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Chapter Text

Tseng was fifteen years old when the war broke out and though his father hailed from Wutai, though he had been raised to learn the language and understand the culture, his entire life had been spent far removed from the country his father called home.

Every evening Tseng would sit on the floor of the living room in their modest home in Mideel, sandwiched between his siblings while they watched the television for news about the war. His father was of two minds about the ordeal and never voiced the same opinion twice as to which side he fell on. Wutai was his home, but he and Tseng’s mother were doctors working for Shinra. Could they really condemn the entire company and its territories when they did so much good? Hadn’t Shinra sent them to establish a much needed hospital on Mideel after all? Maybe the dissidents ought to let Shinra build a reactor like they wanted.

But when the news would show an ancient towering pagoda crumbling to pieces in the wake of a Shinra attack, his face would become a dark mask of anger and he would turn the television off.

Tseng felt detached from any strong feelings about the war. Shinra’s dominance had already been established long ago. What hope did a tiny country like Wutai have in ebbing the flow of their conquest?

It wasn’t long after the war began that Tseng left home. His choices had been limited from the start, but as the war continued, Shinra began recruiting doctors to the front lines and Tseng’s parents were on their list. Though he had spent his entire life on Mideel, there were no emotional ties holding him there if his parents left. His older siblings had already flown the nest, his younger siblings would go where his parents went, and Tseng often got lost in the fold anyway. So he made up his mind to travel to Midgar and get a job with Shinra, as his parents had. There was no patriotic duty in the decision - Midgar was simply where young boys went to find a new and exciting life.

A life spent hidden from attention, hogged by his siblings and more extroverted peers, meant Tseng wasn’t looking for fame or fortune. He would be happy to get lost in a different fold, get a nice desk job and live comfortably in the ‘floating city of the future’. He left home with a few thousand gil scrounged up from summer jobs, a bag of baked goods from his mother, and an expensive Wutaian fountain pen with an image of leviathan wrapped around it gifted to him by his father ‘to remember his heritage’.

There was no direct route to Midgar from an island like Mideel, so Tseng took a flight to the eastern continent on a tiny puddle jumper and took a series of buses and trains the rest of the way. On the fourth day of his travel, the city came into view on the other side of a vast wasteland of dead earth, stunning in its size and grandeur. Tseng had never seen anything like it in his life; the largest building in Mideel was six stories and had been condemned after a particularly bad earthquake affected its foundation.

Despite leaving Mideel without any notions of a fabulous and interesting life, he found himself envisioning how wonderful it might be living on the plate, making enough to eat at expensive restaurants and try exotic new foods.

The first lesson Midgar taught Tseng was that life was not as glamorous or exciting in the famous city as he had been led to believe. The plate was prohibitively expensive, even to rent a tiny room in a shared home. He spent his entire first day seeking accommodation and being turned away when he didn’t have enough gil to pay.

‘You’ll have better luck in the slums, kid.’

So that’s where he went, down beneath the plate where the air was hot and stagnant and smelled vaguely of waste, trapped as it was beneath the sectors above. They never showed this part of Midgar in the tourism ads that constantly played on TV. Everything was falling apart or put together in such a ramshackle fashion that it may as well have been. But he did find an affordable place to stay, at least temporarily, while he looked for a job.

That too was more difficult than he had been led to believe. Working for Shinra, even as a lowly office worker, was a coveted position to be in. Shinra guaranteed housing above the plate to many of its employees, so a job with them meant a ticket out of the slums. Tseng had no real experience to make him stand out, and though he applied to as many vacant positions as he could find, his applications went unanswered.

His savings dwindling quickly, Tseng resorted to using one of the few skills he had. Doctors were in short supply in the slums, and those that were available were often greedy, charging just enough that it was a burden on their patients, but not so much that a slum dweller couldn’t afford it if they were truly desperate. Tseng began offering his services to the people in Sector 3, where he was temporarily living. He wasn’t trained, but his parents had taught him how to set bones, how to stitch up wounds, and how to treat minor injuries and he charged far less than any other ‘doctor’ in the area. It earned him a good reputation with the locals, but it also earned him the attention of one Don Corneo: a mob boss running a number of illegal operations beneath the plate who held many of the slum doctors in his pocket.

Two events happened in the span of the week that would irrevocably change Tseng’s life forever. The first was that a group of Don Corneo’s lackeys showed up at his apartment, which also doubled as his clinic. They came in the dead of night and Tseng awoke to three massive men looming over him and before he had time even to scream, one of them had his hand around Tseng’s throat, lifting him into the air and slamming him against the wall.

“You think you can come in here and just step on the Don’s turf, huh? You got a brain in that skull or is it all empty?”

“Ah man, he’s just a kid,” said one of the other lackeys, frowning at Tseng with a sympathetic look. “He might don’t know any better.”

The first man smacked him on the back of the head before delivering a kick to Tseng’s ribs that knocked the wind out of him. “Then consider this a warning, kid. The Don decides the prices for the grounders and he don’t like you charging so cheap. It’s losing him business. You understand?”

Tseng stared back at the men wordlessly. He had never believed the world to be a fair or just place, and a few months in Midgar had been more than enough to teach him that the city was no different. But he also wasn’t a coward. He refused to grovel at their feet for forgiveness in breaking a rule he had never been aware of to begin with.

“You deaf or somethin’?” The man bellowed.

Tseng spit at him, which earned him a swift punch across the jaw, jarring him backward and causing him to slam his head into the wall. He fell unconscious and when he awoke, the men were gone, as was all of his gil and the expensive Wutaian pen his father had gifted him.

It took him some time to get up off of the floor and take a look at himself in the mirror. His jaw was bruised and swollen and his ribs ached so badly when he breathed that he was certain they were broken. So this was the true Midgar with its shiny veneer picked away.

Tseng continued to operate his clinic despite the threats. As soon as he had the money, he found a less than reputable shop where he bought himself a pistol and some ammunition: he would not be unprepared if they came for him again, which he knew they would. He wasn’t the best shot in the world, but he knew he was better off with some means of defending himself.

The next time someone showed up unexpectedly at his door, however, it wasn’t Don Corneo’s thugs. It was a tall middle-aged man with neatly groomed salt and pepper hair and a thin beard wearing a crisp black suit. Tseng had answered the knock with his gun in hand, but the man commanded such an air of authority with one look that he stepped back and holstered his gun.

“I understand you’ve been running a clinic from this apartment,” the man said, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him.

“Yes,” answered Tseng.

“Do you know who I am?”

Tseng didn’t know specifically, but he had heard the other slum-dwellers frequently discussing a group of Shinra operatives known colloquially as the Turks. They showed up in a smart black suits and wherever they were spotted, it usually meant they had come to clean up a mess for Shinra. What exactly ‘cleaning up’ entailed was left open to interpretation.

“Are you a Turk?” Tseng asked.

The man smiled. “My name is Veld. And you are?”

At the time, Tseng had not yet chosen the name that he would end up going by for the rest of his life: his alias. He answered with his given name and then said, “But I bet you already knew that.”

“Clever boy,” Veld nodded. He took a seat in a chair meant for Tseng’s patients.

“Are you here to kill me?” Asked Tseng. He wasn’t afraid, but he knew if the man wanted him dead, there was nothing he could do to stop him.

“No, no. Don Corneo would certainly like that. By the looks of you, you’ve met his associates.” He gripped Tseng’s chin and scanned his face. “You took quite a beating, didn’t you?”

“I’m fine,” Tseng jerked away from him and sat down on the edge of his bed. “Why are you here?”

“Part of my job is to find people we think would make good recruits for the Turks,” Veld explained. “I’ve been watching you for a while now. I think you have a solid set of skills to start you off strong in our training academy. And I think you’d be better suited to that kind of work than risking your life running this little clinic of yours.”

“You want me to work for Shinra?” Tseng tried to mute his enthusiasm in the question. Despite running the clinic, he had not given up hope that he might find a position with Shinra one day. He knew just little enough about the Turks that the prospect sounded intriguing, rather than terrifying: exciting spy missions, like the movies his father used to watch.

“Yes.” Veld nodded. “The process is not a guarantee that you have what it takes to be a Turk. If you agree to come with me, you’ll spend two years in training academy. If you pass all your final exams, you’ll become a Turk. If not, we can usually find a vacancy somewhere else for you to fill.”

“And I’d get to work for Shinra either way?”

“Yes. Your parents work for Shinra, don’t they?”

It unsettled Tseng that he knew that, but he supposed it was a Turk’s job to know everything about a target. “Yes, sir.”

“You had better make your decision quickly,” Veld suggested, rising to his feet and stepping toward the door. “Don Corneo won’t be pleased to hear you’re still operating this clinic of yours. It would be a shame for such a talented boy to wind up dead for crossing the wrong man.”

“I want to join,” Tseng said without hesitation.

Veld laughed. “You don’t even want to think on it?”

“No.” He stood up. “Please, sir.”

“Then gather whatever you want to bring with you,” Veld said. “I’ll be waiting outside.”

It hardly felt real, gathering up what few possessions Tseng had to his name and following Veld out to a waiting helicopter, which took them above the plate straight to Sector 0 where Shinra Tower stood gleaming over the rest of the city. Inside of Shinra Tower was exactly what Tseng had expected of Midgar when he first arrived: stunning architecture, beautiful decor, the type of grandeur Tseng had only dreamed of experiencing in person. People milled about chatting excitedly and watching with interest as the Turk and his new recruit passed them by. It filled Tseng with a renewed sense of hope.

The next two years crushed most of that hope out of him, as was Midgar’s way. He was outfitted with his own black suit, which he quickly outgrew as several growth spurts hit him over the years of his academy training. He was also outfitted with a weapon of his choosing and a trainer to help him become proficient with it. He waffled back and forth between martial arts, which appealed to him because the trainer was Wutaian and used Wutaian methods, and the pistol, which seemed a more practical instrument for the trade. In the end he chose martial arts - all Turks would receive basic firearms training anyway.

And that became his temporary name in academy: ‘Fists’ was what his classmates called him, ‘Martial Arts’ was what the Turks training them called him. Part of becoming a Turk, he and his classmates learned, was shedding your past and leaving it behind. At the end of academy, if you passed, you could choose your alias. Some kept the same names they had before, dropping any surnames to tie them back to the family they came from, but most picked a new name to distinguish their new self from their past. Tseng thought often about what he might choose for his alias, as though it were guaranteed he ever made it that far.

Despite his introverted nature, Tseng found he got on well with his three fellow trainees. There was a sword specialist, a rod specialist, and an explosives expert. All of them, Tseng learned, came from questionable backgrounds. Katana, as they came to call her, was an ex-convict who had worked out a plea deal with Shinra, recognizing her skills could be more useful outside of a prison cell than in one. Rod had been the leader of a gang in the slums. Bomb once led a little rag-tag anti-Shinra resistance group made up of a bunch of teenagers, but had been betrayed by a comrade and recruited by Shinra after the resulting fallout. Only Tseng came from a relatively decent upbringing, and though at first he thought this made him somehow better than the others, deserving of some sort of higher station, he quickly realized that in the end, he had just been a stupid kid scraping by in the slums who happened to have a set of skills Shinra could put to use.

The first eight weeks of academy consisted of hours of intensive training with relatively little time to recover between sessions. In the morning, all four recruits ate breakfast together, then there were two hours of educational lectures on the history of the company. They were shown pictures of the executives and other VIPs like the president’s son, given extensive background history on all of them, and then quizzed on it. Two hours of martial arts training and sparring followed the lectures, then a lunch break, two hours of firearms training, and two hours of observing field agents to round off the day. One day a week they were allowed a half day, spending the morning running laps and lifting weights, with the afternoon to do as they pleased. Typically this entailed the four of them exploring the city. Allowed to roam free on the upper plate, they found clubs where they wasted money on overpriced alcohol and did a poor job of flirting with the locals. All of them were just barely sixteen - there was no hiding their youth or inexperience.

After the first eight weeks of training were up, time was divided between patrolling the upper plate two sectors at a time, training in their specialties, sparring, and more lectures, with the occasional lessons in skills necessary for subterfuge - dancing, foreign languages, conversational skills to pry out information. By the end of academy they were expected to be in peak physical shape and able to recall any and every detail about the most important people running the Shinra Electric Power Company.

Tseng experienced a number of firsts during his two years at training. His first kiss was with Bomb, whom he shared a room with, one night after Bomb managed to sneak a bottle of vodka in past Veld and their other superiors. Tseng had known for a very long time how he felt about other men, but he had never met anyone he wanted to kiss…not really. Bomb was irritating on most days: loud, obnoxious, constantly acting out for attention, but he also flirted relentlessly with Tseng. At sixteen, Tseng didn’t quite know what to do with that attention. But when Bomb initiated the kiss, he found he liked it so much that he didn’t really care how annoying he found Bomb most of the time.

