Part 1
Copyright © Red Slacker, May 1, 1999
I don't know if you've ever had anyone you
love, sick or dying, just laying there in a bed, and all you can do is
sit there and hold onto their hand. Probably not. I hadn't
until now, and now that it's happening, I can't stop thinking "What if
this is the last time he'll be warm?" or shit like that. If it's
happened to you, you know that you can either think of the most depressive
crap, or the most menial things in your life. I swear, if I'm not
being worried and depressed, then I'm wondering who was on the phone that
one time, about two years ago, when it rang and the caller hung up right
after I got it.
I feel worthless, because all I can do is
hold onto his hand. When they're awake and well, you never notice
the little things. Like how he has this tiny scar on the back of
his hand. It's funny, because I could have sworn I'd memorized every square
inch of him. I suppose I have, but not in areas that are public display.
There's another menial thing to think about. How did he get that little
scar?
He looks so small. It's odd, because
he's really a good 4 inches taller than me. It's probably because
he's so damn close to being anorexic. Once, when we were talking
in bed, he told me that when he was with the Turks, they did some kind
of health test thing, and it came back saying he was obese. That's
the muscle ratio on him. But he looks even more small now, because he's
gotten a hell of a lot more thin and the bed is a double. I haven't
gone to bed since we got here, but it's a double anyway, because that's
what you get in a single room. There are certain things inn staffs expect
from two people requesting a single room. Even if one of them is half-dead
when they come in. He looks even more pale than usual, too, because the
sheets are dark. Maybe the inn staff is trying to depress me.
The doctor said he'd be ok, given time.
Of course, being my cynical self, I read into that as "Well, he'll be dead
in a week, but if I tell you that, you'll stop paying me to check on him."
Really that doesn't make any sense, because the doctor told me he WASN'T
going to indulge me and run in to check up on Vincent every half hour.
So I sit here. His hand looks small
in mine, too. I think that can be attributed to his idea of physical
labor was lifting a gun, while I'm usually trying to amputate my arm in
a fucking rotary blade. A Turk. Somehow I wasn't too amazingly surprised
to hear about him being one. He looks like one, maybe, I don't know.
He wakes up every now and again, actually.
I'll be staring off into space and I'll look back down at him, and his
eyes are open. I know that's not some weird kind of symptom, because
once I look down, he gives me a little smile, or squeezes my hand a little.
He hasn't said anything yet. He's just resting. He needs it.
The longest he's been up is about 15 minutes, but he wakes up a few times
a day, maybe just so I don't go insane. By "day," I mean 24 hours.
I've only slept about 7 hours since I took him here to Kalm, a week ago.
I only sleep because some shit always kicks me out of my chair to make
me sleep. Usually that bitch Yuffie. Since when does SHE care if
I sleep or not? The furthest she's ever cared about anything to do with
me is the convenience of using the Highwind as a sickbag.
I don't know that the Highwind will ever fly
again; it's not likely. She took a lot of damage in that cave, and then
those kids went and pushed her some more, to get to Midgar. If she
did work, she'd be busy airlifting people to hospitals. Or cemeteries.
Oh, there I go, thinking of depressing shit again, so I look back at him
and try to memorize his pale hand.
Sometimes it's not so bad, watching him.
I've learned things like how he gravitates toward the nearest warm object.
When there isn't a near-enough warm object he'll wake up. Usually I can
tell, if he wants to be warmer; he'll sigh at me. He's always been like
that, though; a cuddler. When I accused him of it, he said "You'd try and
cuddle, too, if someone was consistently stealing the blanket." Smartass.
When he's sleeping he's kind of cute.
"Cute" isn't the kind of word you use to describe someone like Vincent,
but when he's asleep, it's ok. I hate to wake him up. When
he's asleep you never hear that "I must atone for my sins" crap, and he
doesn't mope. I hate it when he broods. There's at least three
different Vincents: in-bed asleep Vincent, in-bed awake Vincent (the best
version, if you ask me) and out-of-bed awake Vincent.
I'm worried about him eating, often. I try
and feed him when he wakes, but he has trouble keeping it down. I
felt pity for the cleaning lady and got a bucket for when he throws up.
If there's one thing I hate more than a moping Vincent, it's a vomiting
Vincent. You know those women who are always blabbing on about how
they want the kind of guy who will hold their hair back when they vomit?
Well, it's not because the guy is all worried, it's because he just wants
SOMETHING to do. I hold Vincent's hair back, more than I want to.
At least he can hold down water. That quack says that Vincent throws
up all the time because his body is still trying to get rid of all the
Mako and Jenova shit. Couldn't he do something less troubling, like
SWEAT out the stuff? I mean, on the top of my "Favorite Things to Do" list
there is NOT a line that reads "Flushing buckets of vomit down a toilet
in a hotel."
