost of his son was out to kill him.

As he made his way around the room, Cait stopped at a bookcase. There were many books, mostly on mechanics and different types of technology. There were a few on business and negotiation. On a shelf amid the books sat a few framed photographs. Cait pulled one down; it was of a much younger James and his bride on their wedding day. Another picture showed James and his wife with their infant son. A third was a portrait of his wife, a blonde woman with a familiar grin. He looked at the rest of the photographs, finding many of James and his wife, but no more of their child.

Just as he replaced the last frame, Cait heard a very faint, sad groan coming from outside the room. He quickly slipped out, whiskers quivering. Following the sound, he arrived at door, probably to another bedroom. He tried the knob, but it was locked.

Undaunted, Cait extended a claw and jimmied open the lock. He cracked open the door, excited but stealthy. Then he stepped inside.

Cait Sith was greeted by a room unoccupied for years. The carpet was dusty and the room smelled of disuse. He heard another forlorn sigh come from the bed across from the door, so he cautiously stepped toward it.

He peeked over the edge, not sure what to expect but tingling with anticipation. This must be the ghost; what else could it be? Then he saw it...its hand at least. Bound to the headboard by a handcuff.

Narrowing his eyes, Cait hopped up on the bed to get a closer look. It may have been a ghost, but it looked like a human, probably a teen. Both its hands were bound over its head, and both were bleeding from the wrists. Without realizing it, Cait’s hackles began to rise. What ever he had been expecting...what ever it was, it hadn’t been a scene like this.

The ghost whimpered faintly, drawing Cait’s attention to its face. For a moment all he could think was how like his mother he looked. Then the ghost turned its blue Wutaian eyes on Cait, and he realized with a start why James’ wife had such a familiar smile. He was frozen in place for an instant. It wasn’t! It couldn’t be! It couldn’t be Cid Highwind, could it?!

Then the ghost hissed, turning to glare at the cat, the voice like dark wind through dark jaws, and Cait screeched and bolted, running out of the room as fast as he could. His tail was as thick as a man’s leg, his eyes wide and ears pressed to his skull.

He ran to James and clawed his way up to his face. James awoke, startled and hurt. "What’s the matter?" he asked.

Cait stared slack jawed at the man for a long time. "You...he...he...!! You didn’t tell me it was CID!"

James stammered slightly. Cait leapt from his chest and bolted around, slapping on every light switch he could find. While the cat ran, James murmured, "His name was Cid...Cid McKenzie."

Cait skidded to a halt and stared at the older man. "What? His name is Highwind!"

Going white, James suddenly chilled at the mention of that name. But before he could say anything, the door to the unused bedroom closed with an ominous click.

Then there was a ghost in the living room, brandishing an old wrought iron poker in its left hand.

James fainted in fear and shock, while Cait tossed himself through a window, shattering it. Then he ran and ran, with Mog close behind.

* * *

When he awoke, Cid was faintly surprised to be alive, even more so to be in a hospital room.

I should have died, he thought to himself grimly. He almost wished he had. Then he would never have to return to that house, never have to fear what Jay would do next. Then again, he would never see the sky that way either.

No, he wasn’t dead...he hurt far too much for that to be the case. His head, his hands, everything. Every single ache, every injury, every cut screamed in pain without exception. Groaning, he wished he hadn’t woken up.

"I see you’ve come around," said a slightly accented voice from somewhere nearby. Cid turned his head to face the voice; it belonged to a well-dressed young man in navy blue. His hair was long and jet-black, and he had a little red dot tattooed on his forehead, above his nose.

"Who’re you?" Cid asked slowly, trying to think if he’d seen the man before.

The man stepped over to the side of Cid’s bed, then he looked down at him and replied, "My name is Tseng. I am a Turk."

Cid frowned. He’d heard of the Turks...but couldn’t imagine what a Turk would want with him, especially in the state he was in. "Whatcha here for?"

Tseng smiled slightly. "I have seen your work, and I am very impressed."

"My...work?"

The Turk nodded. "Your schematics, the drafts for the flying machines. Especially for the airship. I’m here to offer you a position in the Shin-Ra Air Force."

Cid blinked a few times. "How...did you find them?"

"Shin-Ra sent a few employees to discover why your father—"

"I don’t have a father," Cid hissed.

Tseng bowed his head slightly. "My apologies. We sought Mr. McKenzie after he hadn’t returned to work for two hours. Shin-Ra cares about the welfare of its employees, so we were concerned. The two Shin-Ra who discovered Mr. McKenzie and yourself alerted the authorities and had you brought here. I went to investigate; I discovered your work then. I do not need to know how you came to be in such a desiccated state, nor do I need to know what drove you to such a high level Limit so early in life. I took the liberty of showing your work to the Aerospace division of Shin-Ra R&D; I have been authorized to make you an offer to join us."

Cid let Tseng’s words settle for a while. So Shin-Ra wanted him bad enough to send a Turk to convince him? It was a strange feeling, knowing that the very company that had sucked Jay dry and forced him to leave Cid for days and weeks at a time, even so much as to be partially responsible for his own brush with death, sent their best operatives to make him an offer.

He gingerly lifted his hands to look at them. His blood was just beginning to soak through the bandages. Then he looked over at Tseng. "This is your fault too, you realize...if Jay hadn’t been so deep in debt to you he...wouldn’t have...," Cid paused for a moment to gather his thoughts. "No...he would have anyway...just not this time. What’s your offer? Will I fly?"

Tseng smiled faintly. "Of course. You will be trained to fly. You will work with R&D to refine your designs and build your aircraft. And...you will never see Jay McKenzie again. We will wipe your history clean, and you will be known only as Cid Highwind. No one will know nor ask about the father you don’t have, and he will never touch you again. We will also cancel all of his debt to us and furnish him with some monetary compensation for your death."

"My what?"

"He will never seek you, because we will tell him you died."

Cid looked away for a while, thinking to himself. What an opportunity! It was as if Tseng had handed him his dreams on a silver platter. He would never have to worry about Jay again. He would never live under the plate again...and he would fly.

He turned his gaze back to the Turk and nodded silently, feeling relief wash over him like the wind he so loved. Tseng bowed once, smiling, then left to inform his superiors.

He would fly...

* * *

Shera slept fitfully, worried in her slumber that Cid would wake up hurt again. In her sleep she heard something, and she sat up quickly, realizing it was the PHS. While it rang, she heard Cid muttering next to her, asleep.

She hadn’t even realized she’d fallen asleep in Cid’s bed after one nightmare already. She found herself blushing furiously and scooted away from Cid. She was embarrassed, but very relieved Cid hadn’t woken her up with any new injuries.

It took three more rings of the PHS before Shera remembered why she was awake. She blinked and fumbled for the PHS on the nightstand, and she finally got her hands on it after knocking her glasses onto the floor. Wondering how her glasses had managed to find their way onto the nightstand, she pulled open the PHS and said sleepily, "Hello?"

"H..hey uh, Shera?" the voice on the other end said. Was it Cait Sith? He sounded scared to death.

"Yes, this is Shera," she answered, now fully awake. "What is it?"

"Oh, hey...uh...Cid there?"

"Yeah, he’s sleeping...."

Shera heard Cait clear his throat on the other end of the line. "Well, eh...you know, y’all really need to come to Midgar, uh...really important." His voice was shaking hard.

Shera sounded concerned. "What’s the matter?"

"Gotta little situation here, uh...there’s this...this ghost, see...and this guy, Cid’s dad...well...I really think y’all should come out here...."

"A ghost? Cid’s dad?" Shera looked over at Cid, who appeared to have awakened a few moments ago. When he heard her words, his sleepy expression hardened to flint.

"I don’t have a father," he spit out.

Shera looked at him for a moment, confused, then turned her attention back to the phone. "Cait, are you sure? Cid said he doesn’t have a father."

"He sure ‘nough does, and...and...," Cait said, but Shera interrupted him.

"Cid was pretty insistent," she said, glancing at Cid and seeing a stony anger in his features.

"Ah er...well..y’know, James is pretty insistent too...and I’m kinda inclined ter believe him, ‘cause like I said, there’s this ghost, and if it ain’t a young Cid than I ain’t a magic cat."

Shera gasped. "Are you serious?"

"I am very serious! My fur’s standin’ straight up and I’m scared outta my wits! I ain’t never seen nothin’ like it! And James, he says Cid’s last name’s McKenzie, if you can believe that!" Cait sounded like he was calming down some, and said the last in an almost joking manner.

But Shera stiffened and felt all the blood drain from her face. JMCKENZIE...James McKenzie.... Cid looked up at her and his expression softened. He asked, "What’sa matter, Shera?"

She looked back and said in a soft, terrified voice, "We have to go to Midgar."

Cid sat up and frowned deeply. "We what? Why?"

"Cait says he found a ghost— "

"So?! Midgar is full of ghosts." Cid plainly detested the idea of going to Midgar.

Shera huffed. "Let me finish! He said it was a ghost of you, a younger you!"

"That’s right," Cait added, obviously hearing at least Shera’s end of the conversation. "The ghost looked ter be about 17 or so."

"Cait says the ghost looked to be about 17 years old."

Cid looked surprised, but there was a sudden darkness in his eyes Shera was unaccustomed to. There was an almost a morbid humor in it, but very cold. "I don’t guess Tseng could have conjured up something like that," he said half to himself.

"Tseng?" Shera asked. "What do you mean?"

"Whazzis about Tseng?" Cait asked when he heard Shera speak.

"Quiet for a second Cait!"

But Cid didn’t answer. Shera could see he thought something rather ironic. "Just a memory," he said finally, his voice making it plain no explanation would be forthcoming. Then he turned away and looked to be thinking about something. "How long has Cait’s ghost been hanging around?"

Shera turned to the PHS, and put it on speakerphone so Cid could hear. "Cait, Cid wants to know how long the ghost has been around."

"I got the report just a coupla days ago. It was a week old then, and it took me about a day to find James here. I’m guessin’ it was fresh when the report was sent, so that makes about a week and a half. James been scared outta his mind...I don’t blame him...but I don’t get it neither. Says he killed his kid in some serious accident and feels bad about it, real bad, been tormentin’ him fer years, and this ghost is his kid come back to kill him, like he thought he did before, ‘to finish the job’ like James said, but I knows that that can’t be right, not now that I seen the ghost, and know who it is. It don’t make any sense."

Shera looked over at Cid, a question in her eyes. The strange darkness had returned to his face, and he said nothing. It was clear however that what Cait said was affecting him deeply.

"Cid, what is it?" she asked, concerned.

Slowly, Cid replied, "Seems to line up to about the time I started having these dreams. I think...we should go."

"Dreams? What’re ya talkin’ about?"

Cid answered, voice sharp and cold, "Strange dreams, Cait. I’m just thinkin’ maybe that ghost of yours might have something to do with it, OK."

"A...arright. OK." Cait sounded a little daunted, and Shera didn’t wonder; Cid sounded as though a good deal of discretion was in order with him right now. He was in a very rare and very dangerous mood.

After a long moment of silence, Cait ventured, "So....yer comin’ then? Soon?"

"Yes," Cid said, his voice almost at a hiss. "We’ll get there ASAP."