Next on his list of firsts was his first hangover, which came the night after his first kiss. That had been far less enjoyable, and Bomb had laughed at him for his intolerance.

He won his first fight breaking up a riot in Sector 1 with Katana’s help during patrols, earned his first scar when a Wutai sympathizer in a bar recognized his uniform and called him a traitor to his people before stabbing him in the shoulder, and earned his first accommodation when he managed to find and destroy scientific documents from Proefessor Hojo’s lab when an errant employee left them behind on a train. None of them had to speculate what happened to the employee: Veld made them watch his interrogation and subsequent execution.

The first time Tseng watched his superiors kill someone, he went back to his room with a sick stomach. They had been warned day one that part of a Turk’s job entailed taking care of people who had wronged Shinra by whatever means necessary. He knew logically that this meant he would have to kill someone one day, but the reality of watching the life flicker so quickly from someone’s eyes was unsettling. The others felt it too, and Veld addressed it during lectures:

“The best skill you can learn as a Turk is how to compartmentalize and forget your trauma. You’ll never make it if you hold every kill close to your heart.”

Tseng considered that advice thoughtfully over the next months and years. He knew how to compartmentalize just fine: growing up his parents had never been the type to pry too heavily into the emotional state of their children. In fact, they were so busy between work and raising seven children that bringing an emotional concern to them often earned them a harsh scolding. ‘Grow up. Learn to deal with it. You haven’t go it that bad.’

So, bit by bit, Tseng learned to divide himself into pieces: Human Tseng, who still felt emotions, who could still appreciate the beauty to be seen in the world; and Turk Tseng, who had a job to do and nothing else.

As the months turned to years and their final exams approached, Tseng found himself looking at a man he hardly recognized in the mirror. He had grown substantially in the last two years, as had his hair, which he kept tied back in ponytail most of the time. His father had always worn a ponytail: long hair was a sign of strength and virility in Wutai, or so his father told him. Hours of training every day added to the hard work of running patrols had filled in Tseng’s muscles as well. He arrived in Midgar a thin wisp of a boy and was all lithe muscle by the time he finished academy.

While the recruits were allowed access to some of Shinra’s secrets, the most classified data was off limits until they passed their exams. Tseng and his classmates speculated often as to what some of those secrets were. Plenty of rumors abounded about the SOLDIER program, about secret labs beneath the slums, innocent people being used as test subjects. More than anyone or anything else at Shinra, rumors swirled around the young SOLDIER prodigy Sephiroth, who was already a war hero at only fifteen. Logically, Tseng and his classmates knew some of those rumors must be true, but they wanted to know exactly which ones.

That had been another lesson from Veld.

“The longer you stay with Shinra, the more you’ll realize you don’t actually want to know the truth of it. A Turk should know only what’s necessary to do their job. Everything else is extraneous…you might not like what you find out.”

The week before final exams, and a week after Tseng’s eighteenth birthday, Bomb made a proposition while the four recruits were studying together in the private library in Turks' headquarters.

“We should have an orgy, you guys,” Bomb said, chewing on the end of his pen and frowning at the tablet screen in front of him. He was staring at a picture of General Heidegger.

Katana scoffed and scooted away from him. “Count me out.”

Rod went red and said nothing. Tseng too, could feel a heat creeping up his neck and ears. He stared with sudden interest at a paragraph about the president’s son, but he wasn’t retaining anything he read.

“Don’t act so above it all.” Bomb pointed an accusatory finger at Katana. “You’ve gotten around plenty since we started training.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” She demanded.

“It means you’ve fucked someone every time we go out to a club!”

“And you haven’t?”

Bomb leaned back in his chair. “I mean, I did all right. Not as prolific as you.”

“Are you calling me a slut?”

“Can we just study, guys?” Rod muttered.

Tseng nodded in agreement. The line of conversation was uncomfortable for him because while all of his classmates had undergone that age-old rite of losing their virginity at some point in the last two years, Tseng had never had sex. He had at least kissed more people than just Bomb, but even after they had met their share of upper-crusters eager to tell everyone they slept with a Turk, Tseng just hadn’t gotten that far.

The truth was, he was nervous about it. What if he wasn’t any good? He spent an inordinate amount of time searching the internet for advice, but nothing replaced real-world experience. It felt stupid to be so hung up on it, but he wanted it to happen so he could say he’d done it and finally mark that particular ‘first’ off his list.

“H-how would an orgy even work?” Rod asked.

Rod was the only one of them that was straight.

Bomb gave him a withering look and held his hands up, forming an ‘O’ with the fingers of one hand and inserting the forefinger of his other hand into it repeatedly while he waggled his eyebrows. “I thought you said you’d had sex before?”

“I have,” Rod bristled. “I’ve just never done it with three other people at once. And with other guys…”

“A hole is a hole.”

“Real nice, Bomb,” Katana shot him a disgusted look.

“Look it was only a suggestion anyway. The offer always stands. I could show any of you a good time if you really wanted.” He leaned back in his chair and tapped idly on his tablet. “It’d be nice to blow off some steam before we have to shoot a guy’s brains out, you know?”

That too was weighing heavily on Tseng’s mind. The final exam consisted of four parts: a written test of everything they learned in their lectures, a demonstration that they had mastered the skill they chose to specialize in, obtaining information from a target, and ‘cleaning up loose ends’. These last two components of the exam went hand in hand: an interrogation followed by an execution. Those that couldn’t stomach it would be automatically failed and relocated to a different department.

“It’s easier for you,” said Rod. “You’ve actually killed people before.”

“Says who?”

“You blew up buildings!”

“Okay,” Bomb said, waving his hand dismissively, “But killing a few faceless Shinra goons isn’t the same as looking a guy dead in the eyes and shooting him.”

“Murder is murder, isn’t it?” Katana asked.

“Would Shinra call it murder? Or assassination?” Tseng asked in return.

“Now how did we get onto this shit topic?” Bomb huffed. “Let’s get back to that orgy idea…”

When the study session was over, Bomb and Tseng returned to their shared room. As Tseng was stowing his tablet and books in the locker by his bedside - a precaution they all took as Turks - Bomb sat on his bed looking Tseng up and down appraisingly.

“You ever think about that time we made out last year?” he asked.

“Sometimes,” Tseng answered truthfully. He had a policy of honesty unless the mission called for deceit. In the company of a fellow Turk, a lie felt unnecessary.

“You want to finally turn in that V-card you’ve been carrying around, Fists?” Bomb asked it as casually as he might ask if Tseng wanted to study after training the next day. Tseng looked up from his locker and stared at him.

Bomb wasn’t even what Tseng would describe as exceptionally attractive. Tseng’s had a thing for blonde men with strong noses, fortunately or unfortunately. He wasn’t sure when or where he’d picked up that particular predilection, but he’d known that even before he came to Midgar. Bomb was lanky and awkward, with a shock of naturally red hair so bright it was practically orange, and a little button nose which Tseng found especially obnoxious for some reason.

Still, an attraction obviously existed between them because Tseng had quite enjoyed the kiss they shared, and thought about it more often than he cared to admit.

“You’re thinkin’ about it!” Bomb grinned.

“Is it so obvious I haven’t…?”

“No, but we’re trained to be observant right?” Bomb tapped the side of his head. “Look, I’ve got everything we need.”

Tseng had no doubt. Bomb wasn’t just blowing hot air when he boasted about his conquests. He liked men and women in equal turns and for wildly different reasons and Tseng had seen him leave the clubs they visited with more than one person on his arm before. In that respect, Bomb was either the best or worst possible person for Tseng to finally lose his virginity with. On the one hand, he had plenty of experience to know how bad Tseng was at it, but on the other hand, he could probably provide some much needed guidance.

And as much as he got on Tseng’s nerves, he did trust Bomb at the end of the day.

So without saying a word, he bridged the distance between them and kissed him. What resulted wasn’t good by any stretch of the word, but it certainly was a new experience. Bomb liked to be on the bottom with men, which was good because Tseng wasn’t particularly adept at relinquishing control in any given situation, but there were a lot of stumbling blocks before they even got that far. Tseng was remarkably nervous, which Bomb repeatedly and loudly said was funny considering how even-keeled Tseng tended to be in all other departments. This just made him more nervous and in turn, it took him far longer than it should have to maintain an erection. Then it was a lot of ‘no not like that’ or ‘no, too deep too fast, slow down would ya?’ all of which culminated in an orgasm that made Tseng feel very strange about the experience overall.

“Well, you’ll get better at it,” Bomb offered. And then they never discussed it again.

The week of the final exams, they were all separated and placed in separate offices. The first day, they took their written exams. They weren’t allowed to see each other when it was over, in fact they weren’t allowed to see each other at all until the end of the exam. Then, only those who passed would be seen to Veld’s office to choose their aliases.

Tseng felt confident about his scores for the written exam and had no issues in the exam with his martial arts master. He had taken to heart each move and exercise he had been taught, but he neither expected nor received any praise for it. If he had become proficient in his chosen skill, it was only the bare minimum expected of him as a Turk.

On the third day, the interrogation began.

Ahead of the exams, they had all been briefed on the detainees they were meant to interrogate. Tseng was unsurprised to find he had been assigned a Wutaian dissident who refused to speak to any of the Turks who had brought him in. It wasn’t that Veld or the other Turks couldn’t speak Wutaian - learning the language was an ongoing process for Turks given the long-running situation between Shinra and Wutai - but Tseng was fluent, and he recognized that in addition to looking the part, they were testing his own allegiance.

The interrogation rooms were on the floor above Turk headquarters, sometimes utilized by SOLDIER or the executives, but mostly the Turks’ purview. Veld led Tseng down a long hallway lined with doors and two-way glass, stopping before a door as nondescript as the others.

“Take a look through the glass and step inside when you’re ready,” Veld ordered.

Tseng stared at the man, strapped to a chair sitting under a harsh light, shouting obscenities in Wutaian. The most common turn of phrase he circled back to was ‘Fuck you, fascist pigs’.

Taking a deep, calming breath, Tseng stepped inside and shut the door behind him.

“Oh, so they send me a race traitor to get what they want, huh?” He asked in Wutaian.

Tseng took a seat in front of the man and folded his hands in front of him on the table. “Speak your mind,” he spoke Wutaian as well.

“And they sent a child. Typical Shinra. What are you, fifteen?”

Tseng didn’t dignify that with a response. He fixed the man with a hard stare, and though he felt less than confident of his ability to intimidate given the fact that the man saw him as a child, he stuck to his guns.

“We know you stole supplies from a Shinra warehouse and distributed them to Wutai,” said Tseng. “All we need is your cooperation in telling us who gave you the access codes for the warehouse.”

“I’m not telling you shit, you fascist. You should be ashamed to call yourself Wutaian.” He spit at Tseng and Tseng flinched at the impact. Pulling a handkerchief from his breast pocket, he wiped the spit away.

He could understand why this man felt the way he did, but Veld and the other Turks had been firm about empathy when it came time for an interrogation. Empathy and sympathy were useful skills on rare occasions, important to keep around for fellow Turks, but they should be locked away during an interrogation. Human Tseng could hold on to those emotions, Turk Tseng had no use for them.

“I’ve never stepped foot in Wutai, so don’t worry yourself,” Tseng said. “But for your sake, you should probably tell use who gave you the codes. This could all be over a lot sooner.”

“Go to hell!”

So that was how it was going to be.

Tseng stood up and stepped to the side of the man’s chair, turning it to face him and gripping his pinky fingers. “We’ll start slowly.” He wrenched the finger backward until it snapped and the man let out a howl of anguish. “That probably didn’t feel very good. Would you like to talk now?”

“I would die for Wutai.”

And you will, Tseng thought, but he didn’t give voice to it. Instead he snapped another finger, which only earned him more cursing. The most important part of an interrogation was to get the information. Veld had taught them that sometimes that meant quick, extreme pain and other times it meant drawn out less intense pain. In this case, Tseng was quickly surmising that the former might net him better results.

With the use of some tweezers stored in a drawer along the wall, he peeled the nail from one of the fingers he hadn’t yet broken, listening the entire time while the man shrieked in agony and begged him to stop. Tseng didn’t stop until he was done, dropping the bloody tweezers and the nail on the table.

“Anything you’d like to tell me?”

The man had his eyes squeezed shut, but he still muttered a curse at Tseng. “I won’t tell you shit, Turk scum. Long live Wutai!”

Tseng pulled his pistol from the holster at his waist and fired off a shot into the man’s kneecap, leaving behind a blood pulp in its wake. He screamed then and slumped forward, staring at his knee in abject horror. Tseng sat on the edge of the table and gripped the man’s hair at the base of his skull, yanking his head back to force him to meet his gaze.

