It was Cid Highwind’s 40th birthday, and he was chasing his distressed 8 year old son into the Highwind.

Vincent Highwind had refused to talk to anyone after his mother had announced in a cheerful voice that “everyone was here who had RSVPed!”  Even to his childish ears, there seemed to be something missing in her voice.  Cid had smiled, showing teeth but nothing close to mirth, and announced that it was time to get this fuckin’ party started.

Vincent remembered his father saying that it was a group of nine who had fought Sephiroth, counting himself – one had died, and one had been a “goddamned” stuffed toy. But Vincent still only counted 5 other arrivals.

It was after Cid had blown out his birthday candles, when Vincent watched his father’s expression as he swept the landing pad-turned-gathering place with defeat. Cid Highwind shrugged, barked harsh laughter and said in a tight voice that “not every wish could be granted, really.”  Vincent threw down the miniature Tiny Bronco his father had given him for his 7th birthday and ran.

He had ignored all the shouts that followed him, even his father’s, as he barreled out the gate, trying to see through his tears and not stumble as he ran towards the familiar airship.

Cid Highwind had immediately started after his son (and really it was horribly depressing that a squirt of 8 could outrun one of the saviors of the Planet and boy did he really have to stop smoking.  He wasn’t that fucking young anymore), swearing and huffing and finally making it to the ladder leading up to the deck. Thanking strong arms, he managed to climb fast enough to catch a glimpse of bright blonde hair disappear down the corridor.

He found his son huddled beside the wheel in the cockpit, head buried in his arms, shoulders shaking. Once he’d caught his breath, Cid knelt down by the young boy and set a heavy hand on his quaking back. Before he could say anything, the boy had thrown himself into Cid’s chest and was talking in incoherent sobs.

“’m sorry I’m no’ *sob* the *hiccup* Vinny tha’-tha’ you *sob* wanted on yur bi-bir-birthday, Papa! ‘m sorry…!” Cid was stunned.

He pulled his son gently but firmly out from his chest, wiping the young tears away with a calloused thumb, and forced the young Highwind to look at him. Like a summer day, clean and new after a storm, Vincent’s blue eyes stared into his father’s.

“You’re the only fuckin’ Vinny I wanna see right now. You’re the best damn birthday present an old man like me could ask for. I love ya.” And he smiled, yet it didn’t quite reach his eyes but Vincent had buried himself against his father’s strong form again, crying with relief.

Cid wrapped his arms around his son, and bowed his head. A single tear slid and fell into the blonde head below him.

Cid didn’t notice.

Vincent did.