Seraphitus

SnK new address

2009-03-20T19:05:51Z

Hello long-time-no-see readers,

I don't bring fic unfortunately, but I did want to let people know, in case anyone was interested/wondering, that the website that hosted Sainan no Kekka wasn't renewed this year. Instead, readers can access SnK at the former mirror page, which is now the main page for the fic:

Sainan no Kekka

Thanks!!

[fic] Final Fantasy VI: Heart Funnel

2008-04-11T03:32:16Z

FINAL FANTASY VI
Heart Funnel
[Other header stuff: PG-13. Celes, Kefka, Leo, Cid. Set pre-game.]
Celes Chere has grown up in a world of half-truths, and Kefka Palazzo is the only one who has never lied to her.

Her earliest memories of Kefka Palazzo are like torn fragments of a snapshot: startling blue eyes, gentle hands, an easy smile that turns predatory when she faces him on the training field, his teeth bared in a triumphant, combative grin, as if to say, bring it on, young lady. Show me what you've got.

Cid is wary of him. Celes does not quite understand, at least not until she grows older, the intricacies of their relationship. - the brilliant, young, impatient strategist versus the practical scientific mind of the man she regards as a father - understands only that Cid will tell her many times over the course of the next few years, as she grows more sure of herself and her skills, that there are some people in this world who are better kept at a distance, better allies than friends.

Kefka drills her in magic three days a week: lessons in spell-casting, mind control on the battlefield, magitek armor fighting techniques. He pushes her hard, perhaps too hard, says Cid, drilling her over and over again until her mind is exhausted, her arms limp from holding the practice shield over her head to defend from her teacher's counterattacks, her legs quivering under her with fatigue. When she drags herself back to the barracks after especially hard days, she knows that Cid will inevitably knock on her door.

"You'll kill yourself at this rate," he tells her.

"I'll be fine," she says. "I can handle it."

He gives her a critical look, his eyes going to the smears of mud on her cheeks, the red singe marks along her hairline, the bleeding gash on the side of her thigh from one of Kefka's narrowly dodged fire spells, a near miss that exploded among a pile of boulders to her left and sent shards of rock flying like grapeshot and shrapnel into her leg. "Can you?" he says.

She pushes herself to her feet and gives Cid her best twelve-year-old glare, the glare that Kefka gives her when he thinks she is holding back. The only things limiting the strength of your spells, Chere, are the mental barriers erected out of your own fear. You must break down those barriers, push past them. Don't fear the magic. Don't fight it.

"I'm not frightened," she says.

She does not mind defending Kefka, but as time goes on, she realizes that there is something more complicated between Kefka and Cid than mere dislike. Cid is cautious around Kefka, but he does not seem to dislike him, and they are civil enough to each other when she sees them together - banquets, parades, conferences. It is not the same as Kefka and Leo, who despise each other. Even Celes as a child can see that, and sometimes it is funny to her that two grown men can be so childish, and sometimes it is sad, for she respects Kefka and she respects Leo, and she does not see why they cannot just get along.

"The world is a complicated place," Cid replies when she asks him, and she sees that he seems sad, too.

"I don't see why," she says. "We're all on the same side, aren't we?"

Cid does not answer for a moment, and she wonders if he has heard her, but then he says, "I hope so."

"When I become a general," she says, "there won't be any of this infighting with my soldiers. I won't allow it."

Cid laughs. "Perhaps by then we won't have need of soldiers or generals."

She thinks about that when she goes to bed that night, of a world that has no need for soldiers. The notion makes her uneasy; Cid means well, she thinks, and he is right about a lot of things, but if there were truly to be a time when soldiers are not needed, that means that she and Leo and Kefka are destined to become useless in the end.

----

She is fourteen when they take her teacher from her for the first time. Leo comes to her on the sidelines of the practice field as she is taking off her battered armor, sweating, red-faced, bleeding under her fingernails from a reckless, ill-timed counterattack, a reflexive grasp of the hands for a shield that was not there.

Runic, Chere! Kefka shouts to her. He is angry; she can hear the ugly edge in his voice that manifests itself when he thinks she is not listening to him, not working hard enough, not doing what she is told. If you're so intent on stopping to smell the roses, then get off the damn field and stop wasting my time!

"Palazzo," says Leo to him as Celes wrenches her head out of the stifling helmet and lets it fall to one side, "I'll ask you not to swear at your trainees."

The helmet hits the dirt with a muffled thump. Kefka gives him a disdainful look, a sneer. His armor is still pristine, polished, shining in the golden spotlights that have turned on, one by one, as night falls over Vector and the capital city is lit from within by a glow brighter than the sun. "And I'll ask you to get off my practice field."

"Palazzo-"

"My trainee," Kefka says pointedly. "My practice field. Get off it. Off!"

She remains sitting quietly on the bench as Leo's nostrils flare and he wheels around and strides away through the automatic doors leading back into the armory. Under the hum of the electrical generators and the occasional whine of aircraft overhead, the night is calm, almost idyllic. A trickle of sweat winds its way slowly from her hairline down her cheek, past her ear, and the wind, cool on her hot skin, blows strands of hair into her mouth.

"I give up," says Kefka at last.

She looks up at him, still standing there in his heavy armor with one hand pressed to his forehead. His golden hair, almost as long as hers, is bound up sleekly in its queue at the nape of his neck, falling in long waves down his back.

"I'm disappointing you," she says quietly. "Aren't I?"

He laughs, but the ugly edge in his voice is still there, and his eyes are hard in that smooth, young face. "Not you, Chere," he says. "Other people. Other things. There's so much to do and so little time to do it. Leo doesn't see that - he can't see that, you know, he's not one of us."

It is strange to sit here and listen to Kefka talk about Leo. He has mentioned him to Celes before but only through passing criticisms - Leo would have you believe that this combat stance is less effective, but he's got no subtletly - or - Leo thinks that this formation ought to have Magitek armor on the right flank, but that draws all your spellcasters back, which is what you'd want if you have a penchant for being roasted alive. But she sees now that the difference between Kefka and Leo does not stem merely from their philosophies of war, but something deeper than that, and as Kefka stands there now staring stonily at the door through which Leo has passed and gone, his gloved hands curling and uncurling at his sides, Celes fears for the first time that this is a feud in which only one man will be left standing.

"One of us?" she says.

Kefka grins wolfishly. His teeth sparkle in the spotlights that seem to turn even his pale skin to golden bronze. "We're different from the others, Chere, you and I. We've been born to a higher calling, something that Leo and his minions can't ever understand." He raises one hand, flicks his fingers idly, and there is a whoosh of soft wind, a popping noise, and red-orange flame shudders into being above his cupped palm. "This is our destiny, you see."

She examines her fingernails. The blood under them has mostly congealed now, the pain dulled to a throbbing ache. "Destiny," she says. "Cid mentions that sometimes."

"Does he now?"

She glances up at him again, surprised at his sudden change in tone, the rare approval in his voice. "Cid says that it's destiny that brought me to him, just like it was destiny for the Espers to give up their powers for the greater good."

"Bah," Kefka says. He curls his fingers in on his palm and the flame disappears, as does the approving tone, replaced by the familiar sarcasm, and she breathes a little easier, for she is not sure how to gauge Kefka outside of the usual scorn and mockery that form the comfortable, established boundaries of their interaction. "Greater good, my dead body. You tell that stuffy old man to stay with his tubes and potions, and leave the real training to me."

Celes gets to her feet, stung. "He's not stuffy," she says.

Kefka looks down at her, and she realizes again how tall he is; her head barely comes up to his shoulder, but height is rarely something she thinks about when facing him on the practice field in her heavy armor, ice crystals battering down around her. There is amusement in his face, in his voice when he says, "This is the kind of emotion I wish you'd put into your training, you know."

It is her turn to be angry. "Don't insult Cid," she tells him, craning her neck to look him in the eyes as the field spotlights catch and hold them too, blazingly crystal blue, like deep rivers, and she falters for a moment, losing the stinging words that had gathered on the tip of her tongue.

"I'm not insulting him," Kefka says after a long pause in which he waits for her to speak and she fumbles for something to say. "Cid knows his place, unlike others I could name." He moves his head a little, as if to jerk his gaze away and glare again at the armory door, but his eyes remain fixed on hers, still somewhat amused but perplexed, too, as if he does not quite understand why they are staring at each other like this.

In the end, she is the first to look away, bending to the ground to gather up her armor, stuffing it into her practice bag and turning to shuffle off to the showers, when Kefka calls, "Chere!"

"What?" she says. She has never called him commander, or sir, or any of the titles that people address him by, for are they not equals, knight to knight?

"My regards to Cid," he says, and she turns, startled now, to see him standing there by the bench with his arms crossed, laughing.

Practice the next day is at the same place, same time, but when she trudges over the grass to their usual bench, the man sitting there is not Kefka, but Leo. She falters and the strap of her bag slips down her shoulder to rest in the crook of her elbow as she stares.

"Sir," she says. "Where's-?"

"He's been called away," Leo says, but he doesn't meet her eyes - not like Kefka does - and there is something not quite sincere in his voice. "I'll be your teacher till further notice."

She is suspicious. A man like Leo, a general, one of the Imperial advisors, the emperor's trusted commander, would not simply agree to take an hour out of his busy schedule to devote to the teaching of an apprentice, and even if he were willing, Kefka would never allow it. "Where is Commander Palazzo?" she says.

"He will return in good time," Leo says. She senses a brushing off of her question, and she resents it; Kefka has always given her honest answers, sometimes brutal answers, sometimes answers she does not want to hear, but he is always honest. She does not like to be treated like a child.

But Leo is a general, a good man, someone of whom Cid speaks highly. So she simply dons her gear, and Leo says, "I've heard you've been neglecting your weapons training."

"We've done sword drills," Celes says. "Commander Palazzo is-"

"Palazzo's sword skills are sub-par-" Leo interrupts, then breaks off abruptly as his eyes skim across her face, perhaps reading the disapproval there. "Celes, I am sorry. I wish I could explain. You will doubtless find out in good time. I don't profess to know anything about magic, but at least we can work on your physical combat."

She knows Leo's skill with the sword, and the fact that he is here now offering so humbly is somewhat nerve-wracking. "I'm honored, sir," she says. "I will be happy to receive instruction from you while my teacher is absent."

Leo is there the next day waiting for her by her bench on the field, and then the next and the next. Her arms are sore at the end of the week from sword drills, combat drills, hand-to-hand fighting. Leo is a patient teacher and she enjoys the lessons, but there is something not quite fulfilling about mere physical attacks, as if the downstroke of her sword and the impact of metal against metal is but the shadow of something more powerful, a buzzing at her fingertips that aches to be set free.

The next week she comes to the practice field with her sword slung in at her side in a new baldric, armor cleaned and ready for another round of fencing, but the man sitting on the bench binding up his long hair is not Leo.

"Oh," she exclaims, almost dropping her bag.

Kefka is wearing his lower body armor, but his chest is bare, his breastplate and gauntlets tossed carelessly on the ground beside him, and when he turns she is shocked to see that his face is even paler than usual, his eyes bloodshot, a long, raised fresh scab running up the length of his right arm. His hands, which are holding up his hair, are trembling.

"Are you all right?" she says.

He smiles, but it is wan, the corners of his mouth moving with a great effort. "Leo seems to have left you intact for me," he says, not answering her question. She takes another two steps toward him, and he gives up on his hair tying, letting it fall in heavy waves over broad shoulders. "Oh damn it all," he mutters. "Curses."

Celes watches him uneasily, wondering if he has been injured on whatever mission he was called off to, wondering why he is here when obviously he is in no shape for a training lesson. There are fresh scars on his shoulders too, she sees now, ugly jagged lines running across the flesh and cutting into the curves of muscle underneath. One of them is oozing something thick and whitish-yellow.

"Kefka," she says, and he stands up, swaying on his feet, and jerks his head out at the practice field.

"Ready?"

She looks at him in disbelief. "You look terrible."

He gives a sharp twitch of his head, as if shaking off a fly. "Let's go," he says curtly. "I've got other things to take care of, so don't waste my time."

There is no use arguing with Kefka, so she unzips her bag and is donning her boots when she hears him come up behind her. His gaze is intense; she can feel the heat of it even with her back turned, her magic-infused brain picking up the minute vibrations in the air as he fixes her in his stare. She pauses, turns, one boot in hand, to look into those blue, blue eyes. The air shivers, and for a moment his features relax.

"I'm fine," he says. "Thanks for asking."

----

She grows used to his disappearances, sometimes for a few days, sometimes weeks on end, the longest for a month, during which even Leo gives up on trying to teach her anything new. She is good with the sword, but she will never be great, and her strength lies in her runic ability and spell casting. He leaves her to practice alone on the fields at her usual practice time, but it is not quite the same without Kefka there to spar with her. When she closes her eyes she can pretend that he is standing there across from her, fire dancing from his outstretched hands, shouting, Runic, Chere! Pay attention! Stop daydreaming and start applying!

But as the days pass by and Kefka does not come, she wonders if something has happened to him. Perhaps he was injured in combat, she thinks, and then shivers at the other, worse possibility, that he has been killed. But there would have been news if that were the case. Kefka is a high-ranking officer, deserving of a military funeral. She trolls the corridors of the barracks and the armory and the lower levels of the palace, but there is no news of him, and the guards she asks stare at her blankly and say, Ma'am, isn't Commander Palazzo your commanding officer? You'd know more than we do.

She is certain that Cid knows something. In the evenings when she sees him, she will mention Kefka's absence casually, bring it up to see a twitch of his eyebrow or a clenching of his teeth before he hurriedly hides it and tells her soothingly that he knows nothing of what's going on. Some secret Imperial mission, most likely, he says. But it is the same with Cid as it was with Leo, a shift of the eyes, that peculiar inflection that creeps into their voices when they are trying to hide what they know. It is in the name of trying to protect her, for Celes Chere at fifteen is still in their eyes a girl, someone who despite her proven prowess in combat is still a fragile soul, a child who may not be able to handle the hard truths of the world.

Kefka, she thinks, is the only one who has never lied to her.

He returns eventually, as he always does, but their sessions are shorter now, more erratic, and sometimes he will stop in the middle of a sentence, breaking off even in the middle of a word to stare into the space past her head, his eyes swiveling intently from left to right and back again, as if seeing ghosts that are not there. This does not unnerve her as much as it should. It is merely Kefka, and Kefka is eccentric, inexplicable, brilliant.

"Your concern is touching," he says, laughing, at her latest inquiry into his health when she notices that there are bruises around his wrists and at his temples. "I look more in pain than I actually am. We Magitek Knights may take a beating, but we soldier on. Something you should remember, young lady," he adds, giving her a long, knowing look. The blue eyes are tired today, their usual crystalline sheen clouded.

"Of course I do," she says. "But it's not life or death if we miss a training or two."

"It may be for you."

She thinks about that for a moment, and then says, "I would rather have you well."

"As I said, touching." He laughs - and perhaps it is because he is so tired, but it comes out more like a snigger, mocking and high-pitched, and she turns away, insulted.

"Oh, I was joking," he says behind her. He sounds exasperated. She does not look back, intently stuffing her armor back into her bag, and then she hears him stand up and shuffle slowly over to her. His breathing is rasping, labored in the still air above the sound of the armory's generators. "You're so thin-skinned...Chere, are you upset at me again?"

"Yes," she returns frostily. She will not lie to him, either. "I don't understand why you men have to act so invincible all the time."

He is silent. Now I've offended him for real, she thinks, and straightens and glances behind at him cautiously to see that he is standing there still, but his eyes are far away, looking through her and not at her. He shudders.

"Kefka?" she says quietly.

One of his hands twitches at his side, and then reaches out almost convulsively, as if he cannot quite control the motions, his fingers grasping jerkily at the air as he sways and she realizes with alarm that he might be too weak to stand. She grabs his hand, lacing her fingers with his to brace him upright. His skin is cold and clammy.

"Kefka," Celes repeats, and a slow alarm builds as he continues to stare unblinkingly past her though his fingers are curled around hers and his grip is like forged, frozen steel. She pushes against his chest with her other hand. "Say something. Can you hear me?"

He gasps, a sudden wheezing intake of breath, and stumbles against her, nearly taking both of them down into the sand pit at the edge of the field. But she is braced against his chest now, and they merely totter a few steps before she manages to stop. His heart is beating rapidly beneath her fingers.

"Can you hear me?" she says again, loudly, and he responds, almost inaudibly, "Yes. Yes, I hear you."

She sighs in relief. "You scared me," she says and releases his hand, but he does not release hers, still gripping it with the intensity of a drowning man, pulling her in toward him.

"Celes," he says, and she struggles for a moment before realizing that he is much too strong, that even if she were to resist, he is a full mage and she is only a mage in training, but she does not struggle very hard. The world seems to have gone somewhat cloudy, blurry, with the reality before her only of the grip of his hand, the smell of old leather and musky sweat as his arm holds her in against his shoulder. She presses her ear against his chest and listens to the thudding of his heartbeat even as his fingers relax, but even as her arm falls back to her side, she does not move away.

"You're not frightened?" he whispers. His lips graze her ear.

"I...I was," she says softly. "But only that you were too injured to stand. You don't frighten me."

Cid, if he saw them now, would tell her that she is making a mistake; Leo would most likely forbid her from ever seeing Kefka again. But she does not care about what they think. Kefka is right; they are the same, both of them, in ways that perhaps no one else in the world can know.

----

In the spring, when she turns sixteen, she is made a full Magitek Knight. They hold a banquet in her honor, and Kefka gives a toast and a short, succinct speech in which he sounds unexpectedly surly, as if almost begrudging her the honor. She does not hold it against him. She has been seeing him less of late, and when she does see him, their meetings are somewhat awkward, conversation stilted, and she has taken to arriving to and leaving the practice field still in full armor. His temper is shorter than ever, his manner more aloof, as if he is trying to push her away from him without her having any choice in the matter.

The highlight of the evening is Emperor Gestahl coming down from his raised dais to present her with the Empire sword. "Use it well, Celes Chere," he says, and touches her on the shoulders once, twice, three times - the cold steel singing from the mere vibration of air across its shimmering blade as it crosses above her head.

She takes the oath of fealty to the emperor, and Cid proposes another toast, to the Magitek Knights! and they are all raising their cups to their lips when there is the sound of shattering glass. Startled, she almost drops her own cup from her hand, her eyes whipping across the table to the Emperor's side where Kefka stands with his hand still outstretched, blood dripping from clenched fingers in thick, red drops onto the white tablecloth. There is the slightest glimmer of light on his hand where small shards and splinters have embedded themselves in the flesh between his forefinger and thumb.

The emperor has taken a step back, stunned. The rest of the room is frozen in horror, too, but Celes finds that she is still breathing quite easily. She places her untouched wineglass back down on the table and pushes back her chair. "Kefka," she says softly.

He shudders, and his hand curls open. The bits of glass fall to the table, tinkling like windchimes.

"Forgive me," he says hoarsely, a deep rasping whisper, and pushes past her, his long cloak whipping around him in layers of dark red silk. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Cid move, too, scuttling after the tall man who has left a trail of blood droplets in his wake on the marble floor, winking ruby-crimson.

She does not see Kefka for another month. Leo is not concerned - this isn't the first time he's done this, he tells her dismissively when she inquires about her teacher cautiously, though Kefka is no longer truly her teacher, for she is now a knight with her own platoon of soldiers, an instructor and commander in her own right. Last year during the Figaro Summit, he ended up ranting and raving at the Figaro delegates for an hour and a half. Tried to go after their king with a metal pike. Breaking a wine glass is relatively tame for Palazzo, I'd say.

After supper that night she goes to the laboratory, ringing the buzzer for five minutes without pause before Cid comes to the door and lets her in. He looks tired, worn down, but that doesn't stop her from getting straight to the point. She expects him to try to dodge the question, as he always does, and so she is surprised when he holds up one hand to forestall her.

"Come in," he says.

She has not been to the lab in quite some time, and Cid has cleaned up a bit from the mess in which she saw it last - folders and bottles and boxes once strewn in haphazard fashion on the floor are now stacked neatly against the walls. He sees her look and says, "Palazzo helped. He's helpful at times, you know."

She stiffens at Kefka's name, and Cid sighs again.

"Where is he?" she says.

He does not try to deny anything, not like he has done in the past when she was still a knight in training. It is strange to her to think that the line between child and adult is such a thin one: an official title, a symbolic banquet interrupted.

"He's ill," Cid says.

She frowns. "Ill?"

Cid hesitates, and then says, "He's been...unwell for quite some time."

She remembers vividly that night on the practice field. "Is he in the infirmary?"

"It's not that kind of illness."

"Explain," she says, her voice made harsh now with worry, and he sighs again.

"Follow me."

They wind their way down the stairs of the lab, along metal floors that groan in shivering cymbal-like echoes under their footsteps, which in turn melt away and join the echoing clang and thump of piston engines, the whistling of steam, the whine of conveyor belts. The light is bright and glaring, garish fluorescent illumination that washes the walls and rails and machinery in a tepid glaze. They continue down more flights of stairs, more clanging steel flooring, and then the corridor ends abruptly in a locked door. Cid keys in the combination and there is a hiss of hydraulics. She sees him struggle to turn the heavy handle, the door swinging open ponderously with a creak, as if on hinges long unused.

The hallway within is more dimly lit. As the door closes behind them, a hush falls, and she stops to take in the unusual absence of ambient noise that has become a daily part of her comfort zone, the heart and soul of Vector. "What is this place?" she wonders, and Cid says, "This is a safe place."

"Safe place?"

But he moves to the second door on their right and takes a key from his pocket to unlock it. The handle clicks. It hisses open smoothly as he gestures to her: "Please. Go ahead."

She almost does not see the man lying on the reclining chair in the center of the room, for her attention is first taken by the shelving lining the walls, on which are crammed a staggering number of beakers, jars, opaque glass orbs, bottles holding multicolored, pulsing organisms suspended in thick liquid. But the chair is mostly metal covered by a thin padded layer on which Kefka lies motionless. A blanket drapes over his form and there is a thick silver tube running from a vial of something red and sluggish and viscous that ends in shiny, sharp needles piercing directly into the bleeding, bandaged flesh of his shoulders.

"Cid," she whispers. "What's wrong with him?" Kefka stirs at her voice, but his eyes do not open.

"He is ill," Cid repeats, and she rounds on him, but he does not step back. "I told you, it is not that kind of illness. This is more complicated than a mere battle wound." He moves to the table and she trails behind him, not wanting to look at the figure of the man on the chair, turning her head away and watching Cid instead as he checks controls and dials on a control panel by the wall.

"This is cruel," she says.

"Without this, he would die."

She bites her lip. "Is he very ill, then?"

"The magic takes its toll," Cid says. "As it is, we're barely able to control it, but fresh infusions from time to time seem to help." He gestures to the red vial, and she realizes with a sudden horror that it is full of blood. "Right now, this is all we can do, but I fear that one day, it will not be enough, and the deterioration will run its course."

"It's horrible," she whispers.

"Kefka knew the odds," Cid returns. "And yet he agreed..." His fingers falter on the dial. "He was always very ambitious, ambitious but loyal, you know. Becoming the world's first Magitek Knight was a natural step, in his mind. He was my first choice for the operation. Someone like Leo would be too cautious, I thought, and Leo was already too old. It takes a certain personality to meld with the magic, and Kefka with his brilliance...it was a perfect fit."

"This-" she does not quite know what to call it. "Machine. It...made him? Me? Did you make me too?"

Cid gives her a considering look. "I prefer the term 'infuse'. We...were perhaps too hasty. It didn't turn out as I had hoped...there was a mistake. You were a completely different case - Celes - with you, the process had been refined. You came out of the operation with no complications."

She is trembling, her fingers balled up in fists and nails digging into her palms. It is all beginning to come together now - Kefka's increasingly erratic temper, the longer and longer absences from the practice field, the scars on his arms and shoulders, Cid's talk of mistakes, this silent room filled with bottles and jars of chemicals, reducing humanity to scientific notation, numbers on a page. She has always known that her magic is the product of something not quite natural, but seeing this in its unadulterated form turns her stomach. "That's all I am to you?" she says. "An operation? An experiment?"

Cid drops his hands from the control panel and comes to her, but she moves away. A low noise comes from the chair, like a gurgling laugh. "Celes, even if you could not do one drop of magic, I would still be fond of you."

"Fond," she says. "Fond." Her voice cracks, and she says, "And are you fond of Kefka too? He is, after all, one of your mistakes."

"Kefka volunteered, Celes."

"You should have stopped him!" she cries, knowing that her argument makes no sense, for she would not be here if not for Kefka, but at that moment, anything is better than seeing that tall, proud form lying there in the grip of needle-shaped blood funnels. She makes a noise in her throat, pain and sorrow and disgust all at once.

"I am sorry," Cid says softly. "We did not think you should know...not until..."

He stops. The man in the chair says, "Celes."

His voice is clear, lucid, and Cid jumps a little bit. She hesitates, and he says again, "Celes."

She goes to him. He is struggling to smile through the pain and exhaustion written on his face, and his blue eyes are open, flicking to hers. "I thought it was you," he says, and another laugh escapes him, high-pitched now, maniacal. She flinches but does not move away. "Isn't it funny, you seeing me like this?"

"I don't think it's funny at all," she says.

"Oh, you have no sense of humor," he returns dryly. "It's all right. It could be worse; I could be in a cage, you know, like those Espers in the other room. Cages, for animals, like the animals they are." He laughs again, and she says sharply, "Kefka!"

The smile disappears from his face. The blue eyes unfocus, then focus again sharply, taking in the glass and metal of the walls, Cid standing behind her. "I didn't think he would bring you here," he says.

"I thought it was time she knew," Cid answers. "She had to know someday."

Kefka's lip twists. "Did she? I'd prefer she not have. Oh, well-" turning back to her. "What's done is done. You have no worries, Chere, you weren't a mistake, so you won't ever have to end up like me. You came out mostly the same way you went in - that is, sane and pretty."

"I'd rather be sane," she says steadily. The monitor behind her beeps, and she hears Cid's footsteps go to the wall, the clicking of the dial. Kefka's eyes flutter closed, and she is not sure why she reaches out one hand to touch his bare arm. His flesh is hot and dry, almost brittle under her fingers, but she lays her palms over the hard, knotted muscle there and feels him shudder a little at her touch.

"I'm not safe," he says. "You shouldn't be here. I might hurt you. Cid says I tried to attack him two days ago when he said something I didn't like...you know though, I don't remember that at all."

"Leo told me about the Figaro delegation."

Kefka snorts, sounding a little more like his old self, the brash and confident man of her childhood memories. "That was different. I remember that. They deserved it, the upstarts, and that little twit of a king...what was his name?" His voice goes dreamy for a moment. "I forget now. It doesn't matter, anyway. He was no match for me." He seems to struggle for a moment, and then he says, "Have they sent you out to the camps yet?"

"I had my first mission a month ago." You missed it, she wanted to say. I did everything you taught me. I wanted you to see it. "It was only a small rebel group, but we burned several of their buildings and drove them off. They had been stockpiling weapons."

"Doma?"

"Maranda."

"Ah," he says. "Good. They gave you the Maranda mission. I'd thought they might. It was a good fit for you. I was going to-"

He breaks off, and she waits for him to continue, but he twists his head to glance behind her. "That's odd," he remarks. "He was just here. Where did he go?"

She wonders if he is referring to Cid, who she realizes is nowhere to be seen, but the door behind them is open. "He must have gone into the other room," she says, feigning nonchalance, for it does neither of them any good for her to show how disquieted she really is by his lapses in concentration, his erratic dialogue. Perhaps he can sense it anyway, but she will not say it.

"Come closer," Kefka says.

She pauses, wary, but steps near to him so that she is leaning on the edge of the chair, against the armrest. Her palms are still laid lightly on his upper arm and she feels the quiver of muscle as he struggles to move, twitching aside the blanket that covers his hands. His fingers touch her cheek, one thumb tracing the contour of her lower lip. She closes her eyes.

"You shouldn't," she whispers, and he says, "I know," and she reaches up one of her own hands to cover his large one, wondering where they can go from here, for there is no future for either of them like this.

"I'm not safe," he says again when she opens her eyes to look into his - blue eyes, long blond hair, white skin, her own self in mirrored, male form. "It's better that you go on alone."

"I told you, I'm not frightened."

"If only that were the simple part," he murmurs, and his hand falls away. "One of these days, you'll learn to hate me, too."

The vial in its stand beside them gurgles and spits, but she does not let go of his hand, closing her eyes again to lay her head on his chest and press her cheek to his heart as she had done that day long ago on the practice field in the glare of the spotlights, only this time there is no armor between them, only a thin layer of blanket separating his flesh and her own. His heartbeat is so faint that she has to strain to hear it, but the blanket is warm with the warmth of human skin.

"I could never hate you," she says.

----

When she turns seventeen, they make her a general. Kefka is not at this ceremony; she learns later that Leo never invited him, learns much later from one of her own guards that Commander Palazzo had worked himself into a towering rage and threatened slaughter on Leo, Leo's guards, and his entire platoon. "General Leo just laughed at him," the guard says, chuckling at the mental picture he no doubt has painted of the confrontation in his spare time. "I'll say, Kefka Palazzo has no chance against a real soldier like General Leo."

"You've never met Commander Palazzo," she says, "Have you?"

The guard gives her a quizzical look - why does it matter? "Well no, ma'am," he says, "but everyone knows the man is as crazy as all loose hell."

Celes keeps her thoughts to herself. She sees Kefka sometimes at court functions still, but he makes no move to approach her, and she does not know what she would do if he did. He no longer wears his military uniform or his old armor, dressing now in bright silks that are much too garish for the polished black boots that are the only part of the military-issue clothing he has kept. She wonders why, but it is not for her to ask, and when she approaches Cid about Kefka, he only shakes his head.

"He can't help himself," he says. "Try not to judge him too harshly. He's still the same man under all of it."

"I want to believe that," she says.

Cid places one hand on her shoulder. He is trying to be calming, she thinks, and yet his fingers feel like iron, the vise of a system that has nurtured her and brought her up and now slowly crushing everyone she has known and loved in its grip. "Don't worry, Celes. What happened to Kefka won't happen to you...I've made sure of it."

"I'm not worried," she says. "Not for me."

She is called off to Maranda twice more, for the rebels have stepped up their activity and she is forced this last time to set fire to the entire village. She does not think much of it, for it is war, and Kefka has always told her that in war, there is no good and no evil, only the victor and the loser, and if she wants to survive, she must be the victor. That makes sense to Celes Chere the soldier, though part of her still wonders which Kefka it was that drilled that into her: the trusted teacher of her childhood, or the unpredictable, manic man she no longer knows?

In the spring, when the weather turns warmer, she is called into Leo's office, where he hands her orders for extended patrol duty to the western continent, Figaro and Narshe and the surrounding villages in between. "I'm proud of you, Celes," he says. "You've grown into an excellent commander."

She takes the orders with a bow and a crisp salute, a murmured thank you, but later as she surveys her quarters and begins methodically packing, she wonders at the hollowness of the compliment. Leo was sincere; that much she knows, because Leo is always sincere with his compliments, and yet the compliment itself is nothing special, for she has been praised for her combat and command skill her entire life and somehow now it is not enough.

"You're not getting cold feet, are you?" says Cid when she goes to him later with her misgivings.

"No. Well, I don't think so. What qualifies as cold feet, anyway? Running away from battle? Deserting?"

Cid laughs. "From the stories I hear told by your admiring troops, I don't think you could do that even if you tried. You'd go mad."

That last phrase falls flat, and she sees that Cid realizes too late, even as the words come from his mouth, what he is saying. "I didn't mean-" he starts to say, and she shakes her head at him, smiling sadly.

"I know what you meant."

"Kefka was asking about you the other day."

Her heart pounds a little harder in her chest. "He was?"

Cid looks apologetic. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't even have brought it up. It's not what you're thinking."

Her hopes wilt away, and she berates herself for even having hoped at all. She is no longer sixteen years old, and Kefka is no longer Kefka, and she has moved on. "Oh," she says, making her voice even, expressionless. "It's worse, isn't it? He...didn't recognize me, did he?"

"Barely," Cid says softly. "He knew your name. Forgive me, again. I should know better than to speak before I think."

She gives him a cheerful, false smile. That she has learned from Kefka also, how to smile through her misery. "It's all right. I only feel sorry for him, that's all."

Cid moves in and gives her a hug. His bearded faces scratches her cheek a little, and she laughs, turning her head and patting him on the back awkwardly. She is not used to being touched like this. "Good luck," he says. "I'll be thinking of you."

When she leaves the lab, it is late, the clock reading a quarter to eleven, and she still has to finish packing. The armory is deserted at this hour. She is turning down the hallway that leads into the officers' quarters when she sees someone leaning against the wall, blocking the doorway, red silk cape pooled into shimmering lines of fabric on the dusty floor. She stops.

"Good evening," says Kefka.

He looks like he has not slept in weeks, his eyes so red and bloodshot that she hardly can stand to look at him, but when he stands, his movements are fluid, graceful, without a hint of fatigue. "Good evening," she says cautiously. "What brings you here, sir?"

"I live here," he retorts. He sounds slightly offended. She is not sure how to take that, for while Kefka does have rooms in the officers' wing of the barracks, three doors down from Leo's, he hardly uses them.

"Forgive me," she says, wondering if it's worth it to try to edge past him. The Kefka of old had excellent reflexes, but she does not know this Kefka. "I am leaving tomorrow, and I still have to pack."

He smiles at her, though it is more like a baring of teeth. "Ah, so I heard. Figaro, isn't that right?"

"Yes, sir."

"You never used to call me sir," he says, and his tone is petulant now, like a child's. She wonders if what Cid told her was true, that Kefka barely recognized her earlier, because it seems from the turn this conversation has taken that he still has an excellent memory.

"Yes," she says simply, and he nods in approval.

"Better."

"May I pass?" she says finally when he shows no signs of moving.

"Pass? Pass?" He rubs his chin, as if thinking about it. "Ha! You might, if you'd like."

"I would."

He moves aside for her without a word and she goes cautiously past him, wondering if he is waiting for an opportune moment to reach out and grab her arm or shoulder, but he does not move and she takes two steps past him and pauses.

"Have a good night," she says, and continues on.

"Is this how it'll be from now on?" he calls after her. She stops in mid-step. "I thought we were better friends than this, General Celes."

His tone is only slightly mocking. She doesn't turn around. "Are we friends?" she says quietly. "I've often wondered..."

"At least don't leave me without saying goodbye," he says. "It's a long voyage to Figaro." His voice is softer now, without a hint of the scornful, maniacal edge, and he sounds so much like the Kefka of old that she half-turns despite herself.

"Kefka?" she whispers.

He takes a step toward her, stops. The silk cloak sighs against the flagstones, and when she looks up into his face, the blue eyes are tired but steady, familiar, bright and burning like blue fire. "I'm still here," he says, and even the words from his mouth seem like a struggle, coming thickly and with effort. "Somewhere. Celes-"

But Celes thinks about what Cid has said, and how too much time has passed now for them both, how for all their sameness she and Kefka have diverged in their paths after all, and how the path she walks now is one on which he cannot follow. She reaches out a hand to him, feeling almost blind, fumbling in the dark for something familiar: the touch of a hand, a voice, a heartbeat.

"Goodbye," she says.

----

A long time afterwards, she wonders if their destinies could have been changed. It was Kefka, after all, who has molded her into who she has become, and although he is gone now - although they are all gone: Cid, Leo, the Empire, Espers, even magic - she cannot help but think that perhaps Kefka too could have been saved.

Locke does not know. None of them know, not Edgar, of whom she'd first heard from Kefka as he lay restrained and half-conscious on a chair in Cid's laboratory, not Terra, whom Celes remembers only dimly from those childhood days in the old city. They are all like that, the memories: dim, hazy, faint flashes of bygone glory that were all false in the end.

To the Returners - her friends, her family - this broken world is Kefka's legacy. But to Celes Chere, who is no longer a Magitek Knight nor an Imperial general, Kefka's legacy is in the miracle of waking every morning and falling asleep at night, in the miracle that she is still here at all, that she has survived when so many others have not.

One of these days, she thinks, she will make a trip back to Vector and its ruins, almost indistinguishable now in this new world of strangely twisted mountain ranges and wild rivers. She will walk through the rubble of the armory, skirt the edge of the practice fields, wander along the troop walkways that no longer exist. She will wait then until night falls over the city, and though the spotlights are long gone, the fields will be dark with the pure light of the moon and stars, and perhaps she will be able to remember his voice and the strength in those brilliant blue eyes, so long forgotten.

It won't be for some time; she is not ready yet to face that part of her past, and the scars of the war are still too deep and vivid. But somewhere in the ruins of the great city, she thinks there must be some legacy, some proof that she and Cid and Leo and Kefka did not live and die in vain, even now as magic fades from the world and soldiers are no longer needed.

10 April 2008

Author's addendum
Somehow in my own little confused universe, I have come to see this fic as a "companion" piece to my Final Fantasy VIII fic The Salt Flats (Seifer/Quistis). Besides the obvious physical similarities, such as the very similar writing style I used, I think that there are similar themes explored by both stories: destiny, childhood memories versus adult reality, atonement, and the consequences of amibition. The FFVIII fic does have a slightly happier conclusion; I guess you could argue that Heart Funnel is happy enough in its own right, as it deals mostly with Celes and how she overcomes her obstacles in the end, but to me, it's more of a bittersweet ending as she reflects on what she's lost, while Quistis at the end of Salt Flats reflects on what she has gained.

Kefka was a challenging character to write, not only because the FFVI canon gives him little to no backstory, but also because I was striving to portray him not as he was in the game, but as the person who Celes and Cid and the others must have known before he became that way. Obviously, he was not always stark raving mad; from the short history we are given, I infer that Kefka was a very smart, very forward-thinking man who simply got caught up in his own ambition. (Qualifier: Although of course I do very much enjoy stark raving mad Kefka, for it is refreshing to have a villain who is villainous simply for its own sake, without a terrible and angsty past. ~~AND HE IS NOT A WAITER~~)

I suppose you could think of this fic as a love story, much as The Salt Flats is at its core a kind-of-love-story, but more of a love story dealing with memories and places and nostalgia and loss than the (more obvious) romantic overtones.