“Who gave you the codes?”

He was thinking about it now. He was hurting badly enough to consider it.

“Just tell me,” Tseng continued. “Our doctors will come in and patch you up and then you can walk back out there, go into hiding if you need to. It’s that simple. You give us the name, and Shinra forgives you for what you’ve done. And if you don’t give us the information…” Tseng pressed his pistol against the man’s groin and said nothing more.

“It was Maeda!” The man yelled. “He runs a bar in Sector 5. He told me how to break into the warehouse. He’s been helping funnel money to Wutai for months. Please, just don’t-”

“Thank you for your cooperation.” Tseng pressed the pistol between the man’s eyes and fired. Blood spattered against the wall and and against his shirt. Wiping his pistol down with his handkerchief, he placed it back in its holster and stepped back outside of the interrogation room, every ounce of his willpower focused on controlling the shaking in his limbs as he closed the door behind him.

“Excellent work, Martial Arts,” Veld said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Head down to my office and await the others.”

“Yes, sir.”

The last two years had taught Tseng a tremendous amount and erased what little naivety he brought with him to Midgar. Veld had prepared him to handle any possible scenario he might encounter as a Turk, but nothing truly prepared someone for taking a life. The worst part had been that he pulled the trigger with such ease. One minute, the man had hope that he might walk out of that room alive, and the next he was dead. Not just dead. Murdered.

It wasn’t until Tseng reached Veld’s office that he allowed himself to shake silently with dry sobs. He gave himself five minutes, no longer, then he took a deep breath and composed himself just in time for the door to fly open and Bomb to waltz in, grinning from ear to ear. He clearly had a different reaction to his first kill than Tseng had, but Tseng supposed it was because he had technically killed before.

“Looks like we passed, buddy,” he said, cuffing Tseng on the neck and sliding into the seat next to him. “You know what we should do? We should go out to celebrate after. Get drunk, get laid. Not with each other,” he added the last part quickly. “But you should give it a go with someone else to get some practice, huh?”

Sex was the last thing on Tseng’s mind at that moment. How could Bomb be so cavalier about this? Tseng knew there would be more - likely countless more - to add to his body count, but for now wasn’t it important to weigh the gravity of what they had done? Of course he was pleased he had passed the exam, but he wasn’t eager to go out and celebrate when doing so meant someone’s death.

“I might have to take a raincheck.”

“You think Rod and Katana will pass?”

As if in answer, the door opened again and Veld stepped inside. “Congratulations. You have both shown your mettle. You have what is required to be officially instated into the Department of Administrative Research. Unfortunately, your classmates were unable to succeed in some or all of their tasks. They have been reassigned to other departments.” He crossed the room and took a seat at his desk. The blood from Tseng’s kill was still spattered across his suit, the smell of gunpowder burning in his nostrils. “I must now ask you to choose the names you’ll take as aliases. After today, you will only be known by this name, so choose wisely. Bomb? Have you come up with a name?”

“Yeah, of course, sir,” Bomb said, framing his hands in front of his face. “I wanna go with ‘Legend’ because I’m so damn legendary, you know what I mean?”

Veld pursed his lips and stared at his computer screen, fingers hovering over his keyboard. “And you’re absolutely certain?”

“Hell yeah!” He shouted, quickly tacking on, “Uh, sir.”

Veld sighed and typed rapidly. “Alias: Legend. You’ll receive your new ID badge shortly. And you, Martial Arts?”

Tseng had been dwelling on it for some time. They suggested leaving your true identity behind, and it had been easy enough to do that. His parents didn’t write after he left Mideel, and while he knew it was most likely because of being drafted to the war, he didn’t write either. He had severed the ties long before he agreed to go along with Veld and become a Turk. But his family would always be part of who he was, and his father had imparted important values upon him. His surname was common in Southern Wutai. Choosing it wouldn’t give away anything about his identity that his appearance didn’t already betray.

So he chose his father’s surname. “Tseng, sir,” he said to Veld.

“Tseng. Very well.” He typed it up and nodded. “Both of you are dismissed. Tomorrow you may take the day off to celebrate. Monday morning you will receive your first assignments. Do you have any questions?”

“No, sir.”

“Suhng, huh?” Legend asked once they were outside the office. “Where’d you pick that? Some Wutaian thing?”

“Better than Legend,” Tseng shrugged.

After that, the days blended into weeks as he was given new assignments. Some of them were exactly the sort of thrilling espionage he had imagined when he first joined the Turks, others were mundane detail assignments, but he always understood the gravity of the situation regardless. There was an enormous responsibility placed on the Turks’ shoulders: to protect the company, its people, and its secrets by any means necessary.

Some months after he had officially been declared Tseng the Turk, he took a trip down to the Wall Market on a day off. He had been there plenty of times in the last few months: an excellent source of intel, if nothing else. More than once he had gone to find company there, though he preferred the higher end bars on the upper plate. He had learned quite a bit since his first time with Legend.

But that wasn’t why he was there now. He was there to pay a visit to some men who had something of his. They weren’t hard to find, tucked away in a little hideout just east of Don Corneo’s vast estate, but they didn’t have what he wanted. Still, with enough coaxing, they pointed him in the right direction and Tseng made his way confidently up the steps to Don Corneo’s estate.

Two lackeys blocked his entrance, but stepped aside readily enough at the sight of his familiar uniform. He was not yet accustomed to the power that came with being a Turk, even more than two years after first donning the uniform. In his mind’s eye he was still the scrawny child who left Mideel with so little money to his name and naive hopes of a bright future. He felt certain about his future now, at least insofar as he knew who he would be working for until he breathed his last breath, but he still lacked the confidence his superiors had.

He faked that confidence as he stepped through the estate, up the stairs to the Don Corneo’s office. He had been briefed on him more than once during academy training. Don Corneo was an important informant and as such was allowed to continue his numerous illicit operations within Wall Market. The Turks turned a blind eye to all of his unsavory deeds in exchange for information. This meant that while he held the slums in a vice grip, the Don also feared Shinra and submitted to their requests.

His entire estate was decorated in gaudy approximations of Wutaian architecture and art: a shoddy reconstruction of the real thing. Tseng found it disgusting, found everything about Don Corneo disgusting, but he had come with a purpose.

He found the Don seated behind his desk: a squat, horrible little man with a single tuft of dyed blonde hair. He looked at Tseng with a glint of fear in his eyes, which he did his best to hide.

“Oh ho, to what do we owe the honor of a Turk’s visit?” He asked. “I don’t think I’ve met you before.”

“You haven’t,” said Tseng. “But your men have.” He scanned the room, eyes darting to every tacky decoration until he landed on an ornate fountain pen with leviathan painted coiling around it. He leaned forward and plucked the pen from its spot on the desk and held it in his hand. “This is a beautiful piece. Authentic too. Where did you get it?”

The Don looked at it and shook his head. “My men procure all manner of Wutaian fineries for me.”

“Your men got it from a boy in the slums,” Tseng explained. “A boy who was trying to run a clinic to help people.”

“O-oh,” said the Don meekly. “Did you know him?”

“Yes.” Tseng placed the pen in his breast pocket. “I’ll be taking this.”

The Don nodded. “A fine payment to Shinra for their continued cooperation with my various operations.” Tseng turned around and headed for the door. “And the boy? Will you return it to him or…?”

Tseng answered him as he walked away:

“He’s dead now.”

Chapter Text

On the morning of Rufus Shinra’s nineteenth birthday, his maid left a tray containing his breakfast at his bedroom door with a single envelope tucked beneath the plate. He carried the food into his room, examining the envelope as he set the tray down on the table by the window in the lounge and slid into the chair, draping a bare leg over the side of it as he did so. His name had been scrawled in an untidy script he immediately recognized as belonging to his father’s most recent secretary: another petite blonde.

Couldn’t even be bothered to write his own son’s birthday card.

Rufus tore the envelope open, but it wasn’t a card inside. It was a letter telling him to be ready by ten for a press conference in sector 3. With a scoff, he chucked the envelope and the letter into the fire and ate his food at a leisurely pace. By now, he hardly expected his father to remember his birthday or care about it at all - the presence of what he foolishly assumed was a card had been surprising, the fact that it was instead a demand for his appearance at some idiotic event was not.

He would go because he had to, but he would take his time about it and run a little late just to get under his father’s skin. Every moment of his life since he was old enough to realize what he wanted had been a delicate balancing act between ingratiating himself to his father enough to stay in the will and digging at him for all of his offenses against Rufus and his long-dead mother.

When ten o’clock rolled around Rufus was still wearing his housecoat, though he had at least showered. He knew exactly how much time he had before his father went from annoyed to infuriated and he would toe that line carefully. He preened himself in the mirror for a while until he heard the knock on the door.

“Who is it?” He called from the bathroom.

“Your escort, sir. Your father sent me to retrieve you and see you to Sector 3.” A man’s voice sounded on the other side of the door.

Rufus sauntered over to the door and threw it open, surprised to find a Turk standing stiff and awkward on the doormat. He didn’t recognize this one, and the Turks were at least one group small enough that he could usually keep them apart. Normally it was that self-righteous leader of theirs running detail for the President. Rufus gave him a quick appraisal as the Turk steadfastly avoided his gaze.

He was handsome - but most of the Turks were attractive enough - tall, with long black hair tied into a ponytail at the base of his skull. Scarlet often joked that being attractive was a job requirement for the Department of Administrative Research. 

“Do you have a name or are you one of the grunts running around with a stupid name like ‘Gun’?” Rufus asked, taking a step back to allow the Turk to enter.

“Tseng, sir.”

He still refused to meet Rufus’ gaze. Rufus glanced down at his housecoat, wide open with his chest and underwear on display, laughed loudly, shed the housecoat, and walked away to finish getting ready.

Tseng the Turk remained standing just inside the doorway with his hands behind his back and his shoulders squared looking incredibly uncomfortable.

“So is this what you dreamed of when you joined the Turks?” Rufus asked, thumbing through a dozen white suits for the one he wanted. “Babysitting the President and his son while he gives some bloated ego-stroking speech boasting about his virility and comparing Shinra Tower to a phallus in fewer words?”

“I’m just following orders, sir.”

Turks were so fucking annoying like that. That was their answer to everything. ‘Just following orders’. Obedient little lapdogs doing whatever Veld told them, who was in turn doing whatever the President demanded. They rubbed Rufus the wrong way, but maybe it was because wherever he went his entire life there seemed to be a black suit looming in the background watching over him. He understood the utility of a group like the Turks, but he would eradicate them when he was President - start over with new men who were loyal to him, not his father.

“What if Veld ordered you to jump off the roof of Shinra Tower?”

He heard an exasperated sigh from the other room. “I can’t envision a scenario in which that would happen, sir.”

Rufus pulled his suit on and stood before the mirror fastening his tie. He glanced at the doorway and saw Tseng check his watch. 

“Am I keeping you?”

“The President asked that we be in Sector 3 by ten fifteen.”

“Well he’ll just have to wait until I’m ready.”

Tseng said nothing in response to this. Rufus wondered if there was a point at which Tseng would be forced to physically drag him down to the car - half of him wanted to find out - but he was done with his tie and there was nothing left to do except step out and follow the Turk outside.

“You know,” Rufus drawled as they stepped out into the hallway and headed for a car waiting at the front of the building, “It’s my birthday today.”

“Happy birthday, sir,” said Tseng. Rufus knew he was only doing so to be polite, but it felt nice to have at least one person say it to him, since he knew no one in Shinra’s upper circle would remember.

When they stepped outside, Tseng opened the back door of the car and Rufus stepped in. Tseng took a seat in the front seat next to the driver and they made their way toward Sector 3. Rufus attended these functions for two reasons: the first was that it was necessary to ingratiate himself to his father in order to take his eventual place as vice president, the second was that he felt it was important to observe his father’s method of running the company in preparation for his eventual takeover. All he had learned in his many years of observation was that he wanted to do the exact opposite of what his father did.

Press conferences like this were by and large a waste of time: a means of kissing up to the public to hide the atrocities that actually went on behind the walls of Shinra Tower. Rufus understood the pragmatic aspects of some degree of ass-kissing and facade. After all, from the moment he turned eighteen he had made sure his face showed up in every tabloid to mark him as a rich, spoiled playboy. If the public - and the other executives - saw him as nothing more than a brat blowing his father’s fortune on drugs and sex, they were less likely to view him as the threat he planned to be. 

