"Y-You overbearing, arrogant son of a bitch!"

Ever the vigilant pilot, Cid made good use of his somewhat rusty reflexes to dodge the several airborne dinner plates heading in his direction. They hit the wall behind him with a tremendous noise and shattered exuberantly in hundreds of pieces. He lifted his head slightly over the edge of the round kitchen table, reluctant to provide a decent target.

"Shera? Maybe would could just talk …?" Cid winced at the sound of his own voice, at the fact that it sounded so … meek.

"TALK?!" The reply was a shrill shriek.

"Ye-Yeah … talk." He added lamely, aware that he was in no way winning this argument.

"I'll show you talking!" Having run out of dinner plate arsenal, Shera resulted to the next best thing: steak knives. A myriad of them zoomed past his ear; with a muttered "Fuck!" he hastily dropped to all fours. Beneath the table, he decided resolutely, was obviously the safest place to be.

"I'm through talking with you, Cid! Do you hear me?"

Tempted to answer with sarcasm because the current volume of her voice had notified everyone within Rocket Town of their state of marital un-bliss, Cid clamped down firmly on his tongue. He was not going to make this worse.

"After all I've done for you-"

"Like fuck up my takeoff with the rocket?" He shouted back, and immediately smacked himself across the face.

He'd made it worse.

There was a long silence, and for a moment he contemplated leaving the cramped confines of his table leg shelter to see if she'd left. She gave him proof of her presence a second later, when the table was usurped from its legs and half-thrown, half-shoved, across the kitchen floor. Crouched on hands and knees and staring up at the cold, hard face of his wife, Cid wondered suddenly if he were about to die.

"Y-You," Shera stammered in a watery voice, "don't appreciate me at all, Cid."

Aw, crap. She was starting to cry.

"All I want is a little affection -"

"Shera-"

"Would it kill you to give me a hug or kiss once in a while?"

"Shera-"

"Or compliment me? Or tell me you love me?"

"SHERA."

She stopped then, at the authority in his tone. He was a little surprised himself. Slowly, as not to make a move that would startle her into violence again, he rose to his feet. She stared at him, face streaked with tears, large dark eyes regarding him with hurt and anger. He swallowed.

"I do appreciate you, you know."

She made a rude noise, and the hand holding another knife twitched a little. Cid quickly continued.

"I don't show it, I know. But I'm not good at … at those kind of things …"

"Don't I know it." Shera muttered, ducking her head and wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand.

Feeling his pulse pick up with anticipation, Cid stepped closer. "And, Shera … I do … love you."

For a long moment, the only sound was that of her sniffles. And when Cid approached her, arms opened wide, she moved little by little to be wrapped in his embrace. Enfolding her, Cid nuzzled her neck and whispered into her ear, "I really am sorry, Shera."

It was then he felt the cold edge of steel press firmly against his privates, and her own whisper held undeniable mirth.

"You'd better be."