Final Fantasy VII 1. Chapter 1

**Title:** What Won't Happen

**Rating:** R – Just in case.

**Theme:** Desertion

**Pairings/Characters:** None, insofar.

**Spoilers/Warnings:** After AC, so might include some spoilers for the movie and events for the FFVII Compilation, excluding DoC.

**Time Period:** One year after Advent Children.

**Summary:** The Shin-Ra Company has fallen. But even in the heart of the man who dealt the deathblow, there is sorrow and heartache over the necessary decision he had to make. Written post-AC.

**Word Count:** 903

**Dedication:** To _my_ Rufus. Because there never was a one like her, and in my heart, there never will be again.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own FFVII, though I love it so~

**A/N: **I started writing this because I was thinking back on some of the events that had happened in my FFVII RP… the downfall of the Shin-Ra Company, specifically. And looking back over all the heartache and despair that event had left us all with, I was suddenly angry at myself—because I play Tseng, and it was _my_ fault for destroying what we all so dearly loved. So I basically was carried away on my wild, desperate emotions and began to just write. In a way then, this is a fic dedicated to what I now think I maybe should have done… instead of… letting him… letting _all_ of them go like I did.

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_A single footstep could shake the very earth apart._

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Silvered irises were momentarily lost behind shuttered lashes and in a thoughtful silence—perturbed though it might be. Then—sharp, piercing—they returned to the hesitant figure donned in a hastily thrown together Turk uniform, red hair askance as usual, and clearly uncomfortable being the bearer of bad news to such a figure. The redhead could feel the fire in Tseng's gaze far clearer than he could see it. That storm-cloud grey was ever so carefully masked, as always it had been, but Reno could sense the thunder raging behind so cleverly controlled a visage.

"B—boss," the Turk choked, stumbling over his words he couldn't get them out fast enough. "Hey, dun throw that look at me. Come on, 's not like I'm his keeper. Or any 'a us for that matter!" Reno threw up his arms in exasperation, grasping onto any fickle strings that could prove he was innocent in the matter at hand, however desperate an attempt it was. But the other Turk's impassive gaze made something in the redhead snap and he stepped forward, fists clenched, angry at the accusation in those unyielding eyes.

"Listen, it's not like I told da bastard ta leave in the first place!" he shouted, only encouraged when the gaze steadily drilling into him narrowed venomously. Reno took another step forward, lifting an accusatory finger at Tseng, sitting casually behind the desk. "You were the careless, apathetic dipshits that didn' give a damn 'bout how _we_ would feel 'bout this, this, this _whatever it is!_—fucked up piece 'a shit decision ya made _on a God-damned whim!_"

He was way out of line. As a matter of fact—he had totally hopped over it and kept running—treating it as exactly what it was: a stupid regulation that had once dictated the way things were run in the Turks. But things weren't the same anymore. Nothing was the same anymore. Midgar was left a ruinous pile of rubble, Shin-Ra was despised by everyone from the elderly to little children who couldn't damn well know better, and what last vestige of the Turks Reno and the others had desperately clung to was just another side-note in the annals of history.

Every part of Reno wanted to leap over that desk and strangle the living daylights out of the calm, collected, pansy-ass of a leader Tseng was for the Turks, screaming at the top of his lungs about 'why he had let it all fall apart' without even a moment's grace of notice! There was no warning. None. Sure, there was nothing left of Headquarters but rubble. Sure, with the passing of the years the people were frantically flopping around, trying to rebuild their world after the demise of the Shin-Ra Corporation had thrown them for a loop. But even a year ago—after the incident with Sephiroth's momentary return, and the three remnants of whatever Jenova experiments had still been going on in the shadows—there had still been enough left of the company to keep the Turks alive. No, they didn't try to rebuild Shin-Ra—not all of it, anyway. But they had stayed alive, were putting things together, were pulling through it all and in sight of better days ahead!

And then…

"_The Shin-Ra Electric Power Company has died then, fallen into a final ruin."_

Those very words had proceeded from the mouth of the man he stood before at this very moment. And thinking back to that hour, remembering the death knell that had sounded in all their hearts, cast them into the abyss with such finality that it had surely been the end of the world, Reno was furious again. How this man could sit before him and _glare_ at _him_ for messing up a simple task was beyond his comprehension! Had the man no _shame?_ No guilt in what he had done to them?!

"Reno," came the raven-haired Turk's voice, cool and steady, splashing him in the face like a bucket of ice water and quenching the angry fire that had risen at the memories Tseng had instilled without effort. Reno gathered himself and stiffened visibly, sure he was not going to like the way this conversation would soon be going. "What?" the redhead bit off bitterly, shoving his hands in his pockets and fighting back the urge to seriously _hurt_ the man before him.

But Tseng stood, causing Reno to flinch and step back a bit before he could turn his eyes back to his leader's gaze. The dark haired Turk seemed to have lost a bit of his edge, however. Reno couldn't feel the anger in his boss's eyes anymore. That encouraged him to open up a bit more cautiously, and he answered again with mild wariness. "Yeah?"

Whatever had just passed seemed to be nothing like what would come of this. A strange light glanced across those quicksilver irises. It was unusual and suspiciously unreadable, almost as much so as the man himself. And the quiet, normal way in which he next said his words sent ungainly chills and shivers throughout Reno's bones, and he had a sudden overwhelming desire to hug his arms and try to rub away the goosebumps that were running up and down them.

"Get Rude in here. Then I want you both to tell me everything."

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**Author's Note:** I never wrote more than this, but because my thoughts continue to stray back to this point in time, I may continue this, or I may not. I don't have any steady plans on whether or not I want to write any more. I guess that'll all depend on how I feel, and if anyone wants to see me continue this fic or not.

You can only let me know through one simple way: **Read and leave me a **_**quick**_** Review.**

Thank you for reading this tiny installation.


	2. Chapter 2

**Word Count:** 2,499

**A/N: **It was the last day of this semester, and I had two classes. Thankfully, my history professor just had us hand in our final papers and so I headed towards the building my next class was held in and sat down in the hallway, read over my past chapter for this fic, and then wrote—for three hours straight—the update you now find here.

I would also like to thank **ViviMouse**, my sole reviewer. It has taken me a little over a month to sort out a bit further where this tale will go, but knowing I had one person that listened to my request made writing this all the easier. So to you, ViviMouse, go my unbridled thanks. I really appreciated the review.

_Edited as of 8.12.09_ – After further review, I decided I didn't like _at all_ how Reno spoke. Typically, I'm very street-ignorant, so my language reverts to my way of speaking for all my characters. As this was also my very first time attempting to write as Reno, I ask all my readers to forgive me if I make a blunder here and there. I hope I will improve over time. Thank you all for your patience with me.

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_Your heart is like an ice pick._

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"Don't know why the hell we stayed with ya after ya turned on us like that."

"You need me more than I do you."

The simplicity with which he said it only served to tick the redhead off additionally. Only more so because, bite back as he may, it was very much the truth. Tseng had left them, and upon his return, it was suddenly inexorably clear his captivity had endured so long _only_ because he had willingly gone along with it. They knew, each of them, somewhere deep down in the murky waters of their thoughts. While every single one of them had endured one tragedy after another, that Tseng had deserted them in the time of his absence… completely.

Thoughts of, 'But he came _back_,' were squelched brutally by the bitter acknowledgement that he had returned only to finish them off, effectively topping off their miserable struggles by taking advantage of Rufus Shinra at his weakest.

"Miserable bastard," Reno breathed sullenly under his breath, turning blazing aquamarine eyes on his leader. The man, whether he heard or not, remained impassive, gaze as enigmatic as his countenance was cold—the picture of disinterested a predator, its thoughts ones of looming kills that would have to be made with blistering efficiency, every card thrown into the game—an effort to make an impact, procure the desired change, and master, yet again, what had at last eluded his grasps when the option was unexpectedly, painfully thrust as blade into chest. The wounded, more so than perhaps any other, knew the implements of the words dealt in fatal a parrying.

"A man cannot serve two masters, Tseng."

Bitterness still resonated, meant to injure, to prove that they were not fools, these that inexplicably still followed, those ever so capable of spiraling away, breaking from the pack, becoming such as they may—ensured a chance of survival? Ha! But that was laughable a concept. Perhaps it _was_ nothing more than that they each innately knew. Knew their only means of survival—optimal existence after tragedy, their downfall—was with this man. The very same who had left them to perish as only the cruelest of men do. Deserting his pups, the pack leader that befriends their enemies, verily sits and watches their ravaging, their slaughter, and when such are near at last to death—crushes lights of hope, gratitude, of love, at his return—and sets teeth to their throats, and just as effectively rips them out.

Silver turned upon aquamarine, face as stoic as irrefutable was his will. No light of challenge, however, emblazoned the Wutian face, and the redhead bit back his comment too late, teeth sinking deep into his lower lip, anger and frustration at not getting a rise out of Tseng quelling his assaults only for a moment. The ebon haired Turk need not do much as of late to fuel the sulking, wounded flare of dissent in the redhead.

"I should think it obvious by now, Reno, that I am serving only myself."

There it gleamed, elusive at first, then surging to overwhelm stormy gray irises, the light of command, of authority, daring Reno to question it, to test the lengths the man was willing to go to prove a point, win this battle, subdue and force his subordinates into submission. They had sought him, those unbearable eyes reminded, relentlessly cruel, brutal in their unvoiced insinuation. Clear, also, to them was the fact that, should they bitch and complain, Tseng, this hardened, purposed man before them now, would dispose of them within a moment.

What he sought to do he would accomplish regardless who did, or more correctly, did not aid him. He made it perfectly obvious. He had already said it in so many ways. He did not need any of them. Their involvement, their very presence, was completely voluntary.

Reno grimaced, his breath hissing between his teeth, the sign of relenting given, the coldness in silver eyes subsequently dimming, irises once more returning to concealing gray. "It wasn't hard followin' him at first, even with the delayed start we had. He's moved around a lot, as though driftin' from one place to another. Lookin' for something, I guess. Shinra family estates on this continent an' the next are all on the list as bein' checked out, but though we've got anywhere we can imagine bugged, the bastard slipped away again while we were slackin' off."