Anyway, that's my two-cent ramble. Hope you enjoyed, and please leave a comment and let me know what you thought ^_^

[fic] FFVII: Gunpowder and Firecrackers (chapter 14)

2008-04-08T02:45:35Z

Soo....because adrenalynnrush's nagging worked, I've started posting this again. XD Enjoy!
Earlier parts can be found at Fanfiction.net

FINAL FANTASY VII
Gunpowder and Firecrackers
[Other header stuff: PG-13, Rude/Tifa, Rufus/Yuffie/Reno, AU to DoC, spoilers up to end of AC]

It is fifteen years after Meteor, thirteen years after Kadaj's defeat. Rufus Shinra, leader of the world philanthropic organization Green Earth, has been having odd dreams about Cloud Strife, about Sephiroth, about the mysterious town of Nibelheim. In a world where peace is as fragile and elusive as the voices of the lost Ancients, the old members of AVALANCHE and Shinra struggle to piece together the secrets of the Lifestream and Jenova's legacy in a race against time to save the ones they love.

XIV. Nanaki

He watched the Wutaian woman as she sat across from him with her legs folded under her, eyes downcast, drink untouched on the table. He'd brought her a drink even though she'd declined. Humans were an odd bunch, and sometimes they'd say things they didn't mean in the name of "politeness." But it did seem like Yuffie wasn't hungry or thirsty.

"What's wrong?" Nanaki asked again, softly.

He hadn't seen Yuffie in almost eight years. She had aged quickly, like most humans, going from girl to woman in that short span of time. The others would drop by Cosmo Canyon sometimes, though even that was rare. Barret had come for a stay once or twice last year, and sometimes Reeve passed through. He saw Vincent most of all. The dark man seemed to flow in and out unannounced, appearing one day and gone the next. Nanaki was never sure what he was up to; sometimes he felt as if Vincent really did not have any sort of plan in mind, but travelled just to travel. Nanaki had never had that urge. His adventures with AVALANCHE during the hunt for Sephiroth was all the travelling he'd wanted to do, and he did not like cities, with their human-built stone and wood walls and the tame, dusty smell that he'd come to associate with them.

"Vincent's hurt," Yuffie said.

His hackles rose. Sephiroth's ghostly visage appeared before his eyes, and he took a deep breath, sat back on his haunches, reminding himself that there was no need to panic. "What?"

Yuffie's clear eyes rose to meet his and he almost flinched at the emotion in them. She took a deep breath. "Here," she said, and laid something on the table.

Nanaki leaned forward and gazed at it carefully. The Materia was ruby red, smooth and glinting in the light of the fire lamps in his room. He nosed it. It was cool to the touch. "A Summon Materia," he said, glancing back up at her. "I'm not sure I understand."

Yuffie took a deep breath. "Me neither," she said, and then looked up at him as if in supplication. "Nanaki, I need to know what that Materia summons. "

"You haven't used it?"

"I'm not that stupid," Yuffie snapped, and then swallowed audibly. "Sorry. I'm...tired. I've heard too many stories about malfunctioning Materia, and uncontrollable Materia. Not going to risk that. Besides the fact that I haven't used Materia in almost ten years."

He looked carefully at the red globe again, and then said, "I'm not sure if we have the resources to do that."

"Vince gave it to me," she said, "and told me to take care of it." She ran one hand through her long hair, and then as if the gesture had opened the floodgates, spilled into the tale of Rufus Shinra's dreams, Vincent Valentine and the monster at Nibelheim, of how she'd been given this Materia on the flight back to Corel, of how Reno had tried to take it from her. The story was exhausting, and at the end of it he could do nothing but sit and stare at her.

"Why," he wondered, "did I know nothing about this?"

She shivered even though it was warm in the room. "I don't know," she said. "Perhaps it's just as well you didn't. I wouldn't drag you into this if it wasn't absolutely necessary, Nanaki - I feel bad enough about it as it is, running away from Corel and hiding out here. I don't want you to think that I'm using you as a shield or anything."

"You're the last person I would think that of," he told her. "Since when has Yuffie Kisaragi needed to hide behind anyone?"

She gave him a shadowy smile. "Maybe since I discovered that I can't do it all on my own?"

Nanaki sighed. "I wish I could say with absolute certainty that I could help you. However, Grandfather's machinery is difficult to operate, and even after so many years, I do not understand all of it...I could enlist the help of others who are staying here in the Canyon, but I assume you would like to keep the existence of this Materia a secret."

"Yeah," she said. "You assume right."

"Then it will be difficult."

Yuffie leaned forward, her eyes dark and intense. "I came to Cosmo Canyon because I know that you're the only one in the world who can help me. I need to find out what this Materia is. I'm not leaving without it." She took a deep breath, and then seemed to deflate, sagging as her head drooped. "I can't let Vincent and Rufus down," she said quietly.

His heart went out to her, and he gently nosed the Materia on the table again, feeling the familiar sense of power tingle slightly against his cheek. "If it's possible," he told her, "I'll find a way."

They sat there for a while saying nothing, staring at the Materia on the table, Nanaki's mind full of unasked questions and shadowy possibilities and the memory of Hojo's cage closing in around him as he screamed, wordless screams of rage and despair as Hojo laughed and laughed and laughed. It couldn't be, he thought. Not Nibelheim, not again.

"It was very cold," he said aloud.

Yuffie stirred and frowned at him. "What?"

"When Hojo put me into that cage," he said, "it was very cold in the room. I remember he saw me shivering on the floor of the cage between the bars, and he just laughed. 'When you've learned obedience,' he said, 'maybe we'll make you more comfortable.' I tried to lunge at him through the bars, but of course he was too far away."

Her face had gone pale in the rosy glow of the lamps. "Nanaki-"

"I wanted to kill him," he said calmly, picking up one paw and turning it over, gazing at the scars which crisscrossed the thick, calloused pad, scars from Hojo's experiments. "Just as I wanted to kill Aeris when she first arrived. I had been beaten, starved, and bled almost to death, and everyone and everything was my enemy. I must have appeared a monster to Barret and the others when they found me."

Yuffie was silent. He wasn't quite sure what she was thinking; humans were flighty creatures, and he wondered if he was frightening her. With anyone else, he would have stopped, afraid of offending some hidden sensibilities, but Yuffie Kisaragi was different. For some reason, he thought she understood.

"Are you suggesting," she said after a moment, "that we've somehow misinterpreted Shinra's dreams and the...thing...in the tunnels at Nibelheim?"

Nanaki touched the tattoo on his shoulder lightly, a remnant of Hojo and Shinra that he still carried with him. One of the old Turks - Rude, the man with the sunglasses, who was now seeing Tifa - had suggested that he go to New Midgar and have it removed at the advanced hospital that they'd built there. Rude had meant well, but Bugenhagen had taught him that every experience, good or bad, was a part of what made life whole, and the tattoo was part of him now. "I wish I could be certain," he said. "But perhaps the monster in the caves of Nibelheim could have been reasoned with."

"It's dead," Yuffie said. "Vincent said so."

Nanaki cocked his head. "Is it? I do not remember you detailing that part in your account."

Yuffie frowned at him, her mouth set in a tight line. "Well, no. But he pretty much implied it, didn't he?"

The Materia on the table winked a dull, gleaming red. He stood carefully and nodded at it. "Pick it up, please, Yuffie."

"Where are we going?" she demanded, gathering it carefully in one hand, but he simply trotted to the back of the room and headed up the stairs to Bugenhagen's old study.

The old man's rooms were neat and well-aired. He had made it a ritual to open the windows once a day and let the sunlight stream through the place. For some reason, that seemed to make everything brighter, cleaner. Bugenhagen had been a man of nature and of the Planet, and he would not have wanted his rooms to collect dust and shadows. Nanaki had tried going through some of the man's books and scientific implements after he'd come back to Cosmo Canyon after the war fifteen years ago, but they were beyond him. He contented himself instead with keeping them neat and dusted.

"We can start here," he said. "I know the rudimentary controls of Grandfather's large machineries in the upper laboratories, but I don't think there is anything up there we can actively use in this endeavor. It would most likely be better to try out some of his instruments here."

Yuffie picked up a metal contraption that looked more like something suited to torturing insects than for scientific examination. "You're the boss," she said, clearly doubtful. She brought it to the table and placed the Materia in it, clumsily working the various clamps and levers in haphazard fashion. Nanaki watched, thoughtful, as she finally gave up and wrenched the Materia out, pushing the thing to one side. "I don't know if this is going to be helpful."

He heard the frustration in her voice mirroring the frustration in his own emotions as he wracked his mind for anything Bugenhagen had ever said or done concerning Materia. "Grandfather was a big believer in the Lifestream," he said. "Materia was something that he viewed as naturally occurring in small amounts...but unnatural in the big buildup of Mako that followed Shinra's advancement as the world power. I know he studied Materia, but only in conjunction with the formation of its natural form."

"There might be notebooks or something?" Yuffie suggested. "I'd think he'd write down his findings, and I don't see a computer around here."

They spent the next few hours rummaging around in chests and cupboards and in drawers for his grandfather's old notebooks and papers, organized into neat stacks with a system that seemed to Nanaki to make sense only to Bugenhagen himself. There were papers on plant life in and around Cosmo Canyon, what looked like a complete categorization by scientific name of the flora and fauna of the Ancient Forest, sketches of different types of chocobos, and one notebook filled entirely with mathematical formulas that seemed to somehow relate to cloud formation above Gaea's Cliffs. The sun rose above the horizon and continued to rise, baking the small room. Yuffie closed the windows and drew the curtains, but that only lessened the heat slightly, and he thought longingly of the cool forests north of the canyon, shadowed valleys and brisk mountain winds.

"Mountains!" he said suddenly.

Yuffie looked at him as if he had gone insane. "Mountains?"

Nanaki didn't answer, instead bounding over to a crate that they'd already searched and from which they'd already pulled several packets of papers, all which proved utterly worthless in their quest. "What is Materia formed from?"

"Mako," Yuffie said patiently, as if explaining something to a small child.

"Right," Nanaki said, pawing at the notebooks and papers. "And where is Mako found in the wild?"

Yuffie scratched her head. "It's not, usually. Everyone knows that. You just said so, before we started looking-"

"Yes, yes," he said eagerly, plowing through her words. He could feel his tail twitching with suppressed excitement. "But when it is, it would be found at a natural mako 'spring,' wouldn't it?"

"Well, yeah."

"Do you remember when we first went through the Nibel Mountains?" Nanaki continued. "Before we had to fight the monster - the one with the many claws - I remember us going through one part of the caves that opened up into a beautiful blue-green spring."

Yuffie stared at him, open-mouthed. He could almost see the gears in her head turning, and as he turned back to rummage through the chest, she said, "The Mako spring at Mt. Nibel!"

"Exactly," Nanaki said, and pushed two books aside, digging up a third and dragging it upward triumphantly. "And we have been looking in the wrong place for four hours."

He batted the notebook to the floor, where it hit the cool stone tile and the cover flipped open. A Discourse and Scientific Study on the Natural Formations of the Nibel Mountains, read the inside front cover, and Yuffie bent down, picked it up.

"You're a genius," she said.

"Merely resourceful," he returned modestly. "Let's see what Grandfather has to say on the subject of natural Materia formation."

Yuffie carried the book back out to the cooler confines of the outer sitting room, and he curled up next to her as she flipped through the yellowed pages of the notebook. "Here it is," she said. " 'The Mako Springs of Mt. Nibel.' Springs? There's more than one?"

He twitched his ears. "I do not know. What does it say?"

"He has some stuff here about Mako being a byproduct of the Lifestream, how Shinra harnessed it to power their reactors. Um. Let's see." She flipped a few more pages. "Here we are. This sounds interesting. 'Contrary to popular belief, Materia formation in natural Mako springs is fairly common. I have in fact observed these formations occurring in the many small springs flowing up naturally from openings in the Nibel Mountains, just north and sometimes outside the boundary of the former town of Nibelheim.' "

Nanaki followed her finger, saw that the word 'former' had been inserted in a scrawled, hurried hand above the main line of text. " 'I have thus collected the following Materia from these springs and tested them in the observatory's field in different blend combinations and singly to draw out the power from within-"

He broke off and they stared at each other, Yuffie looking rather red and flushed. "The observatory," she said. "It must be! Don't you remember, that's where Cloud would go when we needed to perform those Materia blends-?"

She broke off. Nanaki looked away, thumping his tail uneasily on the ground. "It seems that Grandfather simply took the Materia up and activated them within the observatory's magnetic field," he said. "I suppose the field contained whatever energy the Materia would emit, so Grandfather could study it without being harmed."

"But," said Yuffie suddenly. "This was all based on the assumption that any tested Materia was naturally formed. I don't know if this counts. Vince said he used a sort of morph command on the monster. Wouldn't the summoned monster inside that Materia be somewhat an extension of the original?"

He flipped through the pages of the book, already knowing that there would not be an answer to that, because Bugenhagen had not been a great lover of Materia usage, going to it only when necessary and seeming a bit regretful afterwards. "I suggest we equip ourselves properly and head up to the observatory," he said quietly. "If Grandfather has done it before, the methodology must be sound. As for your monster within the Materia, I would simply say that all Materia are in some form or another unknown quantities."

"I forgot how damned philosophical you guys all get sometimes," she told him, snapping the notebook shut. "But I don't have anything to lose, I suppose." She leaned over and picked up the Conformer from where it lay leaning against the wall. "Ready when you are."

"Perhaps it would be wise to wait," Nanaki said, and then there was a rap on the door. He frowned at Yuffie, padded to the door and opened it. One of the canyon guides stood there with a perplexed look on his face.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, sir, but we seem to have a rather irritated guest who says he has to speak either with you, or with a Yuffie Kisaragi immediately. He seems quite agitated. His motorcycle was also quite loud and obnoxious. We told him that he could not bring it into the canyon, as the noise might disturb other guests, and he was rather hardheaded about that too."

From behind him, he heard Yuffie stir. "Motorcycle?" she demanded. "What does this guy look like?"

"He has red hair," the canyon guide said. "Medium height, carrying some kind of nightstick?"

Nanaki turned and saw Yuffie had gone very pale, clutching the Conformer as if it would save her. "Reno," she said. "He's followed me here."

"That's the name he gave," the guide said, "but-"

"How the hell did he know I was coming? I didn't tell anyone!"

He could, Nanaki reflected, turn Reno away and deny him access to Cosmo Canyon. But he was not an enemy, and there was no legal justification he could use. They were not at war with Corel or Green Earth. "Show him up," Nanaki said.

Yuffie was on her feet. "You can't-!"

"I can," Nanaki said firmly. "I believe that if we're going to perform this Materia experiment, a party of three would be idea. Reno already knows about the Materia, and he has sufficient combat experience. I have no Cure Materia and neither do you. It would be wise to have someone else...just in case."

Yuffie's hands worked, opening and closing into clenched fists. Nanaki recognized the way her eyes darted around the room, like a caged animal, searching for some way of escape. It had been the same with him once, when he had first been given to Hojo. But Reno was no Hojo. He watched her, prepared for a long battle of wills, and then to his surprise, Yuffie shrugged and crossed her arms, leaning against the wall.

"Whatever suits you," she said.

He stared at her in confusion, wondering if this was another human characteristic that he had not quite managed to master. The sound of someone coming up the ladder brought him back to the sunlit square that was the doorway. He saw a shock of red hair, motorcycle goggles, a dirty white shirt half-tucked into black pants, a grunt as Reno hauled himself up onto the ledge.

"Red," he said, nodding to Nanaki, and then his gaze moved further into the room where Yuffie stood, her arms still crossed like a shield in front of her.

"Yuffie?" Reno questioned, oddly hesitant. Nanaki sat and glanced back and forth at the two of them, sensing that there was something going on that he did not understand.

"Well," Yuffie said finally, stepping forward to cup the red Materia gracefully in both hands. "You've found me. You win."

[fic] Final Fantasy VI: Game of Cards

2008-03-28T23:44:45Z

Uh...yeah. I break my long non-fanfic silence to bring you a Final Fantasy thing...kind of short, but why not?

FINAL FANTASY VI
Game of Cards
[Other header stuff: PG, Sabin and Setzer, no spoilers]
Setzer and Edgar could be brothers, princes, the two of them - so refined and elegantly graceful, not rough and clumsy like Sabin Figaro.

GAME OF CARDS

"Game of cards?"

A snap of crisp paper against someone's palm, the smooth, silky sound of cards being shuffled, the popping of the logs in the fire. Sabin did not turn around, heard Shadow's soft voice behind him laced with annoyance: "That's the fifth time you've asked me tonight. I don't play cards."

"You don't know until you try," Setzer returned, and then the thump of a boot, a yelp and a growl. "And tell your damned dog to stop chewing on my leg."

"I told you, he eats people. He can't help his nature."

Sabin grinned to himself as his hands sought out another chunk of dead wood in the dark, two quick strokes of the axe cutting the log down to size. He was just gathering up the firewood in his arms when out of the corner of his eye he saw the flicker of a silver coat, firelight on polished boots.

Sabin said, "Need something?"

"Not particularly," Setzer said.

Sabin waited for a minute, but Setzer did not go on, so he shrugged, picked up the wood, straightened. "You want to help me carry this back to the ship?"

"Not particularly," Setzer said again, and Sabin turned to look at him: flaring silky coat over slender shoulders, silver hair neatly pulled back at the nape of his neck framing that narrow, aristocratic face, his violet eyes dyed now a turbulent black in the darkness of the trees under which they stood. Setzer and Edgar could be brothers, he thought suddenly, princes, the two of them - so refined and elegantly graceful, not rough and clumsy like Sabin Figaro. He looked down at his bare hands, leathery, scarred against the splintered wood; a peasant's hands.

"You know," he said after a moment, "it really is too damn funny."

Confused silence, and then Setzer said cautiously, "What is?"

"Edgar," Sabin said, grinning again, and moved away, his heavy boots crunching over dead leaves and brittle branches back into the little circle of firelight where Shadow was now crouched with his chin in his hands. Gau had curled up in a small ball, sleepily waving his hands back and forth in front of the flames with his eyes closed. He didn't see the others; they had probably gone back inside the enormous, silent monstrosity parked beyond the nearest grove of trees. The airship's engines were quiet now, and one lone landing light flickered at the entrance ramp - on-off-on-off - like a beady electronic eye.

"What about Edgar?" Setzer persisted testily, and Sabin said, "If you're going to be annoying, the least you can do is take some of this load off my hands and help out."

"This is a silk coat."

"Take it off and roll up your sleeves, then," Sabin said. "I thought being dirty was part of the gambler's manifesto."

He choked back a laugh at the look on Setzer's face, but the other man folded back his sleeves with a sigh and said, "Hand it over."

They trudged back to the Blackjack in silence, Sabin in front with Setzer trailing, cords of firewood slung over their shoulders, the wind rustling the leaves in the trees and the smell of fresh pine strong in his nostrils. The lights of Kohlingen were barely visible in the far distance to the east over the ridged hills. How long had it been since he had seen Figaro? he wondered, and then realized that it had only been days - less than two weeks - but each day feeling longer in total than those ten years after he had run away to Duncan, renounced his birthright and family to become the man he always thought he had wanted to be.

"What about Edgar?" Setzer said for a third time as they straggled up the hill to the side of the airship's fuselage. Sabin put down his firewood.

"I heard all about it. A coin toss, wasn't it?"

Setzer snorted. "Bastard. I supposed I had it coming, though - I make it a rule to check coins that I wager on, and I've had the two-sided trick pulled on me once or twice. But usually I can spot the swindlers from a mile off, and your dear brother just didn't seem to have it in him."

"Edgar's got a lot of surprises in him," Sabin said. He wiped his forehead. Below the hill, the fire was slowly smoldering itself out. "I fell for that little trick once myself."

"Oh?"

But Sabin didn't respond, didn't know at that moment, as Setzer watched him with those narrowed eyes, how to condense twenty years of history into a few sentences and convey all he wanted to convey about Edgar and Figaro and family, life and death and the need for freedom, although that last bit he thought that maybe Setzer understood without him having to say it. He looked up at the vast, curved black wall of the airship towering above them in the moonlight. "It was a long time ago," he said finally. "We're all right now, Edgar and me. We're okay. We got a bigger battle to fight, you know?"

"You sure picked a rag-tag army to fight it with."

Interceptor barked, a series of short, staccato notes that bounced off the ship's hull like gunfire. "A low blow from a self-proclaimed gambler who got himself tricked by a fake coin," Sabin said. "You got any better suggestions, let me know."

Setzer twitched the fold of his coat back with one hand. "I figure, what have I got to lose? I got nothing for or against the Empire either way. You lose, I still got the Blackjack. You win, well...the skies are that much clearer for a smooth ride. It's freedom for me either way."

Edgar would have taken offense to that sentiment, Sabin thought. Locke would have too, and Cyan and Celes; the four of them wound up so tightly in rights and wrongs, grudges and vengeance against a spectre of power that even they didn't quite understand. But all those years with Duncan had cleared his mind somewhat, given him a clearer understanding of where Figaro stood in this shifting game of kingdoms and allies, and he saw now that it was not so much about vengeance as it was about freedom: freedom for him to forgive his father, freedom for all those Espers locked up tightly in their crystals of Magicite, bound even in death, freedom for Setzer and his Blackjack across the skies of the world.

"I can see that," Sabin said. "That's all right, too. I think you could do worse than be here with us, right now, right here."

"Yeah," Setzer said. "I could. I could be with the Empire."

There was something hard and ugly in his voice. Sabin looked over at the gambler leaning against the dark hull of the airship, thinking that perhaps Setzer too had his own secrets hidden behind his eyes, thinking, Why did you really come with us? Was it really just about losing that rigged coin toss? "But you're not," he said instead, "so while you're here, you might as well play out the rest of your hand with us, rag-tag army and all."

Setzer almost laughed. He saw the man's eyes crinkle in the moonlight, and the tense moment passed, and the gambler said, "Why not? You need any more firewood, while we're at it?" He pushed himself back to his feet and started down the hill, and then paused and laughed aloud. One hand went to his pocket, and Sabin saw something rectangular and white flash into his palm, a glimmer of light against the darkness. "Or how about a game of cards?"

[fic] FFVII: Gunpowder and Firecrackers (chapter 13)

2007-05-13T18:13:45Z

FINAL FANTASY VII
Gunpowder and Firecrackers
[Other header stuff: PG-13, Rude/Tifa, Rufus/Yuffie/Reno, AU to DoC, spoilers up to end of AC]

It is fifteen years after Meteor, thirteen years after Kadaj's defeat. Rufus Shinra, leader of the world philanthropic organization Green Earth, has been having odd dreams about Cloud Strife, about Sephiroth, about the mysterious town of Nibelheim. In a world where peace is as fragile and elusive as the voices of the lost Ancients, the old members of AVALANCHE and Shinra struggle to piece together the secrets of the Lifestream and Jenova's legacy in a race against time to save the ones they love.

XIII. Tifa

Ten hours and five monsters later, Tifa roared through the gates of Costa del Sol on Reno's bike, ignoring the startled flocks of seagulls scattering in all directions and the isolated tourists on the bridge above the town's main entrance, who looked scandalized at the noise she was making. She could apologize, but she was sick of apologizing. It seemed like she had spent her whole life apologizing and now had nothing to show for it, and so she simply gunned the bike through the center of town, screeched to a halt in front of the marina, and twisted the key in the ignition.

Everything fell silent.

The lapping of the waves on the wooden pier seemed abnormally quiet to her ears after hours of deserted highway and the motorcycle's banging. She made a note to tell Reno to get his bike's drive shaft fixed - if she ever saw him again. Her upper left arm stung, the skin half-caked over with dried blood and bits of forming scab from where one of the monsters had raked her with a particularly wicked-looking claw, but she hadn't used a Cure spell on that one. The pain reminded her of why she was here and where she was going. Tifa Lockhart, the AVALANCHE member, the fighter, the martial artist, going back to Edge because she hadn't been needed in Corel after all. She felt a little guilty taking Reno's bike, but he'd left it sitting in the middle of the square after coming back from Nibelheim. Part of her wished she'd stayed and asked him what they had found, but she was glad she'd left, after all, because whatever had happened most likely had not been good.

Rude had been glad to see her, of course. They all had. But even if she had gone to Nibelheim, what could she have done? She was tired of chasing after monsters out of the shadows, tired of following Cloud's voice to end up at locked doors and boarded up houses.

Give me some time, she had told Rude, but she wasn't even sure what that meant.

She bought a ticket for the passenger ship heading back to Junon, put Reno's motorcycle into marina storage, and found a good seat by the window on the mostly empty lower deck. Sometime during the voyage, she fell asleep, waking with a start when the shuddering of the boat signaled the beginning of docking procedures. Junon was a sleepy marine town now, with the old Shinra barracks torn down and replaced with a long stretch of piers and boat repair facilities, dockyards, and passenger terminals. Reclaiming Denzel's bike from the short-term storage locker where she'd stowed it before her trip, she walked the motorcycle through the unfamiliar new city, winding her way to the lift platform that had replaced Shinra's elevator.

The old lower fishing town hadn't changed. Tifa parked her bike by the front of the inn and then headed up some rickety flights of stairs leading to an old weatherbeaten shanty on the second floor. From inside came the sound of voices, the words blurred and indistinct, but very clearly arguing. For a moment she hesitated, then knocked and called, "Priscilla?"

"Who is it?" called a woman's voice from inside, and then she heard a man's voice answer, too low for her to make out the words. "You mind your own business," the female voice said irritably, and the door opened.

The young woman who stood there was golden-haired, green-eyed, half a head shorter than Tifa with an upturned button nose and scowl on her lips that quickly dissolved into a look of surprise and then bloomed into a smile.

"I'm sorry for dropping in unannounced," Tifa said. Priscilla shook her head quickly, holding out her arms and giving Tifa a quick hug.

"Oh, not at all!" She peered around Tifa for a moment before returning her eyes to her face. "Marlene's not with you this time?"

Tifa smiled as Priscilla stepped aside and motioned her into the small, well-lit room. "Marlene was busy, unfortunately. I just returned from Costa del Sol." Priscilla hissed suddenly and it was only then that Tifa remembered her injured arm. "I'm all right," she assured the girl hastily, slipping off her boots and placing them by the door mat. "It was only a small monster."

She was amused as Priscilla shuddered. "Any monster's too large for me," she said, as a man came up beside her with a question in his eyes. This must have been the one Priscilla had been arguing with, but she couldn't see any signs of anger in his face. He looked very calm. "Tifa, this is my husband Munroe. Munroe, Tifa Lockhart."

"Priscilla's told me a lot about you," he said politely, putting out his hand. Tifa shook it. She didn't know that Priscilla had gotten married. Munroe was a big man with a strong, square chin and broad shoulders, dwarfing Priscilla's lithe frame, a bit reminiscent of how she and Rude looked when they were standing together. A wave of homesickness and guilt swept over her, but she pushed it away and said, "I'm staying downstairs at the inn, but I thought I would come see you and let you know I'm in town."

"Oh, Tifa," Priscilla said indignantly, "I keep telling you we have that spare room in the back."

"I don't want to intrude on you-" Tifa began, and the other girl laughed and took Tifa's dirty hands in hers. Priscilla's hands were rough with a sincerity that spoke of the hard life of Junon's fisherfolk.

"Stay," she said, and Tifa knew that an invitation was an invitation in Junon, and one didn't ask twice.

"I'll go collect my things in a minute," she said. The couches in their small living room looked inviting. "May I-"

"Oh!" Priscilla looked flustered. "Please. Sit. I'm forgetting my manners. Would you like something to drink?"

"Water, please," Tifa said. Munroe made it to the couch before her, straightening up a few cushions from beside the wall that looked like they'd been thrown haphazardly at someone. Tifa didn't ask. "Thank you," she told him, and to her discomfort, Munroe's eyes flicked to her face, staring at her intently for several seconds. Tifa was used to being stared at for one thing or another, but men usually stared at other parts of her, and his stare was sharp, somehow unnerving. She cleared her throat.

"You're welcome," he said finally, smiling at her with a smile that did not reach his eyes, and left the room. A moment later, Priscilla returned with a glass of water in hand, and Tifa wondered if she should mention the incident, but decided that it was of no consequence.

Priscilla took a seat on the couch beside her. "So, what news from Midgar?"

Tifa explained the events of the past few days, leaving out the details about Nibelheim as best as she could, focusing on the fact that Denzel was missing. Rude's injuries she put down to a particularly vicious monster on the outskirts of the still-wild territories of North Corel, and Priscilla nodded in sympathy.

"Hopefully it's all a misunderstanding and Denzel's out for work."

"Reeve has a tendency to pounce on the drama," Tifa said, "so I'm hoping. He's always been possessive of Denzel anyway, since Cloud left." She looked down at her hands clasped in her lap, and the movement sent the light sparkling across her left hand, on the ring she wore on her fourth finger. Priscilla noticed.

"Tifa! Are you and Rude-"

She moved one hand to cover the ring. "We're engaged," she said shortly. "It's been...a rough few weeks."

Priscilla touched her shoulder gently. "It'll work out." Her gaze went towards the door leading to the kitchen, and Tifa knew she was thinking of Munroe. She said, "I didn't know you'd gotten married."

The girl flushed. "Six months ago. Granddad had always wanted me to settle down with him - it had been pretty much promised from the time I was in grade school. But Munroe got a job with the Junon Ministry of Security, and he was away a lot." She touched her left hand self-consciously, and Tifa saw that the other girl wore no wedding ring. "The job pays the bills, barely. We didn't have any money for a wedding or a ring, so we just went to the courthouse and signed papers."

"He's good to you?" Tifa said.

Priscilla hesitated just a little too long, and Tifa felt the warning signals start to blink in her head. "I heard you two arguing when I was coming up the stairs," she said. "I had no idea you were engaged...it's been almost a year since I've seen you." Priscilla twisted the hem of her dress in her hands, and Tifa said hastily, "I'm sorry. I don't mean to-"

"It's fine," the girl said in a low voice. "He...he's not around much. This is the first week we've had to ourselves since we got married, really."

"Priscilla-"

"He wants me to get a job."

Tifa blinked. "You do have a job. Or are you not working for the fisherman's guild anymore?"

Priscilla hesitated again, then said roughly, "I am. But he wants me to get a real job."

She felt a flash of anger at the words just as Priscilla said hastily, "But enough about me. I'm just glad Rude's all right."

"He is," Tifa said. Munroe chose that moment to come into the room, and she saw how Priscilla hastily averted her eyes as the big man said, "You'd better let her go get her bags from downstairs."

She had plenty of time to dawdle and think on the walk down to the inn and on the way back. She was wary of Munroe, but that did not mean he was a bad person. A lot of the Junon men, she knew, were like this - authoritative, controlling, in charge. Priscilla's grandfather had been an old man, rather senile though friendly when they'd met, but he was the exception. It was their culture, and Tifa had no right to interfere.

There had been times in the past when she had almost longed for Rude to tell her something like Munroe had told Priscilla. Get up. Get a new job. Move to a new town. Get on with your life. She was, she reflected, constantly telling Rude what to do. But he'd never asked anything of her in return, seemingly content with what little they saw of each other with him being in North Corel and she being in Edge. His demand of her not to go to Nibelheim was the first time in a long time that he had tried to forbid her from doing something, and as usual, she had been angry. But wasn't that what she wanted? A man who would share her life and look out for her?

She thought she could find that in Cloud, but in the end Cloud had just been someone too pained by his own scars to share hers, too.

The back bedroom in Priscilla's house had been laid out for her, the bed turned down and the window opened. Priscilla cooked a nice dinner, and the three of them sat around her kitchen table and reminisced about old times, Munroe chiming in about developments in Junon. She noticed that the two of them still avoided looking at each other, though sometimes Munroe would glance at Priscilla with an odd look in his eyes when he thought she wasn't watching.

They said goodnight and Tifa put some ointment on her arm, checked to make sure the door was locked and the window closed, and went to bed. She fell asleep almost at once, into a dream where she was standing on the edge of a cliff with Rude, looking down into its narrow black depths where something was grinding, with a deep, throbbing sound that sounded eerily like the innards of a Shinra Mako reactor.

"Rude?" she said, and his arms came around her from behind.

"This isn't the time for this," she began, and then she realized his arms were not wrapping around her waist, but going upward, aiming for a tight chokehold around her throat. She opened her mouth to scream-

-and jerked awake, moonlight streaming in through the window, blankets pulled down around her ankles, and a very real pair of large, muscled arms wrapped around her neck, big hands going in for a chokehold.

Tifa did not pause to think. She twisted out of the bed, springing off the mattress with both hands and landing in a hard horse stance on the man's feet. He made an oomphing sound as the balls of her feet thudded into the bones of his toes. His hands went lax. She whipped one leg around and spun to the left, dragging him by one arm, and he cried out in pain as her grip twisted the shoulder joint in its socket.

"Bastard," she muttered, and then yanked upwards. A grisly cracking noise as his shoulder broke. He screamed. A door slammed open, almost masking the sound of a gun being cocked. A less trained fighter would not have noticed, but Tifa heard it. Instinctively, she raised her arms to fighting stance, waiting for her Materia to activate-

-and then realized that the Premium Heart was in her duffel bag, which was currently shoved under the bed.

"Tifa?" came Priscilla's voice. "Munroe?"

Munroe's eyes were twin silver bullets in the moonlight, hard and icy with deadly intent. Time seemed to crawl by as he raised his gun to her eye level, as she desperately calculated how to dive around him and reach the bed, crawl under it, and activate her weapon without being shot full of holes.

The bedroom door opened.

Munroe fired.

Tifa leapt to the side at the same time and the shot went wide, splintering into the bed's headboard. In the doorway, Priscilla's nightgown-clad silhouette screamed. Munroe whirled, pointing the gun at her, and Tifa saw her chance. She pounced forward, catching the man in the groin with a hard front snap kick, then using that momentum to club him in the face and send the gun flying out of his hand as she slid under the bed.

Her duffel was where she'd left it. She fumbled for the zipper as she heard Munroe slowly get to his knees, crawling for his gun, knowing that she'd left her legs exposed while her body was stuck under the low mattress and cursing herself. Zangan would be ashamed, she thought wildly as the zipper finally broke free and revealed her gloves, lying there with the blood of three monsters still caked on them, Materia gleaming dully in the dimness. She slid them on, slinging the bag over her shoulder and pushing off the floor in a cloud of dust.

"Priscilla!" she shouted. "Run!"

Munroe never had a chance. The Premium Heart was liquid lightning in her hands, and she felt the familiar gathering power tingle up and down her arms, throbbing in her chest like swelling heartbeats. When the bolt let loose, she barely heard him scream. She was already pounding out of the house, down the stairs three at a time. Outside there was a familiar roaring sound, and it was only after she'd gotten to the bottom of the stairs that she saw that Priscilla, still in her nightgown, had turned on her motorcycle.

"Munroe!" the girl cried, but Tifa shook her head mutely, vaulted into the seat and pushed the girl up behind her.

"Hold onto me. We're leaving."

"I can't leave him!"

"Yes," Tifa growled, kicking the bike up from the ground and gunning the engine, speeding out of Junon in an angry cough of smoke. "You can."

[fic] FFVII: Letters Home

2007-05-10T22:35:26Z

For enishi_sama, a Zack and Cloud friendship fic long overdue. As a disclaimer, I am not familiar with any of the Compilation canon that comes before the game, so this might be a bit AU. If so, sorry 'bout that =P Nothing much happens in this though, so it's probably ok...

FINAL FANTASY VII
Letters Home
[Other header stuff: PG, Zack, Cloud, pre-game]
Zack writes letters to someone in Midgar. Sephiroth goes for a walk. Cloud reminisces.

Letters Home

Zack spent the last two nights of their sojourn in Kalm writing a letter.

Cloud Strife wasn't exactly sure what this letter was about or whom it was addressed to, but both nights, Zack had refused to go out with the others, shutting himself in his room at the inn and scribbling on pieces of paper with his light burning long into the night. Cloud would have asked how his roommates got any sleep, except he didn't think that Sephiroth needed sleep, and the other guard who was sharing the room with them had apparently decided that getting drunk was a more important priority.

The morning they left for Nibelheim, he'd rousted his own hungover roommates from bed, thrown all his clothes into his suitcase, donned his uniform and tucked the mask under one arm to knock on Zack's door.

Sephiroth opened it.

"Up early, I see," he said.

"I'm looking for Zack, sir," Cloud said, a bit shyly. The man seemed to fill the whole doorway with his presence. Sephiroth was tall, but it wasn't usually his height that people talked about. Instead it was something about the way he stood, arms crossed over his chest, dignified and proudly graceful. "I've got some of his extra luggage in my room."

"Over here, Cloud," he heard Zack call over Sephiroth's shoulder. "Let him in, man."

Sephiroth smirked a bit, drawing back from the doorframe. Cloud let out the breath he hadn't known he was holding, crossed the room almost on tiptoe. Zack was sitting at the writing desk by the window, and Cloud didn't see any sign of the third man who was supposed to be sharing the room. Zack saw him looking, and laughed.

"Seems like he's been staying out nights. There's a...ladies' parlor down the road that the bar's on. If you catch my drift."

Cloud did. He wasn't sure what to say; some of his fellow guards liked to frequent those places when they were out on patrol, but he'd never gone. Somehow, the idea of it seemed a bit repugnant to him.

"I'm going for a walk," Sephiroth said from the doorway. "I'll be back in an hour, Zack, and then we're leaving."

Zack gave a careless wave. "See ya later." A moment later, they heard the door close and the sound of boots fading down the hallway. Zack sat back in his chair. "You sleep well?"

"Mostly," Cloud said, still uncomfortable at the fact that he was standing in someone else's room, but mostly at the fact that Sephiroth had been here and had spoken to him at all. It was obvious which corner of the room the other man had occupied; there was a rucksack leaning against neatly folded and stacked blankets, spare boots and a curved sword lined up at the foot of the bed. Zack's side of the room, on the other hand, was a mess of toiletries and socks and blankets in a floor-hugging wad.

"How you doing?"

Cloud shrugged. "All right."

Zack put down his pen, slouching in his chair with arms crossed behind his head. He always looked so natural, Cloud thought - relaxed, but poised, like a part of the landscape, in motion. Theirs was an odd friendship, a partnership of the elite and the common become something more comfortable and deeper. He wondered if other SOLDIERs had friends from different walks of life, and then he thought of Sephiroth, who had no friends, except maybe Zack, if that could be called friendship.