Shera could hear the cat gulping. "Oh...OK...um...come to the Sector 2 gate, I’ll...ah...I’ll meet ya there." Then he hung up, at the end sounding almost as scared as he had at the beginning of the conversation.

Shera closed the PHS and looked over at Cid. She contemplated saying something about how bad he had scared Cait Sith, but she could see it would be unwise. She thought to ask about James...obviously a relative of Cid’s, the father he adamantly claimed he didn’t have, from what Cait said. She had a lot of questions about that, but she realized that there must have been some enormous falling out between the two, a near deadly one...one that somehow left Cid with that awful brand on his arm...and that perhaps the best course of action would be to just leave it for now. Somehow she knew she would get more answers than she wanted soon enough. She realized that Cid’s dark mood scared her as well.

Cid stood up and walked to his closet. "We should get going," he said, his voice only slightly softer than before. Shera nodded, and went to get dressed.

* * *

The Highwind flew over the ocean, painted in a thousand colors of the dawn. The sea below glittered with the same spectrum of gold and red and peach. It was sight both humbling and uplifting, staggeringly beautiful. The sun just peeked over the horizon in the east, ahead, while some stars still clung to the pale darkness in the sky to the west.

Cid looked out, across the expanse of sea and back at the stars behind. Often all it took to break him out of dark memories and moods was to see the sky. Really see it, not just look at it, but see it, feel it, inhale it, watch it, and let himself be part of it. Today he really needed to do just that, to calm himself and forget his recent dreams and the words of Cait Sith.

He loved the sky. Everyone knew that. Since the first instant he had laid his eyes on it...even truly breathed it, he had loved it. Maybe that was why he had what some long ago had called starlust. The first things he had seen in the sky were the stars and that had affected him deeply. He would never tire of looking at them. So he watched behind as much as he could, counting stars as they winked out. He tried to forget for a while where he was going, headlong into his darkest memories, to Midgar...not only to Midgar, but to Sector 2, under the plate, to his childhood home. To the place he swore he would never return. And here he was, going back.

He shook his head to break the mood and returned to watch the stars fading in the western sky. Shera stood next to him, but she was watching the dawn. She bore no love for Midgar, but she didn’t hate it. Cid wondered if she had ever been beneath the plate. Probably; the first time he had been under the plate after he had joined Shin-Ra had been brief but required because some of the recruitment offices were there, it stood to reason Shera had been in the same place, a year or two later. He glanced at her briefly, standing next to him; the colors of the dawn lit on her face and glasses. She looked beautiful.

Just then she glanced his way and for some reason he felt silly and looked away. Just out of the corner of his eyes he saw her move a little, away, but just slightly. He frowned, but didn’t catch the mischief in her eyes. Suddenly the Highwind lurched to the side, and Cid, unprepared for the movement stumbled back. Shera stumbled too, bumping into Cid, and he instinctively grabbed her.

He got a face full of her brown ponytail for his trouble (for she was slightly taller than he) but she turned quickly so the side of her face was toward him. She made no motion whatsoever to leave his awkward grasp, instead, she just stood there, shoulder against his chest, with a mysterious expression on her face, almost expectant and half bemused, yet shadowed.

Cid carefully let go, his hands and arm still in pain from the nightmare wounds that really weren’t from a nightmare at all. He was about to lower his hands to his side, but instead he raised his left hand and, following some sudden impulse, set his fingers stiffly on Shera’s ponytail. Something else he had never done...touch her hair with bare hands. He had worn elbow-length leather gloves every day since the first when Tseng had given him a pair when the Turk had shown him around some of the offices and workplaces of Shin-Ra Air Force’s R&D. That was sixteen years ago. The only time he did not wear gloves was when he slept or showered. Today he closed his eyes so he would not see the gauze covering the scars.

Her hair was soft, silky soft, at least to his touch. Maybe to the rest of the world it would be different...the rest of the world used to feeling something other than worn leather beneath their fingertips. Cid smiled to himself, and decided to indulge this little desire, and to recall the wonder of feeling beautiful things for the first time...with the difference that he loved her already. So he ran his hand down her ponytail and thought of nothing but what it felt like.

He didn’t see it, but Shera was smiling.

Lifting his right hand, very carefully, and with the lightest touch, he ran his fingers through the bangs framing Shera’s face. Then he undid the little orange ribbon she used to keep her hair back, to better feel her hair. His touch was light as feathers.

For a little while he slid his fingers through her hair, ignoring everything else. He inhaled the scent as if it were like the living air when he first stepped outside Midgar, holding a tress to his lips.

Then, Shera cleared her throat and said, "Cid."

He was far too involved in feeling her hair to even register that he’d been addressed.

"Cid," she said a little louder.

"Mmmm?" he mumbled, hearing this time but still not exactly responding.

She turned to face him, effectively pulling her hair out of his hands. He looked a little stunned. "What?" he answered finally.

Shera was smiling softly, as if she had been enjoying what he was doing, but there was still a bit of mischief in her eyes. "You’re not being fair."

"Huh?" Cid was confused. Not being fair?

"Well," she said, looking straight into his eyes, "It’s not fair." She pulled the goggles off his head and the cigarettes they held and dropped them lightly on the cabin deck. "I should get to play with your hair too."

Cid blinked at her for a second. Then he glanced behind her and realized that she had touched some controls before, to make the Highwind jerk. "You did that on purpose!"

Shera didn’t answer, instead she started running her hands through Cid’s hair. He closed his eyes again and smiled, realizing what she had done, and remarkably well at that...he wasn’t thinking about what had happened that night, or what was coming up. He chuckled a little and kissed her, returning his hands to her hair.

Then he said, "You are such a sneak."

"Hush. I’m busy," she said smiling, stroking his hair.

Cid thought then that she was too good for words. "I love you, Shera."

"I love you too. Now hush, I’m busy."

Cid laughed at that, then kissed her again.

The full-fledged pilot and crew of the Highwind looked discreetly away as much as they were able.

* * *

When they finally set the Highwind down in the grass near Midgar, Cid was in a considerably better mood. Not to say he was happy. He wasn’t. But his mood was not as dangerous as it had been a few hours ago.

He and Shera held hands as they walked the distance from clean grass to the dead zone that still lay around Midgar. Life slowly crept into the black, dead earth, but it would be a long, long time before it reached the city. Perhaps the flowers that had grown wherever Aeris, the last Cetra, had spent any time, would spread from within and meet the grass outside someday. Cid carried the Venus Gospel on his shoulder, in case they were assaulted by any of the weak monsters that still inhabited the area.

They were fortunate and reached the Sector 2 Gate without incident. The gate lay open; in fact, it looked as though it hadn’t been closed for a long time. Two youngish looking people, a man and a woman, stood guard to keep monsters out. Cait Sith also stood there atop his cave moogle, his tail flicking back and forth. Mog hugged himself as if he were cold and fluttered his wings.

As Cid and Shera approached Cait, his tail almost began lashing, and his ears were pressed tightly to his skull. He bade Mog move forward, and they met the two humans just at the gate entrance.

"Gladja could make it...my skin’s been crawlin’. I hope we can all figger out what ta do ‘bout this ghost...it’s drivin’ James batty," Cait said when they met. Cait for his part did not at all look comfortable. It seemed he hadn’t gotten over the fright Cid gave him on the phone, but he was relieved to see that Cid didn’t look quite ready to skin him or anything. His ears relaxed and his tail movement reduced to a little flick at the tip.

As they turned to go into the city, the guards nodded toward them. Cid narrowed his eyes and looked at Cait, then asked slowly, "I’m here because it seems like this ghost is hurting me pretty bad. I’m not terribly concerned about anything else."

Cait looked down at Cid and blinked. "Look, maybe y’all had yer fallin’ out, but James really feels bad about whatever it is he did, he really does."

Cid stopped short and suddenly grabbed Cait Sith by the throat and yanked him off his moogle. "Cait Sith, did he TELL you what he did that he feels so damned awful about?"

Mog and Shera both stopped and watched, unsure if interrupting this altercation would be wise. At the moment, Cid hadn’t done anything that actually threatened Cait—it is very hard indeed to strangle a robot.

Cait’s ears flicked back again and he cringed. He was about to wrap his hands around Cid’s arm, but noticed for the first time it was covered in bandages. "What happened to ya?" he nearly shouted.

"Let me tell you, you piece of %&#^ cat. This...person...that you say is haunted by my ghost did this to me." Cait looked at him in shock. "That’s right, that %^&$#@^ bastard did this. This is what he feels so bad about."

"B-but James has been here! He couldn’t have gone ter Rocket Town!"

Cid hissed, "I didn’t say he did it today. That’s the ghost’s doin’, while I was sleepin’. But he did do this. Sixteen years ago, your friend," and this word he spit out, "handcuffed me to my damned bed and before he forgot me for FOUR @^&*&#% DAYS like that, he burnt his damn name into my arm." He handed Shera the Venus Gospel and pointed at the long bandage up his right arm. "That’s what this is. A brand. And these," this time he pointed out the bandages on his wrists, "I got some time when I was so %^&*^$% thirsty that I was willing to cut my hands off to get free."

The robot cat’s ears flattened so tightly they probably ached. He looked at Cid with wide eyes. "James did that? Just left ya?" Shera stared at the ground, like she was trying to remember something.

Cid shook Cait. "Yes! He left me! They say a human can live three or four days without water in a desert...wasn’t I just so damned lucky I wasn’t in a $%#@&*& DESERT!"

Cait gulped. He was a robot...but he had been thirsty before, or Reeve had. Then he blinked a few times, looking around, trying in his mind to reconcile the James he knew, the one who felt so bad about an accident that had killed his son, or so he thought, and the James Cid had known, one that would burn letters into his child’s arm and then forget about him for days on end. It wasn’t working; it just didn’t add up.

"I...I don’t get it. He muster changed a lot since then...," Cait said slowly. Then, venturing into dangerous territory, he asked, "Whatcha do to him then? He said you almost killed him too, y’know."

Cid growled. "I Big Brawled him. With the fire place poker he used to brand me."

Suddenly Cait lost all fear and his ears snapped up, quivering in excitement. "That explains it!"

"What?!" Cid shouted, angry. He hadn’t wanted to talk about any of this, and Cait’s demeanor was really rubbing him the wrong way. Shera chewed on a nail, remembering in bits and pieces a story like what Cid had just told...like it was a dream or something similar.

"The ghost! It does that, it chases James around with one o’ them pokey things! And it scared me so bad, I seen it all chained up and lookin’ like it had both feet in the grave...ooo, it scared me, my fur was all on end!"

Cid shuddered suddenly and dropped Cait.

* * *

"Well, here we are," Cait announced from his position between Mog’s ears.

"No $%^& Sherlock," Cid growled. He recognized the house all too well.

"Should we go inside?" Shera suggested meekly. Cid made a rather disgusted face.

"You can if you want...I’m not going in for love or money," Cid said.

"Hower we s’posed to deal with the ghost if you won’t even go see it?" Cait asked, tempting the devil.

"Maybe you two can think of something. I ain’t goin’ in that house."

Cait snorted. "Arright, maybe we can get the ghost to come out here, but I’m thinking still sometime yer gonna have to go in there." He was quick to order Mog forward before Cid could do anything threatening. Not that Cid had any intentions of committing bodily harm to the synthetic cat; after dropping him just inside Midgar, Cid had become more and more silent and subdued...almost depressed. Cid turned to the side and leaned against one of the posts holding up the patio roof, lighting up a cigarette and staring at the ground.