As soon as he took power the game would be over though: no useless public appearances to smooth over Shinra’s image. For one thing, he would do away with half of the frivolous and ethically dubious programs his father had instated, but for another, the best way to rule was through fear. Not authoritarian iron-fist-type rule. The people would be taken care of insofar as it didn’t needlessly waste money. He recognized his father’s faults including his relative neglect of the slum-dwellers. But when push came to shove the answer wasn’t press conferences and political propaganda to make the public trust Shinra over Shinra’s enemies. The answer was to drag every last person out of their homes in the dead of the night until they gave up any dissidents, deal with the rot, and get back to business.

They would see. One day Rufus would be in charge and things would be different, better. Rufus would usher in a new era of prosperity.

And fuck his father’s gods damned Neo Midgar project. That was the biggest joke of them all - early signs of senility in Rufus’ opinion.

The car came to a halt outside of a museum in Sector 3 surrounded by an enormous crowd. Tseng stepped out to open Rufus’ door, but Rufus swung it open on his own. “Did Veld spend years training you how to kill a man so you could sit around opening doors for people?” He barked, stepping past him and marching up the steps of the museum where his father and an entourage of security officers stood around a podium.

Tseng was nearly silent as he caught up with Rufus in a few long strides and walked a carefully measured two paces behind him, hands behind his back.

“Rufus,” his father scowled at him as they approached. “You’re late.”

“You know me, father,” Rufus replied, flipping his hair with a casual disinterest. “Always fashionably late. It looks like I didn’t miss anything anyway.”

“Just stand behind me, keep quiet, and smile for the cameras.”

Instead, Rufus put on the bored pout he reserved for public appearances. For as long as he could remember he had been in the public eye. When he was young it had been fluff pieces on the news and in magazines detailing President Shinra’s personal life as a ‘doting father’ and ‘loving husband’. When puberty hit Rufus like a freight train, it had been pieces picking apart the ‘ugly duckling’ President’s son like he wasn’t a human being with emotions and feelings that might be hurt by such words. As far as the press was concerned, he was nothing more than an iconic figure to tear apart or place on a pedestal as they saw fit. His awkward early teens coupled with his lavish lifestyle had formed the basis of his vanity, and he would readily admit he was vain. When he finally grew into himself, started working out, began an eight-step skin care routine and styled his hair in a casually disheveled way, then all the magazines were stumbling over themselves to rave about his beauty. The fucking hypocrites. 

That was when he realized he could use the press to his advantage. The moment he turned eighteen he made sure to make appearances at popular clubs with handsome men and beautiful women on his arm, flashing his pearly-whites at the cameras, visibly knocking back expensive drinks and snorting lines of gods-knew-what. It didn’t take him long to realize actual benders put him in a state of mind he didn’t enjoy, so he began to fake it. And it built him the reputation as a rich party-going playboy that tricked even the executives into thinking he wasn’t a threat. Plus it pissed off his father. A win-win situation.

“Isn’t it a bit of a waste to have a Turk lurking around at an event like this?” Rufus asked, glancing backward where Tseng loomed behind him. “Surely Veld made the proper prior preparations for this.”

“There are a lot of people who don’t like us, Rufus,” his father chided, as though Rufus were not acutely aware of this blatantly obvious fact. Rufus gave him a withering look and folded his arms. “The war with Wutai is only emboldening our enemies. It’s best to have a stronger security presence.”

Rufus looked between Tseng and his father. “I see. I’m sure it has nothing to do with the fact that this particular Turk looks Wutaian.”

His father stood stiff as a board in front of the podium, running the flat of his palm down his tie to smooth it as he cleared his throat. “I don’t like whatever it is you’re implying.”

He didn’t like what Rufus was implying because he was right. Having a Wutaian in the background of every shot looked good for Shinra. ‘How can you say we hate Wutaians with our senseless, wasteful war that started over a mako reactor? We hire Wutaians. Can’t you see how good relations are?’

“This man isn’t a prop,” Rufus complained.

“And what do you think about it, Turk?” The President demanded.

Tseng’s ears went red at the sudden attention. “I’m just here to do my job, sir.”

“Shiva’s tits, have a little self respect,” Rufus growled.

“Watch your mouth, Rufus.”

A tense silence followed. The museum curator arrived and exchanged a few words with Rufus’ father and then the microphone was turned on as his father began his speech. Shinra had donated the money necessary to open the museum…a museum detailing Shinra and Midgar’s history. The speech spent barely more than a minute on the museum itself before his father inevitably delved into the typical propaganda of Shinra’s strength and power, of the despicable monsters in Wutai waging this ‘senseless and avoidable war’, peppering in a little condescending sympathy that ‘we at Shinra know most Wutaians don’t agree with this war’, etc etc. It made Rufus want to gag. He frowned, brow furrowed, knowing that his face would wind up in every shot and in all the trashy magazines.

When the speech was over, Rufus found himself pulled against his father’s side while a meaty paw clamped down on his shoulder.

“Smile for the camera, boy.” His father said through clenched teeth, his fingers digging into Rufus’ shoulder so hard it hurt.

Rufus gave the barest smile, the cameras flashed, and his father released him. “If that will be all,” Rufus hissed, dusting his hand against his shoulder.

“You’re dismissed. I expect to see you at the next board meeting.”

“Of course, father.”

Privately, Rufus was infuriated that he was expected to attend board meetings with no promise that it would earn him the place he felt he deserved as vice president, but he knew attending the meetings was the perfect way to gain good standing with both his father and the other executives. So he sat in the corner of the board room at every meeting, a beautiful silent statue, absorbing every word and stowing it away for later use. Whenever his father finally granted him the standing he craved, then he could challenge his idiotic ideas.

Tseng followed Rufus back to the car, back to his apartment in Sector 1, seeing him all the way up to the door.

“I don’t like the Turks,” Rufus said firmly as he stepped into the doorway. “I want to make that clear. But for what it’s worth, I don’t think it was right of my father to use you like that either.”

For perhaps the first time that day, Tseng met his gaze. “Thank you, sir.”

With that, Rufus slammed the door in his face. He had had his fill of both his father and his lapdogs for the day. He sat down on the couch in his sitting room, opened his laptop, and checked an encrypted e-mail he used to put out probes for anti-Shinra dissident groups. So far, he was just amassing information.

But he had plenty of plans for the future.

Tseng’s first impression of the President’s son had been a mixed one. For most of the morning, he had fit the bill perfectly of the obnoxious, spoiled playboy the press made him out to be. It had surprised him, then, when he stood up for Tseng at the press conference. Of course, it made Tseng uncomfortable to be caught in the middle of the conversation, and he wasn’t about to say ‘yes, I agree that the President - my boss - is using me as a prop to further his agenda’. The reprimand from Rufus about self-respect rubbed him the wrong way. What right did he have to give such advice?

It didn’t matter. Turks did sometimes provide security for the President and other executives, but it would not be a frequent endeavor. Tseng imagined direct interaction with the President and his son would be limited at best.

Almost as soon as he returned from his assignment, he received a message from Veld requesting his presence in his office for a new assignment. He arrived promptly, where he found Veld frowning at his computer and rubbing his brow. 

“Ah, Tseng. Good, take a seat.”

Tseng sat in the chair facing Veld’s desk, back straight, shoulders squared. “You have a new assignment for me, sir?”

“Yes, but it requires a bit of background information. You are aware of the President’s interest in the Neo Midgar project, correct?”

Tseng leaned forward, his curiosity sufficiently piqued. He and Legend had been briefed on the Neo Midgar project shortly after passing their final exams and he remembered the general idea. Shinra believed that there was a mythical promised land, foretold by the Ancients - the Cetra - that had communed with the planet eons ago. As the legend went, the promised land was where the flow of the lifestream was strongest, meaning a wealth of mako to be refined with the use of Shinra’s reactors. If Shinra could find the promised land, they could create a new, better Midgar with a seemingly limitless power supply.

Beyond that, the information on the project had been classified. Veld had access of course, but the access was strictly guarded. Tseng knew Hojo had something to do with it as well, but he had not been cleared to know more than that.

“I know what we were briefed on, sir,” Tseng answered.

Veld nodded and leaned back in his chair. His brow was still furrowed with concern.

“Some years ago, Shinra found what we believe to be the last remaining Ancient.”

“Sir?” Tseng almost laughed until he realized Veld was entirely seriously. “Sir, I thought they were extinct.”

“So did we. But there is no denying her blood. If you had known her in person, she had an incredible power. She could truly speak with the planet. You understand that this mission is extremely classified, don’t you, Tseng?”

“Of course, sir.”

“The ancient’s name was Ifalna. She was brought into the labs on the twentieth floor for experimentation. The President strongly believed she could lead us to the promised land, but the experiments proved fruitless. Hojo’s predecessor - Gast Faremis - grew a conscious over what was happening. He absconded with Ifalna. By all accounts they were in love,” Veld paused, closed his eyes, sighed, and continued. “They had a daughter. Gast was killed and Ifalna and her daughter were brought back. Hojo took over and was…overly aggressive in his methods. Ifalna escaped with her daughter four years ago, but she was gravely injured after suffering at Hojo’s hand for so long.”

Tseng listened with rapt attention.

“We brought her body back for Hojo to experiment on…something I often regret. But we never managed to find her daughter. It has been a key mission of mine for the last four years and we’ve managed to track her to a home in the Sector 5 slums.”

“Sir?”

“Hojo has made it clear - or I should say the President has made it clear to Hojo - that we need to approach Aerith…the daughter…with a gentler hand. He determined that his experiments with Ifalna taught him that cooperation is necessary if we hope to find the promised land. This will be a long standing mission for you, do you understand, Tseng?”

“What is it exactly that you want me to do, sir?”

“I want you to pay a visit to the home where Aerith lives and have a chat with her. She won’t want to come and we won’t force her. But we need to keep a close watch on her. Monthly check-ins. Her adoptive mother is a woman named Elmyra Gainsborough. I want you to have a chat with Mrs. Gainsborough - make it clear what our end-goal is and that running is not an option. Currently, we don’t have a time limit for this task.” Veld fixed him with an intense stare. “Take from that what you may. I trust you to exercise your expertise as a Turk in seeing this mission through.”

“You want me to babysit a little girl, sir?”

Veld chuckled. “You could look at it that way, I suppose. Tseng, I feel responsible for what happened to Ifalna. I don’t want the same fate to befall Aerith. Be gentle with her. Let her come to trust you. I do want to believe that a place like the promised land exists…that we might work together with this girl to find it. But we can’t repeat our past mistakes.”

“I understand, sir.”

“Most importantly, do not speak with Hojo about this. The less he knows the better. He has never been easy to control and the President continues to throw money at him.”

Tseng nodded. “Of course, sir.”

“I’ll send you the information. Pay her a visit this afternoon and acquaint yourself with the area.”

Once Tseng had the information, he took a helicopter down below the plate, landing on a rarely used helipad in the middle of Sector 5 and orienting himself with the use of a map Veld had given him. His work brought him below the plate frequently, but he had never been to the Sector 5 slums before now. He imagined that a mission like this with no definitive end meant he would quickly grow familiar with the place.

In the three years since he first put on the black suit that marked him as a Turk, he had grown used to the stares he received below the plate. Grounders rightfully didn’t trust the Turks, and while most people gave him a wide berth as he passed, some grew confrontational and tried to stand their ground. He handled them without prejudice: the most effective method was a dislocation because it rarely did permanent damage and it always got the point across. Meatheads were the biggest culprits: they always thought they could take Tseng, but they never could.

Thankfully, this trip below the plate was uneventful. If looks could kill, Tseng would have been dead on arrival, but that was the worst he encountered.

The slums were all the same as far as Tseng was concerned. Only Sector 6 stood out because of the Wall Market, but otherwise it was a lot of poorly constructed huts and houses built with no discernible organization against the backdrop of dead earth and rocky outcroppings. Tseng wound his way through the sector, past vendors selling weapons and materia, past open-air restaurants selling food that made his stomach rumble, past a quaint orphanage with a garden being tended by a young woman and a group of eager children, until finally he found the path leading to Elmyra Gainsborough’s house.

The path was surrounded on either side by cliffs casting it in shadow, opening at one point into what must have been an old chocobo corral - long since abandoned - and terminating at an aging set of wooden steps that led down into a vast clearing that made Tseng stop dead in his tracks.

Tseng could not have imagined that anything below the plate might be described as beautiful, but that was the only word for what he saw before him. A small cottage sat nestled against the rocks, surrounded by a massive field of flowers of every shape and size and color, blanketing every inch of the ground except for where a foot path had been worn in the dirt. In the background, a crystalline waterfall flowed into a creek that ran through the flower field.

How was it even possible that life might grow from the dead soil, covered as it was by the massive metal plate above?

For a moment, if only that, Tseng’s emotional side took over and he marveled at the sight before him. But just as quickly, he snapped back into his Turk persona, moving down the steps with a rigid posture and coming to a halt in front of the door to the cottage. He knocked once and waited for an answer.