He pushed out a sigh, rolling his eyes and leaning away from the raven-haired Turk, hands firmly hooked on pants' pockets, using the excuse of tired exasperation to break eye contact with his former boss. There was never any point in lying to Tseng. The man knew. Inescapably, he knew. And when they did let slip a lie or two, if they were not called out on the spot, it only meant it did not matter or did nothing to either benefit, or likewise inhibit, Tseng's knowledge. That did not mean, however, that Reno, or verily anyone he knew besides a select few, could hold that gaze when it so clearly knew, accepted and laid flatly back upon their consciousnesses their faults.

He was reasonable and even merciful, accepting where others would have no qualms in dealing inebriating judgment. But now, even now, Reno found it difficult to bear up under the quiet intensity the burden of Tseng's disappointment placed on them. Worse than yelling ever had been, was the silent, calm manner in which Tseng usually delivered his guilt trips upon those unfortunate enough to upset the man.

Even now. Even now it cut the redhead painfully, not even having to see those eyes to feel the upset in his gaze. After all they had been put through, still he could not find it within himself to reject the believed deserved disappointment in him, in his abilities.

They had all been honed to perfection, or as near it as anyone could damn near well get, under the strict, relentless, empathetic tutelage of Tseng. Even before he had become the leader of the Turks, it had been Tseng that had proved himself the undeniable inspiration and driving force for many of them. He drove them to their physical, psychological and emotional limits, and then on past them, never letting them become complacent. He guarded them, taught them, cared for and over a number of them, had hand-picked and trained every one of them. He had _protected_ them. Above all, he had unabashedly loved them. More so than anyone, anyone had ever been, whether it be the undeniable and controversial role of Rufus Shinra in their lives, to Veld, the man that had paved the way to make the Turks into what they had by long become and flourished as under Tseng's guidance…

A family.

"We expanded th' search to any other 'known places' he's familiar with. But with the impossible amount of places _on_ that list, not ta mention us not exactly havin' a job t'pay for all these expenses anymore, looks t'me like we'll be fast outta luck."

"Impossible is unacceptable," Tseng stated simply, cutting off any further complaints before they could start by delving directly to their source and deftly uprooting them.

Knowing he would regret asking, Reno nevertheless spoke up, scowling and firmly crossing his arms, a sign that he did not at all agree with where this was going. "How then, d'ya 'xactly plan to have us fulfill these 'very, very difficult' requests 'a yers? It's kinda hard t'get around anywhere in this world without _money_, bo— Tseng."

As the former leader of the Turks studied the redhead before him, Reno silently cursed and mentally kicked himself for letting the familiar term slip. Even worse was that he went ahead and had refused to finish the word. He was putting up walls, because, even with the man back now before him, he was different. He had changed in the time that he had been gone. And Reno was still not sure it was for the better. The man still had the same emotions, same look, same tones and expectations. But what exactly had gone on while he had been dead to the world in Nibelheim for months on end none knew.

Oh, some knew so much of this and that, and the man that had 'captured' Tseng and put him up for so long in some desolate location hidden in the Nibel Mountains certainly knew a good part of it. But for some reason, Reno had his doubts that Tseng had or ever would share the full story with any of them.

"Prove the rumors true," Tseng cut into his thoughts. His face was impassive, no hesitation or doubt written on any of his features or hidden in his body language. As Reno remained silent, narrowing his eyes, the ebon-haired Turk continued, not even so much as twitching at his own words. "Steal, blackmail, torture, kill, bribe. Whatever you need to do. Just get it done."

In the silence that followed, the words sank into Reno's understanding and his eyes slowly darkened. "You _have_ changed," he admitted skeptically, tones dark, tinged with disbelief.

"It's what we do."

"It's what we _used_ ta do! You, you _changed_ that! You, yourself, when ya saw what they did to Veld! To his daughter! To _us!_"

"And it's what I'm going to do again if it means getting him back," Tseng pressed, eyes flashing dangerously. Silence reigned between them, until finally a scoff broke the stillness, Reno shifting where he stood, anger and revulsion written across his features as he took a step back, away from Tseng.

"Ya sound jus' like he used ta be."

"Exactly," responded Tseng, and the word was so low that Reno actually gave pause in his disgust and avid study of his former commander and leader, the unconcealed attempts to discover just what was the source behind this drastic change in the man sitting before him. Aquamarine eyes leveled intently upon silver, but the Wutian man remained impregnable, gaze lowered in what could only be presumed as thought. Brows furrowed as Reno turned his head sidelong towards his once leader, trying to pick up any sign otherwise of the quizzical intentions behind his actions. Nothing, not even a crumb, was dropped to hint at a path the redhead might follow down.

The clearing of a throat interrupted the intense reverie they shared, albeit uncomfortably, and Reno whirled around—unnecessarily, one might note—to find Rude had softly intruded upon them.

"I doubt I need to update you as to your orders?" The query which Tseng had slipped out to the bald man was, too, unnecessary. The idle movement of pieces left to gather dust for far too long a time now. Years verily had passed, old routines lay thickened by underbrush so overgrown one would hardly be able to recognize their manners, except in some distant, frightful tale uttered to keep children in their place should they misbehave. Nightmares, they had become the substance of. Nothing more.

"No…." came the uniform, pensive response, thick queries buried very near the surface of the once-upon-a-time monotone, sure voice of the tall ex-Turk.

"He doesn't wanna be found, bossman!" The words were thrown out finally, redhead stepping forward again, cutting brusquely into the casual formalities of an age passed and deceased. Not angry, but festering with frustration at the coldness with which the situation was being handled were his words. Tseng might have a tone that bit like iced steel, but the aloofness with which he now handed them over to their past indiscretions was too much! Somehow, somewhere along the way, Reno mused bitterly, something had happened that had sent them all spiraling out of control into this very moment and place.

It wasn't even a home, this location appropriated for their benefit—the keepers silenced, bought, convinced in some manner or another. Their comings and goings were as shadows, whether sun or moon plied the sky with their adverse benignity. It had nothing to offer them that was even remotely close to what 'Headquarters' had been in earlier years. Even after its destruction, there was still a homeliness to the places selected specifically to garner aid towards the President's health and chosen in keeping with the continuity of what remained of Shin-Ra on a whole. Within Healin Lodge there was even opportunity to operate as a ghost of the figures they had once been, obtrusively emblazoned upon the world as their tenders and source of liveliness alone. None else would, could supply such as did the Shin-Ra for them, and they, every child to their grateful parents, knew such to have been the standalone truth.

This, this however, was a joke.

Silver darted to aquamarine, the oceanic blue filling his vision for but a split-second before eyes narrowed, darted to th—Aquamarine widened, body lunging, thrown into the bald Turk, winding the bigger man from the impact.

Doors shattered apart, vicious splinters whistling with the intensity of their speed—the dark-haired leader of the Turks sliding from chair to floor rapidly, almost effortlessly. Out of the line of the barrage then, a leg shot out with enough force to send the heavy desk flying against the wrecked doorframe, what was left of the doors themselves dangling to the edges, pieces haphazardly clinging by their hinges to the sides of the entrance. If the desk had not properly stunted the oncoming assault further, the flash of electricity of a particularly pissed Bolt 3 shot from the right-hand corner of the room through the considerably larger opening was a perfect rejoinder.

No outcry of pain was heard from the other end, mild flames licking the doorway from the force of Reno's assault, the redhead already on his feet, covering Rude as he picked himself up with relative ease, if not as swift on his feet as the others. The silence did not mean that the enemy had been feigned—both the ebon-haired and red-maned former Turks had heard the leveling of weapons from behind the closed door. This, however, did not give at least both of the readied men pause as they saw the attire of one figure in particular.

Little time was afforded them to take it in as the tall figure in the hallway beyond the shattered doorway turned and thrust outstretched fingers and hand towards the former leader of the Turks, mouth moving in a single word. Not a threat, Tseng realized in cold shock, hands sweeping past where his gun was holstered, hidden, and leveling the weapon at the head of the man before squeezing off a shot, his own voice rushed to finish the imperative counter before his enemy could his.

"Death Force!" he hissed as the frigid wave of darkness consumed the room around him, phantasmagorical scythe of the enemy's Death spell subsequently sweeping diagonally through his body.

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**Author's Note:** I am actually quite surprised to have found the inspiration to write for this again. As last time, I'm leaving you with a cliffhanger. This time, one far more drastic.

I'm not sure how much attention this story will get, but I started it for myself, and I'm going to continue it for myself. However, like before, if you would like to see more of this story, _**a review would be much appreciated**_, for encouragement purposes as well as inspirational ones.

This story has and always will be, however, written based on my emotions. Because of this, I can't guarantee when the next updates will be. I will do my best, as far as I can. Thank you very much to everyone that reads, and twenty times that to those that review.


	3. Chapter 3

**Word Count:** 13,243

**A/N:** I have truly begun to pick up the mood necessary to write for this fic. Yes, this is the longest it has taken me to update yet, however, you'll find this update is also the largest I have so far given you, and I hope you can appreciate that. *Smiles thoughtfully* It's intriguing. When you write something you've never written before, it's such a challenge, and more than half the time, I spend hours sitting and just staring blankly off into space, imagining parts of this fic and how to make them work. It's remarkably difficult, and I get stuck a lot, but I've committed myself to this story, and I truly am falling something in love with it. My only hopes are that you can appreciate it for all the self I put into it. I hope to make you cry, to make you scream with frustration and agony, and someday, I'll hope to make you smile as well~

Now, to my reviewers.

**ViviMouse:** Thank you again for reviewing! As I said before, I really appreciate it. *Smiles and bows gently* It truly is what keeps me going. And, as for myself, I am quite alright. I keep a busy schedule, and oft hope for it only to get busier. *Chuckles* So you'll find a lot of work might weary me, but inside, it's truly how I love existing.

**PorcupineCuty:** I am very grateful to you for appeasing one of my most worrisome of concerns. I am trying to write this fic with the hopes that every part, every line, will elicit a specific reaction out of the readers, and after reading your review and speaking to you at length about how you felt reading this or that in my fic, I'm thoroughly relieved. From the bottom of my heart, I can tell you my greatest accomplishment is in being able to place you in the right emotions for every part I write, and knowing that you have understood the story as I meant it to be understood. Thank you, so much, for your reviews.