"Yo," Zack said. "You're quiet today."

"I'm always quiet."

The darker man laughed. "Yeah, that's true." He paused a bit, looking out the window at the rustic streets of Kalm. The edges of the windowpane were wet with morning dew. "I wonder if we'll be back here again? I like it."

"You'll like Nibelheim," Cloud said, with a sudden desperate hope that Zack really would like Nibelheim, if he liked Kalm. "It's nothing spectacular. But it's...it's nice there."

Zack seemed amused. "I'm sure I will. You told your folks you're coming home?"

He shrugged. "There's no phones there. And...I'm not good at letters. Besides, it's just my mom."

Zack's forehead wrinkled. "Wasn't there a girl?"

Cloud felt his face grow hot and he thought of Tifa and her innocent eyes looking up into his, asking why he was leaving. He wondered if she still remembered him. The memory was a warm knot inside his stomach, but she'd probably gone on to better things. "No. No girl."

"You sure?" Zack looked intently at him, and then a slow smile spread across his face. "Oh, ok. Right. I see."

"What?"

"Nothing." His friend turned back to his desk, stretching and pursing his lips in a soft whistle. "You should get out more, Cloud."

"I get out," Cloud said defensively. "And what about you? I haven't seen you going out lately."

Zack gestured carelessly to the desk, and Cloud saw the letter, a neat, square envelope sealed and addressed. He squinted, but couldn't quite make out Zack's messy handwriting. To Midgar? "Who's in Midgar?" he asked.

Zack shifted guiltily and shoved the letter under the edge of a book. "Someone important."

Cloud thought of Tifa again, of that night at the well and shy goodbyes. He wondered if she would have liked it if he'd written her a letter. Probably not; what would he say anyway, to a girl he hardly knew? He imagined himself stepping into Nibelheim, taking off the Shinra helmet and meeting Tifa's eyes, imagined her frowning slightly and asking, Do I know you?

It was one of those fears he'd always had, because he had told her he was going off to make SOLDIER and do Nibelheim proud, and all he had become was some lowly Shinra guard.

"Snap out of it," Zack said, and he was aware that the other man was out of his chair, crouched down next to him and waving one finger in his face. "You think too much."

"I've got a lot to think about," Cloud said. "You talk too much."

There was a pause, and then Zack burst out laughing. "Yeah," he said, "I suppose I do. I'm talking so much that I'm not gonna have time to pack before we leave, and then Sephiroth's gonna kick my ass."

"I brought the rest of your things," Cloud said. "I'll help."

The packing, which was mostly just as bad as Zack predicted, took the better part of the hour until Sephiroth returned, looking thunderous and out-of-sorts. Cloud shrank against the wall and hoped the tall man did not see him. Zack didn't seem to notice, chattering away. It was not until they were out on the streets of Kalm, trudging out of the town entrance towards their troop vehicle that Zack stopped and snapped his fingers. "Damn," he said.

Cloud glanced at him quizzically, and he said, "I was going to drop my letter off at the post office on the way out."

"No dawdling, Fair!" Sephiroth called sharply from the truck.

"You can always mail it from Nibelheim," Cloud said, tasting the familiar, strange shape of that name on his tongue. Nibelheim. Nibelheim. Tifa. "We have a post office there, too."

Zack grinned at him a little affectionately, and Cloud shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah, probably the best," he said. "Though we might be back in Midgar before the letter gets there."

"Then you can just tell her that it's on its way."

Zack narrowed his eyes. "How do you know it's a she?"

Cloud felt himself flush, with the Shinra helmet as a shield from the world. For once, he was glad of it. "I was just guessing," he said. "Is it?"

Zack just grinned again. "Nice try. Wouldn't you like to know?" They reached the truck and he held the door open for Cloud to climb in, and then he said, "I'm really looking forward to this town of yours now. It should be fun."

Cloud settled back against the seat bench, waiting for the butterflies to settle, wondering if the town he still loved would recognize him and welcome him home. There would be home cooking, he thought, and the familiar spire of Mt. Nibel in the distance from the window of his room, and there would be Tifa Lockhart. "Yeah," he said. "It should be."

Next up is Tifa in ch 13 of Gunpowder & Firecrackers, and then ch 13 of Cacophony of Angels (yes, yokozuki, you read that right! XD I'm actually working on it...)

[fic] Final Fantasy VIII: The Salt Flats

2007-05-09T05:46:19Z

I was going to work on some other stuff, but this fic stuck in my head and wouldn't go away. So sorry! enishi_sama! Next up is Zack and Cloud for you XD ~~and then I'm going to try to finish Cacophony~~

FINAL FANTASY VIII
The Salt Flats
[Other header stuff: PG, Seifer/Quistis, post-game]
Three years after time compression, Quistis Trepe returns to Esthar.

The Salt Flats

She shivers slightly in the breeze created by the doors as the hatch slams open and the oddly familiar smell of Esthar - bright air, hard, crystalline, a sharp, almost stinging smell of metal and glass and faceted edges - rushes in. The engines of the airship whine and then cut, dying away to a murmur of voices. She breathes deeply, thinking, it's been three years, and the airstation's docking procedures haven't changed.

The Ambassador's tall form and his aide's slight one move forward onto the walkway, stepping off onto the landing platform crowded with milling dignitaries in Esthar formalwear - flowing robes and tall, spired hats, faces covered below the eyes with elaborately patterned cloth masks, hands tucked neatly into enormous sleeves. Some of them are politicians, and some are reporters, if the cameras in their hands and the giant microphoned contraptions on their backs are any indication. By contrast, the Ambassador in his plain black suit seems tiny, swallowed up by red and emerald and gold in a cacophony of color. She heads out after him as an official-looking car pulls up into the sea of reporters, smoothly parting the waves.

The car door opens and a man steps out, another one inscrutable and formal in his Esthar robes of state. He looks around and she steps in front of him, her best professional smile in place. He turns towards her, startled. She says, "You are here to receive the Balamb Ambassador and his entourage?"

He bows to her. His skin, visible only slightly as the backs of his hands and through the mask of cloth covering his face, is dark, and so are his eyes, like smoky quartz. "We're the presidential escort," he said. "Is that the Ambassador over there, talking to the Finance Minister?"

She looks over in the direction of his pointing hand and spots the Ambassador deep in conversation with a squat man whose robes seem to overflow into the spaces around him. "Affirmative," she says. "Please direct any logistical information regarding the Ambassador to me. I'm his security detail for the duration of the party talks."

"I'll do that," he says, sounding amused, and his voice is suddenly familiar. She does not show her surprise, though; the first rule of SeeD is the control of one's emotions, and she is running through her memory thinking of where she has heard that voice before when she realizes that one of the reporters is staring pointedly in her direction.

In any other situation, she might place one hand on her weapon, turning carefully in a defensive maneuver in case of any hostilities. But this is Esthar, and it is almost ridiculous to think that after all the safeguards that the city has installed, any intruder could have slipped through. So she simply cranes her neck slowly in the reporter's direction, hoping to catch a glimpse of his face. All she manages to catch is a glimpse of his camera instead, as he raises it and snaps a picture of her in half-profile.

"One of your reporters seems to have taken a liking to me," she tells the dark-skinned man, and he looks over to where she is glancing.

"I don't see anything."

When she turns her head fully, the mysterious man is gone. "He was there just now," she says, trying not to sound irritated. "Is it official policy also for photographers to take pictures of SeeD personnel? Our information is highly classified, and it would be unfortunate if any action had to be taken against him."

The dark man still sounds amused. "I doubt that's necessary, Quistis. Or is it Instructor Trepe again?"

She blinks at the familiarity of the name, suddenly realizing that she had not yet introduced herself, and then looks into those smoky eyes again.

"Kiros Seagill," she says. "Is that you?"

Ward Zabac is the car's driver, and they take the scenic route through the city for the Ambassador's sake, because he is new to the position and has never been here before. He has been to Deling City many times, he says with awe, and Esthar makes even Deling City pale in comparison. Of course, Kiros answers, and Quistis hears the pride in his voice as he points out the landmarks, the brand-new monument to the heroes who defended the city from the monsters during the last Lunar Cry, the new shopping arcade going up to replace the old one, the even newer elevator systems.

"How is the area outside the city?" she wonders, and Kiros seems to ponder the question.

"Better," he answers finally. "Better than before." It is the only answer, it seems, that she is going to get out of him, so she lets it go. There are other questions she wants to ask him and Ward, but those are personal matters and not fit for political company. Kiros seems comfortable and relaxed in his formal Estharian garb, his smile infectious even through the silly face-mask. He seems to have changed little, though she hesitates to make judgment on that matter. She still knows Kiros best as the young Galbadian soldier in the company of the man who will someday become Squall Leonhart's father, has walked in his footsteps and fought with his weapons many times in her dreams.

Selphie and Zell agree with her when the topic comes up, unbidden, a specter of memory. Kiros and Ward are people they know both well and not at all. She knows Zell is still haunted sometimes by that experience in the D-District prison by the shadow that comes over his face sometimes when he mentions Ward's name, though he says it casually, as if talking about some old acquaintance he hasn't seen in years.

She realizes faintly that the Ambassador and Kiros are deeply engrossed in some trade rule debate and leans back against the smooth leather of the seat, watching the city go by. Ward is wearing the same robes and mask and hat of all other Estharians, but she can only see the back of his tall hat now as he steers the car carefully through the roads, avoiding curious passersby and a dog or two.

"The Presidential Palace," Kiros says, and then Ward turns the next corner into the beautiful, soaring towers of the Palace, yet another structure unchanged from the one in her memory. The Ambassador's aide stirs beside her, almost clambering over her in his eagerness to open the door, but Kiros beats him to it. The sunlit, sparkling air pours in and she takes a deep breath of it, as if tasting its odd, foreign quality on her tongue, and follows the men out of the car.

The President of Esthar is standing there by the curb, dressed in his formal garb just like the others, but Quistis recognizes the exuberance in his voice and gestures and stance straightaway, returning his nod in her direction with a formal bow of her own.

"Welcome to Esthar," Laguna Loire says, and she answers, "Thank you, sir. Balamb Garden and Vice Commander Leonhart send their greetings."

"Ah," Laguna says, his eyes twinkling. "It's Vice-Commander now, is it? Demoted already? He didn't write me about that one." He pauses, and she tries to think of a suitable reply. Squall had stepped down from command as soon as they'd gotten back to Balamb, but Xu had seen him as too valuable to waste and reinstated him as her second. Quistis is surprised that Squall writes to Laguna at all, though somehow that thought pleases her, that the two of them are getting along.

"Sir-" she begins, and then he laughs.

"You and I can catch up on old times later. Ambassador, if you'll follow me? We have rooms set up for you in the palace."

The inner corridors are dark and cool, lit with smoothly glowing lamps on both sides, and she lingers to one side while the President and Ambassador converse quietly and their aides fidget. At least, Kiros fidgets as he watches Laguna. Ward stands placidly to the side, arms crossed, patiently waiting. There are staff gliding to and fro between the carved pillars of the main receiving hall, and as she watches them, she notices someone off to the farthest side doorway watching her. It is that reporter, the one snapping pictures of her earlier. Keeping one eye on the Ambassador, she moves purposefully across the room. The reporter does not move to leave, and she narrows her eyes.

"Excuse me," she says. The reporter straightens. She is beginning to tire already of the long, flowing Esthar gowns and tall hats, which hide everything and reveal nothing, not even people's faces. It is wearisome talking to a faceless entity. "I noticed earlier that you were taking pictures of us at the Esthar landing pad. I'd like to inform you that photographs of SeeD personnel are strictly prohibited unless you have a release form."

"And what if I said I did?"

The voice catches her by surprise and she takes an involuntary step back, catches herself, squeezes her hands at her sides and looks hard at the face under the hat again. He is not wearing a mask. His eyes are intensely green and crinkled at the corners with suppressed laughter. He raises one arm and places it behind his head casually, leaning back against the wall as he watches her reaction.

"What are you doing here?" she asks dazedly.

"That's my question," Seifer Almasy says, flinging the words back at her like he has always done in the long years they have known each other. "What are you doing here, Instructor?"

"You didn't tell me about Seifer," she accuses Kiros later after the Ambassador is settled and has gone to rest in his quarters. She has followed Kiros and Ward back downstairs to the suite's sitting room, as she is the Ambassador's bodyguard and will not leave his quarters unless he is with her. "What is he doing in Esthar?"

"I didn't know if it was a good time to broach the subject," Kiros says smoothly. He has taken off the silly hat and mask and removed the outer robe. She is relieved to see that under the heavy garments, he is wearing a simple shirt and dark pants and still carrying his knives at his waist. "I was under the impression that Seifer was under an exile of sorts."

"And who told you that? Seifer?"

Kiros looks pointedly at her. "Is he?"

"We thought he was dead," she told him flatly. "When no one could locate him, we assumed the worst. He's listed as killed in action, on our rosters of SeeD cadets."

"Ah."

"It wasn't like we would have locked him away if he'd returned and honestly admitted he'd been wrong," she says, feeling defensive though she isn't quite sure why. She is no longer an instructor because of Seifer and his failure that day in Dollet, and perhaps it is because that still stings a little. Seifer Almasy, the childhood friend, the quasi-brother, the student, the traitor, the sorceress' puppet, the man. "Xu didn't quite say it, but I think we were all preparing a little for him to come back. I guess we thought he would, eventually. He was such a part of Garden...and when we eventually realized he wasn't coming home, it was odd."

Kiros watches her as she talks, but she does not look at him, instead glancing at Ward, who sits with sympathy in his eyes for the words he cannot say. She says to Kiros, "Why did you let him stay in Esthar? Seifer is the one who was responsible for the Lunatic Pandora. Surely...?"

"Surely we would have locked him up and tortured him until he died, you mean?"

She shudders. "I don't hate Seifer, Kiros."

"I was surprised, myself, when Laguna let him stay on. Seifer actually came to us a few weeks after everything settled back down, turned himself in along with those two friends of his. I suppose they reminded Laguna of us three back in the old days, and the pure act of turning himself in gave him some points in our eyes, too." Ward gestures something at this point, and Kiros adds, "Ward says that turning himself in was probably the best thing Seifer ever did."

She thinks of the old idyllic days of childhood by the sea in Edea's stone house, of the time when Seifer chased her around and around the yard with a stick after she requested he come make his bed. The memories are still hazy, but they are becoming clearer as the days go by. She has not used a guardian force since the war. "Ward is probably right. So he turned himself in and Laguna pronounced him a reformed citizen?"

"Not quite. Laguna basically told him that if he stayed, he'd have to pay his penance. So he sent them out on monster patrol."

Quistis makes a face. "Ugh."

"Believe it or not, the three of them made quick work out of most of the ones floating around the city. We had several groups of our elite soldiers out on patrol, of course, but...they were nothing compared to SeeD."

"Seifer's not a SeeD."

Kiros looks thoughtful. "A mere distinction of title, don't you think? He's certainly qualified to be one, at any rate. At least, I think so. I may be wrong."

"I'm sure Seifer told you that, too."

"We don't see each other often. And no, he rarely talks about SeeD. I don't know what he's about nowadays, since he started going outside on assignment."

Quistis folds her arms. "So he's really a reporter. It's not just a front."

Kiros laughs. "After the monsters were put away, we sealed the city again, but under tighter surveillance and safeguards than before." She remembers the several layers of barriers that the Ambassador's airship passed through on their way to the airstation, defenses against flying monsters. "Nothing can get in, nothing can get out without special permission. Seifer didn't like that. Laguna told him that the only way he was going to be able to go in and out of Esthar was to find some kind of job that involved travelling."

"Oh," she says. "I see."

Kiros stands. "I'm afraid I don't know the rest of the story. Laguna never mentioned much to me after that point, and Seifer Almasy is not one of our great concerns. The majority of the Esthar citizenry have never heard of his name in conjunction with the Galbadian military, and we aim to keep it that way." He smiles tightly. "There are advantages to having lived in isolation for seventeen years."

"But not anymore."

He meets her gaze and then looks away to the inner rooms, where the Ambassador is resting. "This worldwide summit was Laguna's idea," Kiros says. "If it were left to me, I would have pushed for a smaller forum. But I'm not the president."

She smiles. "That's probably a good thing."

Ward gestures again, and Kiros makes a face. "My good friend says here that he agrees with you. I'm not quite sure what that means, but I shall take it in stride. And as a matter of fact-" he goes to the couch to begin putting on the heavy formal robes again - "we must leave you. The Galbadian ambassador is arriving shortly, followed by the Duke of Dollet and his entourage."

"I'm glad we got to see each other," she says, trying not to sound disappointed that they are leaving so soon. "Perhaps I'll run into you in the next few days, during the summit?"

Kiros pauses a moment before putting on his hat. "I'm sure you shall," he said. "There's not much else to do during these things when the politicians are all in session debating. Let's all go to lunch sometime. You can invite Seifer."

Ward laughs silently when she throws a pillow at Kiros' retreating back, and that laugh is one thing that needs no translation.

She spends the rest of the day at the Ambassador's side as he takes another grand tour of the city, listening patiently to their guide explain the transportation system and the barriers erected about the city, and worried that she might see Seifer skulking about, snapping more pictures of her. But the evening passes without note, and as she lies down to doze on the low couch in the suite's drawing room, she wonders if it was just a chance encounter. There are many reporters in Esthar.

But he was allowed into the Presidential Palace unescorted, she thinks, and then a part of her wonders why this is so important. Seifer Almasy is no longer part of Balamb Garden, never a SeeD, his name now ominously absent from the charter books and rosters that she must go through daily as part of the drudgery of office work that she has taken on. This mission is a relief; four days free of paperwork and briefings and general peacetime thumb-twiddling, and should have been Zell's, except that he had already put in leave five months in advance to have the week off.

Take it, he tells her when she jumps at the chance. You need the break.

The next morning dawns bright and sunlit again, and she opens the window to a gentle breeze. She is thinking of the intricacies of the environmental control that can turn barren desert into teeming city when there is a knock on the door.

She opens it, hands relaxed and ready to go to her weapon at a moment's notice, but it is merely an Estharian aide with a breakfast service. "You are Quistis Trepe? There is a message for you."

"Thank you," she tells him, taking the breakfast tray into the small dining area and arranging the plates on the table for the Ambassador when he emerges from his room. The sound of water running through the pipes upstairs means he is in the bath. The white square of paper lying next to one of the plates is meant for her, and she opens it.

If you don't mind seeing me again, I'll be at the front gate today during the summit, around eleven. I'm sure you can get out of it then.

The note is signed, "S.A."

The summit begins at ten hundred hours. She waits until the Ambassador has filed into the conference room with his aide in tow, the two of them looking very small amid the rest of the foreign dignitaries and even Laguna in his Esthar robes, and then finds herself alone in the hallway. There are Esthar soldiers inside the room, ones who are allowed to hear the classified proceedings going on there, while she is not. The note in her pocket smacks of bizarre coincidence, but there is nothing for her to do, so she makes her way to the Esthar City entrance, shoving past reporters and spectators. Some might be hoping for a view of the foreign politicians, but she thinks that many of them are just trying to catch a view of President Loire.

Seifer is waiting at the gate by the elevator.

He is not wearing his Esthar robes today, but his old familiar garb, the blue shirt and long white coat adorned with the fire cross. She makes her way over to him and stops. She cannot think of anything to say.

"Seems I've struck you speechless," he tells her with a smirk that is painfully familiar. But there is a camera around his neck, a notebook in his hand instead of Hyperion.

"Think again, Almasy," she tells him. "What do you want?"

"Oh, now so it's about what I want?"

She grits her teeth and remembers just how frustrating it is dealing with this boy-man. "Seifer, I didn't come all the way to Esthar to play your word-games."

He grins at her suddenly. The smile is charming, reaching all the way to his eyes in a way she has not seen before, and it startles her. "I wanted to catch up. Can't I do that without you going all disciplinary on me, Instructor? I haven't seen you in three years, you know."

"That's not my name. And yes, I know."

He looks her over critically, ignoring her comment. "Sleep well?"

"Yes, thank you. I did." She looks him over again, wondering if he has always been so tall. "How are you doing?"

He gives her an exaggerated bow. "Well, thank you for asking." The smirk is back on his face, the cocky swagger in his gestures. "How are things in Balamb?"

She feels a little awkward talking to him out here in public like this, though she doesn't know why. She gives him the short version of the past few years, about how Squall is now the vice-commander under Xu, that the Garden itself is back in its original spot next to Balamb Town, how they've mostly stopped using guardian forces. "Smart," Seifer says to that. "I've never liked them. Annoying things, and you SeeDs relied on them way too much."

She keeps her temper in check. "Is that all you wanted to know?"

"Come on now, Instructor-"

"My name," she reminds him, "is Quistis."

"Quis-tis," Seifer says, drawing out the syllables in an exaggerated drawl. "What are you doing for lunch?"

She finds herself inexplicably sitting across from him in a fancy cafe on the Left Side of town, eating a plate of what looks and tastes like fried noodles, listening to him ramble on about himself. It is a common theme, Seifer talking about himself, but for some reason this time it is actually interesting. He has been a reporter for about two years, he says, after that first hard year of monster hunting with Raijin and Fujin as his faithful seconds. There have been a few magazines that sprang up after the war dedicated to reconnecting with the outside world, and his publication is one of those. "I've been all over the world these past couple of years. I just got back from Cetra two weeks ago, and I'm scheduled out to Trabia next. It should be interesting."

"No one lives in Cetra," she says, and he drums his fingers on the table impatiently, as if he has been saying something inspiring and she has not been listening.

"That's the point. We're not actually advocating vacations to these places. It's more an informative publication. Wild landscapes, photography from interesting angles - the works, like an interactive tour from your armchair. Esthar's starved for it. All their history books on anything except Esthar are seventeen years old. Can you believe it?"

What she can't quite believe is Seifer Almasy going on passionately about the joys of travelling journalism, like a young Laguna. "I never thought you were the travelling type," she said. "You were always such a SeeD."

He raises one eyebrow mockingly. "Oh? An indirect compliment? You can save your breath, Instructor - I've grown tired of the military life. A year of tracking monsters was quite enough for me."

There is a lightness to his words that strikes her as false, but she lets it go. "What about Raijin? Fujin?"

Seifer snorts. "Raijin's found some girl here in the city. I hardly see him anymore. Fujin was so good at the monster business that the military recruited her, and now she spends all her time teaching other people to kill monsters." He laughs to himself, as if at a private joke. "I hear she's good at that, too."

"But how do you get out of the city?" Quistis presses. "Aren't there monsters outside the barriers?"

For the first time, Seifer's face grows shuttered. "That's not for you to know. I do what I have to for my job."

She sits, mystified, but it is not the first time that Seifer has mystified her, and she is sure it won't be the last. The food is good, but she is full, and she looks at her watch, wondering if she should be getting back to the palace.

"Leaving me so soon?"

"I didn't think you'd be too heartbroken," she tells him, and he laughs.

"Why, Instructor, you've grown sharp-tongued in the years since we've been apart."

"Seifer, I wish you would stop calling me that. I'm not even an instructor anymore. I'm just a SeeD now."

His lips twist. "Just a SeeD. I see."

The silence is uncomfortable this time, and she pushes her chair back. "I need to be going," she said. "I'll pay for my own lunch, thank you."

He doesn't stop her as she heads to the counter and pulls out her Estharian coins. The man at the register gives her change. She wonders if he will say something as she opens the door, but there is silence from behind her, so she simply takes a deep breath and leaves the cafe.

She is halfway down the street back to the palace when she hears the cafe door swing open and then shut behind her, and the sound of his boots on concrete. She is not sure why she stops, but she does. He comes up behind her, curiously and uncharacteristically quiet, and then he says, "All right, I pissed you off again. What'd I do this time?"

Her jaw clenches, and she fixes her eyes on the spires of the blue-green buildings rising into the brilliant Esthar day, and she says, "Why didn't you come back to Garden?"

When he doesn't answer, she turns slowly to face him as he stands there in an easy slouch, hands in the pockets of his crisp, black pants, green eyes narrowed against the raised scar across the bridge of his nose. "I'm a traitor," Seifer says, "and a murderer. I didn't think Garden was interested in people like that."

"I don't want to know what Garden thought," Quistis returns. She feels very calm, as if any moment now she will wake up from this conversation and find herself back in the formal suites of Laguna's Presidential Palace, with the curtains drawn and the world dark before the sunrise. "I want to know what you thought. You didn't even try to contact us. We all thought you must be dead."

He smirks at that. "And would that break your heart?"

"We all took it hard," she tells him. "Squall took it the hardest of all." There had been no violent outburst that second time, not like when they'd thought Seifer had died after the confrontation in Timber with President Deling. I won't be talked about in the past tense! This time, it had been a quiet acceptance, a requiem for the dead brother that they'd never quite known but somehow loved anyway. Squall had simply brooded. Zell and Selphie and Irvine had set up a small memorial service. Rinoa, who had not grown up with them, was sympathetic but far-away, mourning a summer fling. Quistis had mourned too, though she had not been sure if she was mourning Seifer the troubled student or Seifer the childhood friend.

The man standing before her, who has become something more than those memories, reaches up and brushes the red scar on his face lightly with two fingertips. He wears no gloves, Quistis notices distractedly, and his hands are big and rough. "What are you doing tomorrow when they're in session?"

That is not the answer she's expecting, and she blinks, startled, then irritated at being caught off guard. "What?"

"I've got a vehicle, of sorts," he says. "If you want, I'll give you a tour."

"I already got a tour from Lagu-"

"No," he interrupts her with a grand wave of his hand, as if he is still the sorceress' knight. But there is no Ultimecia, no Griever. They are simply standing here on the streets of Esthar, she in her SeeD uniform and he with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. "I meant a tour outside. Beyond the barrier."

He meets her the next morning by the city entrance again. The delegates are in session until seventeen-thirty, Kiros tells her at breakfast, and she can have free time until then. She thanks him and does not tell him where she is going. Quistis Trepe, SeeD, twenty-one years old, can take care of herself.

Seifer is dressed again today in his white coat, but under it he is wearing a layer of protective armor, and he has his gloves back on. Hyperion is slung at his waist. She comes up to him, feeling self-conscious in her SeeD uniform. He tosses a matching set of armor at her without a word.

"Good morning," she tells him, catching the armor neatly and buckling it around her waist and shoulders. It fits her exactly. She thinks to herself that it is exactly like Seifer to take care of the small details, but doesn't comment. She waits for him to say something mocking, to irritate her like he always does, but he keeps his mouth shut, and there is a brooding look in his eyes that she thinks looks much better on Squall.

The car that Seifer has rented is different from the civilian cars that she sees parked in the Esthar garage. It's smaller, lighter, with a retractable, transparent roof. "For Esthar military use, mostly," he says curtly, and then, "Get in."

He is silent again on the long drive out past the city borders, over the highway that should be infested with monsters but is strangely empty, though she thinks she sees sometimes out of the corner of her eye the flit of an Elnoyle's wings or the tail end of a Torama's whisker. The quiet eats at her and on a whim, she reaches out and hits the radio button. A man's loud voice fills the air, and she sees him jerk violently before jabbing the thing off.

"Don't touch that!" he barks.

"I agreed to come on this thinking that I was getting a tour," she tells him severely. "Instead, it seems like I'm getting the silent treatment."

He glances at her impassively and returns to his intent study of the Esthar horizon, while she sighs and leans back in her seat. The sun is warm and the air dry here outside the city limits, and all around them is barren desert. She is just resigning herself to a long, boring journey with a doppelganger of Squall Leonhart when he says suddenly from beside her, "If you want to talk so badly, tell me about yourself."

That is the strangest request she has ever heard from him, and she is about to retort that he already knows all about her, that they grew up together, when he says, "No, Instructor, I'm not asking for a personal introduction. You talked all about Garden yesterday, but you left yourself out of it. Don't tell me that all you've been doing since the war is sitting there feeling sorry for yourself."

"Kind of like you, you mean?" she counters, and he just quirks one golden eyebrow.

"Smart comeback, but it'll take more than that to offend me."

She laces her fingers together in her lap. "Xu told me that if I wanted my teaching license back, I could have it. But I told her I'd wait. I've just been helping out where I'm needed. Occasionally I help Selphie teach some classes - she's an instructor now, can you believe it?"

"No," Seifer says, and rolls his eyes. "I can't wait to see the SeeDs she turns out."

"Selphie's an excellent instructor," she tells him frostily, and then hears him laugh, as if it is fun for him to see her annoyed. Perhaps it is. "She was the Instructor of the Year two years in a row."

"Not bad." He actually sounds faintly impressed. The car bumps over some rough gravel, and far away, she hears the cackle of a Malboro. She grasps her whip, glancing around at the empty desert, and Seifer tells her laconically. "Put it away. You won't need that."

"The monsters-"

He raises his eyebrows at her. "Put it away," he says again, and she slides the whip back into its holster, eyes narrowing.

"You've got Diablos junctioned, haven't you?"

"Why," he says approvingly. "How right you are. A bit slow on the uptake, though."

"All that talk about guardian forces being annoying, and us relying on them too much - you were lying through your teeth."

"They are annoying," Seifer says. "And you do use them too much." He compresses his lips in a tight line. "But that's the only way I can get in and out of the city without monsters trying to tear me to shreds. Why do you think I'm one of the only reporters allowed out into the field? They don't know what I'm doing, and I'm not about to tell them. They think I'm just lucky."

She realizes that this explains Seifer's reluctance to tell her how he could travel out of the city on his own. "Why didn't you just tell me the truth yesterday?"

He does not answer, and she wonders if he is ignoring her again, and then he says, "And have you chalking another mark up next to my name for use of guardian forces without being a member of Garden? Forget it."

"That's a technicality-"

"Everything in Garden is a technicality," he says tightly, and then lapses into his moody silence again. She stares at him, unable to decipher his moods. The arrogant, confident, braggart she thought she'd known before the war has never done this before, and she does not understand it, but somehow she has begun to understand why he has not come back to Balamb.

"Not everything in Garden is a technicality, Seifer."

"Name some examples," he says tersely.

"I'm not. At least, not anymore."

A slow pause, and then a small smile creeps across his lips. "My dear Instructor, you continue to amaze me."

She should be annoyed that he still refuses to call her by her name, but for some reason seeing that smile makes it all worthwhile. "Where are we going?"

He lifts his hand and points out into the distance to their right, and as she turns her head, she sees the flatness of the desert breaking up into cliffs and valleys, shimmering a dull white.

"The Esthar Great Salt Lake," he says, and turns the wheel smoothly. "You are familiar with it, I assume?"

She nods, wondering what's out there that he wants her to see. Perhaps he has a secret murderous intent and is taking her out to kill her and hide her body. But she has defeated Seifer several times, and she has her weapon with her. The small voice in the back of her mind tells her that this is not her real fear, that it is just being alone with this man who has grown from the boy she remembers to someone she no longer knows.

"Say something," Seifer says. "I don't like it when people sit there and stare at me like I'm the devil." He cracks another smile, but there is something hard in his eyes that was not there before. "I'm not one anymore, at least."

"Why did you do it?" she asks him softly, and he does not answer. After a moment, she says, "You should come home. No one's going to turn you away."

"But no one's going to welcome me, either."

She wants to refute that statement, that Zell and Squall and Rinoa and Selphie will gladly welcome him back to Garden, that they'd continue living as they always had, children of Edea's orphanage. But Garden is not just about them, and perhaps it is already too late to repair a friendship strained and unraveled over the years. She hears him laugh softly, self-mockingly. "It's all right, Instructor. You don't have to try and make it better than it is. I'm big enough to handle it."

"Are you?"

"I think I've been doing all right without you holding my hand for the last three years," he says, and turns the car off into a sandy, spongy ground. The vehicle bobs along, loose parts rattling. She grips the door handle, and then the bumpy ride is over and Seifer cuts the engine to idle, then turns the key in the ignition and the car stops.

"We're here," he says.

The salt flats, too, are just as she remembers them from that torturous journey over the railroad bridge from Fisherman's Horizon. Everything is covered in a vast, barren whiteness, cracked ground and dead trees crumbled into the dust. It is bone dry. There is no wind, just the sun, and yet she feels cold.

"Come this way," Seifer says, and hefts Hyperion in his hand. Just in case. She touches the whip at her waist, as if reassuring herself, and then follows him.

They walk in silence, his head bowed. She lets him lead the way. His stride is resolute and steady. His coat ripples behind him in the breeze created by their own passing across the wasteland, a silver-white blending with ghostly perfection into the already white landscape. She opens her mouth, wanting to tell him that Squall has once carried the woman he loved on his back across this great expanse, and then decides that this is not the time to remind him of how great Squall Leonhart is and how small Seifer Almasy has become. Because that is how they have remembered that time all those years ago, the triumph of Squall over his adversary and his own demons, and Seifer has been left behind.

"Where are we going?" she says instead.

"Relax, Instructor. I'm not taking you off to be murdered in the middle of the desert, if that's what you're afraid of."

"Seifer, I am not-"

He slows and then stops, and she almost runs into him, stopping just short of bumping into him from behind. "I'm being impulsive, aren't I?" he remarks.

The statement catches her by surprise. "You were always impulsive."

A ghost of a smile creeps along his lips. "Nothing's changed then, at least. Is that good or bad?"

"I don't understand what you mean."

He taps his gunblade against one shoulder, and she watches the muscles in his back ripple under that coat, thinking she should step away, but her feet seem glued to the ground. "Never mind. Come on."

They march on in silence. Quistis watches the progress of Seifer's boots on the gravel in front of her, black leather turning to brown and then grey and then ash-white from the salt content of the rocks. Hyperion swings easily at his side. His hair is mussed and golden in the sunlight, and she suddenly thinks of how he looked that first day she arrived in this city, comfortable and formal in his Esthar clothing, as if he has become more than an exile in hiding and claimed Esthar as his own.

Laguna and Kiros and Ward had once done the same, but she is not comfortable with the fact that Seifer has somehow become like them, because that means he is moving away from Balamb, away from her, and she has thought she was dead all these years and not been able to bring him back.

They crest the top of a small hill, and then another and another, and then the land slopes sharply upward. He continues easily, obviously used to this terrain. She wills herself to keep up. She is breathing hard when they reach the top, staring at the ground to keep herself from tripping over the rocks. This time she does run into him, jamming her nose against his back and the white coat and armor underneath, warm from body heat and the sun.

"Oof," he says, and she backs off abruptly, turning her face away.

"Sorry."

But he catches her arm as she stumbles, holding her steady and waiting for her to regain her footing. Her face feels hot. His hand is warm on her arm, and she finally says. "Thanks, you can let go now."

A flicker of something - amusement? - passes over his face, and he releases her. "If you insist."

"Why did you stop walking?" she asks irritably, trying to keep it out of her voice and failing. She rarely loses her temper, but Seifer has a way of sparking it in her. The sun is high and she is hot, and the white landscape dazzles her eyes.

"Look," he says, and turns and points away behind her.

She turns, raises her eyes, and gasps. The salt flats stretch away from them in all directions, a great, white, dead expanse of forbidden beauty. There is nothing. No trees, no mountains, just jagged cracks in the dry earth. They are standing on the highest part of the land as it falls away around them, beautiful and barren and dazzling.

As her eyes adjust to the glare, she sees something moving in the distance. At first it looks like the white landscape is crawling with clusters of tiny black dots. She blinks. "What are-" she begins, and then the reality hits her with stunning clarity.

Those black dots are swarms of monsters.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Seifer remarks dispassionately, as if talking to one of the walls of the great white cliffs splitting the earth below them. "It's really quite stunning, especially at sunset. Besides all the monsters, of course. Those I could do without."

A knot of anger rises up in her, tears welling at the corners of her eyes that she does not bother to brush away. "You did this," she tells him. "How can you just stand here and....just look at it? The monsters are here because of you!"

He tenses beside her and then swings away in a rustle of cloth and the clang of metal on sand. She simply stands there and rages silently, watching a group of the monsters lumber down a near ravine towards them, and then as if deflected by an invisible shield, they wander away. Her words hang heavy in the air between them, accusations that perhaps she shouldn't have spoken, but it is too late now. She closes her eyes and a tear squeezes from one corner as she remembers the first time they came here, how the salt flats then were merely forbidding cliffs and valleys of nothing, a testament to another great dead age.

"You see now," Seifer says softly, "why I can't go back to Balamb. I suppose that I don't need to explain any more."

She has understood since she saw him two days ago crouched next to the Esthar Presidential escort car, snapping her picture, but this image, the clouds of monsters swarming over the white lands, has seared it into her memory. She knows her words are true - that this is his fault, and that he should be paying the penance - but she can think of no worse punishment than not being able to go home.

"You don't need to cry over me," Seifer says. "I'm alive, aren't I?"

"That's not funny," she snaps, and he crosses back over to her before she can move away. She realizes again how much taller he is. She wonders if he will touch her, but he does not, although he is so close that she can feel the heat of him against her, can hear him breathing.

"I wasn't trying to be funny."

"Then what are you trying to be? Are you going to stay here and kill monsters the rest of your life? Seifer, that's impossible."

"Then I'll do the impossible," he says. She is about to snap at him again not to be so damned arrogant, but then she realizes that he is stating the simple fact of the task he has set for himself. A knight, until the very end.

"You're still trying to be noble, then," she says, wiping stray tears from her face.

"As a knight should be." He spreads his arms wide and she hears the dry humor in his voice. "You're not by any chance in need of one, are you? I'm for hire at the moment."

She can't help it. She laughs. "I'm no sorceress, Seifer."

"So much the better. I think I'll steer clear of sorceresses for a while." But he sounds pleased that she is taking his joke in stride. "I suppose there isn't much else to see here. I'll take you back to the palace."

"What about the monsters?"

"I've got Diablos junct-" he begins, as if trying to explain something to a small child, and she shakes her head, pulling the Save the Queen out of its holster and looking up into his startled face. It is rare that she sees Seifer startled, and the moment is worth savoring.

"You said you were going to do the impossible, when I asked you what you were trying to do about the monsters. You wouldn't by chance want some help for a while?"