Shera sighed softly, and after patting Cid on the shoulder, she followed Cait up to the door.

Cait knocked on the door, but as soon as he did, the door opened; apparently James had left it unlatched. Cait and Mog shrugged at the same time and the big moogle squeezed through the opening, followed by Shera.

"Hey James! We’re back!" Cait shouted, but there was no answer. "Huh," the cat said, flicking an ear. "He musta lefter somethin’."

"I’m sure he must work," Shera said, looking around the living room. Bits of popcorn lay strewn about, and there was a surprisingly large variety of cosmetics on an end table. Shera looked at Cait.

Cait grinned sheepishly. "It was me. Havin’ a sleep-over at a haunted house, y’know. James ain’t inter that. Strikes me as a bit of a ‘manly man’, wouldn’t even let me give him a manicure, and he’s a businessman it seems, too."

Shera almost laughed. The image of Cait giving someone who probably looked a good deal like Cid a manicure was nearly too much. She wandered into the kitchen; it was neat and tidy, looking a little like it hadn’t been used as much as it should have been. No wonder to her, though; if James really was Cid’s father, he probably was as inept in the kitchen as Cid was...except for making tea. Cid was very good at making tea.

"So, Cait...what do you think we can do about this ghost anyway?" Shera asked, after opening the refrigerator and confirming her thoughts that James didn’t use the kitchen often; it was full of left over take-out.

"Well...I don’t rightly know. But I’m havin’ my suspicions...I’m thinkin’ that what James felt so bad about...if it was as bad as Cid said, Cid might have left a...a...well, a shadow of it here."

Shera frowned deeply as she reentered the living room. "It was as bad as Cid said. You didn’t see the burns on his arm."

Cait’s ears drooped. "I’m sorry ter hear it. James really is a nice guy, if’n you don’t mind much that he’s a bit on the broody side. Reminds me of Vincent in that way."

Shera sniffed. "From what I hear, Vincent didn’t really do anything all that wrong...more like he didn’t do something he should have...sin of omission." Her nose wrinkled and for a second Cait thought she might snarl. "James is stacked to the ceiling with sins of commission."

"And ya’d think no one ever heard of ‘I’m sorry’ before," Cait grumbled under his breath, not intending to be heard, but he was. Nevertheless, Shera said nothing; Cait’s words struck a little close to home. Even so, she didn’t think James had ever apologized to Cid.

Cait started down the hallway, and Shera followed him. "Still, what are we going to do about this ghost?" Shera asked again. "If Cid’s right, and it’s hurting him in his sleep, I’m more than a little worried about what will happen if too much more time passes."

"Hmm. Does seem a little dangerous, don’t it. But I don’t know how the ghost is doin’ all that. I gotsta think about it a bit more...and maybe it’ll be OK still...might not be any fun, but it hasn’t done anything fatal to Cid yet, has it?"

"No," Shera answered slowly. "I suppose if it could...or if it wanted to...Cid would have woke up last time in as bad a shape as he dreamed he was. I guess it couldn’t pull off the whole thing in one night."

Cait snapped his fingers. "That might be it...it might not have the power yet." They stopped opposite the door to Cid’s old room. "This is where the ghost was when I first saw it." As he spoke, Cait’s tail began to bristle, getting bigger and bigger around.

Shera stroked Cait’s tail, trying to calm him down. Cait smiled a little, but couldn’t help flicking the tip of his tail. "I dunno if you wanna go in or not. At least you’ll be prepared, a bit more than I was." Cait shrugged. "Maybe you wouldn’t bolt out like the scardy cat I am...."

"I...I suppose. But what can I do?"

"Talk to it maybe? When I first saw it...I think it was more, well, Cid-like. Then it hissed and got mean. I dunno. I was hoping Cid would come in and talk to it."

She shuddered a little, but placed her hand on the door knob. "I’ll give it a try."

Shera sat down on the nightstand, looking over at the boy chained to the bed, watching him… He wasn’t really asleep, but neither was he totally awake; his dull, sunken eyes stared at the ceiling for the most part, occasionally flicking this way or that, following movement only he could see.

She knew who it was, but had no idea how it could be; he was too young, his face rounded and his shoulders not quite as broad. But it was Cid. He had the same furrows that her Cid had whenever he pulled his eyebrows together, the same thin lips, and the same long nose.

Instinctively, she reached out a hand and stroked his hair and his cheek. No wonder he was delirious…his skin was extremely hot, like a dull fire. He leaned into her hand, like a cat might when it was petted. This small action nearly broke her heart, so she kneeled by the bed and put her other hand on his hair, planting a little kiss on his forehead.

The child-Cid, the phantom, looked at her without seeing her and smiled. He started to say something, but it looked as though it hurt him to try. His lips were blue and cracked and bleeding very sluggishly. Every maternal instinct Shera possessed screamed for her to do something, to take care of him…and it didn’t help at all that she loved him in an older incarnation. But what could she do?

He finally managed to croak out, "I’m Cid….Highwind…..Wh-who are you?" His voice was very soft, less than a whisper, dry and desolate.

The phantom said ‘Highwind’ as if it were a mark of status, something overwhelmingly important to him. She smiled a little and replied, "Shera."

Cid whispered, "I like you, Sh-shera. Can I…talk to…you? C…could you get me some water? …Very thirsty…."

"Of course," Shera answered. She got up and got some water in a small plastic cup. Remembering just a week ago how Cid had dribbled tea in his ears, she set the cup aside and helped this Cid to sit up as much as he could. He appeared very dizzy for a long while, and she hoped moving him hadn’t been a mistake. She almost held his hand, but decided against it, seeing the deep cuts that the cuffs had made. She didn’t want to hurt him.

When Cid appeared to have steadied himself, Shera took the cup and held it to his lips. He gulped it down like a drowning man might air, and when he was done he gasped, "More please, more please" with such desperation that it hurt to hear. She immediately fetched more and let him drink that as well.

After two more such trips, Cid seemed satisfied. Judging from his appearance, that was probably because he was full and not because he was no longer thirsty. It was plain to see he was badly dehydrated and would probably die without medical treatment. Shera was relieved that while she didn’t know the story in full, she at least knew how it ended. She helped him back down, as he looked dizzy again.

When he was again lying down, Cid looked in Shera’s general direction with a wistful expression. "I’m…gonna fly someday, you know."

Shera nodded. "Yeah, you will." She wasn’t sure why the phantom told her this, but she went along with it, since he felt it was important.

He smiled broadly, with the same intensity and determination the real Cid always had. "On my own wings. I’ll fly higher than any bird ever has…leave this…place…and never come back." His smile faltered, slowly falling away. He halfheartedly pulled at the handcuffs, not seeming to feel any pain when the metal touched the bloody cuts on his wrists.

Shera sighed, his motions like a knife in her gut. "I wish there was something I could do for you," she whispered, mostly to herself. But this Cid was a part of the past; nothing done today could change it. When she turned her attention back to the phantom, she frowned slightly at what she saw.

He had changed, in almost imperceptible ways; blue eyes focused now, ice cold, faintly sinister…and something about his presence…no, not his…its…

"You can," it whispered, voice unchanged and yet darker, "I’m here....Let me sleep once more. Then I will fall, and I will be free." It narrowed its dead eyes at her, and a shadow fell across its face. "Let me sleep a little while."

Then, as if a spell had been broken, the phantom shifted and dissipated, leaving Shera alone in the room.

* * *

James dreaded going back home. That cat…and the ghost. It was as if his worst nightmares of the past were back to haunt him…with insane embellishment to heighten the horrible dream-like quality. There was the mad cat...and the ghost of his son waiting for him there, waiting to kill him. He knew it was only a matter of time before the spirit had its way, before he died a gruesome death, one he deserved long ago.

As he walked slowly toward his house, James traced a finger over his abdomen; underneath his suit jacket there was a scar...one received at the hands of his only son, one that should have been the death of him, to follow after his child.

He considered moving every now and again; maybe to Kalm, or Costa Del Sol perhaps...but he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving all the memories of his late wife and son behind. All he had left of his beloved were memories. He had never moved on after her lingering death, and didn’t want to. Sighing, he dropped his hand and trudged on.

When he turned the last corner before the paved road that lead to his home, he paused for a moment, seeing someone unfamiliar sitting in front, leaning against the banister of the short stairway to his door. James let out a long-suffering breath, hoping this wasn’t one of the mad cat’s friends come to torment him, then continued on his way.

His steps became slower and slower the closer he got to the unfamiliar person. It was a man, well armed if the giant gold bladed halberd meant anything...but that’s not what slowed James’ walk. It was the man’s hair, the ash blond atop his bowed head. That very color...it elicited so many memories of his late wife... James stopped for a moment to collect himself, shoving down the knot forming in his throat.

A few more steps and the man heard him and looked up. James nearly broke down right there; the man looked so much like her, his eyes, the shape of his face...the only thing missing was the warmth of her smile. This man wasn’t smiling. For a brief second there was nothing, then an expression black as night settled in his face.

Undying hate...then it suddenly struck him why he so strongly resembled his beloved. James breath caught in his throat; the thought hadn’t even occurred to him...because this man was supposed to be long dead. But there he was, Cid McKenzie, his son.

For a long time, James did nothing. The shock paralyzed him. How could Cid be here, alive? And this was certainly not the ghost; the ghost was young, having never aged after his death. But...how?

Cid stood slowly and crossed his bandaged arms over his chest, holding that frightening halberd in his hand like the weapon it was. Finally the shock of seeing his son alive was overcome by his love for him and joy at seeing him alive, and he ran over to him, weeping for him. All he wanted to do was touch him, to embrace him...both to assure himself this was no hallucination and to let his son know how much he missed him.

With a surprising quickness of movement, the butt end of the halberd flicked out, right in front of James’ feet, forcing him to stop short. "Cid," he murmured, wiping his sleeve across his eyes. "You’re alive..."

Cid’s tempestuous glare was his only reply.

After wiping his eyes once more, uselessly, James reached over the green haft of Cid’s pole-arm, intending to set his hand on his son’s shoulder. With another deft movement, Cid caught James’ wrist in his hand and forced it back, twisting his arm in the process. James winced in pain and whispered, his voice almost pleading and choked with tears, "Cid...I just wanted to touch you..."

With a shove, Cid let go of James’ hand, causing him to stumble back. "Why?" he snapped, and James could see the stark fury in his face...and the deep confusion.

Rubbing his wrist, James answered honestly. "Because you’re my son and I love you."

Cid’s jaw dropped for a second, and then incoherent rage filled him. James backed up a step, realizing he’d said something very wrong but not knowing what.

He didn’t have time to get away before Cid’s bare hands wrapped around his throat in a death grip, the weapon clattering to the ground. Gagging, James tried to pull his son’s hands off of him, scrabbling for a hold, but he knew he couldn’t. It was obvious Cid was very experienced in battle, and much stronger than he was. James’ vision grew dim, and as a last ditch effort he scratched at Cid’s bandaged arm, pulling off the gauze and clawing at the wound underneath.

With a shocked, strangled cry Cid dropped James, and the older man fell to the ground, holding his throat and sucking in desperate breaths. When he recovered enough to look up, he saw Cid clenching his fists, making a massive effort to control his rage.