**nennedominas:** I think, out of all the reviews I've ever, ever received, none resonated so true and meaningful to me more so than yours. It is… shocking, surprising, to find a fic so meager to be reviewed, let alone to read so much more than you could imagine to have conveyed through your words. I am a bit of a dramatic one, people might say, but I am honest and heartfelt in my actions and efforts, enough that at least I can tell you have picked up on it in my writing. Yet, reading your review, even the second time over, I clasped my hands over my mouth and felt almost as though I would cry, I was so shocked at your insight and the effort you made to reach out to me, to present me with encouragement, and perhaps other such things that for now escape my verbalization. I think, more than anything, I can honestly weep inside for finding a stranger who has understood so perfectly what I have devoted much of my heart to conveying. If only for myself I write, being gifted with a reviewer like you as an added surprise is the best of gifts I could hope for. And for that, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. Thank you, nennedominas~

**Author's Note:** Some may be a bit irked or intimidated by the long introduction I left at the beginning of this fic. And as you may have noticed, I am quite lengthy in my speech. But whether or not you like that I answer back to others in full, or even to leave an appropriate and heartfelt 'Thank You' to those that certainly deserve it, I do not care. If someone touches my heart, I will reach out to them, in most warm and welcoming, grateful of ways. I hope you can forgive me for the long beginning, but I will continue to do so as long as I feel it necessary. If you do not wish to read it, skip it. If you wish to receive such words of affirmation from me, then _**leave me a review**_. Regardless, I thank you for taking the time to read this fanfic.

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_Weariness is the spawn of disillusionment._

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_How does one recreate the memories of such a time? It seemed that from the first fell twains of kestrel songs were meant to inhibit us, send us all the further into depths of a self-effaced, proclaimed misery. The trap of our methods lay to rest in the assured countenance of the star-emblazoned skies of a night that should have been forbidden. Had I known, perhaps I would have killed you, beseeching you in your last breath, "For those to whom I have sold my soul, I do wish I'd never had your blood to stain my hands. Fall away now, to be lost with nary a regret, and only icy words of parting, not given a moment premature."_

_And yet, now, should the neck rest very well in the hands of the cruel, self-governing leader, could such a deed very well ever play out? Had he any doubt at all towards the factual, irrefutable knowledge that no such righteous and all-ending a path would be taken, if even now it could? The time for such idle threats was passed, and those that had indeed bubbled to the surface were far from forgotten. In memory, for one. Yet in other places, where dwelling was far harder to obtain, those were the locales of true deviousness, of bitter and undying aches. Yet as the rain that had fallen, flooded their world and drowned them in lush, futile, emboldening promises, such times were now as far gone as the warmth of a following spring like none other, even in the single day so apprehended by the mind, all a tale untold, never to be mentioned._

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It was a music all its own. Infinitesimal, ethereal for those bound to concrete forests. Of its own, this silence broken by unheard of a sound—endless strains, an elegant cacophony of sounds in every note, gentlest pitter pat to loud and hard the slaps landed on leaf faces, turned all the higher upwards to greet with promise and relief its counterpart and well wisher—the rain, so unending, like the horizon captured and for the moment crumbling, trailing fate in rivulets and streams through the intimately familiar creases and knobs of trees. Teasingly, languidly, setting its own pace, such tender droplets found their way to the gnarled knees of these majestic and silent beings, standing ever in hushed watch, warm and welcomed coexistence with those gifts brought by the sky. Yet in the mountains of Nibel, the penchant for rain was rare, and therefore beloved, its occurrence.

Tenderly at first, it fell. The touches and slick glances it stole from its earthly counterparts coy and delicate, those of a lover returning into the embrace of the arms long stolen away from. Now in righteous elation they verily echoed a sweet lullaby of soothing, wordless song, hapless of the strangers caught in their midst. This gentle interweaving of two so long separated breaking into fragrant romance, and the world overwhelmed for that moment with their timeless melodies could care but little for the figure that traced its way slowly now through their midst.

His way was calm and unhurried, the pace of a man with many things at last settling in his heart. Through such a downpour he had proceeded for some time, it was clear. Dark tresses clung heavily, glistening attractively against a face handsome with hard, chiseled features decrying his foreign ordinance. Such were the features, in turn, of a man predominantly cold, made so by the necessity of the world. Few lines did he bear on his countenance, yet those perceptible spoke of long years of fighting one's natural qualms and personal preferences alike, of an existence hardened almost to the point of breaking.

And yet, in the hushed light of a premature dusk, no frown now etched his face, and eyebrows did not knit together out of sheer necessity to keep a bitter lid on one's true emotions. Sleek and drenched through to the skin, selectively adorned in dark clothes clinging haplessly to a body perhaps they were not meant for, tight especially across the chest, a size perhaps too small, they did little to quell the murmured elegance he somehow still managed to carry with himself.

Perhaps more silent than the night itself in coming, this man made his way without hesitance, no trace either of concern or hurry, barefoot through the woods. One could look on him in that moment and wonder, 'Pray tell, who is this man?' His elegance and comfort in so wild and unruly a place could be mistaken for long familiarity, except for the fact that before this time he'd never walked such woods. Yet clearer than crisp and tangible the very air was his remarkable serenity. Certainly, from whence ever he'd come, such a tranquility had never befallen him.

Miraculous, then, the shuttered blink coupled with endearing, unequivocal a smile that settled his lips upon reaching the path of another. Eyes met, an expression returned.

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_Almost tenderly, soft as starlight upon darkened a world, the touches to land upon logic, melting, verily pushing away rationale, ending in a moment what more than a decade had raged and strained to implant. Vicious cycles, unending and made in time only into spirals—of merciless and cruel endings—doom always yet to come. From this, such unspoken, melancholy efforts were made—and from twilit memories of silvered glory—to an end it sought to reach! To tear from them their self-embalmed fate alike, render misery, distrust, cursory imaginings as proof irreplaceable!_

'Should I allow you such?'

_Murmured almost in afterthought, congenial amendment for the foolish at heart, what ends had he now predispositioned himself for? Even as the other's touch fingered slowly the heavy form of a blanket about his shoulders, this man now in memory dry, selfsame long, dark hair, so the aforementioned passed his lips._

_Would that he had not let coy lips part from his, perhaps. What injuries had such tender, stolen graces caused in the times to come, that heart had been injured so—many cast down and gutted beneath fell hand not of terror, but of father._

_Memories, like butterflies, flickered past, too many to name, barely time to identify. Not one after another, but in a cacophonic storm they assuaged him, the proclaimed victim turned back into near monster for their poignant allocations, wondrous and likewise—or perhaps therefore—terrible. No mirrors had he that would show his motives to be completely pure, and hardly would they ever remain. What criminal indulgences he engaged in, avidly in pursuit of goals kept alone to himself, were purely selfish and thereby cruel. Yet by these methods alone could such goals be met. Only through further suffering would hurts and other, crueler wounds be remedied._

_And perhaps indeed he was wrong in doing so, yet through these methods alone could the earth be shaken enough so that what remained of their—his… world would fall ever so promptly into place. He, even they perhaps, knew no other less efficient, swifter, and far simpler way. Whether or not this meant it would arise as easier was far beyond any of them to tell._

- - - - - - -

Fingers flew to rid him of his clothes, fumbling in their haste, teeth clenched and grinding relentlessly through the desperation that gripped their bearer. "Ya fuckin' neat freaked sonnuva bitch!" Reno snarled emphatically. As the jacket came open, he shoved it back on the arms of the man that lay unconscious in his fervent grip, one arm holding the dark haired male up from where he lay raised over the legs of the knelt form of his inferior. "Ya gonna fuckin' die cause'a yer damn uniform?!"

Foregoing the buttons that wasted precious moments, the redhead grabbed the white button-up beneath by the collar and wrenched it open, baring the chest of his leader. Already the fair foreign complexion of the man was rapidly draining to leave behind a startling whiteness in its stead, the rise and fall of his chest dangerously low, all movements soon to cease. His head dangled back almost limply, a foretelling of his approaching fate, long dark tresses trailing unsteady paths of forlorn misery over the blatantly neutral carpeting.

Fevered glances had Reno stolen of the man's countenance only, not allowing himself to remain gazing upon it for too long, fully aware of the fleeting time he had to reverse the effects of the death magic hungrily devouring the life of this uniquely woven complexity of a man. A father figure he had been, still was—though Reno'd hate to admit it now, so brusquely aware of how the once Turk leader was acting. And yet, always he would remain such, whether any of them admitted it or not.

Reno grimaced at the thought, thrusting his hand ardently into his pockets, searching for anything to counter the effects of the magic cast on Tseng. Unable to come up with any materia of any kind, he cursed himself silently and immediately ruled out his weapon. Restore magic would do nothing against a full blown death spell.

"Here."

Startled from his feverish searching and growing anxiety and fearfulness, Reno jerked his head upwards in time to catch a small vial that was thrown to him, while simultaneously noting the one who'd given it to him. Startled though he'd been by the thin vial, no more complex than a small, capped triangular bottle in style, his shock at seeing Rude was the proffering party only mingled with his already strained and abused emotions. Though for far too long a moment he could do nothing but stare at his long time partner, who he had thought to have already left in pursuit of the darkly clad figure that'd attacked them, soon such changed drastically.

"Ya fuckin' lousy ass excuse fer a Turk, Rude! What the hell're ya doin' here?! Get the fuck after that blasted asshole!" Reno yelled half in desperation, half in anger, completely thrown off by the bald Turk's calm demeanor. "What the hell is it with alla ya 'cool breeze'-shittin' bastards!" he cried out, setting his teeth to the cap of the vial and tearing it off before spitting it out. Rude looked on much in silence, stepping forward to help when Reno made to lay Tseng down onto his lap so he could maneuver the phoenix down better, but stopped when Reno held up his hand. "Damn it, lemme handle this, ya jerkface."

Rude made no objection, not even reacting to the comparatively meek remark thrown out by the redhead. If the best Reno could come up with off the top of his head was 'jerkface,' then he was clearly a lot more shaken and worried than he was letting on. Of course, Rude would say nothing. Harrying Reno at any other time was more than a pleasure for the bald man, but he'd be lying if he didn't admit to himself that he was just as concerned and anxious as his partner. Yet as Reno himself had clearly pointed out, he had everything covered. Still, Rude would not leave either of them for a foolish and ill-planned pursuit that would more than likely lead to further problems. That said, all he could do was keep a silent eye on Reno and the frighteningly still figure of their leader while keeping the other about in caution in the event of a return appearance on the part of their fled foe.