She doesn't know what to expect when Seifer drops her back off at the palace just as the delegates are letting out, their cheerful conversations an indication that the summit went well. They speak little on the ride back, and she is glad of it this time as she dozes in the car seat, sweaty and exhausted from their last battle with a pair of Malboros. Maybe she should wait for a farewell wave, or an invitation to see him before the delegation leaves tomorrow back to Balamb. But he simply lets her out of the car and speeds off into the city proper. She watches the tail end of the car as it turns a corner, disappearing from sight. She sighs.

"Friend of yours?" Kiros says, and she realizes that he has been there watching her. She wonders if he recognized Seifer, decides not to mention it.

"Of sorts," she says. She is glad that her SeeD uniform is dark enough to hide trace spatters of monster blood.

She falls into an exhausted sleep that night and wakes to the buzzing of the door chime. For a moment, she panics, thinking that they have all overslept and the flight crew are waiting on them. But the clock reads six in the morning, and the sun is just cresting over the horizon. When she opens the door, it is the Esthar attendant with breakfast and another note for her.

I hear your flight leaves around eleven. I'll see you there.

She breakfasts with the Ambassador and his aide and then sees to it that the luggage is packed, and then they ride down to the entrance to the palace together, where Laguna and Kiros and Ward are there waiting with the car, again in their formal robes. Laguna and the Ambassador make their formal farewells, and then Laguna crosses over to her and grasps her hand.

"You take care of yourself," he says. "And Squall too. Make sure he's getting enough sleep."

She almost asks him about Seifer. But it is not the time, with the sun so bright and the first international summit in Esthar just come to a successful conclusion. "Thank you, sir," she says. "I'll do that."

She gets into the car and Ward starts the vehicle up. "You'll be back, won't you?" Kiros says as they whir silently out of the government compound towards the airstation. "Next time, bring that Squall Leonhart with you. He's always welcome here. You all are."

"I'll let you know," she promises. The clock reads five minutes until eleven as Ward stops the car at the airstation's gates and they get out. Two men run out to take the baggage. She looks around, but Seifer is not there, and Kiros and Ward shake her hand, the hands of the Ambassador and his aide, and are gone with a smile and a sparkle of sunlight on the car's chrome finish.

"The airship is standing by, sir," one of the men say, and the Ambassador says, "SeeD Trepe? Shall we go?"

"Yes, sir," she says unwillingly, but she cannot wait any more. She pauses to let the Ambassador go ahead of her, and he does so gravely, up the ramp and into the ship. The gate swings shut behind them, and then she hears a voice shout out, "Quistis!"

She whirls around eagerly, though she doesn't quite know why seeing him this one last time is so important to her. He is sprinting down the way to the closed gate, though she knows they will not let him in because he is not authorized personnel for the flight. His blond hair is windblown, and he is breathing heavily. He has his camera around his neck again.

"Seifer," she says, "You're late."

"As much satisfaction as that would give you, that's not the case. Your flight seems to be five minutes early."

She looks up into his face and wonders what there is to say. Behind her, the airship's engines rumble, but no one is calling at her to hurry up. Apparently long, drawn-out goodbyes are permitted. She licks dry lips, and then he says suddenly, "I won't see you for a while, will I?"

"I don't know," she says. "Maybe not. But I promised Kiros I would come back."

"Kiros, but not me?"

"You didn't ask for a promise."

He seems to think about that, and then, "Would that offend you terribly?"

"Well," she says. "No, not terribly."

"That's good."

She is aware that they are staring rather stupidly at each other through the bars of the locked gate. Seifer says, "Well then. The next time you come back, I'll take you back out to the salt flats."

She understands that that is all he can bring himself to say at the moment, and the sentiment behind those words is enough. "I'd like that," she says. "You take care of yourself until then."

He hesitates, and she thinks he will say something else, but instead he reaches out one hand and grabs hers through the metal bars, a brief touch of warm skin. "Seifer-" she says, but he only smiles with his eyes, beckoning with the slight, smug tilt of his chin, and then is gone.

"Friend of yours?" the Ambassador says as she settles herself in her seat and the airship takes off into the Esthar morning.

"Of sorts," she tells him, and gazes out the window. Below them, the vast, brown Esthar desertland spreads out beyond the jeweled city, reaching to the bright horizon. Out on the very edges of the wasteland, barely visible from her window, she catches a glimpse of brilliant whiteness, the symbol of one man's penance and salvation.

"It really is quite beautiful," she says out loud, and the Ambassador says, "What is?"

"Esthar," she tells him as the ship rises into the clouds and land is lost. "The world. Everything."

8 May 2007

[fic] FFVII: Gunpowder & Firecrackers (chapter 12)

2007-05-02T03:05:11Z

FINAL FANTASY VII
Gunpowder and Firecrackers
[Other header stuff: PG-13, Rude/Tifa, Rufus/Yuffie/Reno, AU to DoC, spoilers up to end of AC]

It is fifteen years after Meteor, thirteen years after Kadaj's defeat. Rufus Shinra, leader of the world philanthropic organization Green Earth, has been having odd dreams about Cloud Strife, about Sephiroth, about the mysterious town of Nibelheim. In a world where peace is as fragile and elusive as the voices of the lost Ancients, the old members of AVALANCHE and Shinra struggle to piece together the secrets of the Lifestream and Jenova's legacy in a race against time to save the ones they love.

XII. Yuffie

The only things Yuffie hated more than flying were flying on either an empty stomach or a full stomach. She'd grabbed a breakfast bar from the basket of goodies in her hotel room before she departed, but just the thought of food had made her nauseous, so she'd ended up throwing it away. And now, as her tiny biplane dipped through turbulent air of the clouded morning sky, traveling east from Gongaga toward Cosmo Canyon, she was paying the price.

They'd thought she had left for Wutai. At least, she hoped so; she'd made a great show of boarding the ship off to the new airship port on the northern coast, where she'd left her small boat parked in one of the coves. It was no fancy yacht, but it did the job, and it was a sight better than the Tiny Bronco. As far as she knew, the boat was still parked out there. The airship had docked and Yuffie had been down the ramp and up the stairs of the ship parked next to it, bound for Gongaga. By that time, the sun had set, and she was tired, restless, hungry, and worn out, but found she couldn't sleep.

It was not only the airsickness. Every time she tried to close her eyes, she felt Reno's lips close down on hers, almost bruisingly commanding in their possessiveness. It hadn't been her first kiss - there had been a few boys in Wutai behind her father's back during her early teenage years before AVALANCHE, some playing around that hadn't gotten much further than making out behind some of the old ruins on the outskirts of the city. But that had been years ago, and ever since the war, it was as if she'd given up any thought of romance. It was Wutai or love, she'd thought, and she'd chosen Wutai.

Besides, she had never even considered dating someone who could not understand what she'd been through, and that was limiting herself to a rather small selection. Cloud and Cid were taken, Barret was more like her father, and Vincent was too untouchable. That left the former members of Shinra, and Yuffie hadn't been too fond of that idea until she'd begun keeping in touch with Rufus Shinra. If that kiss last night had to be from one of them, she'd caught herself thinking, why couldn't it have been Rufus?

She'd liked Reno before the events in her hotel room. She had wished fervently that she could have shown him that Materia, could have begged him to take it from her. But she'd sworn to Vincent on that fear-filled flight back to Corel that among other things, she wouldn't give that Materia up to anyone, and keeping oaths was one thing she knew how to do well. If only Reno had understood that, things wouldn't be so complicated now, and she wouldn't be sitting here behind the controls of a tiny biplane circling Cosmo Canyon's outer rim, red-eyed and food-deprived, remembering the desperate fury of that kiss. Reno's body was long and lean with the physique of a long-distance runner, and when Yuffie unfocused, she remembered again the curve of his neck in her startled vision as he leaned forward to imprison her between his hands.

He'd smelled like salt and sweat and three-day old unwashed clothes, but in the mix of that there was a scent that was uniquely him, musky and lingering.

Stop, she thought to herself, struggling to keep her eyes open and feeling her cheeks burn as the memory surfaced again. Just stop. He's a casual friend. You were both tired. It's nothing.

The plane broke below the clouds then, and she could see Cosmo Canyon below, shrouded in fog and mist. The place had always struck her as lonely, but now it looked abandoned, ghostly in its isolation. For a moment, a shred of panic gripped her heart that it might have ended up like Nibelheim, but then she saw a thin spiral of hearth-smoke wisp up from one of the chimney peaks, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

She had a bit of trouble landing the plane, as she always did, but the biplane finally skidded to a halt on a thin scree of loose rocks and debris. Cid was going to kill her, she decided, climbing down from the cockpit and surveying the dust and scratches her rough landing had cost the plane's paint job. At least nothing was broken.

There was no sentry party, no surveillance system here. In Wutai, she'd installed posts around the perimeter with scanning equipment, checkpoints manned with twenty-four hour patrols. Even in Corel, she'd seen the signs of police stations on the outskirts of the city. It was as if Cosmo Canyon belonged to an earlier time, an era where the primitive notion of trust and honor still reigned.

It had been like that in Wutai once, her father had told her. Before Shinra. Before the war.

She forced her tired legs up the gravel hillside path, hoping that the Canyon's gates were open and they were accepting visitors. She didn't know why they wouldn't be. As far as the rest of the world was concerned, Geostigma and Sephiroth were things of the past. It seemed strange to realize that she was one of the few people on the Planet who feared otherwise. The image of Vincent's diseased arm flashed into her mind, temporarily displacing any stray thoughts of Reno, and she shivered.

"Welcome to Cosmo Canyon! Ma'am?"

Yuffie jumped at the voice. It was only then that she realized she'd reached the top of the hill and was standing before Cosmo Canyon's rough-hewn wooden gates, where the signal fire was still burning brightly, crackling and cheerful. The man standing there was about her age, with an easy smile on his face and long dark hair tied back. His eyes strayed to the shuriken strapped to her back, widening slightly, but he made no comment.

"I..." she said, and hesitated. "Is Cosmo Canyon accepting visitors?"

The man looked puzzled. "Of course. If you'll just fill out this form here, and sign-" He pushed an electronic touchscreen into her hands, and she took the attached pressure pen dazedly, filled in Name (Kisaragi), Town of Origin (Wutai), Age (31), Previous Schooling (grade school), and Contact Information (none of your business). She paused at Purpose of Visit. Materia study? Lifestream Research? The man seemed to be impatiently waiting, so she finally scrawled Visiting Friend into the blank, and handed it back to him.

"You have a friend here?" the man inquired politely, slipping the pad into a holder by the gate. "We'd be glad to look up a name for you in our directory. All our researchers are in-camp at the moment."

He hadn't recognized her name. Yuffie wasn't sure if she was insulted or relieved, but instead she said, "I'd like to be directed to the lord of Cosmo Canyon, please."

The man looked startled. "I'm afraid that's highly improbable, ma'am. The lord of the Canyon is not available."

"You said that all of your researchers were in-camp and available," Yuffie pointed out.

"Lord Nanaki isn't considered a researcher, ma'am. You'll have to make an appointment to see him."

She considered pulling rank, but even the thought of that was tiresome, so she said, "No, thank you. It's not urgent."

"Ma'am-"

"Thanks for your hospitality," she told him firmly, and moved past him through the wooden archway. To his credit, he didn't protest or try to offer her more help or information, as she was half afraid he was going to. If Nanaki was here, she'd find him herself.

Cosmo Canyon had changed little in the past fifteen years, and little prickles of nostalgia gave her goosebumps. There was the fire they'd all sat around that night after they were afraid Red XIII was going to leave them. There were the ladder-stars they'd climbed to reach Bugenhagen's observatory. There was the same morning star in the lightening sky over the dusty red cliffs. Suddenly, she missed Cloud so much she could cry.

It's all different now, she reminded herself fiercely, blinking back the tears and settling the Conformer's strap more comfortably over her shoulder. The red Summon Materia that Vincent had given her was the only Materia she had, nestled firmly in the rightmost slot. She reached behind to touch it, as if to reassure herself it was really there. It had been a strained flight back to Corel, with Vincent curled up beside her in the copilot's seat in a bleeding fetal position, talking to her about the Materia, about the cave, but only in the most general of terms.

"But Vince," she'd hissed, frustrated and angry and scared. "What is it?"

"I'm afraid that it has something to do with Cloud," he'd said, the only answer he'd give no matter how she pressed him. "Hopefully I'm wrong."

So she'd taken matters into her own hands. The most straightforward way to find out what that Materia was was to use it. But Yuffie was no fool - she'd heard her share of stories as a child about Materia that had blown up in people's faces, or Materia that had suddenly exploded into giant monstrosities that turned on their users and killed them. Given the dubious origins of this one, either of the above might be likely scenarios. No, Yuffie wanted to make it back to Corel and Vincent and Rufus in one piece. And Reno? her mind nagged, and she growled at it, he doesn't matter right now.

It looked like several of the researchers, white-bearded, professor types by the looks of them, were early risers. There were two sitting around the central campfire, and she supposed it would be all right if she walked over and joined them. She knew the way up to Bugenhagen's observatory, where Nanaki's quarters were, but she didn't feel like facing her old friend at the moment.

As she took a seat on one of the big logs around the fire, she saw that one of her fellow fire-sitters was actually a woman, though she was dressed in the same loose clothes and comfortable shoes as the white-haired man sitting next to her. He smiled at her.

"Morning."

"Good morning," she responded and barely stifled a yawn. The woman laughed.

"Long night?"

Yuffie nodded, unslinging her shuriken and placing it carefully next to her, leaning on her leg. "It was a long flight from Gongaga."

"Your first time here to Cosmo Canyon?" the woman asked. Yuffie shook her head.

"I haven't been back in years though. Nine years, maybe? Ten? I can't quite remember."

The man stood up and it took her several seconds to realize that he was offering something to her - a mug grasped in one hand. She reached out to take it, realized it was coffee, and for a moment the kindly professor-like gentleman's visage wavered, transformed into Rufus Shinra, leaning heavily on his cane, blond hair glimmering in the dying light of day, with a cup of coffee in his hand.

The tears did spill over, then. She wiped them away angrily with the back of her hand and took the cup of coffee with trembling fingers. She heard the woman say, "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Yuffie managed, reseating herself on the log bench and cradling the cup in her hands. "I just need to rest, I think." She took a cup of the coffee. It was pleasantly warm, settling in her stomach with just the right amount of heat, and suddenly she was ravenously hungry.

"Are the kitchens open yet?" she inquired politely, and the man shook his head.

"It's another hour, but I've got a sandwich, if you're hungry."

She tried not to sound too eager. "If you don't mind. I haven't eaten since breakfast yesterday."

The woman tsked, sounding quite motherly, as the man dug a slightly flattened sandwich out of a satchel at his feet. Yuffie didn't care. She accepted the packet and wolfed it down in three bites.

"I'm Sassan," the man said with some amusement as she cleaned the finishings of the bread and cheese from between her teeth. "Sassan Monk. This is my wife Harin."

Belatedly, Yuffie realized that she had been sitting here with these people for almost five minutes and hadn't introduced herself. Two days in Corel and she was already losing her mind. "I apologize," she said, standing up and sketching a quick bow. "Yuffie Kisaragi, from Wutai."

The woman's lips made a little "o" shape, and Yuffie felt slightly embarrassed. "The lady of Wutai?" Harin said, and Yuffie nodded self-consciously.

"The same. I'm usually not so..." she fumbled for a word. "Hungry?"

Both of them laughed. "It's an honor," Sassan said. "We're from Kalm, just here on holiday and to do a little research."

"What are you studying?" Yuffie said, hoping to make some small talk as she finished her coffee. Instead, Sassan said, "Oh, this and that, little things mostly," and his wife's expression went very guarded. Apparently, whatever they were here for was somehow secretive, but she supposed that was to be expected. Since the war ended, the study of anything to do with Mako or the Lifestream was frowned upon. Forget that Aeris' water had healed Geostigma - people now were more obsessed with moving on with their lives, building bigger and higher and faster. Privately, Yuffie had thought that it was more like Shinra without Shinra, and to her surprise, Rufus had agreed with her.

It just goes to show, he'd written a few years ago, that the world didn't need me after all. They can slowly poison themselves just fine without me.

Yuffie had shot back that Rufus had missed the point, that Shinra's methods had been more like bashing people with massive hammers than slow poisoning, but now sitting here in the clean air and brilliant sunrise of Cosmo Canyon, she wished that Rufus was here with her. He would understand.

She finished her coffee and stood, stretched slightly, and slung the Conformer back over her shoulder. Handing the cup to Sassan, she bowed to him again. "It was nice to meet you," she said. "I hope to see you again."

To her surprise, he stood and bowed back to her. "It was an honor, lady," he said, and she smiled at him as she left the fire's warm glow. Perhaps he was just saying that for the etiquette of it. She was sure her face was caked with dirt and grime and that she stunk - like Reno the other afternoon, when she'd offered to lend him her room.

"Oh stop it, Yuffie," she muttered, and stomped back across the expanse of red dirt and canyon grass to the door where the materia and weapons shops used to be. She was not surprised to find that they were gone now, and that the space had been converted to bunks for visitors. The room was vacant. The man at the gate hadn't said anything to her about reserving a bunk, so she shrugged, dumped her pack and gear down on the nearest bed, and headed to the attached bathroom to wash her face.

The cold water rinse combined with coffee seemed to clear her head a bit, and she grabbed the Conformer and headed up the stairs, to Bugenhagen's old place.

She was half afraid the doors would all be locked. Instead, as she stepped out onto the second landing, she saw that a new set of ladders had been built into the cliff walls, leading straight up to the old man's former offices. As she scaled the top of the ladder and raised her hand to knock, she fervently hoped that Nanaki was there.

He was. The door opened gently, and suddenly there was a familiar gravelly voice exclaiming from below - "Yuffie!"

Her knees buckled and she dropped to the ground, emotion washing over her. It was the lack of sleep, because usually she wasn't so teary-eyed. Nanaki hadn't changed much, though he'd filled out a little bit and his coat looked thicker and wilder. She wanted to hug him, but he had never liked anyone touching him, so she simply held out one hand and he dropped his nose into it and licked her palm. His large, expressive eyes, so much more intelligent than any animal's, looked pleased and then concerned.

"What's wrong, Yuffie? Why the sudden visit?"

"Nanaki," she said. "May I come in? I really need your help."

[fic] FFVII: Gunpowder & Firecrackers (chapter 11)

2007-04-26T21:18:57Z

FINAL FANTASY VII
Gunpowder and Firecrackers
[Other header stuff: PG-13, Rude/Tifa, Rufus/Yuffie/Reno, AU to DoC, spoilers up to end of AC]

It is fifteen years after Meteor, thirteen years after Kadaj's defeat. Rufus Shinra, leader of the world philanthropic organization Green Earth, has been having odd dreams about Cloud Strife, about Sephiroth, about the mysterious town of Nibelheim. In a world where peace is as fragile and elusive as the voices of the lost Ancients, the old members of AVALANCHE and Shinra struggle to piece together the secrets of the Lifestream and Jenova's legacy in a race against time to save the ones they love.

XI. Rude

Rufus had ordered him to go back to bed, but Rude couldn't do that. Not with a potential enemy on the loose, not with the organization in disarray and their financial situation in shreds. Not with Reno in the shape he was in, which Rude suspected was only slightly better than someone on injured status, though Reno hadn't suffered a scratch in last night's escapade.

Tseng's office was locked, but Rufus had a master key, and it had been no difficult feat to unlock the heavy wooden door. Rude had been too late for that ceremonious entry, having been still five floors down waiting for the elevator because he didn't think his body would hold up from pounding up five flights of stairs. Rufus, who was not about to let his bad leg stop him, hadn't been patient enough to wait.

By the time he got there, there were five Green Earth finance employees digging through what remained of the files in Tseng's desk, two of their technicians dismantling his computer, another one rummaging through a file cabinet under Rufus' eagle-eyed gaze. Reno was not there. Elena was standing guard by the door.

"Hi," he said to her, a little short of breath.

The petite woman with the gun stared at him, eyes going up to his face and then down to his bandaged side. "You look near death," she said, and then her face softened. "I heard what happened. Go back to bed."

Rude shook his head. "Can't." He surveyed the situation again, saw Rufus glance up briefly at him and make eye contact before going back to his hurried consultation with file cabinet guy. "What happened?"

Elena looked sour. "I can't say I know. I was in the office going over some reports and stuff, you know, the usual, and I get a phone call from Reno saying get my ass down here. And here I'm upset because I have five reports due at twenty-hundred hours and I've timed it perfectly so that if I don't do ANYTHING but sit there for the next three hours, I'll get them all in on time."

Rude nodded patiently. "And?"

"Reno says, 'Tseng is missing.' And I'm like, 'What?'" Her sour expression intensified, and Rude wondered if it had anything to do with the fact that she and Tseng had once been a couple, if not quite lovers. He had never felt it his place to pry, and Elena had never deigned to talk about it, which, for Elena, meant that it was really no one's business. He waited for her to continue, but she had stopped, her eyes staring past him, a little unfocused, remembering. Rude knew how that was, too.

Finally, she said, "The bastard."

He couldn't quite wrap his mind around the fact that Tseng might have just betrayed not only Green Earth and Rufus Shinra's dream, but also more than fifteen years of what he and Reno and Elena and all the rest had seen as an unbreakable friendship, a brotherhood forged in blood. No, he thought, it couldn't be. It was all a mistake and they would sort it out soon. Aloud, he said, "I wouldn't jump to conclusions just yet, Elena."

"You're going to tell me that it's always my weak point," she told him, "but you'd be wrong. I'm not jumping to conclusions. Tseng won't be back." She squared her shoulders, eyes narrowing. "And if he does try and crawl back home, I'll shoot him right between the eyes."

That sounded a little extreme to Rude, but he looked at Elena's clenched fists and the way she stood, rigid and unflexing, and he realized that she was angrier than he had ever seen her. It was, he reflected, almost like Tseng had betrayed her personally, as if by the simple act of walking out on them he had given her a personal shove.

As all this passed through Rude's head, he then realized that Elena was still in love with Tseng.

"I understand," he told her, and she stared at him uncomprehendingly. Perhaps she thought he was being cold, stoic Rude, but he couldn't think of anything else to say. He would not think of Tifa, would not think of how she had not even told him goodbye as she had left Corel. He wondered if she would be back, or if all this finally had become too much to bear for her, because he had always loved her much more than she had loved him.

If she loved you at all, the little voice whispered inside his head.

He shook his head a little bit to get rid of it, wondering if he was going senile already. But no, it was only Rufus waving to him, so he nodded to Elena, leaving her standing there looking a bit lost and alone in the doorway, and went over to the man who he had served for so many years. "The verdict?" he said quietly.

Rufus shifted his weight on his cane. His eyes were hard. "I have no idea why Tseng would do this to us," he said. "This is totally unexpected. I never...." he trailed off.

Rude almost reached out to touch him, to lay a hand on his arm, something. But this was Rufus Shinra, and old habits were hard to break, so he didn't. "There must be some mistake," he said.

Rufus smiled coldly. "Tseng does not make mistakes."

Rude knew that too. This was not some spur-of-the-moment crime, not for someone of Tseng's standing and caliber, not as a former Turk. The only conclusion he could draw was that Tseng had been methodically planning this for some time, plotting his course and concealing his footprints, and for some reason, all of the people who had called themselves closest to him had somehow missed it.

Rude wondered if Tseng had ever considered him a friend. The logical conclusion, he thought, would be no. But that didn't make any sense either, because they had been friends. He would have died for Tseng. He would still die for him.

Would he?

"You, on the other hand," Rufus said, and he realized that the other man had been speaking and he hadn't been listening.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I was thinking."

"You need to go back and rest." Rufus smiled again, this time more genuinely, though full of worry and shadows. "I'll call you a cab."

"Where's Reno?"

Rufus looked like he was about to say something, and then changed his mind, and said, "I don't know. Elena said she'd seen him on his way downstairs when she arrived. I assumed he was going to do some more digging."

"I need to find Reno," Rude said. Rufus frowned, and Rude held up one hand. "I promise I will return to the hospital right afterwards. I'll call a cab myself."

"I trust you," Rufus said, and nodded towards the door. Rude didn't need to look to know that he was nodding to Elena, and that she would understand that she was in charge of his well-being now. "Don't go haring after any dream-monsters this time."

Not even your dream-monsters? Rude thought silently to himself, but he nodded to Rufus and exited the room, nodded again to Elena as he passed her, and she raised one eyebrow.

"Half an hour and your ass is in a cab back to the hospital, no excuses!"

Reno would have given her some smart comment. Rude wasn't up-to-date on his sarcasm, so he nodded again and headed to the stairwell. Going down the stairs would probably be easier than going up, and he had an inkling that Reno was on just the next floor down.

He found the red-haired man in the building's atrium, just like he'd thought. The finance building's atrium wasn't large, nor were its glass-windowed confines large enough to house a decent variety of plants, but it was quiet and dark now with the falling of night, and Reno had always liked quiet places to think. His friend was sitting on a bench, arms draped over the back, legs spreadeagled, looking as exhausted as he probably felt.

"Go home," Reno said to him.

"Take your own advice," Rude returned, walking around to the front of the bench and nudging Reno aside so he could take a seat on the corner that was left.

They sat in silence for a while and Rude watched the scenery outside the windows idly. It was dark enough in the atrium that the windows still afforded a good snapshot view of the center of the Green Earth grounds, illuminated by the occasional car's headlights and pricked by a few streetlamps around the central driveway. But all in all, it was dark and he could see the stars.

"I've never been to Cosmo Canyon," he said suddenly, and he could feel Reno's frown.

"What?"

"The stars," Rude told him. "I hear that you can see them big and up close there. Like you're standing on the edge of the Lifestream, about to jump in."

"I feel like that at the moment," Reno said. "But in the end, I'm always too scared to jump."

Rude waited for the silence to stretch, and then he said, "What happened with Tseng?"

Reno gave a short, self-deprecating laugh. "What happened? I failed, that's what happened. Your favorite fucking failure, that's what I am. Always 'almost, but not quite' whenever the shit hits the fan."

"Tseng betrayed the company on his own," Rude said. "You didn't contribute to that whatsoever."

When Reno didn't answer, Rude looked over at the other man's shadowy silhouette and was surprised to see that Reno had sat up straight, clenching both hands together, trembling. "I almost did," he said. "I almost helped him. I almost bought into it."

"But you didn't," Rude said, not trying to be soothing or helpful, but just laying out the facts like he always did. It was one thing he was good at. "Tseng's gone, and you're here now because you realized what he was going to do."

"Realized too late, you mean."

"Stop beating yourself up about it," Rude began, and Reno slammed the palm of his hand down hard on the iron of the bench.

"Dammit, Rude!"

Rude opened his mouth to say he was sorry, thought about it for a moment, and then sat back in silence. He waited. The stars glimmered outside the window. He heard the pounding of feet on the stairway, faint and echoing, and then a voice - Rufus'? - shouting orders, and then silence again.

"I wish I'd never met her," Reno said at last, low and desperate.

Her? Rude rolled the possibilities around in his head. Reno could be talking about his most recent ex-girlfriend, but he had barely known the girl before they'd called it quits, so that probably wasn't the answer. Not Tifa, unless his fiancee was secretly having an affair with Reno behind Rude's back, and he didn't think that would ever happen. Tifa was too honest. 'Her' could not possibly refer to Elena, who was so upset over Tseng's departure that she had barely spoken to Rude at all half an hour ago, and she and Reno had never been more than partners in crime.

"Yuffie?" Rude said.

"Smart, pal," Reno said. "Real smart."

"This is unexpected. What did Yuffie do now?"

"She's fucking insane," Reno spat to the nearest tree. "I can barely think when she's around. Every time I think I have her figured out, she does a complete turnaround on me. I've known the kid for fifteen years - you'd think I would have it all down by now!"

Rude began to see the big picture. "Yuffie left for Wutai a few hours ago, you know," he said. Testing.

Reno's shoulders slumped. "Yeah, I know. Good riddance. Not that we've anything left to say to each other anyway."

"You had an argument?"

"She slammed me against the floor and bit me. After I nearly ran her through the wall. I think that counts."

Rude raised one uncomprehending eyebrow. "She bit you?"

He could sense Reno's embarrassment, and barely resisted a bit of a grin. It was almost too easy, but he wasn't going to let his friend take the easy way out.

"We were having a...discussion. About some Materia."

"The Materia Vincent gave her, you mean. What on earth made you think you were going to be able to get it back from her?"

Reno gave him a scathing look that Rude couldn't see very well in the dark. At least he assumed it was scathing. "Even you know about that?"

"I'm a good eavesdropper."

"Tseng...ordered...me to get it from her. She'd offered to let me use her room for a nap since she was going out, and I figured I could just steal it while she was away. Easy. No confrontation."

"But you like confrontation."

"I'm getting old," Reno said. "I don't like it as much as I used to. Especially with a girl who I'd like nothing better than to kill one moment and then to-" he stopped.

Rude did smile then, though it was dark enough that he hoped Reno didn't see. "Nothing untoward happened, I hope?"

Reno shifted uncomfortably. "Nothing like that." A pause. "Not really."

"Are you in love with her?"

They'd had these types of conversations before, casual affairs in which Reno would ask him if he still liked Tifa and Rude would say yes, and then he'd ask Reno how his love life was going, and Reno would give him some dismal prediction on his girlfriend of the month. But this time, Rude felt, it was somehow different. Yuffie was not the girlfriend of the month, not someone who would flit in and out of their lives without a ripple.

"She's practically Rufus' girl," Reno said at last. "I couldn't do that."

"Perhaps Rufus thinks so," Rude countered. "As for Yuffie, I think she's too preoccupied to think of our great leader as anything more than a good friend. Now you, on the other hand-"

"Get off it," Reno growled. "I get the point. I kissed her, Rude, that's all. Totally unexpected, caught off guard, and not something I'd want to do again."

Rude sat back. "All right."

"I'm serious, man. I don't know what was the matter with me. I'm over it now."

"Which is why you're sitting here in the dark of the atrium of the finance building depressed."

He saw Reno cross shadowy arms across his chest. "Let me get this straight. Tseng just betrayed Green Earth, the organization is probably officially bankrupt, Rufus is as pissed off as I've seen him in years, Denzel is missing, Vincent Valentine is dying of Geostigma, there are unknown monsters on the prowl in Nibelheim, and you think I'm depressed because Yuffie Kisaragi won't go out with me?!"

"Well," Rude said. "Yes."

"You're fucking nuts."

The game had gone far enough, Rude decided, and he laughed softly. "Sorry. I know things are pretty bleak right now. I'm not doing too well myself."

"Yeah," Reno told him dryly. "I noticed."

"But I figure," he continued, "if we can't laugh at ourselves once in a while, how are we going to be able to go on?"

"You're not going all philosophical on me, are you?"

"Tifa told me that once." He tried to keep the wistful tone out of his voice, but it was Reno, and Reno could read him like no one else. Not even Tifa.

"I'm real sorry about that. I didn't even think she'd leave without letting you know."

Rude shrugged. "She's her own woman. We'll be all right."

Reno didn't answer, and Rude thought about Yuffie Kisaragi, on a ship heading away from Corel with Vincent's Materia in tow. He hadn't managed to eavesdrop far enough into the conversation between the former Turk and Rufus to figure out exactly why that Materia was important, but knowing Vincent, he wouldn't have given it to Yuffie without dire warning. In retrospect, Yuffie was probably the best person he could have entrusted it to. If he'd handed it over to Reno, it would be in Tseng's hands by now.

Even not knowing what that Materia was, Rude was experienced enough to assume that would have been disastrous.

"We have to get that Summon Materia back," he said abruptly.

"Shouldn't you be thinking about more important things, like going back to the hospital?"

Rude frowned. "I'm quite serious. The way Vincent and Rufus were talking about that Materia, it's vital that it be back in our hands."

"Yuffie's smart."

"Smarter than Tseng?"

Reno considered this. "I don't know," he said at last.

"I know Yuffie can take care of herself. The fact is, however, that Tseng is now an unknown quantity. We don't know who or what he's allied with, but I do think he is allied with someone, because the Tseng I knew was cunning. He was no simple thief. And I am not naive enough to believe that the attacks on us and Vincent were pure chance."

"You're talking a lot tonight," Reno said sourly. "Stole all of Elena's vocabulary, have you?"

Rude sighed. "Help me out, please."

"Fine. So Yuffie's got the Materia we need. How we gonna get it back?" Reno glanced around at the atrium. "And I wonder if someone's got this place bugged?"

The hairs pricked on the back of Rude's neck. "Let's go," he said, and Reno pushed himself off the bench, holding out one hand to pull Rude to his feet. His legs didn't seem to be working, and he was probably an hour past Elena's half-hour time limit, but he thought she would understand.

They rode the elevator back down to the ground floor in silence. The building was quiet and dark now. Rufus and the security detail had long gone, probably taking everything out of Tseng's office in the process. He followed Reno out the back doors and into the rear lot of the finance building, half-filled with gravel and sand and scratched-out parking places for the few employees who drove to work. The moon was high over the Corel Mountains, bathing everything in eerie white.

"If I were Yuffie Kisaragi," Reno said at last, "Where would I go?"

"I would not go back to Wutai," Rude said.

He expected Reno to counter that, but instead his friend looked thoughtful. "You know, I thought she sounded kinda scared when she told me she was going home. I thought it was...because of what had just happened...but maybe I was wrong. And she was hanging onto that Materia way too hard for someone who just wanted to add another one to her collection."

"I don't think she went back to Wutai for two reasons. One, it's too far from the action. Two, she isn't the type of person to sit with an unknown quantity on her hands."

"Maybe she's outgrown the action," Reno suggested, and Rude didn't say anything. After a moment, Reno said, "Or maybe not."

"If I were Yuffie Kisaragi," Rude said, "and I'd just been entrusted with a piece of a secret and instructed not to let anyone else know, I'd head somewhere isolated, a place where I could find out exactly what that Materia was. A place that has the knowledge for something like that, but where I'd be left alone."

Understanding dawned. "Ah," said Reno. "You think she's gone to Cosmo Canyon."

"I'm in no shape to travel, unfortunately. And I don't want this getting out to the others. We lost Tseng; I don't know if anyone else is on his side."

"Whatever side that is," Reno muttered. "Do you trust Highwind?"

"No," Rude said. "I'd like to, but unfortunately no. Do you-?"

Reno snorted. "I wouldn't stoop so far as to steal a ship. I could never show my face around here again. And Cosmo Canyon's not that far. I'll steal someone's bike instead."

[fic] Final Fantasy VIII: Fire Engine Red

2007-04-21T19:24:22Z

I've played Final Fantasy VIII three times. The first two times, I didn't like Zell. For some reason this time, he's become one of my favorite characters in the game (and not only for the names of his limit breaks, which are the same as Tifa's). I've always been interested in the side-effects of memory loss brought on by the use of the GFs, and I thought I'd explore that here with Zell's interaction with his family before the game story begins.

This is a sort of companion piece to my FFVII Marlene story, Mockingbird.

FINAL FANTASY VIII
Fire Engine Red
[Other header stuff: G, Zell, set pre-game]
What happens when you're not really family and your son doesn't remember it?

Hush, little baby, don't say a word
Mama's going to buy you a mockingbird
If that mockingbird don't sing
Mama's going to buy you a diamond ring

We took Zell to Deling City for his tenth birthday. There was a large model of a fire engine displayed prominently in one of the windows on the long, glittering shopping arcade – blazing metal-red, beautifully painted, complete with miniature firemen sitting in the cab. Zell was a feisty ten-year-old with an active imagination and a burning love for anything on wheels, and it was love at first sight. I watched him with his button nose pressed up to the window, his breath fogging up the glass as he stared and stared, and then peeked around at us and declared, "Mom, I want it!"

It was a bitter goodbye that the two of them head – Zell and the toy fire engine. His father had saved for months for that train ticket to Deling City, and just being able to walk along those magnificent cobblestoned streets under the big arcade was experience enough. The fire engine was out of the question, Dad said. Too expensive. Not worth it. Didn't Zell appreciate the vacation that he'd already been given as a present?

Zell didn't throw a tantrum, but he was quiet for the rest of the day, turning accusing eyes on us as if we'd ruined some kind of grand dream. The day after we arrived back in Balamb, Dad came home from work with a hastily wrapped package.

"Open it, Zell," he said with suppressed excitement. "It's yours."

Under the shoddy wrapping paper was a box with a picture of a fire engine, nowhere near as flashy as the one we'd left behind in Deling City. But Zell picked up the box with wide eyes as Dad knelt beside him with one hand on his shoulder.

"It's a model," he said. "I'll help you put it together. You'll love it."

They'd gotten halfway through the complicated project, with hundreds of tiny metal pieces and slats that apparently needed to be glued and painted one by one, when there was an accident at work one day, and Dad didn't come home. The model sat unfinished on our kitchen table for the next half year, during which Zell took his entrance examinations for Balamb Garden, was accepted, and moved away to the dorms. The house was quiet now. I took the parts of the model and carried them upstairs to his old room, where he'd come back to stay sometimes on weekends if he had extra saved leave.

He never mentioned it, but one day I went upstairs to clean and found that the model had been finished, painted and sitting grandly on one corner of his desk, as if it had always been there.

"You finally got around to finishing that model?" I asked him casually the next time he was home.

"Aw, Mom," Zell said, gangly and awkward at fourteen, with his blond hair grown out long in the front to hide forehead pimples. "I wish you wouldn't go barging around in my room when I'm not there."

The next time he came home, I did not mention that I had been upstairs to clean again and found the model gone. Perhaps he'd taken it to school with him, or perhaps he'd deemed it too childish and thrown it away, or maybe he'd given it to somebody. I would think about it sometimes when I took down the pictures from the walls to dust – family pictures in large, wooden frames that seemed to embarrass Zell when he came by and brought friends to visit. On some occasions, I'd bring out the family scrapbooks and watch him fidget.

"Mom," he wondered at sixteen, after the friends had gone back to Garden and he was staying the night, "how come you don't have any baby pictures of me?"

A thousand answers flashed through my mind, and a memory of the lady at Zell's entrance exams who had given me a brief overview of what to expect physically and mentally should my son become a SeeD. I said calmly, "I don't know. We must have lost that album at some point when we moved."

A brief look of confusion passed over his face, and he said, "But we've always lived in this house, haven't we? You, and me, and…and Dad."