If there's one thing I've learned so far,
it's how to do basic nursey stuff. Like change sheets without him
getting up (There's only one chair in this room, and he'll flop bonelessly
off of it, if you let him) and how to give massages (he'll start "mmph"-ing
at me if he gets really sore. I haven't figured out how someone can get
sore in a bed) while someone is trying to burrow into your shirt to get
warm. I'm able to carry him to and from the bathroom now, so I don't
need to give him bed baths like I had to the first day after the day we
got here. I couldn't carry him then, because he hurt too much to be lifted.
I don't know how I was even able to carry him to this place. I think
he was too tired to complain. But I know how to do that, too. I felt
bad when I did it, though, because I'm still turned on by him, even though
he looks like a fucking starvation artist, so when I washed him, I got
aroused. He wouldn't stay up all the way through the bath, but he'd wake
up alot during it, usually to give me that sleepy little smile of his.
I think he knew what I was thinking. He can be sneaky like that. Now he
wakes up when I carry him to the bathroom until he gets in the tub, then
he's zonked again a few minutes later. It's probably the warmth of it.
The first time it happened, I thought he was going to support his weight
in the tub, so I lost my balance and fell in, clothes and all. He woke
up for that. You should be happy to know that he's well enough to laugh
at me when I lose what little dignity I have. Now I bathe him while I'm
naked, too. He's just a dead weight, so I have to sit behind him
to support his body. It's the only way I get clean at all; I'm too worried
to leave the room without him. He likes to distract me when he wakes up
during them, he'll turn back and give me that ONE smile. I just shake my
head and he laughs a little. It's weird, that he laughs and smiles so much
now. I think he's just groggy. If he was REALLY awake he'd be moping again.
Damn it, why can't he be groggy ALL of the ti!
me?
Even though I'm still turned on by him,
and was by him during all those bed baths, when I see his stomach now,
I get sick. I can almost see his spine from his front. Ok,
maybe I'm exaggerating a little, probably because he hadn't eaten anything
other than maybe some plain rice in over a week. I'm not sure about the
rice because he didn't seem to throw ALL of it up. He's getting better,
though. I was actually able to get some bread in him today.
He's really not so much "sick" as he is sleepy.
He doesn't have fevers or headaches or rashes or any shit like that. He
just sleeps. What do you expect from a man that slept for 30 years?
Once Nananki came in to see Vincent.
He's the only visitor we've had, other than Yuffie and Barrett. The only
reason Barrett came was because he's in Kalm, anyway. I've never
exactly got along with him, but no one has, other than Tifa, really.
I'd like to see how Tifa and Reeve are doing. I wonder how that kid
is-I think we all do. Nananki came to tell us that he'd left on a chocobo.
I think he'll be all right. He's not very stable, but, and I know
this will come out sounding like I'm a jerk, I've got enough people to
worry about. Vincent managed to wake up a little in the visit, even if
only to give Nananki a reassuring little smile.
The one thing I think about most, besides
about how long it'll be until Vincent will be gone, is, if he gets better,
how long it'll be `til he leaves me. I've never been too amazingly
secure about our relationship, but I didn't think it mattered, because
we'd all be dead soon, anyway. I'm STILL shocked we killed off Sephiroth.
I really can't see any reasons why he'd stay with me. Especially since
he knows where Lucretia is; he knows that piece-of-shit submarine is still
in Junon. The worst part is, if he asked me, I'd take him to the
bitch myself.
His past is always breathing down my neck.
I don't even think I know much about his past, anyway. He knows just about
everything about me. There really isn't too much to me.
I was there, the day we found her in that
isolated cave. God knows how she got there in the first place.
Well, then again, we did find Vincent in a fucking sarcophagus. I
guess Hojo has that affect on people.
When Vincent was in that cave, it was like
my Vincent was totally gone. He acted totally different when we were
there, and I don't blame him. He really loved her, and maybe he still
does. When we left that creepy place, he was normal again. Well,
as normal as he gets. He's changed a little from it, though. He doesn't
seem as mopey as before we found her. I think it comforts him a little,
knowing she's alive at all.
I really don't know too much about Lucrecia.
I wonder if she was anything at all like me. I doubt it. Vincent doesn't
like to talk about it. He's had the most shitty life of anyone I've met.
It doesn't exactly help that he has the ability to blame everything on
himself, either. He has a fucking guilt complex the size of Midgar. He
really blamed himself for everything that Sephiroth had done, and I don't
know if I've really helped convincing him otherwise. He said once that
I gave him a will to live again, that he had originally planned to leave
his room in the mansion for two reasons: to get back at Hojo and to kill
himself. He said he wanted to stay with me as long as he could, instead.