It was, nevertheless, enough to make Rude numb, the scene splayed out in cruel inelegance and familiarity before him. So akin to a time before it remained that this time around, he could not tear his eyes away from either of them. No blood this time spilled to mar the perfect ground, then nothing more than a cavernous and bitter place to seek final respite. There was only the quiet and progressive degeneration of the man they had saved once before, almost more frightening than the open, gaping wound of their combined memories. So many years it had been, and yet not enough. Only a year prior, had they not found him in so reminiscent a state as well? Yet then, shockingly, his injuries had been far worse. Torture was a verse they all in the Turks were skilled in, none more so than their leader. And yet, to have remained silent under the elaborate weavings of cruelty the pitiful fragments of the harbinger's spawn had dealt him, it was as a reminder—painful almost far the more for those that looked on and could only imagine what had come to pass—of the steel that their leader had been, and still was, made of.

The first time, Elena had choked up so bad she had been of no use whatsoever. Her overreaction was uncalled for and an embarrassment to the redheaded and bald, elder Turks. And yet something within both of them had echoed her cries, her then similarly fervent desperation—the same that now gripped Reno in a harried aggression that fluctuated with his frustration, peaking most when he was likewise most fearful. Perhaps because one of their number then had shed tears and cried indiscriminately, they two had been able to compose themselves and remain productive in a time that called for haste and efficiency above all others. Such, was not the case this time around.

On the second occurrence, still the one Tseng would hear nothing from others about—and laced his glares with poisonous threats whenever any one person brought it up—on that occasion there had been no mess to tidy up. The enigmatic and fleeting aid of one Valentine had been all the salve needed to spare them the emotional outburst that might otherwise have ventured forth. Instead with bitter resolve and crude joshing Reno had bumped his way past the extensive injuries that had crippled Tseng. As for himself, Rude had attempted to remain delicate, only to be curtly cut off by their leader, his efforts towards sympathy easily discernable to the man who would have no pity shed on his behalf—definite and irreversible punishment the outcome for any that attempted to coddle him.

Elena had been changed by that occurrence as well. And out of all of them, she bothered their leader the least. It was a sign of things to come, perhaps. Though they could garner something more from her, she remained stiffly and mournfully quiet about it at all other times. 'You guys are jerks for asking,' she said once. It almost made Reno laugh, except for the subtle flash of terror that streaked her face. After that she became almost weak and sickly at the memories, and it took great efforts on Reno's part to cheer her again till the point that she could forget his asking and whatever else had flickered through her thoughts. He never asked again.

Things had altered in their leader since then. Perhaps for a time he had nurtured his pride, coaxing himself to full capacity before assuming his role as head of the Turks with as little difference made in his demeanor as before the far-reaching injuries he had been settled with. Yet parts of his chiseled self had clearly broken in that time. Slowly, over a long duration, the coldness began to escape him, and in its stead there was rather the man that they had known of many years prior, just after the Wutai War. Steady, resilient, unchanging in his expectations, and yet unafraid and—more so, unashamed—to show them good will, a smile. To these times they now returned, after the iciness of the years that had come during the time their dealings with Sephiroth and AVALANCHE had taken their turns for the worst. Perhaps it was in that time, more than any other, that he had been the most repressive, the most demanding of any of them, when AVALANCHE had again risen. Perhaps even before then, beginning when the ravaging of Sephiroth's mind had set in motion such things as none of them would be able to escape from. Something then had changed in him. For the worst, Rude recalled, they had all thought.

And yet now, again the time of coldness had returned, and in its face, Rude perhaps was the only one who knew that something grave indeed must have come to pass. What it had been they had not a clue. But the sheen of ice, foremost of steel and hardness that gripped Tseng's demeanor was alone clue enough of great hurts. This time, however… none of their number, besides one other, knew even a fragment of what had come to pass. Yet she had vanished. And another—versatile and beastly, indiscriminate and untrustworthy a creature… to that one they would not venture of their own accord. Such… such was beyond their desires, and thankfully, for the time being not dictated a necessity.

Still, the evident remained.

Daring not to make a noise, even as he wrung his hands finger by finger in unvoiced and otherwise imperceptible worry, Rude watched as Reno upended the vial of phoenix down upon Tseng's chest, before casting the emptied bottle to the side. Deftly, Reno caught up in his fingers a few of the penny-sized and slightly radiant, curling red feathers, immediately bringing these to the Wutian's forehead, brushing them gently across his brow until the warm light, as though of dying embers, seemed to melt away into the flesh of the man. The feathers themselves lost their color, falling away as white once their potency was depleted. Swiftly, with an almost inaudible hitch of the redhead's breath barely perceptible in the heavy silence of the room as he realized the down was taking effect, Reno switched to the feathers resting and gently draining their light into the chest of the ebon haired man. The redhead's hands went to work all the swifter, gently and resiliently rubbing the warm phoenix down over the area of the heart and lungs of his once superior, till at last movement was discernable beneath his persistent touch.

Neither of them could pull their gazes from that of their leader, watching as slowly his breathing returned to him, leveling out into the steady normalcy of one who alone slumbers the sleep far from eternal. Gradually, the color returned as well to his features, his countenance no longer the stark shade of so sickly an ashen white. In stillness, for a moment, they contemplated him, till at last Reno sighed audibly, his expression of relief echoed quietly by that of his partner. The two looked to each other, the former ready to speak before a subtle noise drew his attention back to the man in his lap.

Mutely, at first, Tseng seemed to be mumbling an attempt at words, but sound evaded him. As they gazed upon him, they were enchanted by his actions, surveying in hushed awe the face of their leader as it went through a series of emotions and expressions they could not discern the origins of. From furrowed brows and an expression of disapproval, the man's face suddenly blanched in surprise, eyebrows raised. A pause, more silent motions of the mouth, as though the man had not realized that he had a voice at his disposal.

They would have thought these the expressions perhaps of the man's internal reactions to the attack upon him mere minutes before, had it not been for the following phase. So suddenly, a surprisingly warm expression broached itself across his countenance, features smoothing away at the presence of a quizzical, rare smile. Even as they wondered at this, their thoughts were stilled.

"…third time…."

Barely louder than a whisper were the words that slipped from the lips of the unconscious man, his expression gradually returning to that of a neutral state which could very well mean the settling in of a deeper sleep. With a look that was almost as peeved as it was shocked and befuddled, Reno turned to Rude and scoffed loudly, crossing his arms and glancing with distaste to the man in his lap. What possessed him to act in such a manner—childish and uncouth, more so than he was wont to even in times of greatest unrest—was allotted down to unease perhaps. Yet the cursory manner in which the redhead attempted to dispel such was ineffective, and came out only as brash… and agonizing.

"Bastard almost gets himself killed. Then, when we save his ass after a lotta stress an' other bullshit, he goes an' takes a damn nap!" Reno snorted, much to Rude's obvious dismay. "On my lap ta top it off!" the redhead continued loudly, quite honestly not giving a damn if the man woke up or not, and making it perfectly clear.

"Reno," the bald man said lowly, a quiet warning lacing his voice. The last thing he wanted, truth be told, was to see Tseng awake and returned to the cold, uncaring operative that ruled their lives and very destinies with his lightest whim. As it was, Tseng's near death would certainly start things off on a vicious, relentlessly cruel turn.

Yet fate was ever ill disposed towards them, and it was even as Reno made as though to push the dark haired man off of him that silvered irises were bared beneath thick, discriminate lashes. A dull, nigh on irrevocable glare tempering them silent and demanding. Reno gawked and jerked back, leaning away from the now conscious man as he sat up, a hand rising to his chest, fingering the pale feathers that slipped over his grasping digits. One caught on an eyelash and Tseng idly lifted his hand and brushed it away, reaching out to grasp his gun and place it away—it having clattered to the floor upon his loss of consciousness—and rising to his feet without complaint or apparent need for aid, setting directly to buttoning up his shirt and straightening himself.

"What, no thank ya from da ungrateful jerk?" Reno's jaw set crookedly, teeth clenched, eyes flashing darkly at the man as he rose. Tseng glanced down at the red haired Turk, face perfectly expressionless, making his motions seem that of a ghost of him, and Reno found himself stunned into silence. Almost as though not seeing either of them, the dark haired man turned his head and gazed evenly over the despairing remains of the office—in generally poor condition for the scorch marks and emaciated remnants of two walls and ceiling, both looking about ready to cave in on themselves.

Without further motion or word, Tseng swept from the room with more speed than should be afforded a man just brought back from the dead and nursing a limp that remained nevertheless almost imperceptible. "Come," he beckoned—commanded them—in even, unburdened a tone, nothing escaping to denote any one mood over another. Pushing past the desk, through the wreckage that spilled out and littered the hallway, he made no pause, leaving everything behind as it was. In addition to the figure clad in black who remained now no where in sight, there was left a different and lone deceased body upon the floor of the hallway, gruesomely torn and smoldering from the initial attack of Reno's weapon.

Upon sight it was clear the man had been another operative sent out to back up the darker figure, as their attire remained all too similar, regardless the variation in color scheme. Tseng nevertheless stepped over this body with ease, giving no heed to it, sweeping round the bend of the hall and down the stairs with a swiftness and grace that escaped his Turks' comprehension in the awkwardness of its appearance. They followed, nevertheless, pulled along as pups after their master. Still, it could not be helped. Rude found himself hesitating by the body of the dead operative, as soon did Reno. "C'mon Tseng, ya can't jus' leave the fella here." Reno protested, hesitance fleeing as his thoughts found voice. "'Sides, he might 'ave somethin' worth findin' on hi—"

The redhead's sentence was never completed as Tseng reappeared at his side, having returned for them, and grabbed the inquisitive Turk by the back of his shirt and threw him before him, a glare laced with clear poison thrown to Rude—daring the bald man to intervene. Uncertainties remained upheld. So bitterly did one view the tension now, the fickle fraying of the once strong ties that had bound them to one another. Pain and distrust, betrayal had wrenched them apart. In ages prior, there had been instances where one could not disclose—for countless reasons: safety, the assurance of success, et cetera—what curious and even then painful ploys they enacted. Yet ever after such a goal was accomplished, whether on mission or in jest, there had always been the moment in which they had staunchly cast aside the masquerade—replaced uncouth, undesirable shifts in persona for the familiar weavings of their selves. Tender apologies were allocated, gifts offered to placate those they had known they had wronged. Slowly or rapidly, efforts had always been made to heal the wounds unsalved.