"The three of us," I said softly, as he nodded uncertainly, and then I said, "I miss Dad."

The confusion flitted across his face and then was gone, replaced by the son I knew, and he said, "Yeah. I miss him too."

After he'd gone back to school, I went into my bedroom and dug under the piles of winter clothing packed away in neat stacks, mementoes of past trips and my husband's work clothes, which were still folded in the bottom dresser drawer. When I found the slim book, I went to the kitchen and sat for a while with it in my lap, as if my fingers were afraid to open it, and then turned the cover.

It was only two pages. One, a makeshift certificate of adoption, somewhat faded but uncreased and smooth. The other, child Zell holding a stuffed bear, smiling crookedly for the camera.

The phone rang. I picked it up. "Mom!" Zell's voice crackled excitedly over the line. "I'm up for my graduation exam soon. You think you'll wanna come to the party after I pass?"

There was no hesitation in his confidence, no if I pass, in the event that I pass. I looked down at the photograph of the earliest memory I had of my son, trying to meld that child's smiling face to the sound of the deep voice over the telephone line, and wondering if time passed so quickly for all mothers, realizing that my son had slipped away from me without me knowing.

"Sure thing," I told him. "I'll be there."

I could hear the infectious grin in his voice. "Thanks Mom. You're the best."

"Your birthday's coming up," I reminded him. "It'll be before the exam. Do you have some leave carrying over from last month?"

He sounded curious. "Yeah. What's up?"

"We haven't done anything in a while for your birthday," I said. "How about taking a trip to the city?"

[drabble] Fruits Basket: Evening's Girl Child

2007-04-16T01:47:10Z

Done for gen_challenge, with the prompt "Tohru and Shigure: Interaction without outside interference".

FRUITS BASKET
Souma Shigure, 656 words

Evening's Girl-Child

The rat had gone to the library. The cat was outside, somewhere. The dog could hear what sounded like someone kicking a tree over and over, grunting angrily. Well, he thought, that was fine. As long as the cat wasn't kicking the side of the house.

The dog was hungry, so he meandered out into the hallway and into the kitchen. Tohru was there, chopping vegetables. The radio was on and she was humming to it, slightly off key, in a high-pitched cheery sort of way. He watched her before going to the refrigerator and rummaging through it to see what there was in terms of leftovers.

"Are these edible?"

"Of course they are," Tohru said, not turning around. She sounded amused, and then she said, "Shigure-san, I'm making dinner. You'll spoil your appetite."

That was the signal to sneak away, pretending to be mortified, tail between his legs. Instead, he poked at the tonkatsu from yesterday's lunch, and said, "But I'm hungry now."

"You sound like Kyo."

"Ouch," he said reproachfully. "That hurts."

She laughed and slid a tomato over the counter at him. "Here you go. This should fill you up until dinner's ready."

"Oh, Tohru," the dog said. "Didn't you know that tomatoes are 90% water? I need something more substantial."

She threw him a mischievous grin and he swallowed the tomato in one gulp anyway, padding softly out of the kitchen and into the common room. The tatami mats were cool and slightly scratchy under his feet. The television was on, something about a bombing in a city that was far away from here. Humans were funny creatures, he thought, tucking his legs neatly under him and daydreaming against the wall.

"Shigure-san?"

He focused on Tohru's sweet face hovering there in front of him, and smiled. Her hair was just a little bit disheveled, tiny strands hanging in curlicues around her face, like the boar-child's when she was small. She looked concerned, her eyes like the rat's eyes, large and soulful, filled with the goodness of the world.

"I'm just resting," he said. "Call me when the food's done."

"If you're really hungry-" she began, and he batted her away playfully.

"You're too nice."

"Ten minutes," she promised him, and bounced out of the room.

He sat there listening to the hum of the television in the background, thinking about the ones who were not there and how he perhaps was not the best man in the family to act as a father figure, but it was too late to regret that now. The sky deepened to a dark-violet, like the inner whorls of budding flower petals, and the scent of good food drifted from the kitchen.

Far above, over the garden verandah, something twinkled through the clouds - an airplane? A shooting star? He could see the girl's slight form through the doorways linked in a square of light that darkened to shadow as she passed from one side of the kitchen to the other, carrying jars of sauces and plates and spoons in her hands.

It would be nice, the dog thought, to just sit here like this for a while in the blue glow of the television, and fall asleep to the music of her light form dancing through the spaces of the house. He heard her singing again. Curry sauce, his nose told him, and he took a deep breath, breathing in the scent of this house and this family, which she'd somehow become a part with or without their permission.

"Shigure-san?" she called out, and he did not answer, thinking to himself, just a little bit longer. He heard her moving to the kitchen doorway and sighed. As she crossed the hall, he unfolded himself from the floor, reaching out to her as she came into the room, one hand outstretched to the daughter, the sister, the mother, the bride he'd never had.

"Dinner's ready," Tohru said.

[fic] FFVII: Gunpowder and Firecrackers (chapter 10)

2007-04-10T15:14:53Z

Thanks to everyone reading!

enishi_sama, your Zack and Cloud fic is coming soon.

FINAL FANTASY VII
Gunpowder and Firecrackers
[Other header stuff: PG-13, Rude/Tifa, Rufus/Yuffie/Reno, AU to DoC, spoilers up to end of AC]

It is fifteen years after Meteor, thirteen years after Kadaj's defeat. Rufus Shinra, leader of the world philanthropic organization Green Earth, has been having odd dreams about Cloud Strife, about Sephiroth, about the mysterious town of Nibelheim. In a world where peace is as fragile and elusive as the voices of the lost Ancients, the old members of AVALANCHE and Shinra struggle to piece together the secrets of the Lifestream and Jenova's legacy in a race against time to save the ones they love.

X. Vincent

When he woke up, the sun was slanting through the blinds of his hospital room, and the wound in his side was throbbing. There was a white-capped nurse in the room with him, transcribing readings from what looked like an advanced vital-signs machine.

He cleared his throat softly. "I'm thirsty," he said. "I would like some water, please."

She jumped, eyes going wide as she glanced to the machine and back. Vincent felt vaguely regretful for scaring her, but there wasn't much he could do about the fact that his vital signs usually stayed the same whether he was asleep or awake. Hojo had done his damage, and there was nothing anyone could do about that now. He opened his mouth to reassure the woman again, but she was already scurrying through the door. A minute later someone returned with a glass of water, but it was a male doctor. Vincent recognized the tall, bearded man - one of the doctors that had been hired on staff at the opening of the Corel hospital almost ten years ago. He didn't know his name.

"Mr. Valentine," the doctor greeted him. "I'm glad to see you're doing better."

"I believe I frightened one of your employees," Vincent said, accepting the water with his good hand and a slight nod. He ran a mental checklist of each body part. Nothing seemed to be hurting with more than a dull throb. His side, he noticed had been swathed and bandaged, as had his wrist and his left knee.

The doctor smiled. "Nurse Vitta is new. Though in your case, that's not much of an excuse, I know."

"Reno and Yuffie," he said. "Rufus Shinra's bodyguard and the lady of Wutai. Are they safe?"

The doctor took the glass of water, now empty, and set it on the desk by the bed. "They were the ones who brought you in. I believe they stayed the night waiting for your surgery results. As for where they are now, I don't know. They left the hospital as soon as I told them you would be all right."

Vincent smiled slightly. "They shouldn't have worried. It takes more than that to kill me."

The doctor frowned. "I won't go as far as asking what the 'that' was that you're referring to. But I strongly advise you against tangling with anymore of whatever it was in the future. It's not good for your health."

"Don't worry," Vincent said. "Hopefully, there was just one, and I have...exterminated it."

The doctor left shortly, taking the water with him and promising some sort of meal soon. Vincent was not particularly hungry, but it was a gesture of goodwill and he accepted it as such. He wished for a moment that Yuffie could be found, but there was no communication device in his room and she most likely needed her rest after the ordeal last night.

He had been surprised at the skill with which she'd handled the plane. Granted, she had not been much more than shakingly amateur, but she had taken off and landed the aircraft admirably, and Cid Highwind had been too worried about Vincent to scold her for skidding one wingtip sideways onto the runway as she had touched down back in Corel. He mulled over the memory of her face, taut with worry and fear, valiantly steering the aircraft down through the clouds back into the safety of the town, and wondered if he had been right to tell her what he had seen and to give her that Materia.

He would tell Yuffie and Rufus, he decided, and no one else. Yuffie he had always felt like he could trust, and he had needed to tell someone last night, had to let the vivid images out from between Chaos' raging voice in his head. Under normal circumstances, he would not have even thought of letting Rufus Shinra know what he had discovered. But it was Rufus to whom the dreams came, Rufus who had first been alerted to Nibelheim's fate, and for some reason, Rufus had been chosen to be part of this new game.

So Vincent would tell him everything. He had no choice, he had decided, if they all wanted to survive.

"Mr. Valentine. And what trouble have you gotten into this time?"

He glanced up, not too surprised to see Rufus Shinra there in the doorway, leaning on that bright, flashy chrome cane with a bemused smile on a face that looked otherwise drawn and tired. "I wasn't expecting you until later," Vincent said.

Rufus limped into the room. "It is later. Almost time for dinner. I'd ask you to join me, but...circumstances prevent that, unfortunately." He cast a critical glance at Vincent's bandaged side.

"I can eat," Vincent told him calmly. "It's not as bad as it looks." He looked out the window and realized the sunlight was the ruddy sunlight of evening. "I forgot the sun sets later in Corel. What time is it?"

"Almost eight o' clock, evening. You were out of surgery at dawn, Yuffie tells me, so you've been asleep for a while. How are you feeling?"

"Speaking literally," Vincent said, "I've obviously been worse. Speaking otherwise-" he raised his arm slightly and glanced at the blackened, blistered flesh that crawled above his bandaged wrist. "You could say I've been better."

Rufus made a slight hissing sound at the sight, and he said, "It's worse than Reno had me believe."

Vincent put down his arm. "It's been getting worse these few days. Strange, because the progression of the disease was quite steady before that."

"You mean," Rufus said, "that you think something is accelerating it since you came to Corel."

Vincent met his gaze steadily. "Yes."

Rufus shuffled slowly to the window, leaning his cane against the wall and carefully opening the blinds. Vincent watched him for a moment, then gazed instead out below at the bustling main street of Corel, the muted sound of rumbling cars and patchy vegetation on the cliffs above.

"Tell me what happened."

If he'd had time to rehearse his story, perhaps Vincent would have had some sort of plan of attack, because relaying an account of a battle unprepared was much like rushing into that battle unprepared. And to do that to Rufus Shinra was not something he was comfortable with. "I must confess that I wasn't expecting you to visit so soon," he said. "I'm not quite sure I have the details correct."

"You had them correct for Yuffie," Rufus said abruptly.

There was something strange in the other man's voice when he mentioned Yuffie's name, but Vincent couldn't quite catch the exact tone. He had never been much of a reader of emotions, though he knew that Rufus and Yuffie had grown close in the past ten years in a friendship that he didn't quite understand. But it wasn't his place to say, so he had kept an eye on Yuffie and been silent, listening to her talk when she wanted to talk. Yuffie was like that.

"I told Yuffie because I had to. I would have told Reno if he had been in the airplane with me on the way back. I did not choose her specifically."

"I don't quite believe you," Rufus said, and Vincent smiled slightly.

"Believe what you want, then."

"Vincent-"

"I'm not hiding anything from you," Vincent said sharply, and Rufus' eyes flew to his face at that, narrowing. "I will admit that I still don't quite trust you after all these years, as most of the old members of AVALANCHE don't trust you. But even I will admit that times are changing, and with the circumstances of this last week and how you have been a key player in them, I would be a fool to withhold information from you. It's not a case of you versus Yuffie, or Yuffie versus Reno, or you versus anyone else. That's child's play, and I like to think we're well beyond that."

Rufus turned away again, and after a moment, he said, "Yuffie left."

It took a moment for that to process. "Gone back to Wutai?"

The blond man nodded, one sharp motion up and down. "I tried to convince her to stay - I told her that especially after what happened to you...but she wouldn't hear of it. She left half an hour ago."

There was that strange quality in Rufus' voice again - not anger, not frustration, but something else, a slight longing, maybe, or even something more subtle than that. "Don't take it too hard," he said at last. "Yuffie was always impulsive."

Rufus laughed, but the sound was hard. "I have very few friends in this world, Vincent. I would have liked it if she had stayed."

"Cloud Strife," Vincent said, deciding that a change of subject would be a good thing. "How well did you know him?"

Rufus frowned at him. "Not well enough. I asked him to join Green Earth several times. He refused, as I thought he would. Yuffie wrote of him sometimes, passing mentions of visits. I admired him. Why are you asking?"

"Did Yuffie mention anything about the Materia I gave her?"

"In passing. Nothing about what it was. She told me that it wasn't her story to tell, and to ask you. Which is why I'm here now."

Vincent did some rapid calculating. Yuffie, Rufus said, had left half an hour ago. Logical reasoning would then mean that Rufus had seen her off, then come immediately to the hospital from the airport. He wondered if there was a way to put this delicately, decided that there wasn't. "If you try anything...unbecoming...towards Yuffie," he said quietly, "you do realize you have all the rest of the members of AVALANCHE to deal with. I would be careful, if I were you."

Rufus' hand twitched slightly. "I am a busy man, Mr. Valentine. I assure you that romance isn't a priority at the moment. And as I said, Yuffie Kisaragi and I are merely old friends."

Vincent shrugged and flexed his metal hand once or twice. "I asked about Cloud Strife because there is a link between him and that Materia that Yuffie has now safely tucked away in her Conformer." Before Rufus could say anything, Vincent plowed on. "More precisely, that Materia is Cloud's Materia."

Rufus sucked in a sharp breath. "You mean that Cloud is alive?"

"No," Vincent said. "I mean that the Materia that I gave Yuffie contains all that is left of Cloud Strife."

Silence. Below, cars rumbled past the intersection, horns honking. The sun hung low and red in the sky, and he suddenly thought of Meteor, hanging red and ominous in the sky so long ago. Memories were funny things.

Rufus' cane fell to the floor with a metallic clang. The silence shattered.

"I don't understand," Rufus said.

Vincent leaned back against the flimsy headboard of the bed, and thought of that long, cold night that he had passed slumped against the ground outside the ruins of Nibelheim, hoping that someone, anyone, would be able to help him because he had lost too much blood and could not help himself. It had been almost funny, he had mused as he lay there drowsing through the pain, that the immortal one would be the first to die.

No, not the first. The second.

"I went to Nibelheim because I wanted to see for myself what Rude had described to me. He didn't tell me much more than he told you or Reno, and that worried me. For some reason, I can't remember much of the actual town, other than the fact that it is not there. There are some remnants of civilization - I remember seeing some crumbling walls, a fence or two before the sun set. The roads are gone."

"Yes," Rufus said. His voice was strained, flat. "I heard from Rude."

Vincent smiled grimly. "Rude might have exaggerated. Or perhaps he didn't want to give you the whole truth. Turks never do, you know. We have our own secrets."

Rufus did not smile. "Go on."

"There were bodies. Most of them were just bones - the flesh was long gone, but not long ago enough. There's a look to old bones that these didn't have. These were fresh. I'd say in the last two years or so, long enough for the bodies themselves to decompose, long enough for vegetation to have overgrown what was left of the town. What's strange is that if the town had been destroyed two years ago, certainly someone would have reported it."

"Rude said it had not been burned down."

"It wasn't," Vincent said. He paused, wondering how to word it appropriately. "I remember when Weapon attacked Junon, and I had wondered, back then, what would have happened if the cannon had missed and Junon had been hit. I think perhaps it would have looked something like Nibelheim."

Rufus' hands twitched slightly, as if he wanted to curl them into fists and was resisting the compulsion. "Go on," he said again.

"I went towards the edge of the town, where the old building used to be that was commonly named the Shinra Mansion." He cast a significant look at Rufus. "You would know that place."

"Yes," Rufus said, not elaborating.

"It was no longer there, as expected. Instead, there was a cave. As Rude had done, I went inside, fully expecting whatever it was that attacked him to attack me."

Rufus waited, and then when Vincent didn't continue, he prompted. "And it didn't."

Vincent gazed thoughtfully at the ceiling. "No. I had...called my...demons, had them at the ready. Perhaps whatever it was sensed this and kept its distance. I continued into the cave hoping to find some sort of clue, and then I realized that the tunnel was sloping downward. At a certain point the rock ended in rubble, and then abruptly became a set of old stairs."

Rufus drew a breath. "The stairs to the basement."

"Correct. I decided to tempt fate and continue down to the basement to see if any of the books had survived. I was just at the foot of the stairs when I was attacked. Unfortunately I don't remember much of the events past that, because at that point Chaos took over my body and my memories, and Chaos has a... consciousness all his own." Vincent paused again. "When I returned to myself-"

Rufus leaned forward, those bright blue eyes intense like burning stars. "You chased the monster up through the tunnels," he said, "where you ended up at the cave mouth and managed to cripple it."

Vincent frowned. He hadn't told that to Yuffie, only what happened after the battle. "Yes. How do you know this?"

"I've dreamed it," Rufus told him grimly. "I've dreamed it every night for the past four months. Two monsters locked in combat, both dark, both winged, except that one-" he cast a significant look at Vincent, "-has bright red eyes, and the other....its eyes are bright green-silver."

"Mako eyes," Vincent said.

Rufus took a deep, shuddering breath, and Vincent watched the elegant face spasm, then regain control forcefully, smoothing out into the facade of authority that Rufus Shinra worked so hard to keep and which even this recurring living nightmare couldn't shatter. "Yes," Rufus said. "Mako eyes."

They were both silent for a long while, or at least to Vincent it seemed a long while. There were no clocks in the room. He usually needed none; the passage of time was irrelevant to him. The sun rose and the sun set, and days moved into weeks and into months, then years, and nothing changed. In a way, he was almost perversely glad for this new strain of Geostigma that had chosen him as host, to jolt him into remembering how fleeting life really was.

"When did you know it was Cloud Strife?"

Vincent did not stir at the sound of Rufus' voice breaking the brittle silence; instead, he looked down at his metal hand laying limply on the bedspread, like the shriveled copper exoskeleton of some insect. "I have no factual evidence," he said simply. "But I knew, I think, before Rude told me what he had seen, before I borrowed that aircraft from Cid Highwind, before I set foot in that cave." He lifted the sleeve over his infected arm again, then let it drop with a soft sigh. "You're not the only one who has been dreaming, Rufus."

Another brittle silence. "How long have you had these dreams?" Rufus demanded.

"A week, perhaps," Vincent said. "They started just before I talked to Tseng and then rescued Rude and Reno from Costa del Sol. It was enough that I knew what had to be done, after Tseng gave me the basics. I used the morph command out of a last resort, actually. I had crippled the creature, but I didn't want to kill it, and I think that in itself was a sentiment strong enough for Chaos to hold back on slaying it outright. I had no idea that it would morph into a Materia."

Rufus had clasped his hands behind his back, standing as ramrod straight as if he were made out of iron, a hard light gleaming in his eyes. "Two things," he said, his tone clipped and quietly dangerous. "One, Yuffie Kisaragi comes back to Corel with that Materia. No exceptions."

"Agreed," Vincent said.

"Second thing," Rufus said, plowing on over Vincent like a ruthless storm. "I never told Tseng any of this." He fixed Vincent in his withering stare. "So how in high heaven and earth did he know?"

The Planet's rotation seemed to hiccup for a moment. "You didn't?" Vincent asked, amazed, and then at Rufus' cold stare, a faint feeling of dread crept over him. "You didn't," he said flatly. "I see. How interesting."

"We must now add a third thing to our agenda," Rufus said, and reached into his pocket to pull out a small phone. He flipped it open, pushed one button, jammed the thing to his ear. "Shinra here," he said after a moment. "I need to see Tseng right away. Immediately. This instant. Tell him to report to my office and remain there until I speak with him. Tell him that is a direct order."

"There's no point in that now," came a familiar, halting voice from the doorway, and Rufus whirled around, fingers twitching at his belt for the gun hidden under his long coat. Vincent did not turn, and after that brief second he saw Rufus' hand drop away. He could guess at what had happened and why Rude was here. He lay back down against his pillow and moved his gaze to the door, where Rude was leaning heavily, his face ghastly pale.

"You're supposed to be resting," Rufus began, and Rude shook his head weakly.

"We've got a situation on our hands, sir. Our bank accounts have all been emptied. Tseng's gone."

[fic] FFVII: Gunpowder and Firecrackers (chapter 9)

2007-04-05T20:16:04Z

Apologies for running behind on this fic. I'd like to think I have a least ONE series fic that I can have regular chapters out for, but apparently not XD It's Reno this time.

yokozuki, don't know if you saw the Spirited Away drabble I posted for you last night. LJ's time system went screwy. It's here.

FINAL FANTASY VII
Gunpowder and Firecrackers
[Other header stuff: PG-13, Tifa/Rude, Rufus/Yuffie, AU to DoC, spoilers up to end of AC]

It is fifteen years after Meteor, thirteen years after Kadaj's defeat. Rufus Shinra, leader of the world philanthropic organization Green Earth, has been having odd dreams about Cloud Strife, about Sephiroth, about the mysterious town of Nibelheim. In a world where peace is as fragile and elusive as the voices of the lost Ancients, the old members of AVALANCHE and Shinra struggle to piece together the secrets of the Lifestream and Jenova's legacy in a race against time to save the ones they love.

IX. Reno

"So now we have two people in the hospital, one kid assumed missing, Cloud Strife sightings in Nibelheim, Rufus having nightmares, and Lockhart - your fiancee, who you're supposed to be keeping tabs on, by the way!! - gone off with my motorcycle to do who knows where. Could it get any worse?! Don't answer that."

Rude looked up at Reno from his bed, where he was eating breakfast on a tray. "Don't rant at me like that, Reno. I'll be fine in a few days. See? I can move my arm now."

"Idiot," Reno said, pacing again, from the door to the window to the door and back. His head was throbbing. He hadn't slept all night, sitting outside the operation room with Yuffie, who had been clutching that damn Materia and not saying a word. Around dawn, as the sun came up over the Corel mountains, someone had come out of the operating room and said that Vincent was going to be fine, but that didn't make Reno feel any better. "You're goddamn stupid, that's what it is."

"You're upset about Vincent. Don't take it out on me."

"He won't talk. He won't say anything - not to me, not to Yuffie, not to Rufus. Damn, first the man races off to Nibelheim by himself, then he tells us that he's killed whatever was in that cave and doesn't tell us how, and then he gives Yuffie his Materia and won't tell us why! I'm sick and tired of being pushed aside, and if it's going to be like this from now on, I quit!"

Rude pushed himself up weakly from the bed and frowned at Reno. "Really," he said flatly.

Reno stalked to the window and banged his head against the bullet-proof windowpane. "No," he muttered. "No, not really."

"I didn't think so."

"Sometimes I wish I hadn't taken that goddamn oath."

"You swore an oath to Shinra," Rude reminded him, spearing a potato wedge. "Not to Green Earth, not to Rufus, not to me. If you want to leave, nothing's stopping you."

Reno faced him with a challenging look. "You really believe that?"

"I'd like to," Rude said. "Just the same as you'd like to."

"Yeah," Reno said. "Sometimes I wish you would stop reading my mind."

Rude gave him a shadowy smile. "I've worked with you for more than twenty years, you know. It happens." He lay down again, placing the empty breakfast tray on the nightstand. "As for Tifa, I don't know where she's gone, but I trust her. I believe that she's headed back to Midgar. You'll probably find your bike at the Costa del Sol port."

"I hate women," Reno said.

"Really?"

A pause. "No. Not really. But I will soon if Yuffie doesn't hand over that Materia and let me look at it."

"If you stopped treating her like a little kid, maybe she might."

He almost snapped that Yuffie was a little kid, but again Rude knew him too well. It had been odd seeing her again after all these years. How many had it been? Seven? Eight? He'd lost count. He'd expected the same snotty little brat with a Materia obsession that was unreal, a Wutaian kid with double the warped sense of duty and responsibility that all Wutaians seemed to have, a girl play-acting at being a lady. Instead he'd found a woman who could hold her own. She'd actually listened to what he'd had to say last night, had followed his directions without a fuss, had gamely swallowed her aversion to flying to bring Vincent Valentine back alive. She'd been honorable, and he'd been there playacting at being a leader, because he had honestly no clue what to do when confronted by Vincent's horrible, pain-twisted face there in the moonlight.

Lady Kisaragi, he'd called her, and last night her determination and courage had shone through her fear. He wondered what he'd looked like. He should have been the one getting Vincent back to his jet, or at least gone round the entrance of that cave to see what else he could find. But instead he'd run out of there after them with the fear at his heels, gunned the engine of that motorcycle all the way to Corel, not daring to look behind him because he hadn't wanted to see if something was following him.

"There was something in that cave," Reno said. "You were right."

"Glad to hear it." Rude's tone was dryly amused. "I am right on occasion, you know."

"I've never felt so..." He stopped. "Afraid. Not before I joined the Turks, not in all those years I've been with Shinra."

"It was bad," Rude acknowledged softly. "Like something tainted had been there."

The memory awoke at Rude's words, and he realized that he had been mistaken and shivered, wrapping both arms around himself. "No, wait a second. You remember? I'd just gotten out of surgery after Sector 7 collapsed, Tseng'd moved me back into the headquarters, and I woke up that night hearing all kinds of running around. I dragged myself out of bed-"

"With that wound?" Rude demanded. "No wonder you were incapacitated for the next three weeks!"

"-and went into the hallway, and...I've never seen so much blood, Rude. Blood all over the carpet, on the stairs, on the walls...it smelled like dead things."

Behind him, Rude suddenly went still. "I remember," he said.

"My vision was blurry, I couldn't hardly see. I stumbled over something, realized they were bodies. When I bent down to look at the wounds, it was obvious who did it. There wasn't anyone else in all the world, I bet, who cut like that. They'd been speared clean all the way through the heart...they were still bleeding. The blood was warm."

"Sephiroth's dead," Rude interjected harshly. "I haven't seen any bodies. Have you?"

"He damn well better be dead," Reno said, "cause with Cloud gone...I don't know if any of us are strong enough to face him now."

--

He went down to see Yuffie after that, his hands still shaking, his pulse racing from the memories of the blood on the walls of the Shinra building after Sephiroth's rampage. It wasn't the same, he told himself - it was fifteen years ago, and they were past that now. Hojo's creations were all gone, and there was no one out there to trouble them.

Except that the picture of Vincent's arm, flesh blackened with Geostigma, nagged at the corner of his mind and refused to go away.

"Reno? You okay?"

He'd stumbled into the hospital waiting area without realizing it, and Yuffie had risen from her chair with a worried look on her face, that pretty face which he still couldn't quite get used to because she didn't look like a little girl any more. Thankfully, she'd put away the Conformer. He didn't think he could deal with anyone brandishing a weapon at him at the moment. "I'm fine," he told her shortly. "What's the status?"

"Vincent's resting." She eyed him. "You wanna see him?"

He almost nodded, thought better of it, then shook his head. "I'll let him sleep."

"Speaking of sleep..." she trailed off meaningfully, and the thought flittered briefly through his mind that he'd had six hours of sleep in almost three days. But he was a Turk, and he'd functioned with less before.

"Let me see that Materia," he said.

Her face set in a stubborn frown. "Why should I?"

"Because it might be important. It's a clue, and we need clues."

"I put it in the Conformer," she said. "Which is in my room, with the door locked. And Vince didn't say anything about a clue. What makes you think that?"

"Why else would he have given it to you?"

She shrugged. "I don't know."

Reno's fingers twitched. "Look here, I don't know who you think you are, but if you're content just to stand there and let Cloud's death mean nothing, then go right ahead!"

A wave of emotion swept across Yuffie's face fleetingly, but a wave so strong that at once he wished he hadn't said that. "If you were truly Cloud's friend," she told him quietly, "You wouldn't ever dare say those words."

She stalked off, leaving him standing there feeling drained and empty, facing the rows of plastic chairs that lined the walls of the room. "I think I'm losing it," he informed the wall.

"Don't say that just yet," said someone behind him, and he spun around to see Tseng standing there with his arms crossed, staring challengingly at him.

"Hey," Reno said, too tired to think of a proper greeting. Then again, Tseng was no longer his boss, so it was all right. "What's happening?"

"Rude is resting," Tseng returned. "Vincent is resting. I think it's time you should be resting too."

"Nice try, but I don't work for you anymore."

"I'm not saying this as a boss, Reno. I'm saying this as a friend. You look terrible."

"I slept almost two hours last night," he said defensively. "While Valentine was in the operation room."

Tseng smiled at that. "Come with me, Reno."

With a questioning look, he followed his former leader out of the hospital, back down to the main street of Corel and into the hot desert sun of early afternoon. Cars rumbled up and down the cobblestoned drive, and the wide sidewalks bustled with pedestrians going about their business. Those who glanced up from their conversations to look curiously at them were met with Reno's blank stare, his dirt- and sweat-encrusted clothes.

Tseng did not seem to mind, smiling politely at passersby or greeting them with a friendly wave and a few by name. They all seemed to like him. Tseng had always had that way about him, though, like a real ladies' man though Reno didn't think he'd ever known the former Turk leader to have a girlfriend. Elena'd had a brief crush on him and they'd gone out on a few dates, but ultimately they hadn't worked out. Just like Reno's relationships, all fizzling out one way or the other. He had never cared enough to wonder why. There was always work to keep him busy, and alcohol, and exercise, and a dozen other things.

Yuffie's face surfaced in his mind again and he pushed her memory away irritably as they reached the gates of the Green Earth headquarters. Fine, he'd been a lousy example of a leader last night, and Yuffie, as always, hadn't been hesitant to let him know that a moment ago. But that was one mission out of a thousand, and that in itself meant nothing. Neither did the half-baked opinion of a former ninja girl.

"Reno."

He snapped to attention automatically, then blinked and relaxed as he realized that Tseng had stopped walking and was gazing at him quizzically. They were standing at an intersection a block and a half away from the headquarters. The light was red. Cars rumbled by. He felt lightheaded.

"You're drifting," Tseng said.

He rubbed his eyes. "Sorry. I'll get some sleep in a little bit. Got a lot to think about."

They were silent up to Tseng's office, where Reno sank into the chair in front of the desk and propped his feet up on the stool next to it. Tseng switched off the humming radio and remained standing, staring down at him solemnly.

"What?" Reno demanded, twitching.

"Please tell me what happened."

He supposed there was no harm in that. Tseng was concerned about his wellbeing, as always, like a father worried about his favorite son, and Reno had for some reason always been the favorite son. It was as if Tseng didn't quite trust him to take care of himself. Sometimes it made him angry, but mostly it had been good because it made him push himself to the limit, just to prove that he could do it. So he sat there slouched in Tseng's chair in his dirty clothes and told the story in an abbreviated fashion of what he and Yuffie Kisaragi had found last night, and Tseng sat and listened without comment.

"If I hadn't sent Vincent," he said at last, "None of this would have happened."

Reno shrugged. "No. Instead, me or Rude or Highwind or somebody else here at Green Earth woulda gone out there to Niebelheim under Rufus' orders and gotten killed. You gotta admit Vincent Valentine's got things going for him that the rest of us mere humans don't have."

Tseng gave him a tight smile. "There is that. I called him for that very reason. It doesn't stop me from feeling guilty about it."

"I think," Reno said, "that both of us should stop feeling guilty for things that we can't help."

Tseng laughed. "Is that so?"

"That's so."

There was silence again, and then Tseng said, "Well if that's the case, then I'd like you to get that Materia from Yuffie Kisaragi."

"I've been trying all day," Reno growled. "She won't let me get near it. Not even for Rufus, and I know she and Rufus are in tight with each other."

His former boss began pacing abruptly, a slower, more methodical version of what Reno had been doing this morning in Rude's hospital room. "Did you see it?"

"It was red," Reno deadpanned. "It looked normal. It was dark, but from what I could see of the thing, it looked like any regular Summon Materia. I don't see why she'd want to hide it from the world. Sure, Materia these days go for sky-high prices on the black market, but I don't think even Yuffie'd stoop so low."

"Reno, your diplomatic skills are a bit lacking, you know."

"I don't need you of all people reminding me now."

Tseng turned back to him abruptly, his gaze hard. "I need you to understand this. Out of all of us, I'd expect you to be the one Yuffie would have the most confidence entrusting that Materia to. You were there with her last night. I certainly wouldn't have any luck with her, and she and Rufus are long-distance acquaintances at best. Tifa Lockhart would be useful if she was here, but she's not. She doesn't even know Elena, and I don't want to involve anyone else if I can help it."

Reno narrowed his eyes. " Why are you so bent on getting that Materia, anyway?"

"It's a clue," Tseng said. "We need everything we can get."

"Tseng-"

"You don't have to trust me," Tseng said softly. "Rufus has his own reasons, and I'm sorry I can't explain everything at the moment. But that Materia is very important."

Reno pushed himself up from the stuffed chair, feeling his tired muscles creak. "Look. I'll try. I'll be nicer to Yuffie. We're all tired. I'm gonna go take a nap and then try again. Give me some time."

"I didn't mean to sound like I'm giving you orders," Tseng said as Reno reached the door. "We're equals now."

"Yeah," Reno said sardonically. "For two people who are equals, you sure spend a lot of time telling me what to do."

He left the room at that, closing the door behind him but being careful not to slam it, because damned if he was going to show Tseng his temper again. Tseng and half of Green Earth already thought he was a sizzling rocket about to explode at all times. He supposed that had been true of late more often than not, but there was something in the air these past few months, a tingling that he could just barely make out with his dormant combat sense that reminded him of back then when they were chasing Sephiroth all over the world. It wasn't something he liked to think about, so he didn't. But the feeling was always there.

He left the main building, debated going home for a brief moment and decided against it. Home was a tiny flat on the second floor of one of Corel's newer housing units on the far side of town. In this state, he'd probably be run down by someone's car before he got there. Instead, he headed over to building 6, the inn that housed visiting employees, absentmindedly pressing the elevator button and getting in.

It took him a few seconds to realize that Yuffie was in the elevator with him.

"Earth to Reno," she teased. He had expected her to be angry with him about the Materia incident, but she was grinning instead, though the bags under her eyes belied her spry expression.

"I'm tired," he grunted, and then remembered his promise to Tseng and sighed. "Sorry. Long day."

"I hear ya," she said, and shrugged fluidly. "I know what you mean. Going to get some sleep?"

"I figure I'll crash on the couch down in the basement lounge or something. A few hours should be fine."

She seemed to be weighing something in her mind and then said, "If you want, you can crash on the bed in my guest room instead. I'm going out for a bit and won't need it."

He focused on her face for the first time since this whole ordeal began, trying to judge if she was being serious or not. It was always hard to tell with Yuffie Kisaragi; one minute she would be trying to save his life, the next minute she'd be playing a practical joke on him. But she looked serious this time, and for some reason the thought went through his mind again that she had grown up, filled out with the figure of a woman. She'd never be gracefully beautiful like Tifa Lockhart, but the former ninja was no longer all gangly awkwardness and childish glee.

"You grew your hair out," Reno said suddenly.

She frowned. "Well, yeah. I've been growing it out the past eight years or so, since-" A pause. Reno struggled to think through the fatigue, something important that had happened eight years ago, something terrible. Cloud. "Um, what does that have to do with you needing sleep?"

"Sorry," he said. "Nothing. Are you for real, or is this one of your tricks again?"

"I feel sorry for you," she told him imperiously. "You look like someone's Chocobo ran you over forwards and backwards and then some."

He winced. She still had that way with words. "I'm tired. Not dead. A nap and I'll be just fine."

Yuffie shrugged again, eyeing him with a look that said, you're crazy. "Well, suit yourself," she said. "No skin off my back either way, you know."

This was true. "Sure," he said then. "Why not? I'll take the offer."

"Fourth floor, then." She jabbed a button on the lighted panel and the elevator creaked back upward.

Reno wondered if this was a good time to bring up the fact that he needed her to give him the Materia. Then the thought struck him that if he was going to be alone in her quarters with her out doing who knows what, all he'd have to do was find the Conformer and remove the Materia from the weapon. So he said nothing as the elevator pinged and the doors slid open. Building 6's bland, carpeted hallway met his gaze, the walls neatly set with numbered doors at regular intervals.

"I only got one key," Yuffie said, motioning him to the left. "So if you leave, you can't get back in. Tough luck if that happens."

"I got the message," he grumbled, feeling testy again. "You know, if you're going to be snotty about it, I'll go sleep somewhere else."

"We're here," Yuffie said, ignoring him. She produced an electronic key, waving it in front of the sensor lock, and the door clicked and swung open silently.

Reno had never been in one of Building 6's guestrooms before, and he was surprised to find that though Yuffie's room was small, as he had thought, it was well furnished. The floors were bare hardwood, a little scuffed and scraped, but the furniture was solid with a big bed at the far end of the room and a sofa against the right wall. There was a small kitchenette area adjoining the main room, where one could make coffee or scramble eggs for breakfast.

"This is pretty nice," he said.

Yuffie jerked her head at him to come in. "It's decent. I'm leaving Corel tomorrow in any case. Gotta get back to the real world."

Her tone irritated him. "Then what is this?" he countered. "Valentine doesn't mean anything to you?"

She stiffened. "Vince can take care of himself," she said coldly. "This isn't my fight, Reno. I've seen what I want to see, and for the moment I don't want any part of it. I paid my respects to Rufus this morning after I made sure Vincent was all right, and he understands. I've got my own life."

"Yeah," Reno said sardonically, "Thanks for being so noble about it."

"You're welcome," she snapped. "Is that all? I got places to be."

"For someone who's so intent on leaving Corel, you've sure got a lot of appointments in town."

"And what's it to you?"

Reno went to the couch and made a great show of pulling off his boots, though it was a relief to be able to flex his toes again after sleeping in the damn things for three days. "Well, I just figure if you're going to wash your hands of this business, what's the harm of handing over that Materia to us so we can look at it?"

"I knew you were going to say that," she said. "The answer is no. And no. And also no."

He got to his feet, trying to stay calm, knowing it wasn't working. "Damn, woman. What good is that Materia going to be to you? You don't need it!"