"How...dare...you!" Cid growled through clenched teeth as he held his arm to his chest.

James continued gasping for breath, watching Cid sadly. He had forgotten...or at least, pushed out of his memory, the fact that he had branded Cid on that arm. Being burned was one of the last memories he had of his father, and now James remembered that Cid had disowned him...And after that I left him to die...

No wonder he was angry. "I’m sorry, Cid," James whispered, hanging his head.

He heard Cid hiss above him, "You hated me."

Now James began to feel anger rising in him. It wasn’t true. He had never hated Cid. "That’s not true."

Closer to him James felt Cid hiss again, "You hated me."

Just moments ago he had learned how dangerous his words were, but James couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t stand to have anyone accuse him of hating his family. "Cid, I love you; you’re my son, and I love you," James insisted, then braced himself for whatever was coming.

He felt Cid grab his hair and yank his head up, forcing him to look at the arm held in front of his face. James flinched, but Cid didn’t let go. "What does it say," the pilot asked, his voice cracking. James tried to look away, but couldn’t.

Cid asked again, "What does it say, Jay?" At that name, which he hadn’t used in years, James looked up at Cid as best he could from his position. He didn’t know what to expect, perhaps the same fury he had before, but no...tears were dropping from Cid’s eyes unashamedly, some nameless agony etched into his features. James looked down, his stomach tying itself in knots.

The ghost was a terrible reminder...but this...his living son...James began to wonder if this was just an accounting before Cid killed him.

So he sighed, resigning himself to a fate he couldn’t escape, and looked at the old scars he had burned into his son’s arm in a fit of madness long ago. He was surprised to find the letters not old, but very new, as if they had been created only that day. He wondered about that, but set it aside, thinking he didn’t have much time to wonder anymore. So, with a catch in his voice, he read the words. "It says...J. McKenzie."

He felt Cid’s hand trembling on his head, and his head shaking a ‘no’. "It says ‘I hate you’....it says ‘worthless’, ‘you mean nothing to me’." James felt Cid shaking hard now, as if sobbing silently, and his voice betrayed him. "It says ‘I own you’....Jay...."

"I’m sorry Cid," James answered, his voice barely audible. How had it happened? How had he gone so staggeringly, incredibly wrong? How had he managed to convince his son he hated him when that was the farthest from the truth?

Cid let go of James’ hair, and James sat back on his feet, watching Cid very carefully. He felt destiny coming for him...and he wasn’t sure he wanted to go just yet. Cid had retrieved his weapon and turned his back on him, but James could still see how tightly he gripped the haft; his arms were shaking with the effort. And he knew Cid was crying still. He had always been like that...fast to laugh, fast to cry, and fast to anger. He never did hold back his emotions, never had been afraid.

While he watched, it dawned on James that all this time, while he thought he had killed his son and grieved for him, in reality he had...merely...wounded him to the core, and left him to wonder why. Sixteen years for his son to wonder why...and try to shove aside the memory of four long days James had at the time found all too easy to forget.

"I...I did mean...to come back that day," the older man said quietly. Cid stiffened, and James thought that perhaps he had said too much. When he had returned four days later, Cid was more than half dead. The shock of what he had done was almost unbearable then...he couldn’t even begin to imagine how Cid had felt, lying helpless and dying by inches. And now...maybe thinking about it was more than he could handle. There had been too many reminders of dark days already. So James said nothing else.

After a very long, tense time, Cid finally said, without turning to face the older man, "It was because I reminded you of her, wasn’t it."

For a moment James wasn’t sure what Cid meant. Then he realized...was that it? James floundered, understanding finally what Cid had realized so many years ago. He had never wanted to move on from his beloved wife’s death, he had loved her so dearly...had that...had that made him push Cid away? That must have been it, because Cid was so much like her, so much that even now it hurt James to see him, to see the shape of his face, his eyes, his hair, even his build. It still hurt.

No wonder Cid thought he hated him. The magnitude of James’ error nearly choked him and blinded him. James wasn’t the same man now as he was the day he thought Cid had died...or the day four years before when he first struck his son in anger, at least he hoped he wasn’t. He had been so worried, scared Cid was dead, and in his error he lost his temper and hurt him. Of course Cid wouldn’t have known how frightened James had been that day when he came home and Cid wasn’t there.

All Cid would have seen was his distant father beating him senseless. That’s all Cid would ever have seen. James had been so insanely stupid...so selfish...so quick to rage and so cold. Very quietly, the realization of why he had been so distant and why Cid had thought he hated him strong in his mind, James whispered, "Y...yes...That...must have been...why.... I’m so sorry...you didn’t understand...."

He saw Cid flinch, but just as James realized that he had been misunderstood, Cid made a quick motion, then he was in the air, moving through it in ways no ordinary man could. A leap...a Dragoon’s jump. James fell back, certain he was about to die. He cried out, "No! It was me! I do love you, Cid, I always did!"

Cid flew down toward James like a diving raptor intent on its prey. In an instant, the gold bladed halberd was buried at least a foot and a half into the ground, right between James’ shoes. On either side, a blade just touched the top of each of his feet. A little deeper, and James would be maimed for life.

Breathing hard, Cid hissed, "And what about this? Did I misunderstand you when you tried to rip my leg off for being a Highwind?"

James was white, his body heaving in short ragged gasps. He could barely think. He should be dead. He could have been, it was obvious Cid was so well practiced in the skills of the Dragon Knights that he could have impaled him, or worse obliterated him, leaving nothing but a massive smear of gore on the road. James scooted back away, not caring that he cut his feet on the exceedingly sharp blades of the weapon. While James attempted to recover his voice, Cid pulled the halberd out of the ground and backed up a step and watched him.

It took a bit, but finally James was able to stammer out, "N-no...me, it was me... I should have never have acted the way I had...I should have known better." He watched as Cid stepped back to the porch and sat down heavily on one of the steps, his rage apparently spent.

James watched him for a long time. "We can’t go back, can we. I can’t make it right."

"No," Cid said quietly, looking at James for a moment. Then he pulled a cigarette from the pack in his goggles and lit it. After a second he blew the smoke out his nose, his gaze fixed on nothing. "No."

James nodded slowly, and in his heart wished there could be a way.

* * *

Shera closed the door behind her, wiping at her eyes. She looked down the hallway, toward the back of the house, where she saw Mog standing. Slowly she stepped over to the bottom half of Reeve’s toysaurus, looking for the ‘brains’ of the operation.

"Cait?" she said quietly, her voice shaking. Seeing the ghost had reminded her very forcefully of what Cid had told her while she slept...an uneasy, faltering dream memory made very, startlingly, coldly real. And her voice wasn’t shaking just because of fear...she was angry too, angrier than she’d been in a long time. She wondered what she would do if she ever met James face to face.

"Oh, I’m in here," the cat called, from what must be James’ bedroom. Shera slipped by Mog and into the room, where she found Cait looking at several photographs in a drawer. There were also a few children’s books.

"What are you doing?" she asked, trying to calm her voice. Calm was something she was known for...she could manage the facade...

Cait looked up from his seat on the carpet in front of the open drawer. "Lookin’ at some pictures. Tryin’ to get a feel for how them two acted around each other...lookin’ fer hints I s’pose. Pull up some carpet and have a look."

The corners of Shera’s mouth turned up slightly at the odd turn of phrase. She sat down next to Cait and looked in the drawer. "It was Cid. I talked to it...him...for a little while. It was terrible...he was dying Cait...way back when...he really was."

Cait’s ears drooped. "Well, that would be enough to leave a shade I think...really that bad off? I didn’t get a chance to look real close."

Shera nodded slightly.

The cat pulled a picture from the drawer. It showed a woman and a little boy, both smiling happily. They looked very much akin. "That’s his mom. Pretty thing ain’t she...as long as yer not thinkin’ ‘bout how much she looks like Cid...."

"I happen to think Cid is very handsome," Shera said as she took the photograph and gave it a closer inspection. They looked so happy.

Cait snorted. "No accountin’ fer taste."

Shera levered her gaze at Cait Sith. "And what would a cat know, hmm?"

"Arright, I admit I ain’t in the position ter be judgin’ the looks o’ humans. But Cid’s all scruffy and he smells." Cait passed Shera another picture, this time of a man and a child...must be James and Cid...and they looked happy too. James was swinging Cid by his arms, and Cid was laughing.

"Amazing. I wonder what happened to them," Shera said, setting the photo down. "So Cid’s a...well steeped in tobacco smoke. Some women like scruffy."

Cait reached into the drawer and pulled out a book. "Don’t that make ‘em all scratchy? Like kissin’ a cactus?"

Shera blushed a little, but countered, "If I recall, Reeve, you have a goatee...."

Cait made a noise that could easily pass for choking, then said quickly, "Nice little picture book. Had me one when I was little...when I was...never mind. Anyway, it looks like something Cid woulda liked. Probably his."

Shera leafed though the pages of landscapes and birds flying and tried to imagine what it would be like looking at from a world where the only sky was a dingy metal plate. Would she have believed there was a Sun and a Moon if she’d never seen them before? "Probably is. He would have liked it. He told me he never saw the sky until he was thirteen."

"Holy %^&*," Cait gasped. Then he clamped his paws over his mouth. "Sorry!" he squeaked from behind his white gloves. "It just came out!"

"Cait, I live with Cid. I’ve heard worse."

He lowered his paws. "Maybe, but not from me. It jes caught me off guard, that’s all. Never seen the sky ‘til he was a teen. And with him bein’ Cid...no wonder he kept goin’ out. Pieces’r fallin’ inter place...."

Shera looked at Cait. "What do you mean?"

"James said Cid never stayed at home when he was told. I knows Cid well enough that if I was him I wouldn’t stay inside knowin’ there was all that wonderful sky and stars what I loved just waitin’ to be seen. Probably a major point of contention with them two. They musta never saw eye to eye on it...I dunno why...James ain’t so mean he wouldna let Cid go stargazing...wonder why...."

Shera’s face hardened. "James nearly let Cid die of thirst in his own house, Cait."

"Well...er...that’s so...ain’t denyin’ that...but they was happy before! It had ter have built up...I know you have trouble believin’ me, but James is a nice guy, and he feels really bad about what he did. Not what he shouldn’t feel bad...but I don’t think it started out like that. Just lookit the pictures! Him and his mom and his dad...they was all a happy family. Somethin’ happened, made them angry...probably with James...I wonder what...."

A shrill cry interrupted Cait’s thoughts. He bolted up and ran, and so did Shera. It was like the death scream of a woman...and if either of them had stopped to think, they would have realized how much like Shera it sounded...

* * *

Outside, Cid and James heard the shrill cry. Cid shot up and ran into the house, that house he swore he would never again enter. But it had been Shera’s voice and he was terrified something had happened to her. James followed after Cid, dreading the ghost may have done something.

It didn’t take long to find out what had happened. Shera and Cait stood in the living room, staring at a ghost. The spirit stood looking silently toward the doorway, where Cid and James were located. It shocked Cid to see...the ghost really did look like him, just younger. He opened his mouth to say something, relaxing his grip on Venus Gospel, but his words were cut off by a dark, chilling laugh.

The ghost was changing, shifting, laughing.