None of this met with the actions of the man before them. No trickle of sorrow or regret did he exude. It was almost incomprehensible, the effects—the _lengths_—to which this enactment proceeded. And there lay the true fear in each of their hearts, those that trailed ever after him—that he had indeed none, not even the fainted vestige of such. It was enough to cause one to break into unglamorous tears of futility and mourning, frustration and anger at their loss. For should it be true… through and through naught but purest reality… they had lost the only man to have cared for them so dearly, thoroughly and wholly as he. It was the death of the greatest man in their lives—and this, this wounded far greater than anything he could possibly have else done to them. With such in mind, softly it was that Rude moved forward, swiftly and with placation in his manners, to step between Reno—as the redhead stumbled to his feet—and their inane, lost leader. Quietly, he muttered a careful, sorrowful expression lowly under his breath. "Let's go, Reno." As he said it, the tall man reached out to place a quelling hand upon his partner's arm.

Reno, however, much to the bald man's despair, would have none of it. With a fiery glare that sharply accused his partner of betrayal, Reno rolled his shoulders, throwing out an arm and circling it in the air in an effortless disarming motion, he stepped from the bald man and shoved his touch away. "Get da fuck off me," the hurt, furious snarl. Rude's eyes darkened behind his sunglasses, and they held their gaze for a long moment, staring disbelievingly at one another.

"Don't do this," the bald man emitted lowly, warning again slipping into his tone. Though he had meant it more sympathetically, there was little doubt that Reno's unruly actions were this time going beyond the reasonable. "You're acting like a child." Therein the jaw tightly clenched, and the body that might have swayed between snarling back a bitter, scornful retort and just obeying without clamor suddenly whirled back on the taller man, eyes burning with unremitting fury. And then, from out of the corner of his eyes, aquamarine gaze settled upon the figure of their supposed leader… and the ebon maned male was smirking in clear, demeaning mirth.

"Ya fuckin' shits!"

Things came suddenly undone. They had no more use for words—none of them.

It was not as though such things had not come to pass in times before. Very often a dispute between Turks would end up in some form of argument, and whether physical or verbal, it was heated and passionate, or cold and relentless. Brawls were just as common as were the laughter and nursed wounds that came afterwards. When the stress and tension had been relieved, then—tired out, listless and inane—they fell to casual comfort with one another, things silently forgiven through actions or verbally acquiesced, often more than a little shame and guilt at their own foolishness as letting things get out of hand almost always evident.

This time, the underlying camaraderie was lost, failed to arise. While Reno and Rude might somehow nurse their wounds back into a semblance of a truce, soon to develop into the same peculiar friendship the two had long now shared, because of Tseng's presence… it was made a wordless diatribe. Moments became precious, as ever so in their line of work. A fruitless punch thrown out of anger was not only easily sidestepped, but a firm grip from the bald man inhibited the red's actions towards their once Commander. A glare, seething and venomous then was thrown to the man who was his partner, before an elbow was snapped upwards into the tall man's nose, evidence of a startling crack the proof that cartilage had broken. Even so, the redhead broke free, seeking in the next instant to tear away towards the man who had so ungainly usurped him here! But too late. Moments. Mere moments and he'd lost.

Ghostlike no more, a very tangible presence now, Tseng pressed between the two, an elegant step up against the red, appressed uncomfortably to him. There. The disconcerting ease of necessity, evenness, and master then even of causality, such raged in aloof silence in quicksilver eyes. Fear almost gripped Reno for an instant, catching that gaze locked upon his, before rage returned, memories still fresh its backing. A dance they made, as punch was thrown and bodies twisted so that Tseng avoided Reno's aim deftly, catching him by the wrist, wrenching the arm sharply, smoothly behind his back, leaning the slighter Turk over backwards. No words escaped him, and the redhead cried out in shock and furious surprise. Pivoting on a single foot, Tseng moved with his captive, keeping him pinned to himself, and lashed out a leg in the few moments whilst Rude still reeled from the blow Reno'd dealt him. Full force—sickening in strength—the consecutive blow landed just above the bald man's collarbone, applying enough force to his throat to effectively subdue him, and then, even more. Startlingly, it sent Rude stumbling into and against the wall for support, moving only further away from the demolished office space down the hall they'd proceeded from but a minute before.

Only a glance was afforded him as Tseng's gaze returned the next instant to Reno. The single arm the redhead had thrown out beneath himself to prevent his falling under the dictating actions of his former boss could not bear up under the weight and pressure the ebon haired man now placed on him. At such an angle, it would have been impossible regardless, but Tseng ensured there could be no victory. A leg rose between the red's two, hooked and efficiently removed his support, Reno's leg collapsing in reflexive weakness as the muscle in the back of his knee was caught. Incomplete still, the dark haired male, with his free arm, struck and wrenched the shoulder of the arm that had just given way beneath Reno. In one smooth motion throughout his falling, he released the other arm he'd had pinned behind Reno's back and twisted the redhead around, slamming him face first into the ground. This time, the opposite arm pinned beneath the combined weight of both their bodies.

It took only an instant then for the once Turk leader to push himself up, applying pressure the entire time to the fresh limb now locked behind his subordinate's back, and strike knee into his back just above his tailbone. Swiftly in succession, his other hand deftly struck a stunning blow into Reno's upper spine. Though it was no little pain that came from either location, it was not pain that was the overall purpose of the blows. Had it been anyone else, any other time, he would not have done it. It had not been the pain, though it certainly did not mean Reno had a very high or likewise low tolerance for it. Yet, under such circumstances as these, a cry broke out from Reno's lips almost before he could even think to muffle or still it. Embarrassment was not present, like it would have been under other conditions, having been bested and given in to that knowledge through crying out. No, rather this time… it was not so much the physical effects of the strikes made against him, but the sole fact that it was… that it was….

Tseng. Over and over and over again, he reinforced the loathing, the growing resentment of all of them against him. Why did he _do _this? Why would he injure and cuff them, as though he were back in the training grounds so many years before, and needed to show them necessary loss after loss to clarify—drill through their thick skulls and self-effaced minds of greater resistance than they truly possessed—that they were foolish and still had yet so much to learn? And where _were_ they, those others long in standing at his side, who held him so dear and precious—the very keystone to their hearts and souls? It was a choking thought, stinging the eyes with hot pricks of bewildered frustration. The guardian he had been to them….

But no. Such thoughts, such memoirs… had become a waste. This, he needed to be certain of.

Then the pressure suddenly disappeared. In its wake only fury and a frustrated confusion remained—and perhaps a sordid, guilty hatred that had continued for months now to fester in his heart. The blows Tseng had landed could easily have killed a man, for it took so little effort on such a man's part to do so. He, above all of them, almost. They had all been long versed in the roles of various combat techniques, and none so much as Tseng had become as effective and adept in mastering countless styles and dedicating himself to not merely the perfecting of his own skills. But, in those days and up till even recent times, he also took up the cultivation of those he raised, keenly nurtured into the men and women of the Turks by whose dark stain, infallible name they'd live and someday die by. And though they were not dead yet… whenever they did at last perish, it would be with the heart and soul of the Turks to which they clung still, were… in its fullest. Thanks to him…. But there had been something wrong with his strikes now, for they had been too light. Too, true enough, effective though, and still painful enough to momentarily stun and immobilize the redhead. But, not deep and heavy enough to cause even the lightest hint of any permanent damage.

Was it out of kindness or pity, he half wondered. Yet regardless the purpose, Reno told himself he regretted it, hated it. These kinds of games were not the kind to be played with or by anyone—if games they even were—and Reno did not appreciate them in the least. But that was a laugh. _That fuckin' bastage dun give a torrent shit'in th' Stream 'bout us._ It was a stinging remark, and the backlash all the more painful. It tugged, tore relentlessly at his heart—and _screw_ the motherfuckers that thought him a sap for it! More than anything, this hurt.But whether lie or not, truth or otherwise, other matters proved more pressing then. From behind him, well out of his line of sight towards the far end of the hallway, the sounds of a swift and heavy struggle came. To his bitter chagrin, many were the long embedded hints of pain and reluctant defensive maneuvers of his partner, for which he now silently, aggressively cursed himself. Maybe if he hadn't busted him up hard enough to throw him off balance, that fuckin' prick of a man wouldn't have been able to take advantage of it now.

Emitting a strained groan, as at last the temporary paralysis wore off and finally relinquished his limbs back to him, Reno pulled himself to his feet, staggering to the nearest wall as his legs regained their use. _Leviathan damn ya, Tseng, for hittin' so fuckin' hard._ He could not rest. There was no time for such. Whatever the hell that fucker was up to, Reno wasn't about to let him screw over Rude as well just because he'd been acting like a dipshit. And _fine!_ He admitted it! It wasn't bloody smart to do what he had done. _Fuck._ A lurid, almost casual complaint as he straightened slowly, listening to his back pop steadily back into use, his muscles loosening up finally, and he thanked the Stream in silence for giving him a startlingly swift rate of recuperation. _The fuck he's bashin' Rude fer anyway! S'my problem here, the dick._ Emitting a sighed huff of breath as he turned and stood fully at last—able to feel all his limbs working properly again—a fervent, aggressive glance was thrown down the hall towards the other two.

It should have hit him immediately that things were too silent, that something was wrong. But whether distracted with his own pain and thoughts or not, the curious state of the quiet soon turned into absolute mortification. The sight that greeted him froze every last muscle in his body over. Limp, definitely unconscious, the body of Rude hung almost completely out of the lone window at the end of the hall. The silent grip of the hand of the former head of the Turks alone kept him from falling the three stories to the alleyway below.

Words, any outcry at all—through his attempt to make either he had strangled himself utterly, they unable to leave his throat for the pure, incredibly real threat before him. What was going on here? Had Rude fallen that easily? But it was evident. Of course he had. The frightening expertise of Tseng had hardly ever been turned on them in seriousness—beyond the role of a strict, formidable opponent during training sessions. Turned upon them, this man who had laced his very body and every passing syllable with defiance and stoic isolationism, it gripped him as though he were faced—for the first time—with him as an enemy. A violent shaking went through him and he swayed, forcing himself as an afterthought to hold steady, doing what little he could to quell the sudden fear that gripped him. And the way Tseng gazed over Rude, the absolute calm and still-same illegible mask of cursory thought and idle procedure upon his face, made it as though out of some nightmare. A morbid, twisted dream, made all the worse by the knowledge that this was _reality_ that played its fell strains before him. Forget that he could have killed Reno and did not, he was going to—!