"You can't have it," she said again, and he glanced around the room, saw the wrapped shape of the Conformer leaning against the wall next to the bed. It was now or never, he decided, and made a lunge for it.

As he expected, she'd seen what he was going to do and dove across the room for her weapon, banging into the wall with a loud whumph, blocking the giant shuriken as he slammed into the wall with his hands. He barely missed her head and crash-landed into the wall with both arms outspread, one on either side of her. She didn't flinch.

If he'd had more sleep, perhaps he would have been faster. But Reno had had six hours of sleep in two days, sleep filled with nightmares about Geostigma, about the invisible monster that had taken down both his best friend and the ex-Turk who he had always thought invincible. Nothing was sacred any more.

He had been Tseng's golden child. But if Rude and Vincent hadn't been able to stop it, what good could he do?

"Yuffie," he said. "Lady Kisaragi." Her eyes wavered at the formal title, and he pushed on, sounding desperate and not caring. "Please. Let me have it. Or, at least tell me why it's so important."

"I can't," she ground out. "And I changed my mind. I think you should leave now."

She sounded so infuriatingly calm, her dark eyes flashing fire at the same time. Reno clenched his hands into fists against the wall, trying to think of something, anything, that might make her listen to him, and then he did the last thing in the world that both of them expected.

He leaned down and kissed her.

[drabble] Sen to Chihiro: The Sea Calls Me

2007-04-03T22:03:49Z

This is for yokozuki, who requested Sen to Chihiro no Kamikakushi drabble-fare. XD

Spirited Away [Sen to Chihiro no Kamikakushi]
Chihiro, 595 words

On her fifteenth birthday, Chihiro's father took her to the beach. They went by train, as it was too far for him to justify spending the gas, and her mother packed shrimp and mayonnaise sandwiches to take along. Chihiro had never cared for mayonnaise, but her mother was working full time as a secretary at some big company an hour away, and couldn't be trusted to remember such things.

The weather forecast called for rain. When they got to the beach, it was cloudy, but at least it was not packed with screaming crowds, bratty children running around in next to nothing, throwing sand. Her father unfolded beach blankets while Chihiro and her mother staked out a spot on the sand and spread out their small picnic lunch. They ate mostly in silence, though it was a good silence, one that spoke of quiet contentment over the sound of waves on the shore.

At the end of the pier by the parking lot, there was a small, red flag waving in the breeze. "To warn people about the sharks," her father said, but Chihiro had never heard of any sharks. "Don't go swimming down there. It's dangerous."

She walked down to investigate anyway, after her parents had fallen asleep. The flag was much larger than it had looked from their picnic area. The sun came out from behind the clouds for a moment, warming the wood, and she took a careful seat on the creaking pier, swinging her legs just above the surface of the water.

She could have sworn for a second as she looked down, that something moved there. She dismissed it as just the movement of the water out of the corner of her eye, but there was a splashing from behind her, like someone dropping rocks in the water. Chihiro jerked her legs out of the water, spinning around, but there was no one there.

From far away, she heard the sound of a train's whistle. Something rustled about her head, like the flutter of wings, and she paused, poised to turn but almost afraid to, and then she realized it was just the red flag snapping in the wind.

The train's horn came again, and she closed her eyes, stretched her arms out and began to walk in the direction of the sound of water. One foot, then the other, small, timid strides that still did not falter. When her left foot met not wood, but air, she let herself fall in.

Water closed above her head. The air leave her lungs in a whoosh, but she felt curiously alive. When she opened her eyes, the water was filled with birds, sunlight shimmering on their scaled wings. She reached out one hand to them, but they scattered, leaving glimmering bubbles in their wake. She was not afraid when her vision began to black at the edges and her lungs gasped for air and found none. The fish-birds flickered back into sight, and she gave a sigh and closed her eyes as their cold feathers brushed her skin.

Who are you? she thought, and the feathers seemed to say, don't be afraid.

When she opened her eyes again, she saw the cloudy sky and the frayed edge of their old beach umbrella above her, the shadow of her father on the other side packing up the cooler. "It's going to rain, Chihiro," he said. "We'd better start heading back."

She sat up. Her clothes were dry. The pier's familiar wooden shape loomed in the distance, but the red flag was gone.

[original] Imaginary Beasts webzine submission: Elevator Music

2007-04-01T17:25:18Z

The new issue of the imaginarybeasts webzine is out, and I must say it looks fantastic. The theme was "love".

Please go check out the stories written by some really talented authors. Yours truly also has one up, entitled Elevator Music. Signups for the next issue are also ongoing now, if anyone is interested in writing original fiction, or drawing some art. ^_^

[fic] FFVII: Gunpowder and Firecrackers (chapter 8)

2007-03-02T02:55:07Z

Hey hey, here's another chapter of G&F! It's Yuffie this time, and finally stuff starts happening XD If you'll look down there at the header stuff, I've added another pairing. Yes, you know it. And it's all adrenalynnrush's fault...as usual. ^_~

Next up should be Sen to Chihiro, for yokozuki.

FINAL FANTASY VII
Gunpowder and Firecrackers
[Other header stuff: PG-13, Tifa/Rude, Rufus/Yuffie, AU to DoC, spoilers up to end of AC]

It is fifteen years after Meteor, thirteen years after Kadaj's defeat. Rufus Shinra, leader of the world philanthropic organization Green Earth, has been having odd dreams about Cloud Strife, about Sephiroth, about the mysterious town of Nibelheim. In a world where peace is as fragile and elusive as the voices of the lost Ancients, the old members of AVALANCHE and Shinra struggle to piece together the secrets of the Lifestream and Jenova's legacy in a race against time to save the ones they love.

VIII. Yuffie

The first glimpse Yuffie had of Rufus Shinra in almost thirteen years was the back of his golden head as he bent over a filing cabinet, scribbling something on a sheet of crumpled paper. His office was smaller than she had expected, with the straight-backed, leather executive chair the only item of luxury in eyesight. The hardwood floor was faintly scratched, the heavy wooden desk antique and a little rundown, functional bookcases lining the walls of the room from floor to ceiling except for where the large picture window opened out into the front lawn of the Green Earth complex, behind Rufus' desk. The sun was going down over the mountains.

Yuffie cleared her throat.

He looked as surprised to see her as she was to be in Corel, the pen almost dropping from his hand as he blinked, and then smiled and said, "I didn't think you would come."

"You twisted my arms and practically dragged me here," she said, plunking her bag down on the floor and crossing her arms. The Conformer twisted uncomfortably on its strap behind her back at the movement. The weapon was not made to be carried while she crossed her arms, but she didn't care. "Don't act so shocked, Shinra."

Rufus laughed and ran one hand through his hair. It was as blonde and thick as ever, though something in his face was unsettled, as if he truly had not expected her here. "I'm glad you made it, then," he said. "Do sit down. There's a chair over there in the corner."

"I'll stand," Yuffie said. "I won't be long. Just came by to tell you that I'm holed up in your visitor's quarters. Nice place you got here."

"Have some coffee?"

She frowned. "I hate coffee. And who drinks coffee at five in the evening? Wait - are you trying to be hospitable?"

He put down the pen and paper on his desk and sighed, the smile dropping from his face. "You act as if we're enemies. Or at the least, strangers."

Yuffie bent her head a little to hide the rush of blood to her face. She was acting trapped and cornered and knew it, but there didn't seem to be anything she could do about it. It had been, as far back as she could remember, one defense mechanism she'd thrown out in front of her in awkward social situations, pushing the other person back behind the wall of her own stubborn indifference. "Sorry," she muttered. "I guess I wasn't sure what to expect."

Rufus' expression softened, and she looked away. He looked like Lord Godo after one of his rages, whenever she made him angry and he'd spent his temper berating her stupidity, before calming down into the benevolent father and launching into one of his parables. But that was the past, and she was not a child any longer. "I think we were both a little surprised," he said, coming from behind the desk and holding out his hand. "It's been a while since we last saw each other. Truce?"

She stared at his outstretched hand, then dared looked into his face, into the blue eyes that held no guile, only truth. "The last time I saw you, your sorry ass was being dragged out of the Shinra building by emergency rescue."

"The last time I saw you," he countered, "you were trying to kill me."

She cracked a smile at that, and stuck her hand out. His grip was firm but gentle, and he had smaller hands than she expected for a man who had once been the most powerful man in the world. "I'll shake on that," she said. "Truce."

As he started to release her hand and go back around the corner of his desk, she realized suddenly that he was limping, holding onto the desk side with one hand. She clamped onto his hand tightly, as if letting him go would break the fragile promise they'd just made. Her eyes flashed to the filing cabinet and the black-and-silver cane that leaned casually against one side. Not quite surreptitiously, she glanced at his legs. She couldn't tell anything from the long pants that covered them, but there was something not quite right with the way his feet lined up and the way they moved, slow and crooked like an old man's.

She'd known that he had lost most of the use of his legs after the Shinra building collapsed. Everyone knew that. He'd mentioned it once or twice in his letters. But seeing it now somehow drove the point home that Rufus Shinra was no longer invincible.

"It's nothing," he said, before she could venture a word. "Bodies are fickle, temporary things, in any case."

"Does it..." she hesitated. "Hurt?"

Rufus considered this for a moment. "Sometimes," he said finally. "When the weather changes. In the mornings, at night." He smiled again, as if to reassure her. "I've gotten used to it over the past fifteen years, after my sorry ass, as you put it, was rescued. I had plenty of time to think while I was trapped there in bed, recovering."

Yuffie flushed. "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking when I said that."

"Again, it's nothing. If you'll let go of my hand now-?"

Her flush deepened and she dropped his hand, cheeks burning. "Sorry," she said again. Yuffie Kisaragi, this is definitely not your day.

He released her hand and stepped back to the desk, paused, seemed to think better of it and instead gestured to a heavy wooden chair by the wall. "Please sit and have some coffee," he said. "It's freshly brewed, black, but I can add sugar and cream if you like. You look tired, and I find the coffee helps."

Yuffie found that she did not mind so much, so she unbuckled the Conformer's belt from across her chest and laid it gently down on the floor before sliding onto the chair. Her cheeks were still hot, and she rubbed them with the back of one hand, hoping he didn't see. "I'll take it with some sugar, thank you. You look tired, too. Long days in the office?"

She couldn't see his face with his back to her, but she swore that he stiffened. "It's nothing," he said. "I've not been sleeping well lately." He turned with a steaming mug in his hands that smelled wonderful, and she got up quickly, walking to him and taking it gratefully. She'd caught the first airship into Corel from the coast and hadn't had time to grab breakfast. Breakfast on the airship itself was out of the question, considering that she'd probably throw it all back up the moment she got it down. "How are affairs in Wutai? I believe I caught you up on everything happening here in the last letter, but you unfortunately had no time to write back."

"Nice way of putting it," she said, leaning back in her chair. She was itching to ask him about Nibelheim and Rude, but if there was one thing she'd learned from knowing Rufus Shinra for thirteen years long distance, it was that he took time to warm up to a topic. Pushing him would do no good. She'd known that when she called him three days ago, and winding up here in Corel was not what she'd had in mind. "Wutai is fine. We've finally finished fixing up the southern part of the city, the area destroyed in the war with Shinra. It used to be all slums and falling down rubble, but it looks nice now."

"I'm glad it's working out for you," Rufus said. "The war with Shinra...well. I'm trying to make it up to you as best as I can. My father could be quite brutal when he wanted to be."

"You've done us a world of good with your airships and publicity," Yuffie said, shrugging. "We've had another population boom recently, a bunch of expats moving back in from the Junon area. A lot of the old folks won't live in the new area still - some Wutaians are superstitious folk and are afraid of spirits of the war dead or some such thing. But most of the newcomers don't care that much. It's government subsidized housing and a sight cheaper than most of the old land."

"Do any of these expatriates have valid claim to their ancestor's property rights?"

"Some do," Yuffie acknowledged. "A lot of them have the old paperwork, stuff in the back of their great-great-great-grandfather's safes and things like that. Of course, most of it means nothing since that land was destroyed in the wars or they'd been gone so long the property rights reverted to my father, who sold it back to the town. But...we do as best as we can."

"Very interesting," Rufus mused. "You know, we could use you in Corel, lady. The property disputes here are something else."

Yuffie grunted and sipped her coffee. It burned her tongue. "Sorry, Shinra. You're on your own there. I've got my own little city-state to take care of."

He laughed again. "I know. And I'm sorry to have called you here when I know you're busy in Wutai."

Ah, Yuffie thought. Now he's ready to talk. "Apology accepted," she said. "At least, it will be once I know what you're beating around the bush about. Why am I here again?"

Rufus had been leaning against the edge of his desk, but now he straightened, pushing the chair back and standing. It pained her to see him leaning so heavily on the chair arm as he struggled to do so, all the while with a nonchalant expression that held just a hint of challenge, as if to say, I dare anyone to tell me that I cannot do even this.

She didn't say anything. She simply watched as he hobbled to the picture window and leaned there against the wall, fingering the heavy drapes absently. The setting sun made a halo around his golden hair, and Yuffie blinked rapidly to clear the red-orange afterglow from her vision.

"I sent Rude to Nibelheim four days ago," he said. "It didn't go well."

*

Seven hours later, perched on the back of Reno's motorbike as they sped across the night-shrouded mountains toward Nibelheim, Yuffie wondered again at the strange circumstances that had brought her and Rufus Shinra and the rest of Green Earth together. It was almost like the giant manhunt that had occurred when Cloud had gone missing, a mobilization that had reminded her eerily of AVALANCHE after Cloud had been lost in the Lifestream after confronting Sephiroth at the Northern Crater. Everyone's emotions had been taut, the worry so palpable in the air that Yuffie had to fight back tears at night when she climbed into bed. She knew Tifa cried, and so she had vowed she would not, because she had to be strong for her friend.

In the end, Cloud had not been found, and life had gradually adjusted itself to a world without Cloud Strife, a world in which Tifa Lockhart went back to Edge and started dating Rude, a world in which Cid's wife left him to strike out on her own, a world in which Yuffie had lost touch with most of her old friends over the years. It was as if Cloud, hard as he had been to reach, had been the glue that had held them all together.

"I've been having dreams," Rufus had told her. "They're bits and pieces of things - Sephiroth, mostly, but sometimes other things, strange things. Sometimes I hear the Cetra girl speaking to me. Other times I am walking through the gates of some abandoned town, and I can feel something moving in the tunnels at the far end, though it's quiet."

Yuffie had shivered, though it was warm in Rufus' office. "Is this town...Nibelheim?"

"I sent Rude to Nibelheim," Rufus said, not denying her guess. "He was attacked. Luckily, he made it back to Costa del Sol and got help back to Corel. He gave me a cursory report." He'd turned back to her abruptly at that phrase, staring intently at her face as if trying to gauge her reaction. "He found Cloud Strife's star pendant at the entrance to a series of tunnels that used to be the building they called the Shinra Mansion."

"Used to?" Yuffie echoed, but Rufus dropped his gaze.

"I would like you to go to Nibelheim with Reno. I think whatever is in those tunnels is important. Reno can fill you in on the way."

Yuffie stared at him. "Now?"

When Rufus spoke, he sounded strained. "Please speak with Reno. I gave him orders to leave at his discretion."

"Rufus," Yuffie said, standing and gripping the Conformer tightly in one hand, as if the weapon's cold touch could give her strength. "How detailed exactly are these dreams?"

He had smiled tightly. "You don't want to know."

Nibelheim's not there anymore, Reno said, the first words out of his mouth after Yuffie had said hello and told him she was going with him. He hadn't looked too happy about the prospect, and if the situation hadn't been so serious, she would have probably taken the opportunity to make his life miserable for a few hours. It wasn't that she didn't like Reno - she did. The two of them were just too much alike. Talking to Reno was sometimes like talking to herself, and too much of that drove her crazy.

What, it was burned down again?

Reno's mouth had quirked. I asked Rude the same thing. He said no. It's just not there.

It was as much information as either of them knew. Rude had been unable to describe the town in more detail than that, Reno said, and had told them to stay away from it. Cloud's star pendant was warm around Yuffie's neck, and she clutched it as the bike bumped over a particularly nasty ridge or perhaps tree root, praying that Reno's driving would get them there alive.

"It's not my driving you have to worry about on this trip, ma'am," Reno told her over one shoulder as if reading her mind. She rolled her eyes.

"I'm sorry I'm not Tifa Lockhart, but I'll have to do."

Reno jerked slightly and after a moment she realized that he was laughing. "Tifa had her reasons," he said. "Long as I have someone with me that can hit a target reasonably without getting killed, that's all I care about. Besides, Valentine's at Nibelheim already, or so I'm told."

She blinked in mild shock. "Vincent is? What? Why-?"

"We'll see when we get there, won't we?" He sounded harsh, the words forced. He must be worried, Yuffie realized. She wished she could ask him, Is it Rude? Is it Vincent? She didn't think he had any filial feeling for Vincent, but the two of them had always gotten along professionally, if not personally, and Nibelheim being an unknown quantity was not something she'd wish on anyone. She'd heard enough of the nightmarish story from Cloud and Tifa, and didn't need to know any more.

Tifa...now there was someone they could sorely use right now. Except that Tifa had turned away after their initial greeting last night and said, "Yuffie, I can't stay. I'm going home."

Yuffie had understood, even if she didn't want to. It was more than Denzel being missing, a fact which she dismissed easily as Reeve being an overprotective father-type. Tifa was running again, running from Cloud and running from Rude. "Rude really does love you, you know," she had said.

The look in Tifa's eyes was almost unbearably sad. "I know. That's why I have to go."

She had almost told Tifa that she was making no sense at all, but it was useless. Tifa always made sense, because Tifa didn't ever want to say no to anyone, and this time when she did have the guts to say no, Yuffie wasn't going to be the one to call her on it. "Okay," she said instead. "I hope things work out with Denzel. I think Reeve is worried over nothing."

Tifa had given her a tight smile. "Let's hope."

It was only after the other woman had gone that Yuffie had realized that it was the first time she'd seen Tifa in almost eight years.

"What's up?" Reno said.

Yuffie blinked, roused from her stupor. "Huh?"

"You went stiff all of a sudden. You're not going chicken on me, are ya?"

She debated a few answers and settled with, "I'm worried about Tifa."

To his credit, he didn't laugh it off. "I know," he said simply, and she rolled those words around in her head, considering them and finding them acceptable. Anyone who thought that Reno was a blabbermouth surely didn't know him, because the man was a genius at picking and choosing his words. Reno talked, but he never talked carelessly.

"Thanks," she told him, and he shrugged against her as the wind roared by.

"Not much either of us can do now about it. Tifa's gotta figure out stuff by herself. How'd your talk with the boss man go?"

Rufus' face, still proud and golden even as he hobbled towards her with his cane and his crippled foot, flashed into her memory. "Fine," she said. "He gave me the short version of the story. Whatever's in those tunnels is important, he says. Funny, I'd have liked to get the long version of this before heading out on some assignment where I might be killed."

Reno snorted. "There's not much to the longer version. Rufus keeps to himself most of these days, and I couldn't wean much more out of him. Once he heard that Valentine had gone ahead of us, he told me to hurry and catch up, and Valentine would explain everything."

"He's right, you know," Yuffie said.

"What?"

"Vincent's smart. He'll figure out what's going on."

A heave of the shoulders meant that Reno sighed, a sound lost on the wind. "I hope you're right. Cause at this point I don't think even Rufus has much to go on."

Dreams, thought Yuffie, and Reno shifted gears. The motorcycle's roar dulled to a hum, the metal purring between her knees and the motor dropping as they coasted to a stop between two arching mountain peaks, black in the distance against the starry sky. The moon was hidden behind a bank of clouds.

"Now what?" she asked, and Reno turned the key in the ignition. Everything went very still. There should have been some sort of night sounds - insects, birds, the rustling of things in the undergrowth that tickled Yuffie's exposed knees and legs above her boots - but she could hear nothing. She shivered.

"Now," Reno said, "we walk."

They moved silently and swiftly through the thick underbrush, too thick for the normal growth surrounding a town. Weeds twisted in treacherous thorny tangles under their feet, and Yuffie caught herself from falling once or twice by sheer luck and quick reflexes. There was no need to say it - she could see that Reno felt it too, that ominous foreboding that lingered in the air like invisible smoke. She recognized the area by the distance of the mountains, and there should have been lights and the sound of people and smoke from fireplaces and chimneys. But it was dark and still.

"What's that?" she hissed suddenly, and Reno turned as she pointed up to their left at a dark shadow looming out of the undergrowth. He made a signal and they tracked toward it, halting as the object resolved into sharp planes and angles and the shining metal of a propeller.

"Valentine's plane," Reno whispered close to her ear, and she nodded. It was the airplane Vincent had taken into Nibelheim, but a quick look revealed that he was not inside or anywhere in the vicinity.

They backtracked to the trail, which had now become a muddy, barely visible path between the weeds. If this had been Nibelheim's main road, then they surely should be entering the town by now, but she could see nothing except the surrounding weeds and taller scraggly trees and mountains.

Reno's hand on her shoulder stopped her in her tracks. But even as he moved his hand away, her tracker's skills screamed at her and she whipped around to the right, where the enormous maw of a cave opened, yawning and black, behind the rusted remains of an iron fence.

Something moved there.

Reno was already running past the old gate opening, stumbling over unseen brambles and debris, falling to his knees. Yuffie did not need to run, moving slowly and carefully like an old woman in Reno's footsteps, wobbling to the spot where the cloak-swathed figure of Vincent Valentine lay sprawled on the ground, one hand clutching his bloodstained side, the other wrapped tightly around him as if warding off something.

"You idiot!" Reno hissed, and Vincent raised his head.

"I was afraid you were not going to come."

"Vincent," Yuffie said hollowly. "Vince. Is it bad? Are you bleeding?"

In the dim light of the moon she couldn't tell that his eyes were different from any other man's - glinting darkly, face carefully neutral against the terrible pain she knew he must be feeling right now. She stumbled to Reno's side, grabbed the red-haired man's shoulder for support. Reno did not move away.

"I'll live," Vincent said softly. "More importantly, the thing in that cave will not bother anyone again. I have taken care of it. Please get me back to my plane."

"You're crazy!"

He looked at her and she could almost swear his lips were curved in a smile. "Yuffie, I'm fine. I've suffered much worse and survived."

"Lady Kisaragi," Reno said abruptly, twisting his head around to regard her with a flat stare. She shivered. He'd never called her that before, not seriously. "Please escort Mr. Valentine to his ship. I will return to Corel on the motorcycle."

She opened her mouth to protest wildly, that she couldn't let Reno navigate through the dark mountains alone, that she always got sick during air travel, and then shut it again. Vincent was injured, and someone needed to fly that plane.

Yuffie Kisaragi was still a fighter.

"Let's go, Vincent," she said, letting go of Reno's shoulder. Her legs felt steady now, like stone pillars, as she reached down and helped the injured man gently to his feet. She'd forgotten how heavy he was, and as he leaned on her she willed her stone-strong legs to stay that way, not to collapse into the puddles of terrified goo that they had been moments earlier. Her friends needed her, and damned if she was going to fall apart now. The blood from Vincent's cloak seeped into the side of her shirt, still warm and damp.

She was about to steer him back through the ruined iron fence in the direction of the parked ship when Vincent shook his head and stopped. She looked back up at him, then looked at Reno, who had made as if to follow them with an odd, frozen look on his face.

"Vince?" she said. Her voice trembled.

With an effort, Vincent extended his free arm, the human one that was not slung across Yuffie's shoulders like an enormously heavy metal sling. The moon came out behind the clouds fully then. She stared, sickly fascinated, at the spiderweb of red and blue and black patches that crawled up the skin of his arm, at the pale blisters breaking the skin's surface, recognizing that they were Geostigma symptoms in their advanced stage, even more than that, because she'd never seen anyone with those terrible, oozing blisters before.

"Please take this," Vincent said, and something heavy and cold and familiar landed in her palm. She wrenched her gaze away from his dying arm and to the thing in her hand, a very small, very solid, and very ordinary red Summon Materia.

[rambling] Request post again!

2007-02-16T05:05:30Z

Here's another one of these ever-so-often request threads! I know I've got a ton of series I SHOULD be working on, but...as happens from time to time, I need a kick in the butt, so I figured I might as well get it from you guys! I know I've been working on a lot of Final Fantasy VII stuff lately, so here's your chance to get something else written from me if you want it. XD

I'm open to any all requests for one-shots in the fandoms I'm familiar with below:

anime/game/manga
Cowboy Bebop
Escaflowne
Final Fantasy VII/AC (haven't played Dirge yet, sorry)
Final Fantasy VIII
Fruits Basket (only the anime)
Fushigi Yuugi
Gundam Wing
Gundam X
Kino no Tabi
Macross (any series)
Shoujo Kakumei Utena
Tokyo Babylon
Touch
Versailles no Bara

movies
Anything Ghibli, esp Sen to Chihiro (aka Spirited Away)
Casshern
Moon Child
Nana
Star Wars (except the New Jedi Order)

books
Howl's Moving Castle
Musashi
Romance of the Three Kingdoms (does fic even exist for this?)

I know a lot of people would like to see more FMA fic from me, but sadly enough it's been years since I've seen that series and I don't remember much about it because I never saw the ending. Same with Initial D...two series I would love to go back and finish, but haven't.

I realize I still owe several people fics, as listed on the sticky post at the top of my LJ. Also, consider Cacophony a given for requests *groan* Have you ever had one of those fics where you know how it's going to end and you've already written it a dozen times in your head, so you don't feel motivated to write it all down? That's how that one is. I'll get around to it one of these days. At least it's not a matter of writer's block this time.

Anyway...request away!

[fic] FFVII: Gunpowder & Firecrackers (chapter 7)

2007-02-16T04:34:38Z

FINAL FANTASY VII
Gunpowder and Firecrackers
[Other header stuff: PG-13, Tifa/Rude, AU to DoC, spoilers up to end of AC]

It is fifteen years after Meteor, thirteen years after Kadaj's defeat. Rufus Shinra, leader of the world philanthropic organization Green Earth, has been having odd dreams about Cloud Strife, about Sephiroth, about the mysterious town of Nibelheim. In a world where peace is as fragile and elusive as the voices of the lost Ancients, the old members of AVALANCHE and Shinra struggle to piece together the secrets of the Lifestream and Jenova's legacy in a race against time to save the ones they love.

VII. Tifa

"Denzel's missing."

Reno's mouth was set in a tight, compressed line of worry, shoulders slumped and exhausted. Tifa could see him leaning heavily on the doorjamb. He hadn't looked hurt or tired when he had picked her up at the Corel Airport on a borrowed scooter, whisking her through traffic with only a few clipped words. She'd been worried then, but in the dim lamplight, she decided that he looked like he hadn't slept in days.

Just like her.

"What?" she said dumbly.

Reno took two more steps into the room, his hand grasping at his belt for a weapon that wasn't there. "Marlene just called. Reeve's there at the bar now with her. He'd met Denzel for lunch two days ago and no one's seen the kid since."

Denzel, missing? He'd been gone for days on end before on deliveries, just as Cloud had, and Tifa had never paid it any mind. Out of all the men in her life, those two were the ones she had tried not to think too hard about.

"Maybe he's just out on a delivery," she told Reno hopefully. "He's done it before. Sometimes he's so absentminded that he forgets to leave a note."

Reno frowned. "I hope so. Marlene's holding up pretty good, but seems like Reeve's the one who wants to mobilize the city for a manhunt. I wouldn't put it past him, either. He's got the funds."

"He's watched Denzel grow up," Tifa said softly. "Practically the boy's foster father. I…" she trailed off. She what? She was in Corel, had spent the entire day yesterday sitting by Rude's bedside and watching him sleep, soothing him in soft tones when he spasmed from what seemed like black nightmares. Cloud, he repeated over and over. No, Cloud, don't do this. After the sun had set and the nightmares grew worse, Tifa had called Reno into the room, and fled Rude's hoarse whispering of the name of the man she still loved.

Reno had found her later slumped morosely over an untouched drink in the town's only bar, a tiny wooden affair that looked like it had been constructed out of more of the wreckage of Barret's hometown and then whitewashed, though it was a sight better than the ramshackle slums that had occupied the scrub-brush slopes fifteen years ago during their chase of Sephiroth. "Lockhart?" his voice had said from behind her, and she did not turn, just watched him out of the corner of her eye as he slid onto the stool next to her and cupped his head in his hands. It was the first time she'd seen Reno enter a bar and not order anything.

"Corel looks nice," she told him flatly. "Congratulations."

"Don't say things you don't mean."

As usual, Reno wore his sharp tongue on his sleeve. "I was being genuine," she said. "I hadn't been back to Corel since before-" she stopped. "Never mind," she amended quickly. "Anyway, you guys have done a good job in the eight years since then."

She was half afraid to look at him just in case the look on his face was one of pity, but when Reno spoke, it was with his usual jaunty carelessness. "I take no credit," he said blandly. "I'm just one of the lackeys. Congratulate Tseng or Cid Highwind whenever you see them. They're the ones putting in the real work - Tseng with the manpower and Highwind with the transport."

Tifa took a sip of her drink, decided she didn't like it, and pushed it to the side. "Want some?"

"If you're not drinking it, it means the drink sucks, so no."

She almost smiled at that. "Thanks. I think."

"Rude's awake," Reno said.

It took her a few seconds to decide a correct response. "That's good," she said. "I'll go see him after we leave here."

"I'm going back out to Nibelheim tonight." Reno hesitated, curling his fists as if trying to test the waters. "I was hoping you'd come with me."

The babbling of voices and usual bar din roared in her ears and she clenched her fingers on the glass of her unfinished drink, half-wishing for her gloves so she could shatter it into a million pieces. The dream she'd had a week ago flared to life in her mind again - Sephiroth silhouetted against the roaring flames, the buster sword heavy in her hands, her pleading voice asking why. Why, Sephiroth, why?

The heavy beams and tubes of the reactor ceiling, with that one name imprinted over and over again.

JENOVA

"Did Rude say anything to you?"

Rude. No, Tifa wanted to say. Rude hasn't said anything to me. I can guess.

"Tifa?"

"I'm...sorry," she said, and knocked over her stool in her eagerness to flee that place. She wasn't quite sure where she was going, except that interior of the bar was too hot and too bright, and the dry Corel night air was cool, dusty, someplace where she could lose herself in the scrub brush and desert vegetation dotting the moonlit hills. The thick tread of her sensible hiking boots were muffled on the smooth, paved roads, and she did not remember the way back to the place where Rude lay, but that did not quite matter.

Nevertheless, it was without too much surprise that she found herself standing at his door, raising one hand to knock softly, sliding it open at his muffled permission to enter.

Rude's face looked unnaturally pale in the soft light, but his expression was one of a man well-rested and healing, and the swelling around his eyes and mouth was almost gone. She resisted the urge to run to him and bury her face in his chest and cry her eyes out. Tifa Lockhart was not that weak. Instead, she went to the dresser and poured him a glass from the stone pitcher, which had been full of ice cubes five hours ago and now was full of lukewarm water.

"How are you feeling?"

"I've been worse," he said, accepting the glass with a murmured thanks and downing it in one gulp. He turned to place it on the table, then glanced at her, his gaze softening.

"Thank you for coming after me."

She shifted uncomfortably. "It's nothing. Reno called, and...well. It just didn't seem right that I should stay in Edge when you were-"

His good arm came around her and she found herself falling back against his chest onto the bed in the position that she had so hoped to avoid earlier. The tears were inevitable, and she wrapped her own arms around him and sobbed. His hands stroked her hair in smooth motions, his breath warm and familiar against her cheek. "Tifa," he said. "I'm all right. Don't worry about me."

She didn't dare look up at him when her tears ran out, simply snuffled against his shirt and closed her eyes, listening to the beat of his heart. Rude was a big man - big hands and big shoulders and a large, muscular chest. She always felt small nestled into the crook of his arm. Cloud, on the other hand-

"I was afraid," she told him, speaking into the folds of the blanket wrapped loosely around him. "I thought - well, Reno didn't give me details. I didn't even get to tell Denzel-" she stopped, stiffening. Rude must have sensed the change immediately, because he shifted and let her roll over, push herself against the bed and stare at him with wide eyes. "Rude, Reeve says that Denzel is missing."

He frowned. The expression made several small creases between his eyes, which she usually found endearing when the situation was not so serious. "Are you sure he's just not out on an unexpected delivery?"

Tifa stared at the wall, trying to bore holes in it with her eyes. "I'm hoping that's the case." She licked her lips. "If he's not back by the day after tomorrow, I'm going to look for him."

Cloud would have railed at her, telling her it was a stupid idea. Her job was to run the bar, and if anyone was going to do the looking and sweaty, unpleasant work, it was Cloud Strife. Rude, on the other hand, tightened his arm around her shoulders, and said, "Where do you plan to look?"

"I don't know," she said softly. "But I already lost one man. I'm not losing another."

Rude was quiet. "Did Reno tell you?" he asked at last. "About Nibelheim."

"He wants me to go with him tonight."

"Don't go," Rude said, and the quiet undercurrent in his voice was so suddenly deadly that she twisted around to stare at him again, at the bright piercing eyes too often hidden behind dark glasses, the thick eyebrows and the shadow of unshaven skin around his mouth, the high arch of his nose and the way his cheekbones shaped the planes of his face that she had come to cherish.

"Part of me says that I shouldn't let Reno go alone," she admitted, trying not to show that Rude's surge of passion over the topic had unnerved her somewhat. "On the other hand, there's Denzel. I'll be going somewhere either way. I can't sit here and do nothing while the world turns around me, Rude."

"I understand," he said. "But don't go to Nibelheim."

Ire rose in her for a brief moment, anger that this man, now that they were engaged to be married, would be trying to dictate her life. But that was short-lived, and she drew her legs up to her chest, resting her chin on her knees. "I don't know what to do," she whispered. "I'm scared, Rude. My life seems to be coming apart at the seams, and I can't stop it. I'm a fighter...at least I thought I was. But I feel so...helpless."

Rude's hand slipped down to the small of her back and rested there, a warm reminder of his presence. "I'm here, aren't I?"

"Yes," she told him quietly. "And I understand that's the reason you don't want me to go to Nibelheim. But if there's something that has to do with-"

"It has nothing to do with you," he said harshly, and then swallowed. "Tifa. Please."

"Rude, Reno showed me the star pendant. And you were talking in your sleep."

His gaze met hers for a moment and then shifted, looking somewhere beyond her, far away beyond the wall and the borders of Corel into the wilderness outside this small oasis of civilization. "Forgive me," he said. "I'm just trying to protect you."

A surge of an emotion she could not name, along with a reckless boldness, rose within her and she unwrapped her arms from her knees, crawling forward and slipping under the blanket, pressing up against Rude's warm body with her own. "I know," she told him, stroking his face gently with her hands. "But I'm past the point of needing protection."

He closed his eyes. "Then tell me what you do need, Tifa."

The ghost of a memory flitted before her. I'm the same Cloud you grew up with, aren't I?

"Rude..." she whispered, entwining his good hand with one of hers, "I need some time...Just give me a little time."

They lay like that for a while, holding each other and drowsing, until Tifa felt Rude's breathing deepen and slow and the injured man slept. She untangled herself from him and got up softly, shivering as the chill desert night air hit her skin, pulling the blankets around him and kissing him lightly on the forehead, and then left his room.

She followed the hallways of the hospital aimlessly for a while, pacing with her hands clasped behind her back, half wishing for her old combat gloves that were packed safely in her suitcase. She had taken them on a whim, opening the dusty old safe behind her bed for the first time in eight years and pulling out the Premium Heart. The gloves were worn but clean, the materia slots empty. All the materia was hidden in another box at the back of the safe, and she'd taken that container out, too, crouched over the open treasure chest of softly sparkling globes, and feeling horribly low.

In the end, she'd fitted half of the materia slots and shoved the box back into the safe, as if filling them all would have broken some unspoken taboo. The materia she'd chosen was nothing powerful; Knights of Round they'd given to Yuffie as well as most of the other powerful summon materia. After the incident with Kadaj, the former ninja had whisked the box of it away to Wutai, and as far as Tifa knew, it was still there. Nanaki had departed back to Cosmo Canyon with most of the party's command materia. The materia she and Cloud kept in the safe was more the harmless stuff - fire, ice, lightning, a cure spell or two. She had hoped that she would never have to use it again.

"What should I do?" she wondered aloud, pausing at one of the large picture windows along the corridor. Whoever had designed the new Corel hospital had had an eye for beauty - the window framed the mountains to the northwest, where the Corel reactor had once loomed and now where there was nothing but rolling hills and stars as far as she could see. A shooting star flickered, disappeared behind the mountain peaks.

She'd leave tomorrow morning, she decided. It had nothing to do with either Rude or Cloud. She would not let it. Even if Rude had not protested so strongly against her going to Nibelheim, Denzel was her immediate concern; she would go back to Edge and talk to Reeve, find out what he and Denzel had been discussing over lunch and how he was sure the boy was missing, then see if Marlene had seen anything suspicious. Marlene was her dependable one, while Denzel was the dreamer, always fantasizing about something bigger outside the city in which they lived and the life to which he had been born. Sometimes she felt guilty for not telling him the whole truth about Cloud and Sephiroth, but she'd always told herself that he didn't need to know.

The past, as Cloud had always said, was past, and the only thing they could do was go on living.

"And even that's a lie now," she whispered, pressing her forehead against the glass. A fierce sort of sorrow swept over her and left a burning in its wake. She was glad now she'd packed her gloves; she'd take one of the Green Earth motorbikes out tomorrow instead of going back to Costa del Sol on the airship. The bike was almost as fast, and she could use a good fight or two with some monsters.

I'm a fighter, she had told Rude. Tifa Lockhart did not sit and mope. Tifa Lockhart stood and acted, and that was what she would do.

She didn't hear the footsteps down the hall until the figure appeared out of the corner of her eye. She thought it was Reno, turned to tell him that she was sorry about earlier, but she couldn't go with him. She had to see if Denzel was all right before anything else.

"I don't-" she began, and then stopped in surprise.

The girl - no, woman - in the dim nighttime lighting was muscular and slim beneath a light jacket and functional work pants, the round face no longer childish, her black hair grown out long and a sharpness in her gaze that hadn't been there eight years ago. The Conformer, giant and jagged-edged, was strapped to her back and should have dwarfed her, but instead looked right, natural, merely another extension of the Wutai lady's dangerous grace.