A deep sound shuddered through the room, so low that it was more felt than heard. And then everything went dark.

* * *

Shera and Cait Sith both began to stir about the same time. Mog sat up and rubbed his wide head. They lay outside on the dirty street, unceremoniously dumped there after the ghost had knocked them out. While Shera rubbed her head, Cait Sith muttered, "Get the number of that there WEAPON what hit me?"

"No...," Shera groaned. Then she stood up and dusted herself off. She was about to ask what had happened when she caught a glance at the window looking into the living room of the old house. Taking a few steps to get a closer look, she saw Cid pacing back and forth, his face dark with sadistic anticipation. Or was it?

Shera leaned down and tapped Cait on the shoulder and asked, "Is that the ghost? It looks like Cid, but...."

The robot cat jumped up on Shera’s shoulder to get a better look. His whiskers twitched. "Naw, that’s not. I dunno how, but it looks ter be the ghost. He muster gotten older since we last seen him."

"Yeah...well...we have to get back in there somehow. I don’t like the idea of having Cid stuck in that house with that thing."

Cait nodded. "And by the looks a things, front door’s out."

Shera adjusted her glasses with one hand, thinking silently. "Could we break in? There’s a window facing the alley...."

"Yeah, I kin break in there. No problem. We gots ter be quiet though."

"Right."

"Mog, you wait here," Cait said, and the cave moogle nodded, still rubbing its head.

Without getting any nearer the front of the house, Shera and Cait ducked down and carefully made their way to the side. Once they reached the alley, they moved quickly to the window on the side of the house, then Cait Sith leapt over to it. With the uncanny balance only a cat can have, Cait stood with his hind paws on the thin edge of the window sill and set his fore paws on the glass. Then he yanked off a glove with his teeth and tossed it on the ground, exposing claws sharp as razors.

"Are you going to cut the glass?" Shera whispered, and Cait nodded his head in response. Then he set his claws on the window and carefully traced a circle just large enough to fit his fist through. A quick jab knocked the glass loose, and Cait reached in and unlatched the window. Jumping back down to the ground, he allowed Shera to push the window open.

With the pane opened, Cait lightly leapt up and over the sill, while Shera scrambled over. She caught one of her khaki pantlegs on a nail jutting out of the sill. Grumbling softly, she untangled herself and fell forward, landing on her hands and knees. She looked down and saw the haft of the Venus Gospel—she was fortunate she hadn’t landed on the blades.

Cait grabbed her sleeve and started yanking on it, his eyes wide as saucers. Shera looked up in the direction Cait seemed to be looking, and with a tiny gasp she launched herself in the direction of the bedside she had landed near. They had broken into Cid’s old bedroom, where both Shera and Cait Sith had seen the spirit.

The scene was similar to when they saw the shade, but this time it was not a ghost that lay handcuffed to the headboard, dripping blood from his hands. This time it was real; somehow Cid had been caught and chained to his old bed. Shera rapidly climbed up and kneeled over him on the side of the bed, looking down and wanting to take him away from this nightmare, but not knowing how.

And it was a nightmare: to Shera’s eyes it looked as though every injury Cid had ever had from the least and the smallest scrape to the greatest...the terrible burns, and his torn hands. She never thought she would ever see him look worse than the ghost had, but he did; all the ghost had Cid also felt, but he bled freely and there was more. One arm was broken...Shera bit her lip when she realized, afraid she might have hurt him more in her haste. But he never made a sound, and his eyes were closed.

She tried to say something, to do something, anything, anything...but she was paralyzed by the sight. Her breath came in short gasps, and tears started pricking her eyes.

"Ahh...aaa.........haaa.......?!" She caught her hand, stopping herself from caressing his cheek, sorely afraid of causing him any more pain. Then she caught herself a second time.

Cait Sith jumped up beside Shera, his eyes no longer so wide but rather glassy and dull. "Asleep," he muttered to himself.

After a second, Shera tore her gaze from Cid’s battered form and looked at the cat. "Ahh....a...sleep? Ghhhost s-s-aid...."

Then Cid screamed in his sleep, and before their eyes his already broken arm twisted and cracked again, as if taken in invisible hands. Shera cried out at the same time, and without thinking fell on him and held him and kissed his cheek. "We have to...aaa.......the ghost said......if he slept again......we h-ha-ave to wake him.....!"

"How?! If that didn’t wake him, what would?!" Cait shouted.

Shera turned her head and looked back at Cait. "Take...take these damned cuffs off him...I-I don't want him t-to wake like this," she answered, her voice catching in her throat.

Without a second thought, Cait hopped up and over Shera, and began to pick the lock on one handcuff, as carefully as he could. His white paws quickly slicked with the blood that steadily leaked from the rough cuts on Cid’s wrists, but his grip was sure.

While Cait worked on the locks, Shera laid her head on Cid’s shoulder, racking her brains for anything that might serve to wake him. She moved her head slightly so that her lips were a scarce millimeter from his ear and she sniffed quietly, but with fearful earnestness, "Cid.......what can I do.....you h-have to wake up.... Tell me what to do...."

Cid started for a second, and Shera hoped he was waking up, but no...instead, she felt something begin dripping down her temple and she smelled something metallic. Anger arose in her gut like a hot flood; she balled up her fists and clenched her jaw tightly. And her heat was directed at not only the ghost but to James McKenzie for ever hurting Cid like this in the first place.

"One down!" Cait shouted, then bounded over to Cid’s other hand. "I think this’ll go faster, assumin’ they’re keyed alike."

Shera nodded, trying to relax her hands. "Come on, wake up...."

After just a minute, Cait announced that he’d unlocked the second cuff. Then he sat up and twitched his whiskers for a moment. Sensing something, a strange darkness, as if something were pulling another something away from here...perhaps...perhaps the spirit was linked here? "I gotta plan, Shera. We gotta get’m away from here."

Shera looked up, confused. "What do you mean?"

"I’m thinkin’ that there ghost’s got a special concern for this exact location, this bed...y’see, I thinks it was, well, born here. So we gotsta move Cid."

She looked back down at Cid, frowning deeply. How could they move him? Planet knew what sort of damage had been done...she already knew he had broken bones...what if there were others? What if there were internal injuries? But...what if Cait were right? A low moan and spout of blood from Cid’s mouth shattered her moment of indecision. Instantly, Shera grabbed Cid around his chest and started dragging him off the bed and onto the floor, as fast as she could, without any regard for safety.

Cait helped as best he could, but he was too small to do much. Eventually they managed to get Cid off his old bed, and onto the dusty floor. Still he slept, but Shera felt something had shifted, something in the air maybe. She felt hopeful, and yet she still hadn’t figured out a way to wake Cid up. Too scared to shake him, knowing he wouldn’t hear her if she spoke, she just sat and looked at him and pulled at a bit of her hair.

"Now you wait here for a sec, I gots some materia, but I gotsta go get it," Cait told Shera just before he leapt nimbly out the window.

"OK, OK," she answered without thinking, even though the cat had already left. Shera looked a little longer at Cid, then with a sudden idea she very gently picked up his unbroken arm. Maybe she could surprise him a bit, maybe that would wake him up. It hadn’t been that long since they had come here, and she remembered how he’d ran his hands through her hair so softly and so intently...because he’d never done so before. He had always kept his hands covered, for practical reasons, and to cover up his scars. She didn’t know how long he’d done that, but she did know she had never done this before. As carefully as she could, she held his hand in hers and kissed his fingertips.

And he did stir, just a little. She leaned over him and asked him to wake up, still holding his hand. His breathing changed, and she hoped she was getting through.

She held the back of his hand to her mouth, to kiss him again, but instead she screamed, startled, because something had hit her in the head. For a split second she was scared it was the ghost, realizing maybe that its prey was no longer in its power, but no...it was Cait, standing on her head. Cid clenched his fingers.

"What are you doing?!" she hissed, angry at the start and confused.

Cait shifted a little and said, with what she just knew was a Cheshire grin, "Mog’s not here, and I gotsta git in the right position ter be castin’ magic!" Then Shera felt the mechanical cat do a little dance on her head and shout through one of his megaphones Ancient words to call up healing magic.

Still on edge, Shera went to shove the cat off her head, but instead watched as the Cure magic did its work on Cid. It wasn’t a complete fix, but she could see many of his wounds heal over, including the cuts on the hand she still held. Heartened, Shera did kiss the back of Cid’s hand this time and then shook him gently. "Wake up, Cid!"

This time it worked, and he did wake up. He blinked a few times, but before any of the pain he still must have felt caught his attention, he narrowed his eyes up at Shera, with Cait now splayed out on her head, and spluttered, "The HELL?!"

"Hafter be in the right position to cast magic," Cait replied helpfully.

"You were asleep," Shera said, very quietly. She was relieved to see Cid alert. "The ghost was doing something to you we think."

Cid looked up at the ceiling. "Oh ^%$#, hell I know, never had such awful dreams." Suddenly Cid’s casual glance at the roof turned into a stare of frightening intensity. Cait cowered and Shera unconsciously moved away a fraction of an inch. "NOT AGAIN!" he screamed, and tried to get up as fast as he could, but he leaned too much weight on his broken arm and he fell to the side, white as a sheet and close to swooning.

Outside the door they all heard an inhuman cry, as if in answer to Cid’s. Shera and Cait realized quickly that the ghost must know now that they had taken Cid out of its power for the moment. Shera looked back at the door quickly then up, trying to see the cat on her head. "We have to get him fixed up now."

"I gotcha," Cait replied. "But first things first." With that, he leaped off Shera’s head and landed behind Cid’s head, who was now gasping as if he couldn’t breath. Speedily, Cait whipped out a big, bright yellow ribbon and tied it to the back of Cid’s goggles. "It’sa Ribbon. Now the ghost can’t make him sleep again. Shouldn’t be able to anyway." Then he jumped back up on Shera’s head. "If you can fix them breaks and stuff, I can do a buncha Curin’, hopefully enough so he’ll be good as new."

"Yeah, I can fix them," Shera said, her voice steely. As fast as she dared, she moved Cid onto his back again, then said, "Sorry, Cid...no time to do this right." Cid didn’t appear to hear her at all; he wasn’t asleep, but he was still struggling and from the looks of it, feeling every wound. Shera sighed, and told Cait to get a spell ready fast. She felt Cait preparing, then as quickly as she could, she set one of the breaks in Cid’s arm and Cait cast as soon as she did. Cid gasped and turned even paler, but that break was healed as much as it could be for now. "Sorry, sorry, I’m sorry, got one more, Cid, I’m sorry," Shera muttered staccato, then set the second break. Cait cast again.

She checked Cid’s leg, and was thankful to find the ghost apparently hadn’t managed to repeat in Cid’s dreams whatever had caused it to be dislocated the first time. But Cid was right at the edge of fainting, skin totally bloodless. "Cait!" Shera shouted...

...And then the door opened.

Shera swung around to look, ignoring Cait’s shouts and the claws he dug into her hair and skin to keep his perch. Cid was standing in the doorway, with a fireplace poker in his left hand. Or rather, the not-Cid, the ghost. It was a terrible wonder how his eyes could be so dead and so full of anger at the same time. "What have you done? It was almost finished!" the ghost shouted, voice like Cid’s, but with a darkness his never had.