A woman in her late thirties answered the door, and though Tseng momentarily recognized a kindness to her face, it was quickly replaced with a look that radiated nothing but hatred. She knew exactly who Tseng was.

“Mrs. Gainsborough?”

“I have a pistol. I’m just letting you know right now, Turk.”

“Please,” Tseng pulled his pistol from its holster and emptied the clip as a gesture of good will. “There’s no need for us to get off on the wrong foot. I am merely here to check in on Aerith. Surely you knew this day  might come eventually?”

“If you lay a finger on her, I’ll shoot you right between the eyes.” She stepped inside, leaving the door open, and that was enough for Tseng. There was a mutual understanding now of what the expectations were. He could work with that.

The inside of the cottage was cozy and well-kept. He found Aerith seated at the table: a young girl - maybe ten or eleven - in a white frock with a pink bow tying her hair back and, much as he had taken pause at the flowers, Tseng felt the breath leave his lungs at the presence in the room.

There was no denying Veld had been telling the truth about her heritage.

At the sight of him, Aerith let out a shriek and ran to hide behind Elmyra, who held her hand, both of them fixing Tseng with a frown.

“Mom, don’t let him take me away,” Aerith whispered.

“I won’t, baby. Don’t worry.”

“I’m not here to take you away, Aerith,” Tseng promised. He had never been good with children, so he simply opted to pretend she was like a tiny adult. He held his arms behind his back and stared down at her. “I am merely here to check in on you. You know that you’re a very special girl, don’t you?”

“I’m NOT!” She protested.

“Aerith, baby, go upstairs and play in your room and let mommy talk to the Turk, okay?”

“I don’t want to leave you alone with him, mom.”

“I’ll be okay.” Elmyra leaned down and kissed the top of her head. “I promise.”

Aerith glared at Tseng, but seemed to accept that her mother was somehow capable of handling a Turk. She slunk away up the stairs, never taking her eyes off of Tseng until she was out of sight.

“Let’s get something straight,” Elmyra said as soon as she was gone. “She told me about what you people did to her and her mother. I saw her mother’s injuries with my own eyes. If you think for even a single fucking second that I’ll let you-”
 
“Mrs. Gainsbourough, please,” Tseng held a hand up to silence her. The side of him that wasn’t there to do his job felt for the woman. According to her file, her husband had been killed recently in the war. Aerith was all she had. “As I said before, I’m not here to take her. My superior has made it clear that Aerith’s cooperation is necessary for my mission to be successful. Taking her by force is a failure.”

Elmyra did not relax. “So, you’re here to intimidate us, is that it?”

“I’m here to establish a relationship with you. Starting today, you’ll be seeing a lot more of me. You have my word that no harm will come to Aerith.”

“The word of a Turk is less than worthless,” she spat.

“Be that as it may, what choice do you have in the matter?” Tseng asked. There was nowhere Shinra wouldn’t be able to find her, nowhere that she could hide if she truly did want to run. “This isn’t a warning. My job is to make sure Aerith stays safe. There are plenty of people with even worse motivations than Shinra who might try to take her if they learn about her remarkable origin. But you already know that, don’t you?”

They stared at each other for several seconds, Elmyra’s brow furrowed, eyes narrowed. She slid into a seat at the kitchen table, but didn’t take her eyes off of Tseng.

“Shinra is protecting her?” She scoffed.

“One day, she will have to come with us, to assist us in finding the promised land. Until then, Shinra wants to ensure her safety and comfort. It would go better for you if you comply.”

“You can check in,” Elmyra said. “But you don’t step foot in this house with a loaded gun. And if I turn you away, you listen to me. Do you understand?”

There was a time and place for violence, and this wasn’t it. If she tried to attack him, he would incapacitate her, but otherwise Tseng saw no problem with her terms. If they made her feel better about the situation, so be it. Earning her trust, or some semblance of it, could be useful.

“If those are your terms.”

“They are,” she said.

“Very well. Take care. If you have concerns about her safety,” he fished a card from his breast pocket. It was a general line that would allow her to get in contact with him. “You can call this number.” When she refused to take it, he set it on the table.

“Do you have a name I should know?” she asked as Tseng turned back toward the door.

“My name is Tseng. I have a feeling we’ll get to know each other quite well, Mrs. Gainsborough.”

She glowered at him and picked the card up off the table, ripping it in two. “Get the fuck out of my house, Tseng.”

Chapter Text

Before Reno was Reno he was known affectionately by the citizens of Wall Market as Red. Or, well…sometimes it was affectionate, but if Reno was being honest usually it was being shouted at him while someone (or several someones) chased after him with various weapons, brooms, mops, the occasional pitchfork. He had spent his entire life roaming the streets of Wall Market, treating the red-light district like his own personal playground and playing fast and loose with the rules in the process. So what if he stole to keep his belly full or put a little change in his pocket? That was how the slums worked and nobody was dying from losing a few measly gil.

Reno didn’t remember being born. Well, okay nobody remembered being born, but that is to say he didn’t remember who the fuck left him in a dumpster behind old man Kaneko’s greasy spoon diner, but the only reason he hadn’t died in there buried beneath a layer of rotting garbage bags was because he had been a loudmouth from day one. Mr. Kaneko found him wailing in the trash and took pity on him, taking care of him for a few days while he and his line cook tried to find Reno’s parents.

The joke was on them because whatever sorry piece of shit gave birth to Reno in a stinking alley in Wall Market and then left him to die was long gone and if Reno had to speculate - which he did often later in life - whoever shot his wad to make that mistake in the first place had left immediately after and didn’t even know Reno existed. With no one to claim him, Mr. Kaneko planned on taking Reno to an orphanage in Sector 5, but a Madam who ran one of the many brothels on the east end of the market thought the little wailing ginger baby was cute and took him in.

That too, only lasted so long. Weird, but a toddler crawling around the halls of a brothel wasn’t great for business and while Madam S had grown attached to little baby Red, she gave him over to one of the Don’s chocobo handlers, who didn’t mind so much having a curious kid underfoot while he tended to the birds. Reno stayed with the chocobo handlers, never quite loved, but at least tolerated, until he was old enough to venture around the market on his own: maybe five or six if he remembered right. 

After that he took up with a gang of local street urchins and worked his way up the ranks because he could put up a decent fight and he was fast enough to outrun the kids he couldn’t overpower. He never went back to adult supervision once he left the chocobo handlers and for the rest of his life, he raised himself. The group of orphans Reno called himself the king of were a solid support system when they were all hungry and in need of some food, but at the end of the day he only had himself to trust or rely on. The group broke apart into factions often, forming and reforming as the complex politics of a child’s world gave way to teenage drama. Everybody in Wall Market, and really the world, was only looking out for number one when all was said and done.

When he was a kid, it was easy to put on a cute face and beg for scraps, but as a gangly teen with a loud mouth, fewer and fewer people took pity on Reno. For a while he tried earning an honest living, working as a janitor for Mr. Kaneko, but he wasn’t cut out for such boring work and he was never doing it quite to Mr. K’s satisfaction, so he quit. Or he was fired. He couldn’t quite remember.

At any rate, thievery seemed to be Reno’s best means of surviving, and he was good at it so he stuck with it. Thanks in part to his lithe frame and long limbs, coupled with a childhood spent climbing every surface he could get his hands on, Reno excelled at scaling walls and fences alike. He spent most of his time on rooftops scoping out his next hit or avoiding whoever he had pissed off most recently. He learned how to read people, watching them mill about and engage in questionable affairs from his perch, and he used that ability to choose who he felt might be most deserving of a little pocket-lightening. Usually, he picked the rich jerks coming down from the upper plate to cheat on their wives at the Honeybee Inn. Or the Don’s lackeys. They deserved it the most.

Reno often paid visits to Madam S’s parlor. Madam S had always been kind to him, even after she had to ditch him. She gave him her homemade walnut pie whenever he visited and her girls always doted on him as a kid. Sometimes she would let him take stuff the guests left behind and he could usually turn a good profit on it - in addition to being a decent thief, Reno acted as his own fence, always finding a buyer for even the most questionable items. Madam S died when he was fourteen, which is to say she crossed the wrong lackey and the Don had her dealt with, and after that Madam M took over. She was young, for a Madam at least, and she fell in line with what the Don wanted, but she was still nice to Reno and that counted for something.

When he was sixteen, Reno put down the requisite payment and rid himself of his virginity with one of the girls at Madam M’s parlor and he liked it so much that he went back three more times in the same week. But that kind of gil wasn’t something he could afford to throw around, so he figured out how flirt, and then he tried it with men and found he liked that too. So in between self-assigned jobs to earn himself a little gil at someone else’s expense, Reno spent his time in bars and clubs and went home with whoever he liked the best that night, eager to try anything and everything so long as it felt good.

At eighteen, Reno felt he could spend the rest of his life leaping across the rooftops of the Wall Market making money through petty theft and he would be just fine, but he still liked a little thrill outside of the bedroom now and then. At first that meant picking fights he knew he likely wouldn’t win, but he wasn’t stupid and that was a disaster waiting to happen. So instead, he set his sights on spying.

If there was one commodity worth its weight in gold in the Wall Market - and Midgar at large - it was information. Reno’s education was ramshackle at best, but Madam S had taught him what she could and while he may not have been booksmart, he had learned a hell of a lot about the ways of the world growing up like he did. Wall Market was sometimes referred to as little Wutai and indeed, since the war started five years earlier, refugees had flooded to the only place in Midgar guaranteed to take them in. Reno wasn’t exactly fluent in Wutaian, but he knew enough to carry a conversation and he could understand almost all of it when someone was speaking it. This was how he picked up tidbits, perched on rooftops eavesdropping on people, then passed it along to whoever he thought might be willing to pay the most for it.

Despite the way things looked, Reno considered himself upstanding, even if he was standing just a little crooked. It wasn’t like he was just stealing to make himself richer. He only took what he needed and if he had a few extra gil at the end of the week he’d haggle with Mr. Kaneko for some scraps to feed to the orphans. It was kind of depressing, watching new kids take up the same way of life he’d lived, but there would always be low lives dumping their kids in the slums. If they didn’t have to work quite as hard to get a meal, if they might go to bed with a little food in their stomach, Reno didn’t mind sparing the change.

For a while, his motivations had been mostly selfish, but the longer he spent spying on people and targeting the Don’s lackeys, the more he realized turning a blind eye to the perpetual rot in Wall Market wasn’t a solution either. He wasn’t naive and never had been. Everybody knew what the fuck Don Corneo did up in his gaudy little gilded palace overlooking the market. And plenty of seemingly good people helped him so that they could cozy up and not become a victim. Girls went to work at the Honeybee Inn where they knew they might be treated well only for the Don to take a shining to them, at which point Rhodea was only all too happy to pony up whatever the Don wanted.

It was fucking disgusting was what it was. 

One fight Reno would always pick even if he knew it was a lost cause was stepping in when some asshole with an inferiority complex tried to take what wasn’t his from a defenseless girl. He’d had more than a few shiners from those kinds of run-ins, but the girls always got away, so it had been worth it, really.

Seated on a roof looking on at the Don’s estate one day he thought to himself, why the fuck didn’t he try to do the same for the poor girls that got dragged into that glittering piece of shit? Some of them went willingly, but he guaranteed they didn’t stay of their own free will. It was heavily guarded, but no one was patrolling the rooftops and he was fast and quiet.

So he snuck in and wandered around in the dead of night, memorized the floorplan, snuck back out and returned a few days later. It took him a while to find the hidden door in the wall panel in the room on the west wing of the estate, then he found the sick little sex dungeon where the Don kept girls locked up and drugged until he was ready for them. Reno had known how to pick a lock since he was seven, so he set the girls free and helped them escape through the little route he’d made for himself, slowed somewhat by their inability to climb quite as well as he could.

It felt good doing shit like that so he went back and did it again. And again. Until the Don finally realized what the hell was up and sent his goons after him. Then Reno had to sleep on the rooftops to avoid being caught, but he knew he was in a bad way if they ever found him.

Adding to his problems, about a week after the Don’s men started hunting him, a fucking Turk showed up.

If he was trying to be discreet - which like…wasn’t that his fucking job? - he was doing it poorly. Reno first spotted him skulking around the market talking to Madam M. He was a tall and brooding type, Wutaian, with his hair tied back in a ponytail and a severe face fitting of a Turk. The guy was icy as hell, but damn if Reno wouldn’t have fucked him in a second - if he weren’t a Turk anyway. Reno might have put his nose in a lot of places it didn’t belong but he was sure as hell not going to fuck around with the Turks. That was a guaranteed ticket to a shiny Shinra prison cell…or worse.