"Tifa!" Yuffie Kisaragi exclaimed, a smile lighting her features. "Reno said I'd find you here."

[fic] Shoujo Kakumei Utena: Surely, surely

2007-02-13T17:41:19Z

First, Sainan no Kekka's domain is back up. Yay.

And now, this is for aishuu, who requested an Utena short. I have never written Anthy ever. Like, ever.
This was interesting.

SHOUJO KAKUMEI UTENA
Himemiya Anthy, 342 words

きっときっと
[Surely, Surely]

She has heard that all the stars in the night sky are in actuality glass marbles on a giant playing board. On her brother's birthday, she gives him a bag of cats-eye marbles in a mesh bag, the cheap kind from the 100 yen store. He seems to like them, and she does not tell him where she bought them. Kanae, who is classy and sophisticated unlike his bumbling little sister, gifts him with a gorgeous blown crystal vase full of a dozen long-stemmed red roses.

After the birthday cake is eaten and Kanae is obediently kissed and seen from the premises, her brother puts the flowers in a plain ceramic cup in the sink. Then he opens the bag of marbles and tips it into the vase. He admires the reflection of the planetarium lights on the marbles through the gleaming facets.

"Oniisama," she says, "those are playing marbles."

"It's not time to play yet, Anthy," he tells her patiently.

Later when all is quiet she gets up from where he has left her and slips silently back into the lonely, cold room where she keeps a spare change of clothes for occasions such as these. The clock strikes one-thirty in the morning, and she should be going home. Her roommate will be asleep at the table with the television on, waiting for her, and she has forgotten to feed Chuchu in the rush.

But instead she goes back into the darkened room where he lies almost invisible on the couch, dark skin and shadowed planes of his face repugnant and angelic all at once. She fixes her eyes on him until she feels she cannot stand to look at him any longer.

Before she leaves, she goes to the table and pours the marbles from the vase into her hand one by one, until they overflow and spill onto the floor in blinding globes of light. One strikes the table leg, shatters. The planetarium's glow is hazy yellow and blue and violently red, glittering on those scattered shards like rose thorns.

[random] SnK site mirror URL, rec thanks

2007-02-10T15:30:56Z

First, thanks so much to tomomichi for the really flattering rec for Mockingbird!

Next, the main Sainan no Kekka site is DOWN. If you're looking for SnK, please be redirected to the mirror site that I've put up on seventhmoon.org. We also have an older mirror site on GW Addiction, courtesy of the wonderful Tyr, but I haven't updated that mirror site in a while, so the fic (unedited) only goes up to 12.1 there (times like this remind me why I should go do that ASAP).

Sorry for the inconvenience! aishuu, if you could announce this on your fic journal also, that would be great...so we can avoid any angry emails wondering what happened to the fic ^_^;;

[fic] FFVII: Gunpowder and Firecrackers (chapter 6)

2007-02-06T18:44:47Z

FINAL FANTASY VII
Gunpowder and Firecrackers
[Other header stuff: PG-13, Tifa/Rude, AU to DoC, spoilers up to end of AC]

It is fifteen years after Meteor, thirteen years after Kadaj's defeat. Rufus Shinra, leader of the world philanthropic organization Green Earth, has been having odd dreams about Cloud Strife, about Sephiroth, about the mysterious town of Nibelheim. In a world where peace is as fragile and elusive as the voices of the lost Ancients, the old members of AVALANCHE and Shinra struggle to piece together the secrets of the Lifestream and Jenova's legacy in a race against time to save the ones they love.

VI: Denzel

The guard at the desk behind the frosted glass looked down at Denzel's identification card, looked back up at his face, then looked back down at the card. "You don't have all-access permission," the man told him, the bored tone of his voice contrasting sharply with the crisp motions of his hands across the computer keyboard in front of him. "I can't let you in."

"I know that, sir," Denzel said patiently. This was the third guard in a long series of guards as he had been passed from office to office with the same response. I can't let you in. You're not authorized. "If you'll give Mr. Tuesti a call, he can vouch for me."

"Mr. Tuesti is currently unavailable," the guard said in the same bored voice. "I'm sorry, kid, I'll have to escort you out-"

The beeping of the intercom startled both of them, and the guard glanced at Denzel accusingly under his bushy black eyebrows before slapping the talk button. "Level Three security," he barked.

The voice from the intercom was tinny. "Hey, I got a priority message here from a Reeve Tuesti. One of the guys at the executive meeting today?"

The guard glared at Denzel again. "What about him?"

"He's looking for someone. A Denzel Strife? Said they were supposed to meet upstairs in the conference hallway about ten minutes ago."

Denzel looked at the wall, the floor, anywhere but the guard's accusing eyes, feeling guilty though he hadn't quite done anything wrong. It was Reeve who had requested this meeting, Reeve who had asked Denzel to take the day off work and show up at the palatial new government offices in downtown New Midgar. "To catch up on old times," he'd said. Denzel had used some of his hard-earned savings the week before to buy himself a new suit, charcoal grey with a white shirt and gold tie. Marlene had taken in the pants a little bit for him and hemmed the sleeves of the coat while looking disapproving.

"You really shouldn't get yourself involved in these government affairs, Denny. I don't trust those politicians."

"It's only Reeve," he protested, trying to sound grown-up, official, in charge. "He's practically family."

Marlene didn't buy it. "I know what you're gonna do. I see you hanging out by the corner store, looking at those police recruiting posters on the billboard."

She hadn't said that he couldn't go, which he took as a sign that she wasn't going to stop him. Tifa had been busy these few days, ever since Reno had phoned with the urgent news that Rude had been injured, and she had left for Corel yesterday on Denzel's bike. They only had the two motorcycles between the three of them, and Rusk and Berl, the two other delivery boys they'd hired, were off on deliveries of their own. So he figured while he was stranded in Edge until Tifa came back, he might as well make good use of his time.

Part of him did feel guilty that he was pursuing this now, when Tifa might very well move to Corel for good one of these days to be with Rude, and the business would fall onto his shoulders. He could sell it to one of the many interested buyers that were always pounding on the door, wanting a piece of their small but successful service, but he didn't think Tifa would forgive him if he did so. It was their last link to Cloud.

"Fine, kid," the guard said. "You win."

Reeve was standing at the corner of the hallway when the elevator doors opened, arms crossed over a crisp blue suit coat, staring at a space of blank wall. "Sorry to keep you waiting," Denzel said, after a minute when the doors closed and Reeve did not move.

The dark-haired man stirred, head jerking over to where Denzel stood. "Oh, Denzel! I'm sorry about that," Reeve said, moving to him and putting his hand out. Denzel shook it firmly. His hands were cold. "I didn't think the guards would give you that much trouble. Isn't your last name on your ID card?"

Denzel wondered why that was important. "Yeah." He flipped open his wallet, pulling out the card. Denzel Strife, age 21. The terrible picture to the left of his name had been taken when he was fifteen, but Edge's identification services wouldn't change it for him until next year, when he turned twenty-two. He showed it to Reeve, who took it carefully, glancing over it.

"There it is for sure," he murmured. "I wonder…"

"Reeve?"

"It's nothing," the other man said dismissively, handing Denzel back his ID. "How's Tifa? I hear she and Rude are engaged now."

Denzel shrugged, tucking his wallet away in his back pocket. "Yeah. She's in Corel. Rude was hurt."

Reeve's sharp gaze shot back to him, frowning. "Hurt? What happened?"

He opened his mouth to answer that he had been the last to know, that Tifa had left in the middle of the night with no word, and Marlene had given him the news the next morning. If he hadn't heard from Marlene's own mouth, he would have sworn Tifa was pulling another Cloud on them. He didn't want to believe that she would - not the sweet, beautiful woman who he had known as mother for the last thirteen years of his life, but since Cloud's disappearance, he thought privately that Tifa had disappeared too, lost somewhere in the landscape of her own memories as she went through the motions of living and breathing. It wasn't Rude - he liked Rude, but it just wasn't the same.

"I don't know," he said instead.

Reeve broke into a smile that softened the edges of the dangerous-looking mustache he had taken to wearing these days. "I'm sorry. Are you hungry? I was about to go to lunch."

"I ate a bit before I left home, but I'm not going to pass up free food."

Reeve laughed at that. "Spoken like a true honorary member of AVALANCHE. There's a small cafe two blocks away that I frequent when I'm in Midgar. They serve Wutaian cuisine, if you're up for it. I'll warn you it's a bit spicy, so it's all right if we go somewhere else."

"I can handle it," Denzel said indignantly. "Yuffie used to cook for us when she came to visit."

The restaurant was decorated in muted reds and golds, long fake paper scrolls adorning the walls under paper lanterns. Reeve ordered seafood and Denzel had a spicy beef dish that oddly enough did taste like what he remembered of Yuffie's cooking when she'd stayed with them in Edge for a month, after the Geostigma scare. It seemed a very long time ago now that he thought back on it.

He stole a glance across the table at Reeve, who was eating his fish in small, elegant bites. Reeve had been a staple, however infrequent, of what he remembered of his childhood years, stopping in once or twice every year or three months on the way to what he now realized were government transportation summits in Midgar. When he'd finally asked Cloud about the strange man with the beard, Cloud had called him "a traitor reformed for the better" and refused to say any more. It had been Tifa who had filled Denzel in on AVALANCHE and Cait Sith, on Reeve's defection and the eventual defeat of Sephiroth. It was more history than a ten year old boy's brain could handle, and Denzel had mulled over the story for days afterward, awaiting Reeve's next arrival eagerly but too shy to do more than hide behind the wall and stare as Reeve came by on his next visit seven months later.

As he grew older, the visits became a little more frequent, and he found that Reeve's stories fascinated him. The man was a world traveler, and he'd bring back small souvenirs for Denzel and Marlene - odd-shaped globes of light ostensibly from the cliffs of Cosmo Canyon, strange seashells he'd found on the shores of southern beaches. Marlene would thank him politely and put the gifts away, but Denzel quizzed Reeve on them for hours, asking what, how, where, and why. There was more to life than Edge, and he'd vowed that one day, he was going to get out of this city for more than just a day or two of global deliveries. Cloud and Tifa had traveled extensively when they were younger, Reeve had said, and Denzel knew it had something to do with AVALANCHE and the man Tifa had called Sephiroth, but her history had been brief, and Reeve had refused to say much more.

"So what are you going to do?"

Denzel started, focused back on the man sitting across from him. Reeve had put down his chopsticks and was staring at him with an odd, determined look. "What?" Denzel said, bewildered.

"You want to join the police in Midgar, don't you?"

It was not surprising that Reeve had guessed. Denzel fidgeted. "I guess I feel a little useless," he said. "The business is running good, but that's more Marlene and Tifa than me. I'm not much of a businessman. I know Tifa wants me to take over the bar one day..." he trailed off. "I dunno," he finished lamely. "I was thinking about joining up with the police force and see how it suits me. Marlene doesn't like it, though."

"It's not Shinra, you know," Reeve said. "The City Patrol's a credible organization."

Denzel shifted uncomfortably. "I told Marlene that. She didn't say much, but I know she still doesn't like it. I haven't told Tifa."

"Tifa and I talked about it a year and a half ago," Reeve said, taking a bit of his fish calmly and washing it down with a sip of water. "She was of the opinion that you and Cloud were much alike. If you decided to join, she wouldn't stop you. Or, as she put it, she couldn't stop you."

That made Denzel feel more uncomfortable than before. "I don't want to disappoint her-" he began weakly, and Reeve shook his head with a sad smile.

"You're not."

"But the bar-"

"I've known Tifa for fifteen years. Trust me. It's not the bar she's worried about - she'd rather see you doing something that makes you happy."

Denzel stabbed at his meal halfheartedly with his fork. "It's just that she looks so sad whenever I bring up the topic of me leaving."

"I think," Reeve said, "that's just because that reminds her of someone she used to know."

Cloud, thought Denzel, but did not say his name, though he felt his appetite suddenly disappear. He put down his fork. "I...can't," he said. "At least not now. I want to join, but I need to wait, at least until she and Rude get married. I won't be the next man in her life to run off and leave her alone. Tifa deserves better."

"Good boy," Reeve said. "I'd prefer you to stay out of all of this government mess for the time being."

Denzel blinked. "What? Don't you work for Midgar?"

Reeve smiled. "I don't work for Midgar. I don't work for Green Earth, either. Tifa said that this was what you would want, and I told her I'd try to make you see her point. But I think in the end, it's best for you to stay with her...as long as you're needed." He was looking at Denzel, but Denzel had the sensation the dark-haired man wasn't really seeing him, looking through him to some scene long ago and far away.

"Reeve?"

The other man shook himself, the smile coming back to his face. "I'm sorry. Would you like dessert?"

They shared a bowl of what looked like gelatin pudding and tasted like liquid sweetened almonds, reminiscing and making small talk, and Reeve paid the bill. "I've got to be getting back to my meeting," he said at the door. "Would you like me to walk you back to your place?"

Denzel frowned. "I'm not a little kid, Reeve. I'll be fine. Besides, Marlene wanted me to grab some things from the grocery on the way home."

"That's fine," Reeve said calmly. Nothing seemed to faze the man, and Denzel remembered faintly a scene from years ago before Geostigma and Kadaj had come into their lives - Cloud and Reeve leaning on the bar counter talking, Marlene with Tifa in the kitchen. There had been a loud gas explosion and he had barely time to watch the two men glance at each other and dash as one into the back, Cloud returning almost instantaneously with a singed Tifa, Marlene in her arms. There had been another explosive noise and the walls had shook, and then Reeve emerged a moment later, soaking wet, with puddles trailing him back through the charred kitchen door.

Sorry, he had said apologetically. I called Leviathan.

It was with a sort of lump in his throat that he watched Reeve go; it would probably be another six months or a year before he was back this way again. Sometimes when Denzel thought about the man, it would be as if he were still that ten-year-old boy hiding behind the wall, basking in the glow of hero worship and mouth dry at the thought of meeting his idol face to face. Even after all these years, Reeve was an enigma.

He shoved his hands into his pockets and began slowly retracing his steps back to Edge. It would have been nice to have his bike. The weather was turning foul again; the frequent spring squalls that plagued the area had been especially fierce this year, and from the look of the sky and the clouds, another one would be coming this way shortly.

He was about half a block from the border of Midgar when the storm broke, peppering him first with cool sprinkles of rain and then quickly turning into a raging downpour that had everyone within sight running for cover. Denzel ran for the nearest alleyway, hoping that the roof overhang of the houses that lined the narrow space would provide enough cover until the storm let up. He wondered if Cloud or Tifa had ever had to deal with such things. They probably made materia back then for the specific purpose of sheltering people from the elements, but materia was hard to find now that Mako was gone for good, and even the cheap stuff was tens of thousands of gil a piece. Tifa kept her and Cloud's old materia in the safe in her bedroom; she'd showed it to Denzel a few times, but he'd never seen her use it since Kadaj.

He'd just made himself comfortable under the eaves and settled in to wait out the storm when he heard the sound of approaching footsteps and muffled voices, the sound of a fist smacking flesh.

"Let me go, you shitheads!"

"Apparently he hasn't learned his lesson," a deep voice said, and the sound of flesh meeting flesh again. The captive cried out. Denzel stiffened against the wall, easing back behind a stack of barrels and peering out just enough to make out three men driving another figure in front of them. From the captive's voice, it was a man. His hands were bound with what looked like a beam of light encircling his wrists, and his head lolled back as if he was drunk.

When his gaze went to the other three men, he barely restrained a gasp; the three were wearing Midgar City Patrol uniforms.

"Captain's waiting," the deep voice said. "After this one, we'll need just one more for the next experiment." Denzel recognized him as the middle of the three men, and the two policemen on either side of him nodded. One of them kicked the prisoner, who collapsed to the pavement with a muffled groan. The other policeman bent and picked him up like a sack of meal, throwing him over his shoulder, and the trio disappeared around the corner into the rain.

Denzel huddled back into his corner, wondering if he should follow them. But visibility was next to none in this downpour, and if he was caught, he would be in worse trouble than he had already been in his entire life. He was no stranger to sneaking around back ways and stealing for a living in the slums, but that had been years ago, and he thought guiltily of what Tifa would say if she found out he had gone back to his old ways.

Besides, the Midgar City Patrol were not a crew to be tangled with. He thought back to his conversation with Reeve earlier and shivered. It's not Shinra, Reeve had said. Denzel didn't know much about Shinra, but he did know about the guards who had worn the faceless helmets, the torture, the burning, the slaughter of innocent civilians like his parents.

On one hand, maybe these three policemen were common crooks who had stolen uniforms and were out to mug fellow street sweepers.

On the other hand, maybe Reeve was wrong. Those men hadn't moved like common crooks; they had moved like men who had been trained in combat and knew what they were doing. They had talked about an experiment, and the very word had made Denzel uneasy, though he couldn't place the uneasiness that seemed to be linked to that word.

He stayed there, huddled close and very still, until he heard the rain on the eaves lessen to a cheerful pitter-patter. A few stray shafts of sunlight spattered the moisture-heavy air, but Denzel felt heavy and slow, as if his body had been weighed down by water. He pushed himself up from his shelter spot and headed back to the street, down the way he had come by the Wutaian restaurant on the way to the government buildings, to see if Reeve was still there.

He'd rounded the alley corner and was halfway down the deserted sidewalk when he heard a scraping noise to his left. He turned to see what it was. Strong hands gripped his arms and he found himself falling, hitting the pavement with a cracking sound and the metallic smell of blood, and then nothing.

[fic] FFVII: Gunpowder and Firecrackers part 5

2007-01-30T04:50:33Z

Enter Cid and Rufus! ^_^ Cid's my second favorite FFVII character, and he was tons of fun to write. I look forward to doing more Cid fics in the future.

FINAL FANTASY VII
Gunpowder and Firecrackers
[Other header stuff: PG-13, Tifa/Rude, AU to DoC, spoilers up to end of AC]

It is fifteen years after Meteor, thirteen years after Kadaj's defeat. Rufus Shinra, leader of the world philanthropic organization Green Earth, has been having odd dreams about Cloud Strife, about Sephiroth, about the mysterious town of Nibelheim. In a world where peace is as fragile and elusive as the voices of the lost Ancients, the old members of AVALANCHE and Shinra struggle to piece together the secrets of the Lifestream and Jenova's legacy in a race against time to save the ones they love.

V. Cid

The back warehouse of Green Earth building number 4 was humid and dark. Cid Highwind got creakily to his feet from the floor, where he was working on a damaged engine fanblade, as Rufus Shinra emerged from the door behind Highwind Corporation's stacks of scrap sheet metal. "You're back," he said flatly, wondering just what he'd done wrong this time to warrant a visit from the "boss man," as Reno called him.

Rufus surveyed the clutter of machine parts and tools, smoothing back mussed blond hair with one hand. He was dressed in a simple dark suit, though Cid wasn't fooled - the black and white ensemble had most likely cost several thousand gil. The cane gripped casually in one hand was all chrome and silver, beautiful even in its understatement of what had happened fifteen years ago.

He couldn't quite snap at the man for sneaking up on him, because the tapping of the cane and the heavy footsteps, limping and shuffling and slow, would always give Rufus away, so he stood, chewing his lip, waiting for the other to say something.

Rufus did. "You don't sound happy to see me."

"And why should I be?" Cid grunted, reaching for a piece of flat metal and then leaning out of his chair to grab a fallen wire cutter from the concrete. He felt dirty and sweaty next to the elegant man. "It's a business deal, remember? I manage your airship fleet, you pay me and leave me alone. You shoulda given me a call before you came over, anyways. I would have turned on the air conditioning for you."

"I've told you before, that's not necessary." Rufus sounded so smooth that Cid almost rolled his eyes again. Instead, he bent over the fan blade, making a show of checking damaged edges that he'd already checked, hoping the former Shinra president would go away. The man had ostensibly changed for the better, but he was still as annoyingly ever-present as always. "I like seeing my colleagues in their natural environment."

That made it sound like Cid was some sort of endangered species. "Colleague my ass. Don't you have anything better to do?"

"I'm somewhat of a dabbler in mechanical repair," Rufus said easily. "I'd like to watch, if you don't mind."

Cid almost barked back that yes, he did mind, and would the other guy just get the hell out, but a thought occurred to him. "Okay, big guy," he said, a grin rising to his lips, "if you're so intent on staying here, you're helping me out. That's not negotiable. You're in this shed, you're workin'. Otherwise, get out the damn door."

Five minutes later found Rufus in some of Cid's old oilstained clothes, protective gear and goggles on, soldering iron in hand. Cid hadn't expected him to agree, but he wasn't about to pass up extra help, and the first thing he'd learned about Rufus Shinra when he'd moved to Corel was that the former Shinra leader would accept no pity, no special coddling, no different treatment because of his handicap. The piles of scrap metal and broken down junk inside of the toolshed were growing taller and more ominous by the day, and this was only the small stuff - broken lock boxes, chipped gears, scratched panels. The really big stuff went to the factory down south, but Cid had always been somewhat of a scrimper and saver, and he didn't see the sense in shipping off stuff that could be repaired on station.

Shera had helped him with this in the beginning, but now that would have meant them sharing close quarters. After the divorce, they'd agreed it was best to spend some time apart to avoid any confrontations. So she was across the world at the New Midgar headquarters running things, and with Reeve gone to Midgar this week as well, it was just him and a couple of part-timers.

"Maybe it's time you hired an full time assistant or two," Rufus said.

"Can't," Cid grunted, twisting a bolt into place. "Low on funds."

"If you would just accept some of the money that we-"

"I ain't no charity case," Cid said. "You like my ships, that's fine and dandy. You've already given me workspace and contracts and shit up the wazoo. Green Earth's our biggest customer, you know, but I ain't gonna accept none of your people. There's not going to be another Shinra starting in my company." He put down the wrench and looked Rufus in the eye, noting for the first time that the blond man looked haggard, ill-rested. "What's the matter, didn't sleep on the trip back from Junon?"

"No, the sleeping quarters were fine," Rufus said calmly. He pulled the goggles over his eyes. "I've been having odd dreams lately, that's all. Where do I solder?"

"I need a cigarette," Cid muttered, but helped the man into the chair by the side table and pointed irritably to three places on a pile of circuit boards. "Just a few passes there and I got the rest."

"You asked for my help," Rufus pointed out. "I'd like to be taken seriously for once."

"Whaddya mean, 'for once'?" Cid said indignantly as the sparks flew from the soldering iron. "I take you a lot more seriously than I ought, most of the time. You know, I still haven't forgotten that time you ordered us all executed because of Weapon."

Rufus paused in his soldering work. It was odd to see the man in old clothes working just like the rest of them. But then again, Rufus Shinra was supposed to be just like the rest of them now. "That wasn't one of my grand, defining moments," he said, and did a few more cuts around the hot metal. "Just an example for you that taking bad advice is worse than taking no advice at all, most of the time." He sat back, inspecting his work, then pushed the goggles up onto his forehead with a satisfied motion.

"Yeah, so you say now," Cid said. "The way Barret described it, you looked more than happy to be getting rid of us."

"As I said, that was a long time ago. Can't you forgive me for who I was fifteen years ago?"

"I'm here in Corel, ain't I?" Cid retorted, taking the drillbit to the metal with more vigor than was needed. "Though I admit, when Reeve told me you were offering us a home up here, I said something along the lines of fuck no."

Rufus laughed easily, reaching for his cane. Cid put down the drillbit, but Rufus waved him away, pushing himself to a standing position with an elegant, practiced motion that once again made Cid feel rather inadequate. He supposed that was the way things were - it was all about the breeding. Rufus was a politician and always would be, and Cid was a commoner and always would be, no matter how high he could have risen in the Shinra ranks. He wondered briefly about Sephiroth and the dangerous grace the man had always moved with, ghost or no ghost.

"I was a bit surprised when Reeve told me he'd teamed up with you," Rufus said. "You two never struck me as the types to get along well."

Cid grunted. "The damn cat was too cute for me to just say flat-out no." That was the truth, or as near to it as he would admit. He hadn't trusted Cait Sith in the beginning, but when the robotic cat, and thus Reeve, had stolen the Highwind back for him, it was as if years of dead ends and grief and anger had been stripped away. He had been flying - really flying - and more than that, he was flying through the skies he loved with people he had been coming to respect.

"Reeve does have a way about him," Rufus agreed. "Hiring him was one of the smarter things my dear late father did."

Cid snorted. "Whatever. You hated your old man's guts, and we all know it."

Rufus leaned back against the back steel wall of the warehouse and closed his eyes. The man looked cool and composed, while Cid wiped drops of sweat from his forehead. "Shinra was my father's dream," he said. "Not mine." He opened those bright blue eyes that Cid always found so unnerving. "I suppose you could say that my father liked things, grand ideals. I prefer the human element, to find out what makes people do what they do, to take the human psyche apart and put it back together, if you will."

Cid slouched back into the crooked chair in the corner, fishing for the right-size bolt in the massive toolbox displayed against the wall. "I don't like talking about dreams. That shit's a waste of time. As for people, your father's guys in Shinra did a number on taking them apart and putting them back together, and we're nowhere nearer an answer for that than when they started, are we?" He shot a glare at Rufus, who was staring thoughtfully across the warehouse and wondered if the other man was even listening. "All we got was Sephiroth and a bunch of clones, and Geostigma."

"And Vincent Valentine."

"And Vincent Valentine," Cid acknowledged gruffly. The man had come whispering in through the door yesterday wanting to borrow an airship, and had almost given him a heart attack with his silent entrance. "We don't need any more of his issues either."

"And Cloud Strife."

Cid was on his feet in an instant, slamming one fist into the wall next to Rufus' face, not caring how much it hurt. "I don't want to talk about Cloud," he hissed. "You hear me?"

Rufus' eyes focused on him and he was startled to find that Rufus did not look smug, or even calm and condescending as he always did. Rather, the bright eyes were intense, pained, almost...worried? Cid removed his fist, backing away a little bit, looking at the floor. "Sorry," he muttered. "Just...don't."

A slight whisper of clothing and a scuff of boots, the tap of a cane as Rufus moved away from the wall, and then he said, "I'm sorry. It was a bad subject to bring up at a time like this."

"Yeah," Cid said harshly, going back to his engine fanblade. "It was."

"I wish Rude and Lockhart all the best," Rufus said. "You probably don't believe me, but it's true. You don't think much of me, I know."

Reno had told Cid the news. He wasn't sure how one of Rufus' cronies had heard about his friends before he had, but he admitted he was rather out of the loop these days, stuck in Corel with a bunch of ex-Turks, soldering aircraft parts. It was like he was back in the academy. Shera had used to give him regular updates on what was happening with the old AVALANCHE group around the world, but after they'd started arguing regularly he'd snapped at her to quit yapping on the phone so much, and the updates had stopped. "Maybe we can get them a pair of matching chocobos for that delivery service of hers."

"I expect she'll be quitting that now," Rufus said quietly. He leaned against the table. "If she does come to Corel, I have a few job vacancies that she might like to fill, in any case."

"Yeah," Cid growled, feeling annoyed again. "Go ahead and tell us all what we should be doing with our lives." He put down the drill, stalked over to the cabinet and got himself a cigarette. "Get lost, Shinra. I'm taking a smoke break."

There was the tiniest glint of amusement in those blue eyes as the other man limped to the door and disappeared. It was a wonder that Rufus put up with his bad temper, though both of them knew that it was more for show than for any real animosity. Almost ten years of mutual acquaintance, and he'd learned to tolerate the former Shinra president, though Cid didn't think he'd ever trust him. There was too much history there, too much bitterness and debts not paid for him to truly let go. Reeve apparently didn't feel the same. Perhaps that was because Reeve had willingly betrayed and left Shinra, while Cid had been forced out, kicked to the curb by an organization that felt he'd outlived his usefulness.

He slipped out through the back door of the shed, leaning against the sturdy wall and putting the cigarette to his lips. There were two of his airships in the sky, one low on the horizon, the other barely visible against the clouds. When he'd started the airship business with Reeve, he had been planning for a small venture, where he would provide the technical expertise and Reeve would provide the funds, bringing some much-needed public transportation to the common people and offering them the option, which had been formerly reserved only for Shinra, to travel the skies on a new form of transportation. Instead, Green Earth had jumped on the bandwagon after Reeve had given them some sort of fancy presentation, then had convinced Cid that Rufus Shinra was looking for a parts and supplies delivery system, and Highwind Corporation was the right agent to fill it.

Cid had argued halfheartedly, pointing out that Cloud Strife was the resident delivery boy, not Cid Highwind, but Reeve had finally convinced him. We need the money, he had said. You're still living in the old world, thinking that Shinra's there to take your dreams away at the first opportunity. But that world's gone. There's no point in running from Shinra any longer.

He had argued back, saying he wasn't running from Shinra, but in the end, he had to admit to himself that he was. Shinra had represented the ruin of his life, the part of his younger years that he never wanted to go back to. Having Reeve as a partner was one thing, being at Rufus Shinra's beck and call again was another. There was something else he had to do also, something in which money was a factor, and after he'd thought long and hard on the subject, he told Shera that he would go into business with Green Earth only if she married him.

It was a bit funny getting used to a world with regional governments instead of one huge overarching organization, but after a few years, Cid decided that he liked it. Shera managed Highwind, Inc's inventories and product line development, and he and Reeve had hired on a few employees in different cities for tracking and delivery purposes. One of Shinra's old airship factories south of New Midgar had been converted by Reeve into their new manufacturing center, and then Rufus had invited Cid to move up to Corel. Reeve told him that it was good to have one agent permanently in Corel while one traveled back and forth to New Midgar. Why can't you be the guy in Corel? Cid had argued, and Reeve had said patiently, Because I'm a politician, and you're not.

Cid couldn't fault that logic. Reeve was out there making business connections, petitioning for funds, presenting financial options for contracts with different governments, and Cid wasn't good at any of that. He was a pilot and a mechanic, and he belonged with the ships. He'd come to Corel with some trepidation that he'd be the lowest man on the totem pole, but instead he had been somewhat surprised to see that Green Earth in Corel was a tiny affair: a couple hundred employees, a fleet of twenty trucks and five of Cid's airships, a business compound that looked more like a ranch. Rufus knew everyone by name.

Shera had come with him to Corel in the beginning, and before the problems began, they were mostly happy. Or maybe the problems had always been there, and he'd been too blind to see. He had thought of her as someone who was always there, to make his tea in the mornings and to have dinner ready at night when he came home, to mend his clothes and pack his lunch. She'd been invaluable to him and Reeve as an assistant, a woman who was smart and resourceful and who knew Shinra's old airship manufacturing processes forward and backward. They had a nice house on the outskirts of the city, and on his off days, they'd sit outside in the evenings and barbeque, or have a few drinks and talk. He'd been happy, more or less. He'd thought she was, too.

Then there had come the small things, how she would cry at night in bed when she thought he was asleep, or in the mornings when she would cling to him before he went to work. He shrugged it off, attributing it to some weird female thing. But it didn't stop, only escalated, until he began snapping at her and she started snapping back. She'd never done that before in all the years they'd known each other, and at first it startled him and then it made him angry. It got bad enough that he'd crash at Reeve's place at night sometimes, and even Reno and Rude had felt sorry for him and invited him once or twice to hang out with them at the bar till early in the morning on weekends, so that he wouldn't have to go home. Elena started bringing lunches to him in paper bags. Her cooking wasn't bad, but it just wasn't the same. Even so, he had been too proud to apologize, and that was when he learned that Shera Highwind was a proud woman as well, and she had had enough.

One day he had come home when he felt brave enough to try and calm the storm that was home life in the evenings, and he'd found her in the bedroom packing a suitcase. He was almost angry enough to slap her, but he restrained himself, did not, because he would not be a man who went after people weaker than himself.

That was the problem, he had realized, in the long lonely months after Shera's departure. Cid had always thought of Shera as weaker than himself, a nice woman, a good woman, but weak. She'd once been willing to die for him, and he thought that would always be true. It's not your fault, Reeve had consoled him. Sometimes old friends just don't make the best partners.

You'll find someone else, Rude told him in one of his rare moments of sympathy. That was in the months just following Cloud Strife's disappearance and Tifa Lockhart's affections were out of reach, and Cid had almost appreciated the sentiment coming from a fellow suffering soul. The months passed and the emptiness got a little more bearable every day. Shera called occasionally, but he let Reeve answer the phone when it was at work and let it ring if he was at home. It didn't surprise him when Reeve let him know one day that he'd hired Shera as production supervisor at the New Midgar plant. She was, after all, the best person for the job, and there she could do what she loved and they wouldn't have to see each other. It worked out just fine.

He was a mostly one-man shop here in Corel, with the rest of the engineers and employees still in the Midgar area. There were a bevy of kids trickling in and out for part-time work on different days - youngsters from Corel who knew the insides of an engine pretty well and wanted to make a few extra gil - but most of them worked several months and then were gone to see the wide world, leaving him alone again. Ostensibly, he was here to make the delivery process smoother. But mostly these days he felt he was in Corel so Rufus could keep an eye on him. Maybe it was the old Shinra training kicking in.

The warehouse back door opened. He tensed, ready to tell Rufus Shinra that he was tired of being interrupted.

"Captain?"

It wasn't Rufus. It was Alan, one of the Corel kids, the mechanic that occasionally worked part-time hours for them. "What's up?" Cid said, flicking his cigarette a bit guiltily under one shoe and grinding it into the dirt. He wasn't supposed to smoke in front of the kids.

"The Bronco's back. You said you'd want to know firsthand when it came in. Seems like we've got a priority unloading message."

Valentine. "Got it," Cid said. "Thanks a lot." He waited till the kid was out of sight around the corner, then picked up the cigarette butt and threw it in the trash before heading through the gate in the low wire fence, toward the landing pads. He could see the bulk of the Bronco's fuselage above the new trees dotting the landscape, and what he could make out seemed in good condition, undamaged. He hoped that meant Valentine hadn't met with any trouble getting there and back.

The airship's engines had shut down by the time he arrived, panting and a bit sweaty, to the launching area. A team of medics bearing the insignia of the local Corel hospital were trundling a stretcher down the loading ramp, and he frowned, headed towards it as someone tapped him on the shoulder. He stopped.

"Cid," Valentine said from behind him, and he tensed.

"What happened?"

The man on the stretcher, he could see now, was Rude, the entire left side of his face bandaged, and the bandages drenched in blood. "We thought we would come straight back," Valentine said quietly. "Rude was fine for the first hour or so, and then he started losing blood. We were going as fast as we could. I'm not an expert pilot, so I will admit I might have strained the engines a little more than they were built for. You should probably give them a secondary post-flight inspection."

"I'll worry about that later," Cid said. He was watching the last passenger as he skidded down the ramp, duffel bag over his shoulder. "What about Reno?"

Valentine moved to one side. "Reno's fine. A bit shaken, but fine." He nodded at the red-haired man, who trudged over to join them, watching the stretcher as the medics loaded it onto the ambulance sitting to the side of the ramp.

Cid shoved his hands into his pockets to stop his palms from sweating. "What the hell's going on?"

"I'm all right," Reno said. His face looked grey and pasty, and his hand was clenched on the butt of the long pistol holstered at his hip. "Rude should be fine after some medical attention. He found more than he bargained for, as you can see."

"Yeah, I can damn well see that. What'd Rufus do now, send you two off on some damn fool mission without respect for your own hides?"

Reno's smile was shadowed. "I signed up for this job," he said quietly. "As long as Rufus needs me, I'll go."

That was an idiotic notion if Cid ever heard one, but he refrained from saying so. Tseng had been moved on to bigger and better things, and Elena was a commander in her own right now, with the responsibility of protecting Green Earth's cargo and shipments. But Reno and Rude had refused to leave Shinra's side. It obviously wasn't the money or the benefits that had made the two stay on with Rufus Shinra - it was, Cid had decided, plain, pure stubbornness, with a side of stupidity thrown in, and maybe a bit of childish idealism.

"Speaking of which, Shinra's back," Cid said instead, deciding that whatever was going on was none of his business, and he'd worm answers out of someone sooner or later. "He got in this morning."

Reno and Valentine exchanged looks. "Guess it's time to face the music," Reno said with another weary smile. "I'll go see if he's around in his office."

They watched him go, throwing his bag over one wrinkled coat shoulder and shuffling off like a defeated man. "If I were him, I'd go to bed," Cid muttered. Damn, he needed another cigarette now. The sight of the blood covering half of Rude's face had given him the jitters. "We don't need anyone else in the hospital."

"I need to borrow another ship again," Valentine said, as if he hadn't heard Cid speak. "It can be the Bronco, but I'd rather have one to head out immediately, and the Bronco might need some repairs."

Cid narrowed his eyes. "I've got two on the docking line at the moment. The Myrna's due for a cargo run tomorrow, but I can give you her little sister. She's an airplane, not an airship. Carries two passengers. Got no weapons, though."

"That's fine. It will be just me."

He crossed his arms over his chest and turned to the other man, noting the dangerous gleam in the red eyes, the way the metal hand flexed, then released, then flexed again with a caged animal's restlessness. "What fool thing are you running off to do now?"

Vincent Valentine's more-than-human eyes narrowed. "I'm going to Nibelheim," he said.

[fic] Final Fantasy VII: Mockingbird

2007-01-23T05:17:08Z

FINAL FANTASY VII
Mockingbird
[Other header stuff: G, Marlene, set pre/post AC]
The war has made many orphans, but Marlene Wallace isn't one of them.

Mockingbird

Hush, little baby, don't say a word,
Mama's going to buy you a mockingbird.
And if that mockingbird don't sing,
Mama's going to buy you a diamond ring.

Marlene Wallace's first memory of family exists within the framework of the Seventh Heaven bar: a long-haired girl and a dark-skinned man who she called "Papa." Later, there are interruptions - a young man with haunted eyes, the sad lady who rocks her to sleep at night when her Papa is not there. Marlene does not worry and wonders only why they are taking so long to return.

They do return, and then there is Denzel. No one ever questions that he should become part of the family, too. That first night, she holds his hand as he sobs into his pillow, stroking his hair and whispering to him as the sad lady whispered to her during those long nights her Papa was away. Marlene knows that is how family is passed on, one good deed to another, like a kiss on the forehead.