Shera ignored the question. Instead she shouted, "Cait, cast! Now!"

She couldn’t see the cat on her head, his hackles up and tail stiff as a rod, but she felt him dancing and heard him cast Cure 3 on Cid again. The not-Cid screamed and swept the poker through the air, just above Shera’s head, and knocked Cait off, sending him crashing into a wall.

"No! I have to finish this! Then I’ll be free!" the ghost howled, and stomped by Shera to the real Cid’s side. Cid was still slow, but recovering from the near swoon; he wasn’t so pale. Cait’s magic was having an effect. He struggled to sit up, glaring at the ghost.

The not-Cid grabbed Cid by the shoulders and picked him up. They looked so alike, at least on the surface. Then the ghost tossed Cid on his old bed and took hold of one hand, preparing to bind the handcuffs again.

Shera growled in her throat, stood, and launched herself at the ghost...but she shot right through, and stumbled into a wall. She spun around, angrier than she had been in a long, long time. She looked around, wishing she had brought one of her guns with her, though she was uncertain how that would have helped.

Cid had come around enough to fight back now, and realizing what the ghost was doing and where he was, he fought with every ounce of strength he had. Somehow he could get a hand on the ghost, and he struggled to get his hand free of its grasp, while kicking at it. The ghost shrieked and grabbed Cid’s arm with both hands, dropping the poker.

After a dazed moment, Cait got back up and staggered nearer. He narrowed his eyes, seeing the fight and Shera’s expression, then as fast as he could, he cast as many Cure 3 spells on Cid as his dwindling magic would allow. He had figured out part of what was going on, and knew that casting magic on the ghost would be a waste of time.

Nevertheless, it helped a great deal. Every time the magic healed Cid, the not-Cid got weaker. Cait had exhausted his magic before he could fully heal all of Cid’s injuries, for there were many and severe, but he’d done enough.

All three of them, Shera, Cait Sith, and the phantom saw a glint in Cid’s eyes and the smile he reserved for people and monsters to whom he was about to deal out some severe punishment. It was not the first time Shera or Cait had seen that grin that was more a baring of teeth. The not-Cid didn’t recognize it until it was too late. With inhuman agility Cid brought his booted foot up to the ghost’s chest and kicked him...right through the door, shattering the jambs, and into the hallway wall. It too cracked; the phantom apparently had not been prepared for the attack, and didn’t have time to phase itself into the nothingness ghosts usually were made of. Or perhaps with Cid, it was unable to.

In any event, the not-Cid was staggered, and while it attempted to get its bearings, Cid shot up and grabbed the phantom, turning it to face him. Then he kicked it again, this time down the hallway, and it flew as if it had grown wings, until another wall easily twenty feet away intercepted it.

Cid spat at it, then turned back into his old room. Shera was blinking in shock...it was sometimes very easy to forget that Cid had the strength of Dragoons in his legs, and getting kicked by him was dangerous business. Cait merely nodded appreciatively.

"It’ll come back when it gets up," Cid said quietly.

Cait walked over to the window and grabbed something with both hands. Shera moved over to stand by Cid, and after she looked at him for a moment, seeing all the blood on his face and hands, her expression turned cold as ice. "I wish I could kill James for what he did to you."

Cid looked at her and was about to say something when Cait appeared at his feet and tugged on his green pants. "Look, Cid, we gotsta destroy that thing’s power source. Well, rather...not the source, but the point it pulls it through. I’m thinkin’ that’s this here bed. I was also thinkin’ you wouldn’t mind doin’ the honors; I gotsa feelin’ you don’t care too much for this room’r nothin’ in it." Cait pulled up the butt end of the Venus Gospel and lifted it as high as his little hands could.

With that feral glint in his eyes, Cid grabbed the halberd and hissed, "Yes, I think I would." He held the Venus Gospel ready to strike. "I’d stand back if I were you," he warned, and the two did just as they were told.

Then with a shout of rage, Cid brought down the weapon on the bed, splitting it in two. The ghost had returned, and it cried out and rushed to stop Cid. But Cid wasn’t finished; he slashed at the bed, cutting it and breaking it into so many pieces it was unrecognizable as anything but splinters, shrapnel, and kindling. Cid finally lowered the Venus Gospel and stood, panting a little from the exertion.

The ghost stepped back, suddenly young in appearance again, as it had been when Cait and Shera had first seen it. Cait gasped, certain that destroying the bed would be enough to disperse the creature. But it almost looked like it was smiling, and for a moment it appeared the way Cid must have before James had branded him and left him.

Cid looked at it, stunned a little, as if he were looking at a mirror into the past. The ghost glanced at Cid with a thoughtful expression, but it didn’t last. A flicker of shadows and it was back to the condition Cid had been the last time that he had been in the house, desiccated and hurt. It reached down and picked up the poker and walked out, looking for all the world like a memory without any context, uncertain.

Cait rushed out to follow the ghost and warn James. Shera was about to, but Cid stopped her for a second. She turned to him, her expression still cold.

"Jay didn’t do all this, Shera. He broke my arm once; Demon Gate broke it the second time."

Shera paused, confused. "So...he didn’t...and the dreams?"

"All the dreams I’ve had, good and bad, have been from my past. But no, he didn’t do all that you just saw."

"How...what...how much?"

Cid closed his eyes briefly and exhaled. "I don’t even remember anymore." Then he walked out into the living room, using the Venus Gospel as a staff. Shera followed after, frowning.

* * *

James sat in his chair, despairing, waiting for the accounting that seemed to be coming far too slowly. The ghost, now fully as big and aged as Cid...but not of his dead son. How had that happened? How could there be a ghost of a man that had never died?

It didn’t matter much, James thought. He knew the ghost would kill him soon, and relieve him of his wonderings and guilt. It would finally finish what Cid had started, and what James felt he fully deserved.

He watched the phantom pace back and forth in his living room, every now and then swinging the poker, almost as if it were testing its weight. If the ghost had grown in power as much as it had in stature, James had no hope of surviving this time.

He was shocked he had survived the first time.

He remembered the complete ^&*#%^&* lies Shin-Ra had told him when he had awakened in the hospital. That they came to find him because they cared about their employees. It was a lie. If they cared about him, they wouldn’t have held the debt over his head, the one for Cheryl’s lingering illness, and sucked him dry to pay it off. He wasn’t an employee of Shin-Ra, he was a debt-slave to them. They kept tabs on him because he owed them money.

But in those lies they told him, one thing he had thought was true—that Cid was dead, at James’ own hands. Maybe it was because Shin-Ra sent in a Turk to tell him so. A young one at that, Tseng if he remembered right. Tseng had told him that his son was dead. At the time James had no reason to disbelieve it, and why he ever believed Tseng that Shin-Ra had decided to absolve his debt and even give him a good bit of money out of some feeling that it was "their fault" that James hadn’t gone back to Midgar when he had promised to free Cid, he had no clue. Maybe he was just blind with grief. When he’d finally been released, he came back home to find it partially refurnished, the living room pretty much completely redecorated with fairly nice couches and a new carpet, all evidence of Cid’s terrible rage against him erased. James never went back into Cid’s room...in fact, he had locked it, and left it.

He remembered with some bitter irony that he had never much followed the news, but with his new-given ‘freedom’, he had gone into business and begun watching the regular business reports. How odd it was, though he tried to ignore it at the time, that some years later he would catch reports of a very capable pilot named Captain Highwind during the Shin-Ra-Wutai war. Some relative of Cheryl’s she must not have known about, he had thought then. Some people even made this Captain Highwind out to be a legend of some sort.

James knew better now. The ghost, like his son still living, was pacing the room in the garb of a pilot, Captain’s rank pins on his lapels, an H/W patch on one sleeve and Airforce on the other. His son was the legendary Captain Highwind. Funny how Shin-Ra news had never mentioned his first name.

Yeah, Shin-Ra had felt guilty about his dead son. What they really did was buy him, in a way. And Cid must have known...and of course he would take whatever it was they offered him, because it obviously meant that he didn’t have to come back and live with his abusive father.

That realization stung. Cid must have known all along that the father he disowned thought he had killed him. James didn’t really blame him, but it still hurt. At any time in his adult life Cid could have come back and simply told him that he was alive. No, James didn’t blame him really, but it angered him nonetheless. He wondered if Cid ever took some secret pleasure in knowing that James was in the dark, still thinking he had murdered his own son. James’ jaw set, and he ground his teeth.

The ghost spoke suddenly, snapping James out of his thoughts. Its voice was cold and whispering. "Soon this will be done, and I’ll be free."

Still feeling some of his anger, James spat, "Why don’t you finish it now? Why did you wait?"

"Not time yet, not finished yet...."

"What isn’t? What do you mean?"

"We’re both here...not supposed to be that way, we’re supposed to be dead. History will be put right."

James narrowed his eyes, and moved to stand, a chill settling in his gut. "You...you’re going to kill him too."

"We’re supposed to be dead," the phantom repeated, hissing through a sadistic smile.

James stood and began crossing the room. "You will not kill him! I will not let you kill my son!"

With a sudden movement, the ghost used the butt end of the fireplace poker to hit James in the right on the solar plexus. James staggered back, gasping for breath. The ghost growled, "I do not have a father...so you do not have a son." Then the ghost grabbed James and tossed him back into the chair he had been sitting in. "Don’t leave there, not yet," it said menacingly.

James sat and fumed. "I have no intention of letting you kill...my...s-s-Cid!" He moved to get up again, but the ghost held him down, one hand on either of his shoulders.

"And I have no intention of letting you stop me from correcting history." The two stared at each other for a while, dead blue to living.

"You can do with me what you want, God knows I deserve it, but leave him alone," James growled finally.

The ghost almost looked confused. "Him, who is ‘him’? I should be dead, and I will be, and you will be, then I’ll be free."

"But you aren’t Cid! You’re a ghost...no, not even a ghost! I don’t know what you are!"

"I am Cid!" the phantom insisted. Then it let go of James and went back to pacing.

James realized the futility of arguing with the ghost. He wondered if it even realized that earlier that day it had been only 17 in appearance and now was in its early 30’s. He thought it didn’t; he had a feeling the thing really didn’t know anything.

Then James heard some noise coming from Cid’s room, and noticed that the ghost somehow seemed a little more terrifying, a shade darker. A few more tense minutes went by, and James heard what could only have been a scream...and the ghost again grew in substance.

James shot up, unheeding of any danger. "What are you doing?!" he demanded.

The not-Cid smiled. "I’m sleeping."

"No! Why is Cid screaming!"

"I’m sleeping! Just a little longer, and I’ll be free! Now sit back down or I’ll knock you out!" James took the threat at face value; the ghost had already knocked him out once.

As he sat, James heard other noises, but they were subdued. Suddenly the ghost looked uncertain. James just watched it, not sure what to do. Soon there was quite a ruckus going on in the other room, and the phantom turned towards it, looking like it was about to go investigate.

Suddenly realizing that whatever was going on in Cid’s old room, the ghost needed to stay out of it, so James decided he should distract it. "Cid," he asked very cooly, "why do you wear such long gloves?" James had noticed the ghost wore elbow-length brown leather gloves, but Cid didn’t, not as far as he knew.