Suddenly, gently, as though falling back upon the warm cushions of a bed at first, the body began to dip, and then to fall away. It slid so easily out and over the windowsill, apparent one second, and the next lost from view—gone. In quiet dissertation, as though contemplating the actions he had just taken, the undone strands of fate were almost verily visible to them where they dangled now—so loosely—from the open, unclenched hand of the questionable—nay, now the irrefutable, Tseng.

He must have shouted, or at least had something at last wrenched horribly from out of his throat, because as he drove himself forward, almost unable to keep standing from the pure shock that gripped him and yet somehow able to find in his legs that which was necessary to push him forward, Tseng turned his unreadable, quicksilver eyes on him. His face was so blank someone who knew him barely well at all might have mistaken it for receptive openness. But Reno knew the man better than that. Or did he? _Did_ he?! Did he know he was capable of murder? Shit yeah! But of one of their own…? Of—oh screw that! Of _Rude?!_

'How?!' he wanted to scream. '_HOW?!_' At the very top of his lungs! And just turn back time and… and…! And what? How could _any_ of this ever be right no matter _who_ died in exchange! It was all so fucked up and Tseng… and Tseng! "Yer a fuckin' lunatic!" Reno's eyes quaked with disbelief, wide with a clenching mixture of horror and mortification. How could this be? How could he have done that?! A man whom he had worked with almost his entire life! One of the first Turks to have been brought into the fold under his own dictation! Tseng had _chosen _him as his compatriot and worthy of his trust! Of his love! It was not merely friendship and work-related camaraderie. They were _family! Blood!_ Becoming a Turk was not like joining a club or an organization or anything else even _close_ to that! It was scratching off all the film and dust from the life before, being reborn into someone completely new and different. IT WAS NOT JUST A JOB. It never had been with him! It never would be; even now they couldn't believe it to be! And Tseng… _Holy…._ Tseng smirked. An expression so dark it sent a chill so sharp through Reno that he shook.

"How could ya, boss?!" he begged, his voice cracking on the last word, the anger of before replaced by terrible, ruthless agony. _How could ya…._

Yet rather than answer, Tseng merely turned once more to the window, and for one disgusted moment, full of loathing, Reno thought he meant to invite him to come look. Instead, the man forced out the top half of the window and elegantly stepped up onto the ledge. "No," Reno breathed in quiet disbelief. He couldn't. "No!" But there was no pause or hesitation this time in the man's actions, as there had been before when Rude rested upon that same windowsill the ebon-maned male now stood upon. He was already falling. "Tseng, no!" Reno cried out and lunged for him, arm outstretched in a futile attempt to try to grab the man back. It was not—_could_ not!—end like this! He couldn't _kill_ himself! This just wasn't fair. Not to any of them! _Don't…! Don't leave us._

He was at the window, thrown half over it, reaching for the man he still could not let go, and damned him in mind, could not in heart. Then, startlingly, Tseng stretched out his hand to grasp his compatriot's extended arm, stretched himself to touch, to catch the fingers of his subordinate. Almost too late, Reno suddenly caught his wrist, and their grasps locked onto each other desperately—he could recognize the emotion with surprise through his touch. Yet, even for a fraction of a second, everything accumulated into a great mass against this man upon the single streak of weakness he presented, and the thought of letting Tseng fall to his death had gruesomely, reproachfully entered his mind. He could not deny the urge, nor the still present horror at what his leader had done. But whether through long habit and loyalty, or other reasons unmentioned and unthinkable at such a time, he could not.

It was only then that he felt a shift in the clutch of the man he'd saved. The tension he'd felt before soon turned once again to absolute fear. Power emblazoned the grip that held him, stronger—far stronger—than his own, lined with a steeled irrefutable will, as he felt more so than saw himself pulled through the window. Eyes huge with shock, they could only lock onto the stern, calm face of his leader as he was wrenched deliberately and with frightening strength first against the windowsill and then out in the same path his partner had gone before him.

Almost instantly Reno felt himself pulled close against the larger body of his leader. On any other occasion, had things been nor— …like they once were, oh the exchange would have so greatly differed. Reno would have more than likely come on to his boss with some sly and provocative comment. That, or he would have begged that whatever cruel, unusually twisted plan Tseng had in his mind for his most troublesome Turk, that he go gentle on him or at least let him have his one phone call first. It would have elicited anything from a continuation of the joke in one of Tseng's lighter moments to any number of fates worse than death. But even on his worst days, Tseng was not unnecessarily cruel, whatever present action dictated against the fond, staunch roots of memory. And often, a small smile or a sigh would be enough from the taller, foreign male and the instant would pass.

This time, no mad dash for freedom was made by the redhead, like it once would have in either play or true fear and taunting of what punishment he knew would regardless come. No struggle, even, surfaced. Not even the faintest hint. He wasn't sure if he could answer why this was so even if asked. And then, the silver gaze that had lingered before upon his own flew swiftly ahead of them, to the ground upon which Reno was certain they would soon meet their eminent demise. Yet up until that point he had not focused his eyes on the filthy end in an alleyway the ebon haired man had ironically condemned them to.

'_propriate place fer ShinRa dogs ta die._

His body still ached from the blows he had received during his fight with his superior, and the grossly overwhelming splurge of emotions to boot still had him reeling mildly. To think, all of it, from the initial assault on them in the office, to their own physical bout, now to this mad, suicidal flight out of a window had taken no more than a few minutes' time. It was not unusual to have such things occur to them, but then they were usually expecting something like it to happen. Then, they were aware of such risks, always anticipated on all missions, even those which did not specify it expressly. It was a common factor in their lives, as natural as breathing were surprises and shock twists. It _was_ life. This time, they had not been prepared.

The closest thing Reno had to a notice of when they were finally going to impact was when Tseng's grip on him tightened. The older man's body curled just perceptibly around his, and for a moment, Reno had the strongest impression of being in the arms of a father. Pain, agony—a silent curse, the trembling of the heart in the taut, exchanged tugs of two opposing wills. And even then, in the back of his head, he knew that he would not die—not this way—for even now, after all of this… Tseng was protecting him.

Then they hit.

But there was no sickening crunch, no vital crack. Rather than one final landing, they almost bounced, and though there was no dull, nauseating thud to signify the moment, the twice echoed hollow note was heavy and resounding, surprisingly loud. Only as Reno opened his eyes to the sight of Tseng's pained face—a rare instant as his mask fell away and true emotion broached his countenance—did he realize he had closed them at all. But then the Turk leader was pushing him off, propping himself up as best he could on one arm, the other immediately favored cautiously, indicating it had taken the brunt of the fall—and Reno's added weight on top of it. A pang of guilt hit him, almost simultaneously as he realized the reason for their odd landing—their survival. They were in the open bed of a black pickup, and before he could do anything else to react, Tseng cut him off with one desperate, prevalent command.

"Drive!"

Whomever was behind the steering wheel needed little other encouragement, jolting forward with the vehicle while taking quite the risk in rushing what seemed with little concern out into the open street. As though foreshadowing what much of the ride for and to wherever long would be like, there was a controlled speed and dangerous edge to the manner in which the vehicle maneuvered through one busy street into another. Corners were cut, but laws were kept, a combination long thought impossible with driving. To add to the apparent skill of the driver, panic and arousing suspicion in those around them was seemingly effortlessly avoided. This only further denoted the confidence Tseng had in the driver, and caused a slight nagging feeling to tug in the back of Reno's mind.

But that and all the questions that were still arising in his mind were shoved vehemently aside as Reno turned and caught sight once again of Tseng. The man had done a heck of a job in concealing the pain he'd displayed a mere instant ago, Reno noted bitterly, his countenance once more returned to the perturbed but quiet calm he had worn when Reno had first walked into his 'new' office—temporary, of course. Now it all came back, with the one spark of idle ire. The threats, the memories behind them, the murder—where even in all this living hell _was_ Rude! Why the big farce? He choked, clenched jaw and snorted resiliently, quietly as eyes stung in heated bewilderment. He wanted to scream at Tseng and punch his fucking face in and demand to know what the hell he had done with Rude, and so much more! He couldn't even begin to number the issues that were roiling indiscriminately inside his heart, as well as his mind. The fucking amount of shit he had to say, he noted with meek aggression and frustration, to that man almost put his extravagant Christmas lists to shame with its length. _Poor joke, man._

In a desperate attempt to quell the burdening of thoughts on him, he cast them aside vehemently. Without knowing much what he was doing then, Reno found his fist clenching the shirt and tie tightly at Tseng's throat, his aqua eyes once more burning—yet regret he could not prevent from streaking his face. This time then, the jaded anger in his eyes gleamed raw with the pain that lingered there, all too poignantly. He wasn't sure what he was going to do, or even if he should. But doing anything would be better than sitting in this pit of fuming hell the man before him had contrived with his disconcerting and vile actions. Would he really hit him? Or maybe spit in his face? What a sap he was, to not know, to stay there imposingly over the man who had done the unthinkable and yet hesitate to act. He had thought that there would be a number of things he wanted, longed so desperately to do. Yet now he found himself suspended above the man he called his leader and incapable of action against him, and he hated himself and Tseng for it.

The first thing he saw was the light.

It was a huge flash that went as soon as it came. Then came the shockwave and… finally, the roar. Even from such a distance there was an effortlessly perceptible shift in the air, and the sound was omnipresent once it had overcome their speed to overwhelm them, enough to cause his ears to ring. It froze him, fear and awe locking his muscles. Then, numbly, Reno turned around, dropping back onto his rear beside Tseng, the clutch upon his former leader's throat abandoned in the suddenness of the moment. In silence now, he faced the direction he could have instinctively pointed out the origin of the ruckus from. Thick smoke was billowing now, oozing darkly into the sky, a pungent oppressor against the already foul weather that'd smeared the heavens as of late. Against its darkness the flickering exchange of inhuman consumption revealed the presence of the flames that had likely engulfed the entire block.

…he didn't want to do it. To look at him. He felt sick to his stomach, and weak—terribly weak, sitting there—just thinking of how he'd acted and how Tseng never once had offered an explanation. It wasn't like him, Reno thought meekly, to leave ones hanging, leave things unexplained. They had teased him endlessly for it throughout the years, the way he was such a perfectionist, and so incredibly anal in his eye for detail. But it had never been derogatory, nor criticizing. It was just what he did, just like finding new ways of tormenting everyone he knew and associated with was what Reno did, he noted quietly.