Still, he sat and listened while the Turk and Madam M chatted in Wutaian.

“I’m looking for a redhead with a long ponytail,” the Turk said. “Don Corneo’s men describe him as thin and lanky.”

What, so the Don had gone crying to Shinra about it? Shiva’s fucking tits, what a cunt.

“Sounds like Red,” Madam M replied. She took the Turk’s gloved hand and turned it over in hers. “Would you mind letting me see your hands without these gloves on?”

The Turk jerked his hand away and frowned. “Yes. I would. Thank you for your time.” And then he was gone.

He showed up the next two days in a row asking around, and Reno thought he must be a pretty shit spy waltzing around in that suit, which was just a giant gleaming sign saying ‘Hey I work for Shinra!’ Reno watched him every time he passed through, listened in on his conversations and staying out of sight. All he knew was the Turk was looking for him and he wasn’t getting caught with his ass out, that was for sure.

The fourth day, the Turk was tailing him. He was surprised to catch sight of him out of the corner of his eye on a nearby rooftop. He was hidden, but Reno still spotted him.

Well if that was how this dickrag was gonna play it, fine. Reno knew a good spot to lure him to and while he knew he wasn’t exactly expertly trained to take on a Turk, he thought he stood a decent chance if he could corner him. So he leaped across the rooftops, always stopping to make sure the Turk was following, winding his way across the market until he dropped into a dead-end alley and whipped around with a knife in hand. It was just a pocket knife, but it could cut open a man’s throat if push came to shove, and it was all he had.

The Turk landed right after he did, standing and brushing the dirt from his pants, unperturbed by the knife pointed at him.

“All right, suit, let’s get a few things straight,” Reno hissed.

“Certainly,” the Turk answered. He stood so still he didn’t look real and Reno lost some of his nerve.

“You’re a shit spy, you know that? I knew you were tailing me this whole time.”

The Turk chuckled. “Consider that perhaps I wanted you to know.”

This made Reno falter. “Well what the fuck gives then? You want to take me and lock me up in a cell you’ll have to fight me.” And without waiting for a response, Reno launched himself at the Turk with a wordless battle cry.

It was over in the blink of an eye. The Turk caught Reno’s wrist in a tight grip, wrenched until his shoulder came loose from its socket with a painful pop and then Reno was on the ground, stars in his eyes, shoulder aching, with the Turk’s foot on his chest.

“Are you done?” he asked.

“Ugh…” Reno groaned.

“I’m not here to lock you up in a cell.” Not once had the Turk lost his cool. His voice was calm and even as he looked down at Reno. 
“We received word that a lanky redhead with a loud mouth had been causing trouble around the Wall Market. Namely, kidnapping women from Don Corneo’s estate.”

“Kidnapping?” Reno balked. “That’s fucking rich.”

“The Don’s words, not mine. Needless to say your antics gained our attention. I have been purposefully visibly tailing you for days, but prior to that I had been watching you for the last week. Your skills are impressive. We’d like you to consider training to be a Turk.”

Reno stared at him with his mouth agape. “Come again?”

“You can take or leave the offer, but there are a lot of angry people eager to see you dead. Shinra could protect you.”

“You want me to be a Turk?” 

The Turk slid his foot off of Reno’s chest and took a step back. Reno sat up, his shoulder dangling painfully and the Turk bent down, gripped his arm, and shoved it back into place. 

“Shiva’s tits, man warn a guy first.”

“I’m afraid I can’t wait long for your answer.”

Reno didn’t mull it over very long. Anyone on the Don’s shit list disappeared eventually. And anyway if he didn’t hack it with the Turks, well, he could always try something different. He knew the old rumor that a Turk never left Shinra willingly, but if anyone could he thought he could probably pull it off. 

“Yeah okay.”

“Very good. My name is Tseng,” the Turk said, offering his hand to help Reno up. Reno didn’t take it. He hopped up and stared at the Turk.

“I’m-”

“It doesn’t matter who you are. We already know everything there is to know about you. Now please follow me. There’s a helicopter waiting in Sector 5.”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever you say, boss man.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Ah man, is this gonna be a thing where I’ve got to listen to orders? Cause that might be hard for me…”

As they walked through the market and across to Sector 5, Reno didn’t shut up, and he was more than a little pleased when, as they climbed into the waiting helicopter, he heard the ever-professional Turk heave an exasperated sigh.

Working as a bouncer at an upper plate club was, for the most part, easy work. Until it wasn’t. Rude, or Andre Rodriguez, as he was known before he was Rude had never had to work below the plate, but he had seen the kind of shit the bouncers put up with down there and overall the brawls topside were a lot less frequent. But when they did break out, they tended to get violent fast. Rich kids always had fancy guns and knives bought for them by their rich parents to take the place of age-appropriate entertainment like a college education, for instance. Rude had been stabbed more than once, but he was a big guy and if he couldn’t keep them from outright injuring him, he could almost always deflect so they didn’t hit a vital organ or major artery.

The pay wasn’t fantastic, but it could have been worse. It paid the bills at least and that was really what mattered at the end of the day. Rude didn’t love the hours either, living like a vampire working all night and sleeping all day. Still, Rude knew his strengths, chiefly of the brute variety. He had worked security jobs before becoming a bouncer and he definitely preferred standing outside of a club pissing off spoiled rich kids to staring at a security monitor for hours at a time.

Nothing pissed the rich kids off quite like being told no, so it quickly became Rude’s favorite word. ‘No, I don’t care how much gil you have, we’re at capacity.’ ‘No, I don’t care that your dad runs the biggest movie studio in Midgar, you’ll wait your turn.’ Rude got a rush just thinking about telling those assholes ‘no’.

Of course, grounders would have probably called Rude a rich asshole if they met him. After all, he had grown up topside in a modest home with a comfortable middle-class family. He had never really struggled in his life. But he’d never been rich either and for the most part his parents lived paycheck to paycheck. His unique position meant he had seen the wealthy assholes of the upper plate throwing their money around up close and personal without ever benefiting from the same wealth.

Now, at twenty, Rude was working a job that paid enough to stay topside, saving up the money he needed to go to school, or at least that’s what he told himself. The truth was, he didn’t know what he wanted to do with his life, but he figured working for a few years was a better solution than throwing money at a problem he hadn’t solved. So he stood outside an expensive, popular club and told rich kids ‘no’ for the first time in their lives and, by and large, he led a pretty decent life.

Until Rufus Shinra showed up.

Rude had seen his share of famous socialites while working this particular club. He wasn’t easily swayed or impressed by fame, by any means, which was probably good since a lot of them tried to use their fame to their advantage. Rude’s favorite game was to pretend he’d never heard of them, even some of the most famous actors and musicians in the world, and watch their faces fall as they refused to believe him. In the end, they still didn’t get in until they waited their turn.

The more famous the party-goer, the more ridiculous their entourage, until Rude was sure he had seen every ridiculous assortment of paid-for friends and security details imaginable. Then one evening, just after midnight, a group approached that blew them all away. 

First in line was a Turk, flanked on either side by Shinra security officers, followed by a gaggle of drunk idiots all surrounding a man in a white suit that Rude immediately realized was Rufus Shinra, the President’s son, the most famous face on Gaia. The entire line turned to stare at the approaching whirlwind of people, whispers rippling up and down the line. ‘Is that…?’ ‘Wow, he’s even hotter in person.’ ‘Holy shit, Rufus Shinra.’ And so on.

The Turk came to a halt at the front of the line, recognizable at once thanks to his distinctive sleek black suit. He was a stern-looking man, and Rude suspected he was not at all pleased with that night’s assignment.

“These security officers need to step into the club and inspect it,” he said.

“Is this, uh…typical?” Rude asked.

“No,” the Turk answered, pursing his lips. “A special request from the President.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” Rufus Shinra appeared suddenly next to the Turk, visibly inebriated. “This is ridiculous. I’ve been to this club a thousand fucking times. Tseng. Go home.”

“I'm simply following orders, sir,” Tseng the Turk sighed.

“The officers can inspect the club if they want, but he’ll have to wait in line like everyone else,” Rude said. 

He had seen enough of Rufus Shinra’s face plastered all over magazines to dislike him just based on the persona he projected. Rufus’ face fell at this, though Tseng seemed to smirk, if only for a moment.

“Wait in line?” Rufus bellowed. “Listen here, you stupid bald-”

“Sir,” Tseng said without conviction.

“I don’t know where you get off thinking you can tell me what to do,” Rufus slurred, ‘But I am the heir to the Shinra fortune and-” He kept going, teetering on his feet until Tseng grabbed his arm to keep him from falling over. Rude listened stoic and stone-faced to Rufus’ increasingly belligerent speech about how he owned the ground the bar was built on and so on and so on.

“Are you done?” Rude asked.

“Excuse me?” Rufus balked.

“You need to go to the back of the line, sir.” Internally, Rude was ecstatic. This was the best night of his life. He got to tell Rufus Shinra to take his place in line with the rest of the ‘commoners’. Here’s one place your money can’t buy you entry, you rich sack of crap. In truth, if his boss knew he was holding up a man who could close them down if he wanted to, he would probably get fired, but it was just too good of an opportunity to pass up.

“Tseng,” said Rufus, smacking Tseng’s arm. “Tell him to let me in.”

“Sir, I’m just here to make sure no one tries to kill you.”

“I’m going to fucking kill my father for doing this.”

“Perhaps he was trying to send you a message, sir,” Tseng suggested.

“Oh, go fuck yourself.”

Tseng placed a firm grip on Rufus’ elbow. “Let me lead you to the back of the line, sir.”

“Don’t touch me,” Rufus wrenched his arm away. “Fucking lapdog doing whatever my father tells you.” He swayed and again Tseng had to grab him to keep him from falling over. “I said don’t touch me!”

“Very well, sir.” Tseng released him and he nearly fell over, stumbling forward against one of the security officers.

He righted himself and jabbed a finger against Rude’s chest. Rude looked down at his finger with a frown. “Let me in you ugly bald meathead. I could have this place closed down tomorrow if you don’t do what I ask!”

“Sir, I have to ask you to take your hand off of me,” Rude replied coolly. Secretly, he was just hoping Rufus would keep pushing it. He would love to have an excuse to punch the richest, most spoiled asshole in Midgar.

“You don’t get to tell me what to do,” Rufus attempted to yell, but it turned into an unattractive belch. He stumbled, righted himself, and then threw a punch in Rude’s direction.

The consequences were swift and immediate. Rude put Rufus in a chokehold, his face quickly going red as he clawed at Rude’s arms. Tseng waited a beat, just long enough that Rude noticed but not so long that it drew suspicion from the guards, then he was on Rude, prying him off of Rufus with a skill Rude hadn’t quite been expecting.

Everybody in Midgar knew what the Turks were capable of, and Tseng didn’t exactly look like a weak man, but Rude was broad-shouldered and well muscled, in addition to having a few inches on the Turk. He was certain he could handle himself against him, but he had his ass summarily handed to him in a matter of seconds. Tseng’s actions were swift and deliberate, pulling him off of Rufus, kicking his legs out from under him, and wrenching his arms behind his back as he pressed his face against the cool stone pavement. By now the entire crowd was in an uproar.

Rufus took a moment to get over a coughing fit as he caught his breath, then he stumbled forward, leaned against the side of the building, and puked all over the pavement.

“Are you alright, sir?” Tseng asked, still holding Rude firmly against the ground.

“Fuck off,” he replied. “Lock that idiot up.”

The commotion had drawn Rude’s supervisor outside.

“Rodriguez, what the hell is going on here?” he demanded.

“Your employee attempted to assault Mr. Shinra,” Tseng explained. “I’m afraid we’ll have to detain him at headquarters.”

Rude’s boss looked back and forth between the Turk holding Rude against the pavement and Rufus Shinra standing next to a puddle of his own sick.

“What the fuck? What were you thinking?”

“He was drunk and belligerent, sir,” Rude attempted to say with some difficulty considering his face was mashed against the pavement.

“You’re fired, Rodriguez!”

Currently, that seemed like the least of Rude’s problems.

Tseng forced Rude to his feet and cuffed his hands behind his back. Turning to the security officers, he said, “Take him up to headquarters and put him in a cell. I have to make sure the president’s son makes it back to his apartment.”

“Yes, sir!”

As the security officers obediently grabbed Rude and shoved him along past the line of onlookers outside the club, he heard Rufus arguing with Tseng before vomiting again. Then Rude was being shoved into a sleek black car a few blocks south of the club where he sat in silence in the back seat as they made their way to Sector 0.