The spirit spun around and pinned James with one of the most malevolent glares he had ever seen. It hissed and said, "So I don’t have to see that brand on my arm! So I don’t have to look at those scars! I shouldn’t have scars! I should have died before they healed. I will die before they heal."

James narrowed his eyes. "Is that why those cuts were fresh? Did you do that?"

"I don’t know what you’re talking about. Of course they’re fresh." The ghost turned back to the hallway that led to Cid’s old room, then with an almost mournful cry, ran in. James stood but stayed back, hearing the sounds of a scuffle, muted shattering, shouting, and rank fury.

He started when the ghost crashed into the wall just outside the living room—shattering the wall, sending splinters flying. It got back up quickly though, and stalked back down the hall.

Then suddenly, Cait Sith came rocketing out of the hall and nearly knocked James over when he pounced and clung to his chest.

"Look, James, you can’t let that there ghost see ya. I think I know what’s goin’ on, and you can’t let it see you! Whatever ya do, stay outta its sight!"

"Why?" James asked, still surprised and shaken from the unexpected pouncing.

"No time ter explain. Just...hide, get behind the couch, I dunno, you just gotta!" Cait insisted.

Shaking his head, James did as he was told, crouching behind the couch. He watched the hallway entrance for a bit, and he got another shock when the ghost returned. It was a teen again, wandering around like it had lost all memory of what it was doing or why. "What happened to it?" James asked quietly.

"It lost its hold on Cid."

"I thought it was Cid’s ghost...," James asked in confusion, careful to duck when the ghost turned toward him for a moment.

"It is," Cait whispered back. "But...but...it ain’t just Cid’s. It drawed its power off him, and I think it was made by him, but...it ain’t really Cid’s."

Before James could ask Cait another question, he saw Cid and his lady friend come into the room. Cid looked as though he had been beaten within an inch of his life...and yet not so; he must have been healed quite a bit, because while he was well bloodied, he wasn’t bleeding. And his lady friend...no, change that, his girlfriend, had a good deal of blood on her white coat but didn’t seem hurt except for some scratches on her head. They were holding hands, and Cid was leaning slightly on his halberd.

Cait bounced around the couch and said, "We can’t let that ghost see James, OK?"

Cid’s girlfriend’s expression hardened considerably. "Where is he," she ground out. Then, apparently being very fast on the uptake, she realized where Cait had come out from and launched herself at the couch.

James moved back, seeing that she was positively livid and figuring Cid had told her enough horror stories that she might feel every desire to rip him to pieces. Fortunately, Cid apparently felt she was being a bit too hasty and caught her around the waist, nearly causing the two to topple over. "Not now Shera," she said, his voice pained. Not every wound had been healed it seemed.

Meanwhile, the movement attracted the phantom’s attention, and for a few moments it watched Cid and Shera.

"No, no nononono!" Cait squealed. "We hafta keep James hidden, remember?"

"Why?" Shera shouted. "Why should we?"

"Becaaaaauuuuse," Cait drawled out, "it’s not Cid’s ghost! I mean, it is, but it ain’t neither! It’s James’ ghost. I don’t want it to see him and make the connection again."

James gasped. "What do you mean it’s my ghost?!" The spirit in question didn’t seem to hear his voice, as it wandered off into the kitchen, and thus was out of sight for now.

"I mean just that, James," Cait answered. "If it was just Cid’s it would be gone now."

Seeing the ghost absent for the moment, James came out from behind the couch, and carefully avoided Shera’s deadly gaze. Cid had let go of her but looked prepared to grab her again. "I don’t understand," James said.

Cait bounded over to the doorway into the kitchen, keeping an eye on the ghost. "Well, it’s kinder difficult to explain, exactly," he said, half turned toward the three. "Sometimes when really bad things happen to people, they leave...well...shadows, psychic traces of themselves where it happened."

"I’m still confused," James replied. Meanwhile Cid had taken a death grip on the haft of his halberd.

Cid spoke in a low, flinty voice, "Certainly something ‘really bad’ happened to me here." He apparently unconsciously put one of his wrists to his mouth, something of an instinctive move, and he was shaking.

With the ghost out of the picture for the moment, James’ ire flared and he jabbed an accusing finger in Cid’s direction. "And you knew! All along! How could you not tell me!"

"Knew what?!" Cid shouted. Shera’s hands turned to fists, but she somehow managed to hold herself back for now.

"All this time! You knew that I thought I’d killed you! How in the HELL do you justify not telling me for sixteen years?!"

"Whoa now! Hold up, this isn’t the time!" Cait interjected, but he was ignored.

"To be completely honest, Jay, I ^*&%!@# FORGOT EVERYTHING after I joined the SAF until about a week ago."

"Guys, this really isn’t the time, we still have a ghost to talk about...," Cait added once again.

Cid continued his shouting, advancing on James. "I forgot what the sky looked like the first time I saw it, I forgot why I wanted to fly...I forgot why I loved the stars, dammit! I forgot EVERYTHING! I EVEN FORGOT WHY MY NAME IS $%&&*&^ HIGHWIND!!"

James tried not to step back as Cid came toward him, but he did, a few steps, such was Cid’s rage. But James could hardly believe it. "How could you have forgotten all of that?" He thought he could understand easily why Cid would want to forget...at least, forget all the things that James had done to him, especially the last and most damaging, but he still found it stretched belief.

"Why in the hell would you care, you never knew any of it. You never let me tell you," he answered, softly, but breathing heavily. Cid paused for a second, then added, "And I forgot because I had to. It would have driven me insane, I think."

"What? Everything? Surely not everything," James said slowly, cowed, and sad.

Cid pulled both of his wrists up to his mouth, holding his halberd in the crook of his arm. "Everything...because anything would have reminded me...I usually wear long gloves...so I don’t have to see these scars...."

"OK," Cait Sith said sternly, "Enough is enough, we can talk about this later, right now there is still a ghost out there, and it could still kill you both!"

The cat got three very hot glares for his troubles.

"Not that it’s any of my business, ya know, but I kinda likes the two a ya, and I’d rather not see you both KILLED! Yes, I said KILLED, as in DEAD! As in remember how we don’t want a repeat of Cid and James’ Last Performance Together Live in Sector 2 of Midgar, four days only, don’t bring any drinks in with you?!"

Cid turned absolutely white, and barely managed not to get sick right there. Shera suddenly felt she might try to turn Cait into scrap.

James didn’t have a chance to react, because Cait Sith had pounced on his head from behind and knocked him down onto the floor. James struggled to get up, but Cait had draped his body over the older man’s head and dug his claws into the carpet, effectively pinning James to the ground.

"Look, I’m sorry about all the theatrics and makin’ light of your bad experiences, Cid, but the ghost is coming back and if it sees James I am really scared it will just start up again what it’s been doin’ to you," Cait explained. James made some muffled noises into the carpet. "And you too," Cait said to the struggling man below him.

Indeed, the ghost did return, wandering aimlessly through the room. Apparently it didn’t recognize James, pinned to the ground as he was, and wearing clothes Cid at 17 had never seen him in. Eventually the spirit just stopped and stared at a wall, silent, in the middle of the room.

Cait let James move his head sidewards, away from the ghost, but he didn’t let the man up. Shera made a supreme effort to calm herself, and when she felt sufficiently able to, she asked, "Cait, why again do you think this is James’ ghost and not Cid’s?

"OK...lemme try to explain again. Now, I’m makin’ a guess here, but...Cid, you spent a lot o’ time wakin’ up in that room mad as mad can get, just judgin’ on yer reactions, right?"

Cid nodded slowly. "I hated it. Every time...every damn time."

"Yeah, so there’s your trauma right, repeated often enough that that very location got...well, damaged by it. Places remember things like that, sorta. Not real memories, but its like Lifestream gathers there tryin’ to heal psychic hurts, and it makes them places different. Like the mansion in Nibelheim...the basement of that place gives me the creeps so bad! And it’s all on account o’ what happened there. Vincent himself left nearly thirty years of psychic trauma there, and look how many monsters live in that place. Now...here, we don’t have no monsters, we gotsa ghost, or rather, a shade. A Cid-shadow. Probably has the shape it does because the thing that made the worst impression on that room and the bed was them days...I ain’t gonna ask about it, on account of I seen the shade with my own two eyes and I can tell just from that it must have been terrible."

Under Cait, James shuddered. "So," James asked, his voice thick, "what I did...that...made the ghost?"

Cait shook his head. "No, you missed it. Cid made the shade on account of how he felt there." The cat’s voice became very gentle. "What you did made Cid feel like that. But it was Cid’s feelings that made the shade, and I think, what hooked it there. I thought it would be gone when Cid wrecked the bed, it seemed to be the...well...draw point, the anchor, for the shade. That’s why when it knocked us all out, it put Cid there...it was getting power out of him by making him relive all them things that made the shade in the first place. And then some...I been fightin’ with Cid a long time, and I recognized some of the hurts that shade was inflictin’ on him. I’m guessin’ that when Cid came here, the shade got access to everything Cid experienced right up to the moment, and that’s why the shade got older n’ stuff." Cait looked over at Cid, who had sat down on the couch, with Shera next to him. "Izzat right?"

Cid nodded, still holding his wrists to his mouth. Cait sighed; he wondered if it had been such a good idea to bring him here. If he really had forgotten his entire childhood, sticking him smack dab in the middle of the worst parts of it must be overwhelming for him. "I’m sorry Cid...probably shouldna asked y’all to come here."

"It wouldn’t have mattered, Cait," Cid said quietly. "This...shade...was doin’ ^&%$ to me all the way in Rocket Town, and I dreamed the worst things...and the best things there. It mighta fallen out like this anyway." Then he looked down at his feet. "But I think I woulda rather never seen this place ever again...or him."

Those words were like knives to James, but he said nothing, only let tears silently fall. Cait felt it though, and rubbed the side of his face against James’ hair in feline affection. Then he went on with his explanation. "So we’re all clear on how this here shade came ter be. But that don’t explain why it’s still here. As long as it don’t get connected to something here again, I don’t think it can hurt you...otherwise it woulda already tried. Cid’s totally outside its power now, or again, it would still be older and meaner like it was before. I don’t think none of us want ter experiment with it by makin’ Cid fall asleep again...but I really think it’s lost its connection to Cid. Its back to what it started out as...with its most recent shadow bein’ what happened 16 years ago, but even less, on account of it gots no way of getting any power outta Cid again." Cait paused for a long moment, then continued. "Now this is why I think it’s really your shade, James. Cid made the shade, but it didn’t do nothin’ for a real long time, not even when Cid was in Midgar recently. I’m really thinkin’ the reason it ain’t gone yet is on account of you’re holding it here, James."

James sniffed and said, "I don’t understand. What could I be doing that would hold a shade here, when it’s not even my shade?"

"Ah, but see...it is yours. Cid wasn’t the only one leavin’ psychic trauma in that room there. If I’m not guessin’ too far off the mark, you were really mad all them times you brought Cid into that room and he woke up angrier than a hornet."

"No...no...you’re right. And I was worried sick. I thought he was going to run away one day and get himself killed. But yes, I was angry, very angry." He paused, and then said, "I may be taking my life into my hands saying this, but whatever mistakes I made Cid, I had every right to expect you to stay put when I told you not to leave."

"You lost that right, you lost it the first time you laid a hand on me," Cid said hotly.

"That’s not true! No child has the right to do whatever he wants just because he wants to!"