Reno turned his gaze onto Tseng now, but the man would not look at him. He merely stared at the explosion so many blocks now away with a quiet face, and met not his gaze. Almost imperceptible, there was a barely breathed sigh within his leader's normal breath, and Reno looked away, unbearably, towards the place they had left behind.

He must have sensed it before any of them did. Otherwise, why would he have been so obstinate in removing them from the premises? Similarly, though it had— Reno choked back a strangled attempt at an emotion that would lead only to hot tears of fury and further agony. Turning around suddenly, kneeling, he looked in through the window in the rear of the cabin where the driver, passenger and rear seats remained enclosed. Two figures sat up front, neither of them Rude. His gaze fell downwards and found, quietly, the resting form of his compatriot, strapped in securely and laid carefully across the back seat.

With a quiet sigh of relief—misery and agony both clutching to him in a sickly mess—and cueing the oncoming headache, he slumped back around onto the bed of the truck. He didn't have to ask now. But other things he did want to know. And this silence could not go on forever. It would certainly drive him mad.

"Assassination?" he asked numbly, the first true effort at conversation he had made that day with the man at his side. But that was what it had seemed like, from the very beginning. They had attacked unexpectedly, then planted explosives damaging enough that should they have remained in the building for even a few minutes more to examine the dead body left there, it would have meant their eminent demise. Heck… they would have probably been killed even if they were on the bottom floor and walking out. Two ex-Turks and their leader taken out. Truly a prize to be envied for any of their enemies.

Enemies… would…? But no. It was a foolish, hapless thought. They would never be rid of them.

"No," came the response. It was blissfully normal, the sound of a voice untainted and clean. No hidden motives laced it, and the only emotion to arise from its pronunciation was a quiet tiredness. "If their intent had been assassination, they would have gone about it differently. We were attacked head on, by a single unit." As Reno frowned, narrowing his eyes in inaudible opposition, Tseng explained—and Reno hung on to each word, not caring if he seemed too open with the fact, just glad that he was speaking… once again. "The man the one dressed in black left behind, he was already almost dead by the time you reciprocated." If anything, Reno's eyes darkened at this. So that had been what Tseng had noticed that they'd all missed.

"If your Bolt 3 had killed him initially, then he wouldn't have been bleeding out of his back," the other continued softly. "Nor would he have a blade lodged in the back of his neck."

"Fuckers didn' take any chances did they?"

It was a rhetorical statement, but Tseng nodded in response anyway, drawing up a leg and cradling his arm between it and his chest. "But to completely answer your first guess, it should be obvious for various reasons why assassination was not the intent. Besides there being only one true operative, there were no second attempts. And neither Andrew or Durman noticed any tails or scouts."

This made Reno jump, and he straightened, throwing his gaze back through the rear window of the pickup at the heads of the two in the front seat. "Thought I recognized that drivin'," he muttered under his breath. Tseng, however, gave only the barest perceptible hint of a nod in response. As he fell silent, Reno further prompted him to go on. It had taken too much to get him to talk, and he was going to milk it all now while he still could. "They still left a man behind," he pointed out with a frown.

"He was the bomb." A soft sigh. A lowering of the eyes. "Inadvertently."

"So they killed 'im?" Reno asked incredulously, shocked.

A nod. So little, but enough. It was not the impermeable, stilled silence of before. "I had first assumed they wanted to make it look like he was dead, but it was clear that he was still alive." That startled Reno and he glanced sharply at Tseng. The other man continued to gaze quietly at nothing as though not noticing.

"Still alive…?"

"Even after your assault."

That threw a silence upon the redhead. Fuck, they were dealing with some twisted bastards. Then, "Dumbasses. We coulda gotten somethin' outta him then."

"Unlikely."

Reno threw a glare at the dark maned Turk. Still it did not seem to affect the other man, and Tseng did not turn to meet his gaze, which was beginning to frustrate the ex-Turk all the more as time passed. Did he _always_ have to do something that grated on his nerves? "At da least we coulda gotten a lead though," Reno reiterated stubbornly and frowned at the man before him. "Was a stupid thing'a them ta do."

"Not really. And Reno, stop arguing with me for the sake of arguing with me." A tempered exhalation and weary blink of the eyes, as the man slouched and settled more comfortably against the back of the pickup's cabin. Reno, in the meanwhile, snorted and clenched his jaw, narrowing his eyes further, but oddly followed suit in obtaining some kind of comfort. It was hard not to follow Tseng's example when he was finally loosening up around you, since the man hardly ever seemed to do it.

"They were trying to lead us out, and they knew it would work, one way or another. Although we didn't follow them—"

"S'right. What's up with lettin' a lead free, man?" This seemed to distemper Reno considerably more, unfortunately. And right when he was getting to think things might be slightly more pleasant with Tseng's mood turned conversational. It figures the jerk always had an inevitable screwball waiting for them with everything he did.

"There was no purpose to it. If we followed him, it would have inevitably lead to a trap of some sorts."

"I thought ya said he was workin' alone?"

"For the initial stage, the attack, yes it did seem so. However, even with our eyes out for any trails or scopes, it's impossible to be completely certain with people on this level of skill and aptitude. Inevitably, he would have returned to a base or group of others, which would have presented more than a significant challenge for us. This was the point I was trying to make," Tseng concluded.

"So," Reno said experimentally. "We couldn' capture da bastard?"

"To what end?" Tseng implied. "Even if we did, we don't have the facilities right now to keep him in check, and dedicating two people to keeping a constant watch on him would still be foolhardy. At some point, faults are found and he would have conjured some form of escape. And what then?" he probed. Reno remained silent before giving in and speaking up reluctantly.

"He woulda gotten away with more info than he had before. Which sucks," Reno scowled.

"Mmm," Tseng hummed in agreement and then fell silent.

Other things came to mind still, questions that he wanted to pester the man with so that he could receive some answers. But in the silence Reno could distinctly pick up on the change in breathing of his former boss. He did so well to conceal it, but it slipped through in the softest of ways, the almost imperceptible strain to his breaths and how they were a fraction more shallow than was normal for him. To be able to pick up on his breathing while he was conscious at all was a sign that greater injury had been done him than whatever issues had caused him to be so cold before. Still, one more query would not hurt at this point.

"So. How'd ya dig up Andy and D'man?"

They were two figures out of the past, ex-Turks who had been around almost as long as Tseng, Reno and Rude had been in the organization. He could still recall every minute detail about them, from their basic biographies and case files upon joining the Turks more than a decade before, to the things he'd learned about each of them over the long years of working with them. He knew what foods they liked to eat, how best they liked to kick back after a mission—if they liked to at all—and countless other miniscule details, too many to recall all at once.

Andy had grown up in Junon, and somehow made his way into Midgar, where he soon became known as 'St. Andrew' for his power in the gang world. Not only was he a skilled fighter and born leader—proved by his outstanding record of being made leader of his own gang at the tender age of eighteen—he was an adept mechanic and incredible driver, his specialty being any kind of motorbike he could pilfer. And he could pilfer quite a few. The one that got away, this time from Andy's point of view, had been the one Shin-Ra bike he had tried to steal so many years before, and it had been Reno who had caught him and faced off against him. Heck, before he got there the kid had nearly pummeled the living daylights out of half of the guards that'd been sent there to deal with him. 'Kid's a heckuva fighter,' he recalled thinking.

By the time he'd been subdued, his clear talent was more than obvious to Reno, who had soon apprehended him and threw him quite delightedly into a cell for a bit. But he knew better than to place him with the other detainees. No, this one had been special, and Reno had wasted no time in making his case crystal to the big boss, old man Veld. As he recalled, Tseng had been out on a mission at the time being, otherwise he would have probably gone to him and casually strung the praises of the gutsy kid from the streets on and on.

The rest was history. The kid was absolutely brilliant. Not only did Reno take to him like a second brother, not that he knew if he even had any brothers back then, but the others took quite the liking to him as well. _Sam was all over him._ He recalled with the bare hint of a smirk the noble woman who had been drafted into their midst around the same time. A rich young lass who could kill with a single shot from her range of choice shotguns, and almost as gutsy and big on one-upmanship as Andy—they were destined to drive each other nuts or become the best of comrades, and in a way they did both.

The D'man, on the other hand, had a story that was far more reluctant and, one would think, bitter. He hailed from Costa, having lived there for much of his life and one of the older members to have joined the Turks. Back then, he had been tracked down relentlessly and with their—Shin-Ra's—good luck, had gotten him recruited at last. The offer had been on the plate a long time asking him to join. Reno expected the only reason he wasn't pursued more strongly was because back then, a handful of Turks could disembowel the city of Midgar without even trying.

Back then, Durman had been a successful man working as a detective for countless years. It was not only his brawn and physical strength that had caught their eyes, because if that had been the case, he would have certainly been given over to SOLDIER without any fuss. But the man had gained a noteworthy reputation during his years in Costa. Time after another, one case atop the next, he proved there was more to him than just the muscle on top. He was quite nearly brilliant, a good sleuth they would say. By the time they'd noticed him and begun following his work with interest, he had solved a staggering number of complex and difficult cases, boasting for him his adept noggin.

But therein came the problem. When the offer to join the Turks was placed in front of him, he declined. And though it was made a number of other times, his response remained the same. It was only due to a huge mistake on his part in his profession that he ever had reason to give the Turks' offer a serious look over. To this day, Tseng would not reveal what it was that had happened on the last case Durman had ever worked. 'Suffice it to say, he lost control,' and with that Tseng would say no more.

It was a cruel twist that he had inherited that stereotypical trait of strongmen, to be passionate and find his emotions easily carried away on an idle flick of the wind. They had noticed it countless times while working with him, and though it had been said that he joined quite reluctantly since he had no where else to go—'His reputation's forever ruined, Reno,' the words of Rosalind, stern. 'Who _else_ would dream of trusting him after that.'—it was welcomed, as was he.

That was the time when things were getting far more out of control than Shin-Ra had ever seen it. Not a year out of the war with Wutai, and a new threat arose that had at first started out as a nuisance. Not halfway through to the end of the year, it had become a huge issue. No longer were the old group of Turks enough, and the order to follow up on the personalities they'd been long keeping an eye on was sent out. Tseng did most of the work himself, as was his wont, and it was with this second wave of new Turks that Durman came.