Of course, that got followed by a really long night of almost gentle sex,
so I wonder if it was just pillow talk. Coming from him, though,
I almost believe it. He's not really one to lie about emotional shit. He's
not one to lie at all. The few times I've heard him lie were to protect
people, like when he lied about Sephiroth to Lucrecia. I'd lie about that,
too. Your son destroying the world isn't really something to be proud
of. Of course, Hojo didn't seem to mind too much.
Vincent's always saying he's a terrible person,
but he does things like that; always trying to protect people.
I never really thought that I'd ever say that
I love someone. It's just not how I am; I'm not the most caring guy in
the world. You could probably lock me up in a building with food
and a bunch of broken mechanics and I'd be set for life. Hell, I treated
Shera like she wasn't there ever since I met her. People are always assuming
we're boffing eachother and just not letting on, but nothing like that
has ever come up. There's no hitting on eachother or anything like that,
at most we're just civil at eachother. I guess she likes me in a girlie
sort of way, and I like her in a "How did my pants suddenly become clean?"
sort of way, but beyond that there isn't too much. Now that I've gone and
met Vincent, though, I guess I'd need him to live in that building, too.
Damn romantic bullshit.
It took me forever to tell him I loved him.
He'd say it to me sometimes, and all I could say was "I know." I've always
been sort of apprehensive of all that love crap. I told him, for the first
time, when we were on our way to get killed, as I saw it. In the Northern
Cave. We lagged sorta behind the group and I whispered it to him. I was
afraid of not getting another chance, I guess. His smile- it was one of
those few real ones- just about made me kiss him. Gods know I wanted to.
He just whispered back "I know." Smartass. Then he said "Look, Cid, I know
how hard that was for you to say. Thank you. If we don't make it through
this... I love you, too," and he reached over and touched my hand a little,
so that it looked normal. I could feel so much from him, though, in that
touch, it was creepy.
He'd always tried to get me to say it before.
He was patient with it, more patient than any woman, hell, anyone, would
ever be, but gods know he tried. Like the time he said I kept him living.
I said, before we made out, "Y'know, it's confusing. One minute I feel
like fucking you senselessly, the next I feel like holding you as if you
were made of glass or something." "I think it's called 'love,' Cid," he
said back. I smiled and started kissing him and turned it into sex, instead
of saying that yeah, I did love him. Because I did, I always had. From
the first day I started talking to him. It wasn't "love on first sight,"
shit like that doesn't even exist. I just got to know him, saw what he
was like inside... I don't know.
What happens now, though? I don't really know
about a commitment. Me and forever don't exactly get along. But I can't
imagine not having him, either... well, back to depressing crap again,
am I?
I laugh a little, I can be so fucking melodramatic
sometimes. I reach down and play with Vincent's hair. It's so long and
soft. I'm always playing with it; he doesn't complain. He's looking better
today, less pale, I guess. The food probably helped. I kiss him on the
forehead, and when I pull back up and look at him, he's looking back. He
smiles and brushes his right hand against my cheek.
"Cid," he whispers.
I grin. He's gotta be better, he's talking;
the first time in a week.
"How are you?" I ask. He grins indulgently,
and then tilts his head a little, rubbing my cheek again.
"Cid, you look... like shit, as you'd say."
"I've been a little preoccupied. Smartass."
He laughs and yawns. "How long have I been
here?"
"A little over a week."
"Really? It's been that long?... I feel better,
though."
"Thank the gods... hey, you hungry?"
He nods, and I rummage through a bunch of
crap this room has been accumulating lately and find some bread. I don't
know how one room can get so fucking messy after one week. I try to feed
it to him, and he laughs. "I can eat on my own, Cid!"
"Well, I've fed you until now!"
He shakes his head and takes the stuff from
me and eats it on his own. Then he rips off some and feeds it to me.
"You need to shave, eat, sleep..."
"You need to shut up."
"Come here and sleep," he whispers, shaking
his head and moving over on the bed to make more room for me. I get undressed
and get in the bed with him, and he kisses me, before going back to sleep.
Trust him to wake up, just to tell me what
to do with myself.
Of course, I don't listen to him. If I wake
up and he isn't breathing, I'll never forgive myself. The fact that he's
eating and talking now SHOULD tell me that he's fine, but you know me.
We've only been together for such a short time, I can't imagine loosing
him now. It's nice, though, to lay with him again. His body
is so familiar.
He snuggles back into me, and sighs when I
hold him. He deserves it, to be so happy, even if he is comatose
while the happiness takes place.