"You don’t know what it was I went out to see. You don’t know why I had to be outside, under the stars, with real air and real wind and real birds!"

"You never told me," James hissed.

"You were too busy beating the %&** out of me to bother asking," Cid retorted. "You never gave me a chance."

After a very long pause, James answered, "It doesn’t change the fact that you should have stayed here like you were told!"

"Arright you two, when I’m done explainin’, then we can set up a ring and you can argue ‘til yer blue in the face!" Cait shouted. "If’n you keep this up that shade’s gonna get attracted to all them familiar feelins!"

James muttered something under his breath. The ghost did appear to be somewhat less confused and ‘homeless’, as if it really was picking up on familiar anger and trying to get hold of it.

After a moment, when Cait was satisfied James and Cid were finished, he continued his explanation. "I’ll take all that to mean I guess right. Anyway. Now then you left some major anger there, James, and after that, some major guilt. In fact, you still feel every inch as guilty now as when you came back after them four days, right?"

James squirmed a little. "How did you know about that? I didn’t tell you what happened."

"No, but Cid gimme a description of the major points, nothing real detailed, but I seen enough o’ that shade and what it was doin’ to Cid to put some facts together. And you told me yerself how bad you felt about it...and ter look at you, it’s like you never moved on. You look all eaten up, James."

Cid had pulled his legs up on the chair and was resting his forehead against his knees. "He never moved on from anything."

Cait nodded. "You two is one right pair that way, ain’tcha. How long was you doodlin’ around with that rocket? I don’t think I never seen people who can hold on ter the past like y’all can. I know I wouldn’t never want ter get in a grudge match with either one a ya."

Cid made a non-committal noise, and started thinking pretty hard about that, realizing he hadn’t fared much better than James had...that he’d done very nearly the same thing to Shera that James had done to him, except with words and not violence. Similar in that Cid had hurt Shera because she reminded him of something he had loved and lost, while James hurt Cid because he reminded him of someone he had loved and lost. "Dammit," he muttered, and glanced over apologetically at Shera, who just smiled very faintly back; she seemed to have figured out just what Cid was thinking.

"Well, continuin’ on," Cait said, "that’s why I think the shade is still here. On account o’ James hasn’t let nothin’ go and don’t move on. It’s your feelins keepin’ it here, James, and maybe you wouldn’t feel so bad if you wasn’t bein’ constantly reminded of these things you can’t let go of. Do you have any liquid assets? Any solid ones?"

"Well...yes, I do...but why?" James asked.

"Enough to buy you a house somewhere else?"

"Yes, quite enough," James replied, still confused.

Cait explained, "I propose we raze this house. Destroy it and everything in it. You won’t get no happy ending like Cid and Shera did with that rocket, I don’t think, especially not with yer wife, James."

"WHAT?! You want to destroy my house? Take all my precious memories away? Even my pictures? What use could that possibly serve!"

"It’ll force ya to move on! Yer lingerin’ here like a ghost yerself, James! And you’ll still have yer memories, you just won’t have nothin’ to be constantly goin’ back to to dredge up all yer old feelins. You won’t have no locked doors that you pass by feelin’ guilty about what you did in there...no pictures to remind you constantly of what you can’t never have again. But we don’t have to destroy yer pictures. I’ll keep the one with you and yer wife and Cid, and you can give the really nice one of yer wife to Cid. Only fair that if he has ter have permanent reminders of bad days here that he can have one for a reminder of good days. And I’ll give you yer picture of yer family back when I think you moved on enough. Maybe there’s a couple other things y’all can keep, but I don’t recommend you keep much."

James was nearly distraught at the idea. "I can’t do that! I can’t...I don’t want to. I never wanted to. I love her too much." Then he added, "And...how exactly did you know what pictures I had?!"

Cait harrumphed. "James, are you just not getting it? That shade’ll go away if you quit hangin’ on to it and everything it represents! It’s your shade! It’s your bad feelins, it’s your anger, it’s your guilt, all made up in one nice neat package that wants to kill you."

Cid added quietly and very deliberately, as if he had to force the words out, "You said...you loved me...but you...you did kill...you killed Cid McKenzie...when my mother died."

For a long moment, James was silent. Then he nearly exploded. "RRRAAAAAGHH! Why don’t you kill me now Cid! Get it over with!"

Suddenly Cid stood and very nearly kicked James. "I DON’T WANT......." Then he froze. For several seconds he just stood there, then he turned around and sat down on the couch next to Shera, almost in a state of shock.

There was silence in the room for quite a while. The phantom continued wandering aimlessly, eventually leaving the room again. When Cait saw this, he let James up, and the man sat on the carpet, nearly as dazed as Cid. He whispered, "I thought...this was some divine reckoning." He ran his fingers along one of the larger scars that crossed his face. "A judgment...and then that ghost...or you...were going to kill me."

Cid didn’t answer; he just stared out the window, at nothing, fingering his scars. Shera was also silent.

But Cait said, "I think this was some freak accident. Anyway, I ain’t gonna let nothin’ kill you on my watch. So will you move? Let soma friends I know knock down this here house?"

"Yeah," James said finally. "Yeah."

* * *

James stood near the edge of the Highwind’s railing, watching the ground run swiftly below. The wind caught his graying hair and he wondered at it. It was altogether exhilarating. He thought back to brighter days, when his wife still lived, before that long illness took her. Her name was Highwind...she had been one of the last in a line unbroken that extended so far into the Planet’s past no one was quite sure any more of the origin. Highwind meant something, the name of a high and proud warrior, the name of a house of men that could claim the name as a description. He knew that...he remembered so well Cheryl’s deft grace and how she danced as if the ground hadn’t the power to hold her. Highwind was the name of the ancient Dragoons, the leapers, the Dragon Children.

Now it was the name of a steel ship lighter than air. One designed by his son...the son he lost, just as surely as he had lost his wife. And it was his own fault. He should have known, seen it and accepted it. Cid was a Highwind, just as he claimed. He was his mother’s son...gravity could lay no claim on him any more than it had on her. And had he tried to force that out of him? Beat it out of him, drive all resemblance of his wife out of his son, just because it hurt him to see it?

Yes, James thought to himself, he had, just as Cid said. Because he couldn’t let go of his beloved dead. Now they were both dead to him. He looked at his hands, and at the railing he held. His son...yes, he had long lost his son...but Cid Highwind was not dead.

This sudden curious thought ran through his mind, and he turned it over, examining it. Was it possible? Cid had disowned James many years ago, and he had every right to do so. And until yesterday, he thought his son had died by his own negligent hands. But now...could he? Could he leave his son dead as he had always thought him...leave the ghost of his son...and meet the man as he was today?

Cid McKenzie lie in dust and ashes...in faded memory and destroyed shadow.

Cid Highwind stood in the cabin of his airship.

James left the railing and climbed the stairs into the cabin and stepped onto the bridge.

Just as James did on the deck below, Cid saw the ground pass beneath him. He didn’t watch it closely though, he didn’t revel in the feel of the wind and speed as he usually did. It just wasn’t fast enough...he’d run for so long, for sixteen full years, and still his past had caught him and chained him to that damned bed. It would never happen again, not literally, he had seen to that. But the past had a way about it, it ran faster than he could fly, it dodged faster than he could strike...it danced away from him faster than he could jump, and it caught him faster than he could move, fleet and swift as a Dragoon though he was. It would catch him again, he feared.

He held Shera’s hand, his gloved again. He looked at her and saw her sympathy. Maybe she wished to have his hand bare, but she didn’t say anything. She seemed to understand why for now, or maybe forever, he would cover his hands, cover the brand and the scars left there. But he knew she was sad too...for him, or for her, probably for them both, that he needed to hide cruel reminders, or that he should have them at all.

Maybe some day he would be able to look at his own hands and not shudder at the memories. At least now they weren’t his alone to hold in secret...Shera knew and could help him should ever his past come rushing at him again. And Cait Sith too...Cid almost smiled at that, such an unexpected friend at need, a magic cat...he probably had his own story as well, and he would understand.

Cid thought, however, if he were troubled that he would probably turn to Shera first in any case.

Sitting on one of the control panels on the bridge was a photograph of Cheryl Highwind, and a picture book with a children’s story inside; the yellow circle, the silver-white spotted one, the little birds, and the blue sky that was not a plate.

He turned back to the view rushing by, watching it this time, and for a few minutes he was content to do so. Then he felt Shera stiffen slightly next to him, and he looked at her questioningly.

She looked past him, over his shoulder, but before Cid had a chance to turn, he heard Jay clear his throat and say in a cracking voice, "Um, Captain Highwind?"

Cid turned, more than a little surprised to hear Jay address him by that name. He narrowed his eyes at the man he had disowned, wondering why he would suddenly accept Cid’s chosen name, his mother’s name, when before he had burnt his own name into his arm rather than allow Cid to take another. "Yeah?" he said, cautiously, unsure what to expect. Shera tightened her grip on his hand.

Jay shuffled his feet slightly, then stammered out, "It...it is...an honor to meet you, Captain." Jay saluted, somewhat clumsily, then extended his hand, shaking slightly.

Cid blinked several times, taken aback. He was confused, but an awareness of what Jay intended suddenly dawned on him. Jay had said he loved him...and maybe he had found a way to continue his relationship with his...son...on his son’s terms. Not a relationship as a father to a son, as that had been destroyed long ago, but something else...Cid realized with a painful clarity that it was something he wanted as well. Very carefully, Cid took Jay’s extended hand...he realized his own was shaking also. "The name’s Cid Highwind. You?"

The other man coughed once and said simply, "James."

"No last name?" Cid asked.

"No," James replied. "None worth having."

Cid found himself smiling, and James had to fight back choking tears...his expression was so like his mother’s. "Nice ta meetcha," Cid answered, and with careful deliberation, he added, "James." Cid had never called his father by that name...and he wasn’t calling his father that now. He had no father. But maybe he could have James.

James wanted so badly to grab Cid in a bear hug, but not now, now wasn’t the time. Maybe there would never be a time for that, but then again...Cid was speaking to him...even smiling. That was something. "Yes, it is nice to finally meet you, Cid Highwind."

Author’s Note -- Special thanks to NC, Cloud, and Al for letting me bombard them with plot, threatening me with bodily injury should I fail to finish, and also for Al brainstorming titles with me :)

I feel I must point out, to put any possible misunderstandings to rest, that Jay is James McKenzie as seen through Cid’s child-eyes. As children, we are often unable to see where our parents are coming from and why they do things we don’t understand. It is not uncommon for this blindness to last into adulthood, and we often take it to the grave with us. I wanted in this fic to show that it is possible to be reconciled to people so close to us who have hurt us, and that often there is more going on with a person than is immediately visible, that what motivates them may not be what we see or understand. As such, a fic that I wrote after starting this but finished long before, Puss in Boots, is a companion piece and was written to tell Reeve’s story the way this fic tells some of Cid’s, and James’.

Puss in Boots grew out of the desire to write that story, but knowing it had no place in this.

James is the most complex original character I have ever attempted to write; I hope he comes across as human, very fallible, prone to fault, but not a monster.

Lastly, I paint with a very dark brush, or rather, more appropriately, an intense one. Please bear that in mind before turning me into a flambé.

Go back to Fanfiction