When she starts school in the spring, the Edge kids are all accompanied by their mothers and fathers, who cling tightly to them like Denzel clings to his pillow during nightmares. Marlene thinks they are silly. Tifa takes her as far as the school gate, hands her a sack lunch, and waves her hand to see her off. The children sit in a frightened circle as the teacher coaxes forth introductions. "I'm Marlene Wallace," she says when her turn comes, standing up straight like Tifa has taught her to do when talking to important people. "I'm from Sector Seven."

Later, as Marlene makes friends, she brings them over to the bar after school, where they sit chattering and watching Tifa roll dough for tonight's bread. Tifa's hands are scarred, rough, her arms knotted with muscle and tendon and smooth skin over old wounds, but her smile is gentle. The children catch sight of the picture on the counter of Cloud and Tifa with Marlene in their arms, and one of them asks, "Is that your dad?"

"No," Marlene answers, and then continues carefully, as Tifa has told her to say "My dad's out-of-town." She looks at Tifa, who smiles encouragement, and Marlene slips carefully from the stool, runs to her room and returns with the dark-skinned man's picture. "This is my Papa," she tells them.

They look at the picture and then look at Marlene, and another one questions curiously, "How come you and your Papa don't look the same?"

Marlene looks up at Tifa again, who is not smiling now, and Tifa says, "You girls want to help me put the bread in the oven?"

It is in this manner that Marlene learns the meaning of the word "adoption."

There is no shame in the word, Tifa tells her later. The flower lady was adopted, and so is Denzel, and that does not make either of them false members of a family. Marlene is confused, because to her, family is still the dark, stained rooms of the Seventh Heaven, Tifa's smile and Denzel's banter, the peace of being held in Cloud's arms, music and laughter and fresh bread from the kitchen ovens. She does not bring friends over again for a long time.

Another year passes and the dark-skinned man returns for a visit. Marlene runs to him and is scooped up in his arms. His face is scratchy as he kisses her cheek and asks her, "Have you been a good girl for Tifa and Cloud this year?"

She beams up at him and he stays for dinner and also for the night. The next day he crouches down before her and tells her that he has a present for her, that this is the last time he will go away for so long and next time he comes back, he will take her home with him to stay. Tifa is standing behind him as he kneels, and Marlene sees a strange look come into her eyes as Papa says those words. She isn't sure if it's because of the beauty of the gift, which is a delicate pendant on a chain of fine silver, or because of what Papa has said about taking her home with him. The thought of leaving the Seventh Heaven is strange, so she simply hugs him goodbye and fingers the pendant as Tifa closes the door behind him.

"He's meant for you to have that for a long time," Tifa tells her quietly. "He wanted to wait until you were old enough."

"Old enough for what?" Marlene asks, but Tifa has no answer to that, disappearing into the kitchen. Soon there is the delicious smell of baking bread wafting into the outer rooms.

Marlene goes upstairs. Denzel is out on deliveries, and the rooms are cool and dark. The pendant hangs heavy around her neck on its slender chain and she thinks about the Edge kids who are each safe and warm in their houses with their mothers and their fathers, parents who are soft and comfortable like old, worn shoes. A door slams downstairs. She hears the sound of Cloud's boots in the entryway and Tifa's voice welcoming him home, and then the roar of Denzel's motorcycle pulling into the driveway outside.

Cloud calls for her to come down to dinner. Boots clump heavily up the stairwell, and then she sees Denzel come around the corner.

"What are you doing there in the dark, Marlene?"

She unclasps the pendant and drops it in a darkly silver puddle on her dresser. "Nothing," she says, and smiles. "It's time to eat. Tifa's baked fresh bread."

It will be another year before she sees the dark-skinned man again, several years before she begins to understand the implications of his long disappearances, even longer before she ever hears of the name Dyne, of a town called Corel and the war that took the family that could have been away from her. But Marlene Wallace does not dwell on these things, nor on the pendant that she keeps safely at the bottom of her jewelry box. She has no mother, but there is Tifa's quick smile and sure hands; no father, but there is Cloud's familiar voice wishing her good morning at breakfast; no brother, but there is Denzel's sleeping form beside her when she wakes in the night.

They are an odd family, but they are still a family. The Planet turns, the autumn sweeps in gently, and snow falls over Edge, covering the dinginess and poverty with white. It is a calm winter, a quiet winter, and Marlene sits by her window, looking forward to bringing friends over again when school starts in the spring.

21 January 2007

Next up: the end of Cacophony of Angels. I swear. *kills self* And then another part of Gunpowder.

[fic] FFVII: Gunpowder and Firecrackers (chapter 4)

2007-01-19T15:55:32Z

Some Vincent action for you! He was actually easier to write than I expected. I'm not a big Vincent fan, but I enjoyed writing this.

FINAL FANTASY VII
Gunpowder and Firecrackers
[Other header stuff: PG-13, Tifa/Rude, AU to DoC, spoilers up to end of AC]

It is fifteen years after Meteor, thirteen years after Kadaj's defeat. Rufus Shinra, leader of the world philanthropic organization Green Earth, has been having odd dreams about Cloud Strife, about Sephiroth, about the mysterious town of Nibelheim. In a world where peace is as fragile and elusive as the voices of the lost Ancients, the old members of AVALANCHE and Shinra struggle to piece together the secrets of the Lifestream and Jenova's legacy in a race against time to save the ones they love.

IV. Vincent

The airship provided to them by Highwind Corporation was named the Bronco. According to Cid, it was the fourth generation Highwind, fitted with all new engines and a digital display glass cockpit system. The Bronco was also installed with machine gun turrets. All of this was wasted on Vincent Valentine, who didn't care what the airship did, as long as it worked.

He'd parked it in the backyard of Costa del Sol with the permission of the town mayor. The poor man was obviously frightened out of his wits as Vincent had landed, and he had stood there for fifteen minutes explaining that no, Sephiroth had not returned from the dead, that Green Earth was not going to take over the city, and all he wanted was a hot bath, a meal, and the whereabouts of two former Turks before he went on his way. As he had expected, there was only one place in town Reno would head to on a vacation.

He had been standing in the shadows of the bar, watching the red-headed man whistle as he plugged away at one drink after another, when the commotion had happened. It could have been worse. The bar was not crowded, and Vincent did not want to imagine what would have happened if Rude had burst in at night, on a full house of revellers and a drunken Reno.

Tseng had warned that Reno would be difficult to reason with, perhaps more difficult than Vincent would expect. He'd gotten the call from the former Turk leader on his way from Edge to Fort Condor, on the road again, restless for reasons he didn't quite know. The Geostigma symptoms which had appeared almost six months ago had spread again, now stretching up his entire forearm and reaching black fingers up across his elbow. He'd gone to Edge again, to Aeris' church, to the pool where she had once healed Cloud Strife and then an entire city. The water had soothed his skin, dissolved the red pustules around the edge of the sickness, had healed the minor scrapes and scratches he had gotten while tangling with a small dragon on the outskirts of Wutai two weeks ago. But the black flesh remained.

He would ask Cloud about it, but Cloud was gone.

When he'd arrived in Corel, he had gone straight to the Green Earth headquarters complex, walking directly across the center of town in broad daylight, too tired and in pain to stay in the shadows. Corel itself was beautiful now, entirely rebuilt, a peaceful town of pink granite building fronts and paved roads. The Shinra building in Midgar had been sleek glass and metal, a forbidding structure of towers and ramparts, but Green Earth's white gates opened onto a smaller, compact set of facilities with carefully manicured lawns and gravel walkways between buildings. Tseng met him at the front door of the main building, holding out one hand to greet him. Vincent had looked at the hand, looked at Tseng, and said, "I'll pass, thank you."

Tseng dropped his hand and said, "So Rufus was right about your arm."

Rufus Shinra was having the odd dreams again, said Tseng, and he had known something was wrong with Vincent, had asked Tseng to confirm. Vincent felt very old and very silly at having come all the way to Corel so a bunch of pseudo-environmentalists could pronounce him sick, and told Tseng as much. "It's not quite how it sounds," the other man said. "I told Rufus I'd handle it. He's away, and doesn't know you're here."

Tseng looked older than he remembered. His long ponytail was streaked with silver. There were crows' feet at the corner of those dark, slanted eyes and he moved slowly with the plodding of a man retired from a life of activity. "You've gained weight," Vincent said. Tseng laughed tiredly.

"I prefer to call it 'filling out'," he said. "I don't get out much these days. I work all day, then go home to eat and sleep, then get up the next morning to do it all over again." He put a hand to his stomach, rubbing it absently. Vincent recognized the spot as where Sephiroth had stabbed him long ago, at the Temple of the Ancients. "I would say you look the same as ever, Valentine, but that would be less of a compliment for you."

"I don't mind," Vincent replied affably. He glanced around at the coral-painted walls of the corridor as they climbed the staircase to the second floor. Watercolor paintings of different landscapes and cities hung at regular intervals, and he recognized some of them: the forests outside Gongaga, the World Bank building and surrounding park area downtown in New Midgar, Cosmo Canyon's cliffs, the moon rising over Junon Harbor. The carpet muffled their footsteps as Tseng stopped at the fourth door and motioned Vincent inside.

"My office," he said, closing the door behind him and gesturing around the small room with its bare walls. "Make yourself comfortable. I regret that I am not the most hospitable man you'll meet."

Vincent smiled slightly. "None of you are. But I make do. Please get to the point."

Tseng seated himself behind the desk and its blinking computer and reached behind him to turn on the radio. Soft music filled the room and he folded his hands in front of him. "Show me your arm," he said.

Vincent laid his right arm on the table, pulling back the sleeve. Tseng studied for it a second, and then turned away with a slight shudder. "That will do, thank you."

"Disgusting, isn't it?" Vincent said, pulling his sleeve down again. "It doesn't hurt, not the definition of pain any of you are familiar with. It's more like a slow burning itch, tender when it's touched."

"Do you remember Kadaj?" asked Tseng abruptly. Vincent nodded. Tseng said, "I wonder whatever happened to him?"

"He died," Vincent said. "As far as we know." He did not sound as certain as he wanted to, but Tseng shook his head.

"Oh, I believe Kadaj died," Tseng said, "just like Sephiroth died, just like Aeris died." There was a slight hiccup in his voice as he said her name, but only because Vincent had been listening for it. "Just like Jenova died."

"Was Jenova ever truly alive in the first place?" Vincent countered. "I don't think we can afford to put so many definitive quantifiers on things we still don't understand. Gast's and Hojo's research was only the beginning, and Meteor only one end."

"Sephiroth died," Tseng said, "Unfortunately, it doesn't seem that death is a barrier that stops him for long. There is so much we don't know about the Lifestream yet."

Vincent looked at him sharply. "Geostigma was born from Jenova's destructive cells in the Lifestream," he said. "Aeris Gainsborough countered it, life with death. But this new disease..." he trailed off, staring at his arm beneath the black cloth that covered it.

"Could it be that Aeris' powers from the Lifestream are weakening? She's been dead thirteen years, only a girl when she was killed."

Vincent stared at him levelly. "Isn't that your job to find out?"

"Was our job," Tseng corrected him, staring out the small window at the bustling center of Corel. "The biological development and research branch of Shinra is no more. As you well know."

He had no answer to that, so he simply stared again at his arm as the tinny music wafted from the radio's speakers, thinking of Aeris and the brief time they had known each other. She had not been like Tifa, determinedly optimistic, nor eternally brash and outgoing like Yuffie Kisaragi. There had been something quietly desperate in Aeris, as if she had known that her time would one day run out before she had done all the things she wanted to do, as time had run out for her mother, for the rest of her race.

Aeris Gainsborough was what the world needed right now, and she was dead.

"I have a favor to ask," Tseng said finally, and Vincent raised his head, looked the ex-Turk leader in the eye.

"Ask it."

Tseng breathed in deeply and let it out, looking out the window again. "Rude is in Nibelheim," he said. "Rufus had a dream about Cloud Strife and he sent Rude to investigate. Reno is headed to Costa del Sol to intercept him. There is a....possibility that one or both of them might be injured and unable to make it back." He squeezed his hands together. "I would like you to go to Costa del Sol. I will, of course, reimburse you for your trouble."

"And how will you do that?" Vincent asked softly. "Rufus doesn't know I'm here, remember?" The cheerful music from the radio segued to a ballad, the piano melding softly with the singer's melancholy voice.

My last night here for you
Same old songs, just once more
My last night here with you?
Maybe yes, maybe no

Tseng smiled slightly. "I've amassed a fair sum in my bank account over the years. You don't trust me?"

Vincent looked down at his arm, back at the tired, worried man in the chair, over Tseng's head at the landscape outside the window. He was not used to Corel being so very green. "Of course I don't trust you," Vincent said. "You forget that I was once one of you."

"The Turks of Shinra are gone, Valentine. Elena's head of security now, not me. Reno and Rude are still around because Rufus does not have the heart to order them to go. I'm now the past figurehead of something that no longer exists."

Vincent flexed the fingers of his metal left hand. "You're admitting that this time, none of you can help yourselves. Am I hearing you correctly?"

"They're good men. Go save them, Valentine. I don't deserve your help, but...they do."

Vincent rose from his chair. "I'll go," he said. "But not because you'll pay me. I won't take one gil of your money. Call this paying back old debts."

Tseng stared at him. "That might not be a wise choice."

"Even a wanderer gets tired of being alone sometimes," Vincent said. "I will set out as soon as I'm able to secure transportation. I trust Highwind Corporation will assist me?"

"Building number four, the warehouse to the right of this one using the covered walkway," Tseng said. "Thank you, Vincent. I won't forget this."

He made it back to the motel before Reno, going noiselessly up the stairs to the sound of the sea from the open windows in the stairwell. Reno had left the door unlocked. Vincent went inside and found Rude sitting up in bed.

"It's you," Rude said, sounding unsurprised. "I was wondering when you would get here."

"Were you expecting me?"

"More or less," the other man said, settling back against the pillows with a slight wince. He had rarely seen Rude without his sunglasses, and he looked younger, more vulnerable. "Tseng tends to pull you out of his deck of cards when things get rough."

"Things are going to get a lot rougher," Vincent said darkly. He went to the open window and shut it, pulling the curtains closed. "How good of a shape are you in?"

Rude touched his face experimentally, patted his injured arm and jerked his shoulders up and down a few times, wincing again but under control. "I'm fine," he said. "Are we going back to Corel?"

"So says the shadowman," Reno interjected, banging the door against the wall as he entered the room. "What's up, Valentine, you developed lock-picking skills or something?"

"The door was open when I arrived," Vincent said. "Again I should remind you about the follies of carelessness." He went to the door, closed it and bolted it firmly.

Reno glared at him and disappeared into the bathroom, kicking the door shut behind him. "Go and stick it up someone else's ass, Valentine!" came his muffled voice. Vincent looked at Rude.

"Has he been spending time with Highwind Corporation?"

Rude smiled slightly between the bandages and began to get out of bed. Vincent reached out a hand to help him, balancing the big man as he tottered unsteadily to his feet. "I assume Highwind lent you some sort of air transportation to get us out of here?"

"It's just outside the city," Vincent said quietly. He glanced again at the window, at the moon's waxing crescent above Costa del Sol's palm trees. "We need to leave soon."

Rude wrapped a holster around his waist, slid the gun lying on the bedside table carefully into it. "Once Reno comes out of the bathroom," he said. One hand went to the side of his face, where the white bandages were now stained a dusky red. "I should change these."

"You should," Vincent said. His arm was tingling again, stabs of not-quite pain shooting up and down the infected area. "When did you start carrying a gun again?"

"Since Tseng told him to," Reno's voice called from the bathroom as the door opened again. "Are we ready to go?"

Rude gestured to him. "Just waiting on you."

"Your bandages," Vincent reminded him, and Rude shook his head.

"I can wait till we get to the ship to change these."

"Suit yourself," Vincent said. He watched Reno sling his duffel over his shoulder and nod at Rude. "Follow me."

The stars were out now as he led his motley crew out of the back door of the motel, down the moonlit side street out of sight of the surfside partiers that had begun to emerge with loud drunken voices and the sound of beer bottles opening. Vincent led them to where the alley met the main road, motioned to them to wait. From behind him, as he slipped into the shadows of the town center, he heard Reno whisper accusingly, "I'm supposed to be on vacation."

"I'm sorry," Rude said, and then Vincent was out of hearing range, the wind rushing past him in great gulps and flickers of golden air. Stars shimmered in his vision and he gazed out into the land, closing his eyes and letting the flow of the world pass him by slowly as the Planet turned and the Lifestream sang in his ears along with the gibbering of demons at the edges of his hearing, Chaos' echoes from inside his soul where the monster still dwelt, submerged.

He could not see the Lifestream like the Ancients had seen it. If he could, perhaps he would not have this mysterious illness eating away at a body still ageless.

The coast and surrounding areas of Costa del Sol were quiet and clear. He slipped back into the street and joined the two Turks. Rude was leaning against the alley wall, face clenched in pain though trying not to show it, and Reno's expression was tense. Vincent took in the situation at a glance, jerked his head mutely, and Rude pushed himself off the wall with a grimace.

"Rude-" Reno hissed, but the tall man shook his head.

"I'm fine," he said. "Lead on, Vincent."

The Bronco was where he had left it in the grassy field on the far side of Corel, still tethered, darkly silver in the moonlight. He and Reno helped Rude on board and settled him in one of the crew chairs on the upper deck, and Reno unshouldered his pack, spilling its contents on the floor. Vincent left him rummaging through packages of bandages and went to check on the engines.

It's a government conspiracy, Cid had said darkly when Vincent had gone into building four of the Green Earth compound and found the former astronaut slouching by the receptionist's desk, jotting down a phone number. He seemed genuinely happy to see Vincent, said that Reeve was out of town, in Edge for the week, about a government contract to restart the Shinra space program.

Vincent had wondered privately that Cid did not seem as happy about that news as he'd expected him to be, but said nothing. The man had grown increasingly touchy and restless since his divorce. Instead, he relayed in brief the news that Tseng had given him and asked to borrow some form of transportation. Anything but another Tiny Bronco, he said, would be adequate. That was when the government conspiracy theory had come up again, because in Cid's opinion, the new government in New Midgar was just another excuse to find some way to take over the world, as Shinra had.

"I highly doubt that at the moment," Vincent said. "Midgar seems to be keeping to themselves for the moment."

"They've been posting flyers in Corel," Cid muttered. "Lookin' for recruits for their new military police force."

He recalled seeing some of those flyers tacked up on bulletin boards around Edge, remembered that there had been a large poster in the foyer of the main Green Earth headquarters building, but he hadn't taken any notice. "I'd be more worried about the state of affairs in Nibelheim at the moment," he said. "Something's not right."

"I hear ya," Cid said. "Goddamn fucking Sephiroth."

Vincent pressed one hand to the tiny window of the engine room, wondering if the Cetra had felt the Planet rushing past them too, like clods of dirt and soil and years of history torn up by a blast of Earth. Will we be fighting Sephiroth forever? he wondered. Perhaps he should feel that kinship with Sephiroth as men who both carried part of Hojo's shared legacy, but he shied away from that. He was many things, but he was not the monster that Sephiroth had been, no matter how many times he would succumb in battle to the darkness of the creatures living inside him.

Cloud had defeated Sephiroth many times, but the nightmare kept returning.

"Vincent?"

It was Rude, fresh bandages wrapped around his head, leaning on the doorframe. "We should go."

He turned from the porthole. "I hope you have a full report ready for Rufus Shinra," he said quietly to Rude as he passed him on the way back to the cockpit. "Things are going to get a lot worse from now on."

[fic] FFVII: Gunpowder and Firecrackers (chapter 3)

2007-01-14T20:54:32Z

Thanks again to everyone who is reading this - you guys are the best. FFVII is such a detailed world and I am enjoying this fic immensely, probably the most I've enjoyed writing anything since Sonzai.

FINAL FANTASY VII
Gunpowder and Firecrackers
[Other header stuff: PG-13, Tifa/Rude, AU to DoC, spoilers up to end of AC]

It is fifteen years after Meteor, thirteen years after Kadaj's defeat. Rufus Shinra, leader of the world philanthropic organization Green Earth, has been having odd dreams about Cloud Strife, about Sephiroth, about the mysterious town of Nibelheim. In a world where peace is as fragile and elusive as the voices of the lost Ancients, the old members of AVALANCHE and Shinra struggle to piece together the secrets of the Lifestream and Jenova's legacy in a race against time to save the ones they love.

III. Reno

Reno hated lying.

He hated lying even more than he hated letting his enemies live, and both friend and foe knew his skills in combat. But as he headed east on the long, low motorcycle that hummed under his hands and whipped the wind into his face as it roared down the newly paved road from Corel to Costa del Sol, he thought again of Tifa, and his "accidental" slip as he'd let her know that it was not Wutai that Rude was headed toward.

Why had he done it? He wasn't quite sure. Rude was still his best pal after all these years, and he knew that Rude would have wanted more than anything to keep this a secret from Tifa even if Rufus hadn't ordered it. But something about it just wasn't right. Tifa had been hurt more than anyone, and Reno didn't think that keeping this a secret from her was something that would pan out in the long run.

It was just one of those feelings that he got sometimes.

The pistol hanging from his belt was heavy and completely unnecessary, but Rufus had insisted he carry it anyway. It was practically antique, taken from Rufus' secret storage closet the night before Reno had headed out, and when he'd examined it carefully after going back to his rooms, he saw that the old Shinra markings were still finely engraved into the silver hilt. For some reason, that made him even more uneasy than he had been before about this whole thing.

Rufus hadn't explained anything. He'd told Reno to deliver a parcel of papers two days ago to the new-city sprawl of Baring just south of Corel, and then said that Reno was to be on vacation for the next week. Mandatory vacation, he emphasized. On no conditions are you to come back to Corel until you're finished relaxing. That's an order. Reno had been sorely tempted to open that parcel of papers before he'd thrown them in an unmarked mailbox on some shady side-street in the Baring slums, but he'd resisted the urge and sped out of the city with even more questions.

Perhaps Rufus had intended for him and Rude to talk. Or perhaps he thought that sending Reno on mandatory vacation would stop them from talking. Whatever the case, Reno wasn't about to let his best friend get the upper hand, and Rude hadn't been too recalcitrant. They'd arranged to meet in a week in Costa del Sol, and Reno had decided that he'd worm the whole thing out of Rude one way or another.

It was another half hour before he saw the charming gates of the seaside town in the distance, another ten minutes before he had his bike parked outside one of the newer taverns lining the sunny, narrow, cobblestone streets and was seated at the bar downing a drink. Tseng had always disapproved of him drinking and driving, but if Rude showed up, Reno wasn't planning on doing any driving for a couple of hours anyway.

He cupped the glass in his hands and studied the bar's clientele. This early in the afternoon, there wasn't anyone but a couple of hard-nosed drunks slumped in the corner by the far wall, a cute little waitress in a flouncy apron taking orders from a couple in loud matching flowery shirts and sandals. Reno pursed his lips and whistled softly to pass the time, a little ditty he'd learned from a rundown bar somewhere in Edge a few years ago.

So far away from my home, sweet home
Day by day, from land to land I roam
Though told by the wind which way to go,
Oh, how I long for my home, sweet home.

The door to the bar slammed open.

At first, Reno didn't recognize Rude with his face half-covered in blood and one arm hanging limply at his side. He leapt from his chair, knocking his drink over and sending it crashing to the floor in a shower of glass. "Hey man," he said, easing his friend back against the bar, ripping part of his sleeve from his already tattered shirt, mopping up the blood as best as he could. Most of it was dried, caked so thickly around Rude's mouth he could barely speak. "Call an ambulance!" Reno yelled at the bartender, who was already backing away to the bar's only phone behind the counter. Rude moaned, raising one hand to his face, and then swollen eyes opened slightly.

"Re...no?" he whispered.

"I'm here, dude, you're gonna be ok," Reno said. "I got people coming. What the hell happened to you?"

"Nibel..." Rude said, and then stopped, gasping for breath. The door banged open and a few men rushed down the stairs with a stretcher.

Nibelheim, thought Reno with a sudden frightened anger. Rufus was right. The men eased Rude onto the stretcher and Rude grasped Reno's hand with a grip so crushingly strong that Reno barely refrained from crying out. There was something else in that grip, something cold and metallic and pointed, and as the men rushed back up the stairs with their burden, Reno opened his hand slowly and stared at the object there.

The topmost point of the star pendant had pierced the skin of one finger and blood oozed out of the surface cut. But that wasn't what Reno noticed - it was the little surface pockmarks on the face of the star pendant, the marks which indicated that it had seen years of wear and tear. He turned it over, saw the markings scratched on the back of the metal.

AVALANCHE

"Well damn," he said.

They told him Rude was ready for visitors a few hours later, that he'd needed surgery to repair a broken arm and some painkillers for the swelling, but there had been no serious injuries and they'd checked him out of Costa del Sol's tiny hospital and moved him to Reno's hotel room. That was fine, Reno thought. Rude had a lot of explaining to do.

"If you didn't look like shit, I'd punch you in the face," he told his partner pointedly, staring down at the bandaged-swathed form lying prostrate on the bed.

"Hello," Rude said around the bandages. "I see I've been missed."

"You've got some serious explaining to do," Reno said. "I'd wait until you had something to eat and maybe a nap, but with the shape you're in, I doubt we can afford to wait. What happened?"

Rude coughed. "Help me sit up," he said. Reno frowned at him. "I'm ok," the big man assured him. "A broken arm and a black eye is not going to hurt me if I sit for a bit."

"You can start by explaining this," Reno said, pushing Rude against the bed pillows and dangling the star pendant in front of him at eye level. "I've read the back of it. I know what it says. Cloud always carried this with him when he was going anywhere."

Rude closed his eyes briefly. "Yes," he said. "He did. Sit down, Reno."

"Can't. My legs are itchy," Reno said, but he sat impatiently. "Spill."

"Rufus had one of those dreams that he couldn't ignore. I know Strife used to get them too. I don't know if it was the spirit of that Ancient girl again, or aftereffects of Mako. He came to me the next day and said I had to go to Nibelheim, and I was not to tell Tifa."

"The dream?" Reno prodded, but Rude shook his head.

"He didn't say. From the fact that he told me I shouldn't tell Tifa, I assumed it had to do with Strife's whereabouts - dead or alive. I stopped by Midgar to give Tifa the ring before I headed out. I figured that it was now or never. I didn't want to be sucked into Nibelheim by whatever had gotten Cloud and not had the chance to tell her. I left early the next day. I told her I was going to Wutai. It took me two days to get to Nibelheim."

"Right," Reno said, the uneasy feeling creeping over him again. "So?"

Rude took a deep breath. "Nibelheim's no longer there."

Reno blinked. "Say again?"

"You heard me," Rude said harshly, staring out the window. "The town's vanished."

"You're not saying it was burned down again."

Rude shook his head jerkily. "Burning, like Sephiroth did, leaves evidence. This time it was like there was nothing there in the first place. There's no ruins, no evidence of civilization, nothing. There's a bunch of jagged rocks and boulders that hadn't been there before, like there was an earthquake."

"You're sure you went to the right place," Reno said, clutching the pendant.

Rude smiled sardonically through swollen lips. "My navigation skills haven't deteriorated that much in the last few years," he said. "I even checked the electronic maps, just in case. Nibelheim's gone."

"Well," Reno said, for once at a loss for words. "Shit."

"I walked around the place once or twice just in case. I found a cave. It must have been where the old Shinra mansion used to be. I went in so I could have something to report. It serves me right for not listening to my instincts."

"I'm guessing you found this inside," Reno said, gesturing to the pendant.

"Just inside the entrance," Rude said. "I turned on my light and kept going in. The place was like a maze. I was about to head back out when I heard a noise. Like a fool, I went to investigate."

He stopped. Reno clutched the pendant again. "Rude?"

"There's something living down in that cave," Rude said. "I don't know what it is. I don't think I want to know."

"Is it...human?"

Rude's eyes were haunted. "I don't know. I couldn't see it clearly except for the eyes. The eyes..." He trailed off.

Reno bent over the bed, voice hard. "Rude, man, you gotta pull yourself together. We're all in this with you, and if there's some new monster living inside of there that's swallowed Nibelheim whole, I think it's as much of a threat as we've seen in some time."

"It...spoke to me," Rude said. "The voice...it was Cloud's voice."

Rude fell asleep somewhere in the late afternoon and Reno let him sleep, wandering the halls of the motel with Cloud's pendant in his pocket. A monster out of the dark, with Cloud's voice and Cloud's eyes. The shadow of it had been too big to be truly human, Rude had said. The thought of the remembered conversation sent chills down Reno's spine, but it wasn't something he could just afford to push away.

He should call headquarters and inform Rufus and Tseng of the circumstances, but he wasn't about to take his chances on a regular phone. He was on vacation, after all, and Rufus hadn't given him anything with proper encryption. He'd use Rude's, but that had been lost in the struggle and flight out of Nibelheim. If the thing - whatever it was - in Nibelheim was part of a larger network, they'd be tracking him and Rude in no time, and maybe even go after Rufus again.

He had to warn Elena, Reno thought, ticking things off his fingers. Inform Rufus. Somehow figure out how much Tifa had managed to piece together after Reno's little hint the other day over the phone. In hindsight, that had been stupid too, even on an encrypted phone on his end, but he had a fondness for Tifa, Rude or no Rude. And then he had to get back to Corel in one piece, which was easier said than done with an injured man riding on the back of his bike. Rude had apparently ridden his own crippled bike into Costa del Sol, but he was in no condition to ride it home, and the bike was in for extensive repairs.

Shoving the pendant into his pocket, Reno decided that pacing wasn't doing anything for his sanity and left the motel down the rickety staircase through the wooden-slatted front door. The sun was setting in a fiery haze of gold and red over the beach. The best thing to do, he decided, was to take a leisurely stroll, like any man on mandatory vacation would do, and maybe get something to eat. Last he remembered, they sold good hot dogs down on the beach at one of those umbrella stands. Maybe Rude would want one.

He'd made it down the sandy slope to the beach front, stripped off his left shoe and was feeling the fine white sand under his toes, when he noticed that one of the long shadows had detached itself from one of the palm trees at the edge of the waterfront and was following him. He whirled around, but there was nothing there, just the sound of waves on the shore and the breeze curling around his face. He started walking again, and there was that motion at the corner of his eye, to his left, the slightest hint of footsteps. Stopping again, he stared resolutely ahead at the empty beach, a few people lounging on white plastic chairs, the faint sound of music coming from the large new cafe up above, on the boardwalk.

Reno smiled tightly to himself, bent down to strip off the rest of his shoes and socks, and began to run.

The sand was soft and giving beneath his feet and he pounded down the stretch of beach, feeling his feet sink into the ground and giving his calves and hamstrings a good workout. He must have looked ridiculous to anyone actually enjoying the sunset view from the beach, some barefoot guy in a nice suit, his slacks rolled up around his ankles, shoes and socks in hand, huffing and puffing his way through the surf. Reno had never quite cared what bystanders thought of him, and he found he didn't quite care now, only focusing on the shadow to his left, still moving with him.

They passed out of sight of the cafe and the commercial section of beach to where the sand turned to sharp, gravelly stones that pricked the soles of his feet and made running difficult. He slowed to a walk, stopped, turned again. The shadow was gone, but he put one hand to his belt, where the Shinra pistol lay holstered.

"You can come out now," he said.

A flicker of movement and then the man emerged out of the shadows, blood-red eyes gleaming in the dusk light under a hooded cloak. He'd traded his usual black and red garb for a long, grey flowing garment over dark pants tucked into scuffed boots, but Reno would know that face anywhere.

"It's not smart to discuss secrets in public," Vincent Valentine said.

"Well, well," Reno said smoothly, not taking his hand off the gun. "If it isn't the monster himself."

Vincent took the slight impassively. "Unfortunately, I'm not the monster you should be afraid of at the moment." Red eyes flicked to the right and left quickly, then returned to Reno's face, as if satisfied that the "public" he had just referred to was not listening in.

"I can take care of myself, thanks very much," Reno snapped, the anger bubbling up from beneath years of Shinra's training. Tseng used to tell him that his temper was going to be the death of him one day, but damned if he was going to stand here and take orders from some ex-Turk who flitted in and out of their lives whenever he liked it. "If you know so damn much, why didn't you try and warn Rude while you were at it?"

"That," Vincent said, "I didn't know. Believe me, I would have tried and stopped your friend if I had the information beforehand, but it was only thanks to the attack on Rude that I know what I know now."

"And what's that?" Reno said irritably, gripping the handle of the pistol tightly. The materia in its slots were smooth and cold under his sweaty fingers. "Damn it, Valentine, I've had a lifetime of being strung along on information. You think I can't spot when you're trying to dodge the question?"

Vincent's lips quirked in what would have been called a grin, had that movement been on anyone else. "A Turk to the core," he said, "just like Tseng said." He turned fluidly, pointing one finger down the beach farther on, where the gravel turned into pebbly ground sloping away from the water's edge and turning into a series of low, jagged cliffs. "Come with me."

"Wait a second," Reno called after him sharply, "What was that about Tseng?" But Vincent had already slipped away like the shadows that he seemed to so adore, moving swiftly and silently along the rocks. Feeling clumsy and waterlogged in comparison, Reno bent down to put his socks and shoes back on and began trudging after him. The rocky coast was rougher going than the beach, and Reno couldn't help but think that for a man who was supposed to be on vacation, he was sure having one of the most interesting weeks he'd had in years. I bet Rufus'll love to hear about this.

He then imagined the former Shinra leader's face after he and Rude, all bandaged and sewn up, arrived back in Corel on the back of his motorbike. Or maybe not.

Vincent was already waiting for him at the cliffs, perched like a bird of prey on one of the lower boulders as Reno clambered up unsteady footholds, his shirt soaked with sweat under his suit coat. "No fair," he grumbled under his breath. "I'm only human."

The former Turk simply watched him silently until Reno had firmly situated himself on the rock and shrugged out of his coat, panting slightly. "What do you know about the Lifestream?" Vincent said.

Reno blinked at the sudden broaching of the new topic. "Uh," he said. "Enough. It's not something I like to think about on a daily basis. I figure I'll have plenty of time to do that when I die and my body splits into tiny atoms or whatever. Why?"

The red eyes frowned slightly at him, in disapproval at his irreverence or just annoyance at Reno's blowing off of another pseudo-quasi religious topic, he didn't know. He didn't think it mattered. "Fifteen years ago, Jenova and Sephiroth were defeated by Cloud Strife and the rest of our small alliance. Thirteen years ago, the cells of Jenova's remains that had entered the Lifestream caused the Geostigma syndrome, cured mostly by Aeris Gainsborough's intervention from that same Lifestream."

Reno didn't miss the qualifier. "Mostly?" he said sharply. "I thought Geostigma was gone for good. I haven't heard of any cases popping up in the last ten years or so."

Vincent nodded. "That's true."

He waited for the black-haired man to continue, but after nothing seemed forthcoming, he crossed his arms over his chest, rolling his eyes. "Look, man, you stalk me down the beach, make me do some mountain climbing, and then leave me hanging again. That's no fair."

If he had been Rufus, Vincent would have smiled at Reno's mock-tirade. If he had been Rude, he would have made some pacifying remarks. If he had been Tseng, he would have given Reno third shift patrol for speaking out of turn. But Vincent was not any of them, and simply sat, staring up at the sky, shoulders set and expression cold.

Reno opened his mouth to say that he'd had enough of this shit and he was going home, and then Vincent abruptly turned away, yanking his sleeve up at the same time to show Reno a forearm speckled with tiny red pustules, blue veins running startlingly bright against blackened flesh. Reno stared, horrified and yet fascinated, goosebumps prickling over his skin.

"Mostly," Vincent said. "I believe this is a new type of the virus, a mutant strain, perhaps?" He sounded as calm as someone discussing his schedule for the next day. "I have been to Aeris' church in Edge. The water in her pool reduced some of the swelling, and the blisters, but the disease remains."

"Shit," Reno said softly.

"I believe also there have been a number of infant deaths this past year due to a disease of this particular nature, especially in towns nearer to the Northern Crater. Rufus Shinra has the statistics in one of his log books. The disease seems to be confined to a small area for the moment. I believe it is not contagious."

Or you wouldn't be here right now, Reno thought. He jerked his gaze away from Vincent's arm, and the man calmly pulled his sleeve down again. "This is why he sent Rude to Nibelheim? What the hell does...why...did Cloud..." He wasn't sure what he wanted to say, brain rolling with too many thoughts and emotions to name, so he simply stopped.

"I believe Rufus Shinra owes you all an explanation," Vincent said.

"Damn right," Reno muttered, massaging his temples with both fingers, staring off into the distance where the sky met the sea in a last red flare of bravado as the sun vanished over the horizon. "More than me, he owes Rude. We're not Shinra any more. I ain't gonna have it, and I sure as hell ain't gonna let Rude have it either."

"Your friend is too stubborn for his own good," Vincent said. "Tseng mentioned this as well."

Reno frowned. "That's the second time you've mentioned Tseng. What's up with that?"

Vincent was silent for a moment, and then he said, "Tseng was worried."

He had no response to that, so he simply shifted on the rock. The wind was cold. Tseng worried a lot these days - worried about Rufus, worried about Green Earth, worried, about his old Turks, worried about budget and finances and the new oil industry, worried like an old man that it was only a matter of time before a new Kadaj or Sephiroth would appear and all his work would be for nothing. "Tseng's like a packrat," Reno said irritably. "Or a mom with empty nest syndrome."

Vincent chuckled softly and Reno swung his head around at the unexpected sound. "Tseng is a good man," he said. "He sent me after you because he cares about what happens to his friends."

"So he sent you, did he?" The anger flared again, then subsided. He would have preferred Elena to Valentine, but what was done was done. Rude would probably be awake by now, and there was some explaining to do. "I suppose you're coming back to Corel with me then."

"As soon as Rude is willing to leave," Vincent said. He stood suddenly, the barest hint of movement through the glow of the rising moon. "I will meet you back at the motel."

"Rude's motorcycle is broken," Reno said. He did not hear footsteps, but something told him that the other man was already withdrawing, gliding back down to the pebbly beach like fluid shadow.

"I thought that three would be a tight fit on your motorcycle," Vincent said from below, so softly that Reno could barely hear him, "so Reeve and Cid lent me an airship."