It was almost like the adoption of additional children into an already close and tightly knit family. Some had more trouble getting used to it than others, but out in the field… those things seemed far less important.

They never took them at face value and consciously accepted them into their fold. It happened in different ways for each person, at different times. Sam would be lining up a shot from a distance and not realize an enemy operative was upon her back, and by the time she squeezed off the shot, there would be Rafe, annihilating him with his smooth dual guns and a merciless knee to the groin to make the point. They would turn to look at each other, Sam's face shocked and then she'd leap on him to give him a huge hug, and he'd scowl and try to pry her off. Or with Corin and Violet. The young blonde nun-chuck wielder would find himself cornered, having taken one too many opponents, and just before he could evade the blade of his enemy, three knives would pierce the foe's hand, elbow and upper arm, totally immobilizing him long enough for Corin to bring him down. Then a grateful and surprisingly charming smile for all its sheepishness would be thrown to the quiet, polite woman who was his partner and they would relish in each other's differences and teamwork.

Countless times it happened, until they learned no longer to be surprised when their other half stepped in and finished the job, or picked up the slack—somehow always there to help them. They became teams—always two of them working together. Each one of them brilliant on their own, but together—works of beauty and camaraderie that would put the most elegant and refined of mechanisms to shame. They flowed together, leveled one another out, became one on a completely different level than most could comprehend. And even now, those who never knew that extent of kinship could not even begin to fathom the ties they formed. From this there came the saying, a phrase murmured in all tones and moments of love—poignant and undying. Even after the demise of Shin-Ra, it affected them not. Even in death and life, and the aftereffects of both, it was undying. 'Once a Turk, always a Turk.' And so, it was instances like these that blurred the lines between 'old Turks' and 'new Turks.' Through trial and error, the times when they all hung out or gathered in scattered numbers, they grew to accept each other, rub off on one another, to reform the sinews of a taut and elegantly working machine. Each of them, how they lived, breathed, and fought alongside one another, with one another, this became the heart of the Turks—this was their family.

In light of all this, however, they still would never have been able to do such without Veld and Tseng. There was a strictness of expectancy and iron willpower to Veld's commands before Tseng made his appearance within the Turks it was said. Certainly their relationship was one of intrigue and—even still—many mysteries. Of leader and dutiful follower, oddly, there was little at first. The few who knew, knew that Tseng had been no more the smooth and obedient dog than Reno became to Tseng when he joined. And it was through one major accident, rumored to be because Tseng had refused to follow orders, that changed the dynamic of their relationship dramatically. It landed Tseng in the hospital, lucky to be alive and on life support, and gave Veld the scar he bore on his face for the rest of his life.

After that, the paradigm changed. It took time. Only one with Tseng's infallible patience could manage it, more than likely. But then it took one of Tseng's patience to deal incessantly with his Turks, and more times than any of them could count, he became the shield between them and Veld's crueler, expressly diatribe ways. They grew to be thankful. Veld grew to understand. Tseng grew into the man they learned to love, and to trust, with all they had. Whether it was what little they had always had, or what little was left. Without doubt or hesitance, they gave it all to him. And he dedicated his life to them.

"I looked them up," came the soft reply, stirring Reno out of his thoughts. Upon the redhead's silent prompting, the older man continued. "We haven't the strength to fight this alone, Reno."

For some reason, the way he ended that last sentence with his name made it a necessity for his younger comrade to have to glance aside, swallowing an emotion he did not want to deal with right now. _Fuckin' reminiscin'_, he blamed weakly. Tseng had not answered his question, not in full. And yet his second comment…. That he had admitted they were fighting something once more….

_Enemies_, he was reminded again.

Suddenly however, Tseng began to right himself, making to sit up properly, and Reno eyed him curiously, but cautiously. Whether out of stubbornness or because it didn't really hurt as much as Reno thought it had, though he seriously doubted the latter after the miniscule hints the other had been dropping, Tseng reached behind himself with his favored arm and tapped on the window in the back of the cabin before sliding it open himself. "Pull over for a moment."

Although puzzled, Andrew nodded and slowed gradually, scouting out a place where he could stop. They were already nearing the borders of Edge, making Reno wonder just where Andy thought he was going, or had been told to go. It sounded as though he had more information on what was going on than even Reno did, and whether it was out of spite or not, resentment still nibbled at the edge of his mind at the thought. _We're all buddies._ It was a vain thought, a futile attempt to cheer and distract from the lack of trust still burrowed somewhere deep inside of him.

It was beginning to rain. Perhaps that had been why Tseng had asked for them to stop for a moment. Although a little sore, Reno had no trouble vaulting out of the truck and onto his feet, and though he would have had no concern with helping Tseng clamber out as well, the one time Turk Commander stepped out and onto solid ground with little of anything but ease and grace. As always, he moved as though he had no injuries, like nothing hurt him—and Reno found another prick of resentment rising in himself for it.

"Ya alright there, boss?" He threw the query out not to feed into his upset, but also to check him. For a short, brief span there in the truck, there had been the semblance of the old Tseng returning. But with the coming of the pretending, the return of the mask once again—Reno found himself having to bite back the grimace that threatened to come. _Dun be throwin' up walls, boss…._

"I'll be alright."

Reno's heart leapt, and he forced himself not to stare too hard at the man, which proved easier to do when the front doors of the black pickup opened and out stepped Durman. Andy soon was coming around from the other side to theirs, the puzzled query plain on his face. "'s there a problem, Zeng?" Andy queried. Try as he might, he was never able to drop the odd pronunciation of his boss' name. Durman meanwhile stood and quietly evaluated the situation, a concerned and worried frown on his face, and he almost looked as though he wanted to tear up at the situation he was forced to be in.

Reno threw them a sidelong glance and pressed his lips tighter together, forcing himself not to react. Now it was clear there was something they knew. Durman never could keep a secret. That was, try as he might, he always gave it away without meaning to anyway. _Poor guy's sloppier 'an ever._

But regardless their situation, this was… a relief.

There was almost a wry hint of a smirk settling his lips as Reno turned to the backseat and pulled open the door. "'Prolly wanna get outta da rain, right boss?"

He was… grateful, once more. Because it was not a one word answer the ebon haired man had given him. It wasn't the cold, unfeeling answer of 'Fine.' There was softness to his words, and in that, tenderness… and weakness. _Thank—well… Leviathan, I guess._ For if he was willingly showing weakness, even if only a fragment of it, then Reno knew he was okay. No walls were being built. Stern, ominous, impenetrable walls that no one could break. No one. Not a single barrier was he raising between them, and that meant… that he was going to be alright, just like he said.

With a warm ire in his features, Reno turned to offer the entrance into the pickup to Tseng. "S'alright, ya can shove Rude over. He had the back fer half 'a the ride, so now he's gotta sha…."

The look on Tseng's face stopped him however.

Whatever frigid chill had been there previously looked as though it had melted with the coming rain. Sorrow painted the man's features, even as the light drizzle became heavier and began to steady into a real rain. Confusion and disbelief painted Reno's face. "Aww, what now!" he exclaimed and dropped his arm from the door in exasperation. "Ya can't be serious, Tseng." But the man did not respond to him.

"Andrew, continue on to Junon," he instructed softly.

"Err… 'kay then, if yah say so…" Andrew complied, though he seemed dubious, glancing nervously between Reno and Tseng, more than idle puzzlement on his face. _Leastways he ain't in on this shit_, Reno thought jadedly.

"Tseng," Durman spoke up then, his face a quiet mess of emotions and unspoken thoughts still brewing. The ex-Turk did not bother to state the obvious, however, and asked an answer as forwardly as he could without seeming rude. "Why aren't you coming with us?"

"Wouldn' that be nice ta know," Reno growled sullenly.

"I have things to take care of," came the response, as the man turned away from them. Softer, he added, "And they do not concern you."

"'Do not,' or do you just not want them too, Tseng?" Durman pressed, his countenance troubled. Reno had to fight back the urge to wince at that one, and threw a sullen glare at the ex-detective. That did rule out two things though. One, that he didn't know just how they—meaning the Turks that had been with Shin-Ra when he'd broken it—were being treated by their former boss; and two, that his wit had gotten duller over the years. _'Save-my-ass'-D'man. Suppose it is good ta have ya around again._

But Tseng turned silently away and began walking, no injury apparent on him, as though he was still the youthful leader they had once known. Once upon a time, Reno would have looked on this picture and asked, 'Heck, does that man _ever_ change with time?' Now, he knew all too clearly… just how he did.

Andrew stepped up beside Reno and stared out after the departing figure, watching as he disappeared while in clear sight, blending, losing himself to any tail—either friend or foe—that sought to track him. Reno gave a withered, tired sigh and rubbed the back of his neck with a groan. Andrew threw a glance at him but then continued staring after the direction Tseng had disappeared.

"It's like he never knew us," the young man commented, almost thoughtfully.

Reno threw a glance at him. The look in his aquamarine eyes was clearly pained and resentful, and he visualized what a punch or shove might have done for his self-satisfaction before scoffing and turning away. "Shut da fuck up, Andy."

- - - - - - -

**Author's Note:** -Sighs softly- I'm both tired, and relieved to have this chapter up. I've been puzzling, puzzling, puzzling over it for quite some time, even though I had most of the ideas there. It came out longer than I expected, though I did want to increase the length of my update this time around.

…autumn is here. And I can smell winter, winter coming~ I think that's part of the reason I've been writing this so much. Because, they're my seasons. And when winter comes~ When the cold comes~ I am sorrowful. And during autumn, sweet and tender autumn~ I am myself, and I fall in love… all over again~

One note I would like to include is that about the Turks I mentioned in the latter part of this fic. Andrew, Durman, Rafe, Samantha, Corin and Violet are all _actual_ characters. They're not well known, but they're from a game called **Final Fantasy 7: Before Crisis** which was released _only_ in Japan for the mobile phone. Almost no one knows about it for that reason, though if you look you can find information on them. Although they were not given actual names in the game—since you could choose their name—fans worldwide have given them these names, and those are the names that I will be going by as well. I left out a few of them, but that's alright. If you would like more information about them, just send me a private message on here and I'll be happy to share the love.

So, in conclusion, forgive me, so much, for how long it took me to update, but I do hope you were all able to enjoy this chapter and the countless new twists I added to it. And, as before, _**thank you so dearly in advance for any reviews and comments I might receive.**_ They are an inspiration.


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