Could they kill him for assaulting the president’s son? Legally, probably not, but with the Turks involved laws weren’t really at play anymore. What had he been thinking? He had reacted as he would with any rowdy customer trying to push their way in, and until now even the richest jerks had been forced to put up with his rules, but Rufus Shinra was not just any rich jerk. Rude had crossed a line he shouldn’t have crossed.

It almost felt worth it for the infuriated look on Rufus’ face.

Rude had never been inside of Shinra Tower before, but it was as shiny and polished inside as he expected: grand architecture and expensive decorations greeting them in the lobby, a floor display of the latest and greatest Shinra vehicles and gadgets, then they were in the elevator heading…down?

The security officers led him down a nondescript windowless hallway, wrenched open one of many doors lining the hallway, and threw him into a tiny cell with a single cot in the corner, leaving his cuffs on and locking the door behind him. Rude took a seat on the cot and awaited what he was certain would be his untimely death at the hands of a Turk following unjust orders.

He waited. And waited. And waited.

It must have been hours before the door finally opened again and Tseng the Turk stepped inside, the front of his suit soiled with specks of vomit, his previously neatly slicked back ponytail disheveled, with flyaway hairs poking out here and there. He stood before Rude with a completely emotionless face.

“Are you here to kill me?” Rude asked.

To his surprise, the Turk laughed. “No. The President is unaware of the altercation and I have a strong suspicion that Rufus Shinra’s pride will keep him from telling anyone about it. I’ve dealt with any video evidence, so you don’t need to worry about that either.”

“So…you’re just going to let me go?”

“Not quite. What you did is technically a punishable offense by Shinra’s standards. Your options are limited. You can spend a few months in this cell, go to a rigged trial where the jury will find you guilty and give you a minimum of three years time for the crime of putting Rufus Shinra in his place while he was drunk and belligerent, spend a few years in Midgar Correctional Facility. Or-”

“Or?” Rude raised his eyebrows.

“Or…you can take my offer to attend two years of academy to become a Turk.”

Rude stared at him for a few seconds. “A Turk? Aren’t you guys like spies and assassins?”

“And babysitters, occasionally,” Tseng’s lips twitched into a smile. Rude honestly felt like he was hallucinating the entire conversation. “I implore you to consider your alternatives,” Tseng added.

“Well, sure. I guess I’d rather be a Turk than go to jail. But what about my family and-”

“Two years are ours,” Tseng interrupted him. “After that, the decision of what to do with your past is yours. They can know you work for Shinra, but not what you do. The strong recommendation is to cut all ties. It’s safer that way.”

Three or more years in prison or he could become a Turk. He had been grasping at straws for months trying to decide what he wanted to do with his future. Maybe this was a blessing in disguise.

“Okay,” Rude nodded. “You’ve got a deal.”

Tseng uncuffed him and led him out of the cell, up a few floors to another nondescript hallway and into what looked like a shabby hotel room.

“You’ll sleep here tonight. One of us will fetch you in the morning to brief you on the next steps.”

He left without another word and Rude took a seat on the flimsy bed. Maybe when he woke up it would all be a dream, though he was fairly certain as surreal as it was, he was indeed anchored in reality at that moment. He supposed, if nothing else, it would make a good story one day.

It certainly had been one hell of a night.

Chapter Text

For the first time since academy, Tseng sat in Veld’s office awaiting a reprimand. He had been sent on a mission to investigate the kidnapping of a security officer who worked a mako reactor on the western continent. A few days of gathering intel had pointed him to Costa del Sol, where he found the security officer in question tied up in an empty room on a ship docked at the harbor. The ship, he found out from the security officer, was being operated by a group of anti-Shinra dissidents who were stockpiling Shinra weapons to use in their campaign, and to reverse engineer so they could mass assemble more of them.

For a moment, he had considered investigating further. Protecting Shinra secrets and assets was his number one job as a Turk, after all, but the security officer was in bad shape after days of torture at the hands of the dissidents and Tseng had no clue how many might be on board. He should have investigated, or sunk the ship, or both. Instead, he carried the security officer out and brought him back to Midgar for medical treatment.

Two days later, when he finished filing his report on the mission to Veld, he was called into his office for a discussion.

Now he waited for Veld to arrive, seated stiff and uncomfortable in the chair in front of Veld’s desk, heart pounding in his ears. When the door opened, Tseng tensed and tilted his head to acknowledge Veld’s arrival.

“Oh, good. You’re here. Do you know why I asked you to come today, Tseng?” Veld asked, taking a seat behind his desk..

“I have a few guesses, sir.”

“Your mission in Costa del Sol.”

“Right.” Tseng stared straight ahead at Veld unflinchingly, but internally he felt like he was dying. Nothing was worse than a reprimand from the one person he respected the most.

“Your heart was in the right place saving that security officer, Tseng. But heart is not what the Turks are known for and we aren’t in the business of compassion. I know where it was coming from. Deep down inside of you there’s still that boy trying to help heal people down in the slums, but that’s not what your mission is as a Turk.”

“But sir,” Tseng said, “my mission was to find the security officer.”

Veld leaned back in his chair and fixed him with an inscrutable expression that at once made Tseng want to shrink down and hide away. But of course he didn’t. He stared back, genuinely nonplussed for a moment. Yes, logically he knew he should have investigated the claims of the weapons cache, but his mission had specifically been to find the security officer. He had done just that.

“You are an excellent field agent, Tseng. In fact, you’re one of the best recruits in recent memory. Your work is meticulous, you always net results, you have handled the Ancient situation with utmost care, and you’ve brought in two promising new recruits. But you have a problem with thinking outside of the box when you’re given a specific assignment.”

“Sir?”

“You don’t really understand what it means to be a Turk, do you?”

“Protecting Shinra and its assets-”

“Yes,” Veld cut him off. “But that also means weighing the value of those assets. A single security officer’s life is not more important than keeping highly classified Shinra weapons out of the hands of people who would use those weapons against Shinra. Do you understand that?” There was an edge of irritation to Veld’s voice that made Tseng feel ashamed.

He bowed his head. It had been two years since he finished academy and in that time he had killed many people in the name of Shinra, but there was still that occasional conscience that caused him to exercise compassion when he felt he could justify it. That conscience had now jeopardized valuable Shinra secrets. Would they fire him for such a mistake? Turks didn’t get fired…they got taken away to a room at the end of the hall where the interrogation rooms were and then they were carried out in a black body bag.

“I understand, sir.”

“I don’t think you do,” Veld sounded genuinely angry now. “Tomorrow night we’ll go together to investigate this ship. They’ve moved out of Costa del Sol’s harbor now that they know a Turk was on board,” he frowned at Tseng as he said it, “but I’ve managed to track down their location off the northern shores of the Western continent. Be ready to leave first thing tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir.”

Appropriately contrite, Tseng stood and left the office before Veld could order him to.

Reno stared at a shiny row of weapons and gadgets, barely registering whatever the cute blonde Turk at the front of the room was saying to him and his new academy classmates. He got the gist of it. They had to pick a weapon or training style to specialize in, but they would also be outfitted with a nice shiny gun, just in case the knife or the sword or whatever-the-fuck didn’t cut it. Next to him, the big bald muscle-head they’d paired him up with for the Shinra assassin version of company icebreakers was staring at a pair of gloves with chrome-plated knuckles.

Yeah, that would be his style, wouldn’t it? His ear was all lined with piercings and he had a real butch look going for him. Reno would have put down a thousand gil on the spot that his dick was pierced.

The display of weapons was impressive: fancy swords of every size and shape, nunchakus, staves, maces, assault rifles, shotguns, explosives - those were tempting - but what really caught Reno’s eye was a shiny little collapsible stun baton with a big red button engraved with a lightning bolt.

He picked the weapon up and hefted it in his hand. It had a good weight to it, and he gave it a few experimental swings, earning him a gruff ‘watch it’ from the bald meathead. Then he pressed the button and his body brimmed with excitement as a spark of electricity ran up and down the baton.

“Whaddayou call this thing?” He asked the blonde who had been lecturing him. What was her name again? Emma.

Emma pursed her lips and frowned at him. “That’s an electro-magnetic rod. EMR for short. If you choose that your new file name on your ID badge will be Rod.”

“Rod!?” Reno snorted. But then, Rod wasn’t so far off from Red, easy enough to respond to in a pinch. “Yeah, okay fine. What about ‘Lightning Rod’?” He framed his hands as though he were reading a marquee.

“Rod it is,” Emma said curtly, typing something on the tablet she held in her hand. 

Reno took the belt strap that came with the EMR and fastened it around his waist. He was so skinny that he had to punch a new notch in the belt to get it to fit. Then he sat down at the table he shared with the meathead and watched while the rest of his classmates - there were seven of them - picked their weapons.

Ole’ meathead went for the chrome-plated gloves, fastening them to his hands and flexing his fingers experimentally.

“Martial Arts,” Emma announced.

“Stupid name,” Reno muttered. “I’m gonna call you Muscles, all right?”

Muscles frowned at him as he resumed his seat next to him. “You could just call me Martial Arts like Emma said.”

Reno rolled his eyes. “Sounds terrible.”

“Whatever you say, Rod.”

Training sucked. That’s all Reno had to say about it. He didn’t like following orders, he didn’t like having to run laps and learn stupid shit about stuffy executives and rich spoiled playboys, he didn’t like having to sneak smokes between drills. But when he got to whack around the EMR and learn how to use it, he had a blast. And when he got to run patrols with their superior officers and utilize his real skills: scaling buildings, eavesdropping, picking up bits of Wutaian conversation, then he was loving life.

So a few years of shit training and learning a bunch of crap he didn’t want to know about people who didn’t give a shit if he lived or died seemed worth it if in the end he got to run around doing the same shit he did before in the Wall Market but accompanied with a nice juicy paycheck.

Two years would be a breeze.

Tseng met Veld on the helipad just after midnight the day after his reprimanding. Veld greeted him with a nod of the head and said nothing else as they boarded a waiting helicopter and flew across the sea to intercept the dissident ship anchored off the coast of the Western continent.

What would they find on board, Tseng wondered. What if the weapons had already been moved? If Tseng couldn’t correct the mistake he made on his last mission, he was almost certain they would let him go for his failure. How had he been so foolish? He had to prove to Veld that he fully understood what it meant to be a Turk.

“When we get onto the ship, the objective is to remain unseen until we can retrieve all of the data. Then we’ll need to destroy the weapons remaining on the ship. The best option will be to sink the ship, so we’ll have to be discreet,” Veld explained. “I trust you to get this done.”

“Of course, sir.”

“We’ll split up once below deck. You retrieve the data, I’ll examine the weapons cache and set a detonation sequence.”

Tseng nodded. He hadn’t been this nervous before a mission since he first joined the Turks. The truth was, he was ashamed of disappointing his mentor and terrified he would fail again. He resolved to find the data and destroy it even if it meant being captured and killed by the dissidents…or worse.

They landed the helicopter in a clearing a few miles west of the shoreline and made their way by foot to a waiting rowboat. Tseng rowed while Veld examined the rough blueprint of the ship Tseng had sketched based on his previous mission. He wasn’t able to map out every room, but they at least had a means of discreet entry through a rusted porthole on the starboard side of the ship.

“They won’t see us approach in the dark,” Veld said, glancing up as the ship came into view. It was a modest sized ship, which meant there were only so many places the data could be hiding, but also only so many places Tseng and Veld would be able to hide to avoid detection. “I don’t have to tell you that failure in this mission could cost us both our lives. These people should never have been able to get their hands on the data in the first place.”

Tseng swallowed hard and nodded. “Of course sir.”

He guided the rowboat along the starboard side of the ship, careful to avoid making too much noise with the oars. There would undoubtedly be a lookout in the crow’s nest, but beyond that there were no obvious signs of movement above deck. Tseng steadied the boat while Veld used his materia to break the rusted porthole as silently as he possibly could, tossing the glass and metal into the water and climbing inside. Tseng followed close behind.

Inside, it was nearly pitch-black and it took a moment for Tseng’s eyes to adjust. They found themselves in a small room containing uniforms and supplies, including a few Shinra uniforms they must have used to infiltrate and obtain the data in the first place. Immediately, Tseng gathered up the Shinra uniforms and tossed them out the window into the sea.

“Good,” Veld nodded. “I’m going to slip out and look for the weapons. Wait a minute or two before you step out too.”

“Yes, sir.”

Veld gripped Tseng’s shoulder. “Good luck.”

“You as well, sir.”

Veld carefully opened the door, peering out into the hallway before stepping out and shutting the door behind him. Tseng checked his watch and waited before following suit.

The hallway was equally dark and mercifully empty, but the lack of any guard presence only made Tseng more anxious, his heart pounding in his ears. He moved silent as a shadow along the hallway, stopping at each door and listening for any sound on the other side before peeking inside. He found a group of sleeping dissidents in one room and quickly shut the door to avoid waking them. Briefly he considered it might be more merciful to kill them now, while they slept, than to let them drown when they sunk the ship, but the Turks weren’t in the business of mercy and it risked alerting others to his presence if he couldn’t incapacitate them quickly enough.

So he moved on through the ship until he reached a door where he heard voices coming from within. He pressed himself against the wall and listened.

“And you’ve got buyers for the data?” A woman’s voice asked.

“Multiple. We’re sitting on a gods damned goldmine here.” A man replied.

“Better move fast with it. They already sent a Turk after us once. They’re bound to do it again.”

“Let them. I’d show those bastard lapdogs the business end of this gun-”

Tseng didn’t wait any longer. He opened the door and stepped inside to find a man and a woman standing before a computer terminal and a bank of monitors displaying security feeds. The two of them stared at Tseng with mouths agape and he took the opportunity to fire off a deadly accurate shot between the man’s eyes. He slumped to the floor and the woman, to her credit, trained her gun on Tseng rather than mourning her dead comrade.

“Don’t fucking move, Turk.”

Tseng didn’t comply, firing a shot into her shoulder that made her drop her gun. He needed her alive, at least for the time being.

“I found the weapons cache,” Veld’s voice sounded in Tseng’s ear piece.

The woman was moving to grab her gun with her good arm, but Tseng fired another shot, striking her other shoulder and causing her to reel backward, clutching feebly at her wounds as blood blossomed on her crisp white shirt. Tseng moved quickly, grabbing her by the back of the neck and forcing her to the computer terminal.

“You’re going to unlock the computer for me.”

“Fuck you,” she spat.

Tseng pressed his gun against her hip. “Would you like to reconsider?”

“You think I joined this group so I could turn at the slightest hint of danger?” She asked, her voice all venom. “I knew I might die trying to fight you bastards. And I’d gladly do so.”

“You will.” Tseng shot against her hip and she shrieked, her knees buckling as she slid to the floor. He searched her while she groaned and stared at the bloody mess in her side, finding what he was looking for more quickly than he expected. A card-key was hidden in her pocket and he pulled it out, tapping it against a reader next to the computer.

The computer screen flashed the message, “Fingerprint scan required.”

“Get up,” Tseng growled, gripping the collar of the woman’s shirt and forcing her to her feet. He grabbed her hand and pressed her finger against the reader and though she tried to fight him, she was too weak to struggle much. The computer unlocked and he dropped her to the floor, where she remained, moaning in pain and clutching her hip.

And though he knew it wasn’t his place to dole out mercy killings, Tseng shot her in the head to end her suffering before turning back to the computer to find and delete the data he was searching for.

“What’s your status, sir?” Tseng asked.

There was a moment’s pause before Veld’s voice sounded on the other end, breathless, loud noise cutting through from the background. “I’ve encountered a bit of trouble,” he said. “They were storing Shinra mechs with the weapons and they’ve been activated as a security measure. I’m holding them off, but I won’t have time to fight them and set the detonation sequence. Have you-” a gunshot fired, “found the data?”

“I’m deleting it now, sir. Then I can come assist you.”

“I’m setting the detonation sequence. Get out as soon as the data is deleted.”

“But sir-”

“That’s an order, Tseng.”

The sound cut out and Tseng's heart dropped into his stomach. Order or no, he wasn’t leaving Veld behind to die in that ship. He needed to find the data and delete it quickly, but it was taking him longer than he would have preferred. Once he managed to find it and erase it, he then had to make sure all the cloud backups were destroyed as well, which took a while longer. The whole time, all he could think about was Veld trying to single-handedly defend himself against several military-grade Shinra mechs while setting an explosives charge.

Tseng’s job as a Turk was to protect Shinra’s secrets. So he checked and double-checked that every scrap of the valuable data had been erased from the servers, then he destroyed the computer for good measure before taking off and winding his way through the halls to find Veld.

By this point, the guards must have been alerted to a security breach, because Tseng encountered resistance in the hallway. He took two men down with well-aimed shots before his clip was emptied. He didn’t have the benefit of time or cover to reload, so he launched himself on the third man, delivering a swift series of blows to incapacitate him before gripping his head and twisting to break his neck. The immediate threat taken care of, he continued on through the ship until he heard the distinctive rat-a-tat of mech fire, following the sound down a long hallway to an open door.

Stepping inside, he found Veld using his bolt materia to temporarily stun the mechs, a few seconds at a time, using that time to lay charges along the outer wall of the ship.

“Sir!” Tseng called, ducking as a mech turned its fire on him.

“Tseng, what the hell are you doing here?” Veld demanded.

“My mission was to find and destroy the data, sir,” Tseng said, charging his own bolt materia and stunning the nearest mech. “I have successfully completed that mission.” He dashed past a mech, firing off a shot at a weak spot on one of its joints, and came to rest next to Veld. “My secondary objective as a Turk is to protect Shinra assets. A Turk is an important Shinra asset, sir.”

Veld looked away from laying the charges and fixed Tseng with an inscrutable expression. Then he nodded. “Yes. You’re right.”

“Focus on laying the charges, sir, I’ll hold the mechs off.”

So while Veld finished his task, Tseng used his bolt materia and his gun to hold the mechs at bay, managing to damage the nearest one enough to completely incapacitate it.

“When we get back,” Veld said, “We’re going to find out how the hell they got their hands on these mechs and deal with whoever allowed them access.”

“Of course, sir.”

“I’m done.” Veld rose to his feet and joined Tseng in focusing his fire on the remaining mechs. “Let’s get to the other side of the room and use our materia to ignite the charge. We won’t have long to escape once the charges detonate.”

“What’s our plan?” Tseng asked. “It’s unlikely the rowboat remained near the ship.”

“No,” Veld agreed. “I’ve already radioed our coordinates back to HQ. A helicopter is en route.”

That was why Tseng strove to emulate Veld’s leadership. He always thought ahead, always considered every possibility, and always remained level headed even in the face of so much pressure.

“I’ll follow your lead, sir,” Tseng said.

“On my count. One…two…GO.”

The two of them dashed to the other side of the room and while Tseng held the mechs off with another bolt, quickly tiring from the use of so much materia, Veld used his fire materia to light the fuse on the charges. Then they ran, leaving the mechs behind and hurrying down the hallway back to the broken porthole as fast as their legs would carry them.

Unfortunately, they just weren’t fast enough to outrun the fuses. The explosion detonated and blew out the port side of the ship, debris flying everywhere even as they reached the starboard side. A metal beam slammed into Tseng’s leg, breaking the bones and pinning him against the floor just outside the doorway to the room with the broken porthole. Veld doubled back and knelt next to Tseng.

If Tseng had to die, then so be it. Veld was a more valuable asset to the company than he was, and this was the price Tseng had to pay for his egregious mistake on his last mission.

“Sir, please go,” Tseng said through clenched teeth. The pain in his leg was immense and his chest ached as well.

“Watch yourself,” Veld warned. “You aren’t in any position to give orders to a superior like that.”

“Sir…”

Veld struggled against the metal beam, lifting it just enough for Tseng to pull himself out from underneath it, though he couldn’t stand on his injured leg anymore. Another blast went off on the port side of the ship, launching pieces of metal like so much shrapnel. Tseng ducked down and some of the debris caught Veld on the face, leaving behind two deep wounds along his right cheek.

“You’re injured, sir!” Tseng cried.

“Don’t worry about that,” Veld snapped, pulling Tseng away from the wreckage and toward the porthole.

Tseng did his best to stand on his uninjured leg, but when he looked down, he realized a jagged piece of metal was sticking out of his chest, shockingly close to his heart. His pant leg was drenched in blood and he realized his leg wasn’t just broken, but torn open. He had lost quite a bit of blood.

“Hang in there, Tseng,” Veld said, holding him against his side and pulling him toward the porthole.

“Sir…” Tseng struggled to speak, his vision rapidly going black. “I-”

And then all was dark.

Rude didn’t care for the loudmouthed redhead he kept getting paired with in drills, but everything else about Turks training turned out to be a hell of a lot more fun than he had anticipated. It certainly beat going to prison for three years. He had always wanted to receive real training from a master of martial arts, but his parents couldn’t even afford to stick him in karate as a kid, so most of his fighting skills were those of a street brawler. His training master taught him how to treat every muscle in order for his body to work as one well-oiled machine, taught him how to meditate to focus his movements, taught him how to channel his energy to specific points.

“Sounds like a load of chocobo shit,” Rod said through a mouthful of food.

“Well, what is your training master teaching you?” Rude grumbled.

They had paired the redhead with him on the first day, continued to pair them together for sparring sessions, and Rod thought that meant they were friends, apparently. Rude couldn’t shake him, not for lack of trying. He followed him around like a stray cat Rude made the mistake of feeding.

After a few months, Rude had just come to terms with the fact that he would have to endure Rod’s numerous loud complaints for the duration of their time at academy.

“He teaches me how to whack shit with my fancy electric stick. What the hell else is there to it?”

Rude had a strong suspicion that Rod’s instructor was likely trying to impart more wisdom than just ‘whacking shit’, but not much seemed to filter through Rod’s dense skull.

Not that he was dumb. On night’s off when all of the class would check out local bars and clubs, Rod seemed to know someone everywhere, could get them around the city via a thousand different routes, knew back alleys to avoid being seen by their supervisors, and could haggle down the price of just about anything. He also knew enough Wutaian to take them to actual authentic restaurants where they would gorge themselves on real honest-to-gods Wutaian food until their stomachs hurt.

So he wasn’t all bad, Rude supposed, but he wasn’t ideal as a work partner by any stretch of the imagination. For all his positive features, he mostly just grated on Rude’s nerves on a near-constant basis. 

Rude kept handing Rod his ass in training, but a few months of constant physical training had at least put a little more lean muscle on the kid. Kid. Well, he was only two years younger than Rude, but he seemed like a kid the way he ran at the mouth constantly. Except, the longer they were stuck in training together, the more Rude got to thinking maybe he just couldn’t help himself. When Rod had a task he really enjoyed, really excelled at, it was like watching an entirely different person work. A flip got switched and suddenly he was all professionalism until the task was finished.

It was a little unsettling, honestly.

The rest of Rude’s classmates were agreeable, fun enough to be around. One of them was a rich kid from the Western continent and personally, Rude didn’t think she had what it took to make it through the finals. They all knew what was awaiting them at the end of their two years. Rude wasn’t overly keen on having to take a life, but if it meant he got to keep on living this new life, well…there would be more lives he’d have to take down the road anyway. 

Whatever doubts about Rod he had in every other respect, he felt certain that if any of his classmates were going to make it to becoming a full-fledged Turk, it was Rod.

Then maybe when they were done with training, they’d get their own assignments and he’d only ever have to see the obnoxious loudmouth in the conference room during meetings.

Well, Rude could dream anyway.

Tseng awoke with a pleasant feeling of nothingness, his thoughts hazy and sluggish, struggling to remember what had happened. He recalled being trapped beneath a beam, metal jutting from his chest, and then-

He opened his eyes and found himself lying in a hospital bed with his leg in a cast and thick bandaging wrapped around his chest, though they must have given him top quality pain medication because he didn’t feel a thing. He knew from experience that he was in the private infirmary at headquarters, available only to Turks and SOLDIERS. But he had never been this badly wounded on a mission before.

Just as he was wondering what happened to Veld, the door to the room opened and Veld stepped inside.

“Oh,” he said, sighing audibly with relief. “You’re awake.”

“Sir,” Tseng tried to sit up, but found it too difficult. Veld’s face had been stitched up, but it was obvious the wounds from the ship would leave lasting scars.

“You were out for a few days,” Veld explained, standing at the end of Tseng’s bed. “We were all worried about you.”

Tseng struggled to find the right words to thank Veld. It wasn’t the first time he had saved Tseng’s life, but it was certainly above and beyond the call of his duty. There would now be a reminder of Tseng’s debt permanently marring Veld’s face. Lacking the ability to form a nuanced sentence on the subject, Tseng simply said,

“Thank you for saving my life, sir.”

Veld smiled. It was surprising how much it softened his stern features. “Turks look after one another,” he said. “In a way, we’re like family. Do you understand now what it means to be a Turk, Tseng?”

“Yes,” Tseng answered. “Above all else a mission must be seen through and our number one mission as Turks is to protect Shinra assets.”

Veld nodded. “Having achieved that mission, you risked your life to double back and save me. A Turk’s most important defining feature is our loyalty. Not to Shinra, but to one another.”

This sentiment surprised Tseng, and he did a poor job of hiding it. Veld laughed.

“Only by remaining loyal to one another can we best protect Shinra and its assets. You understand that, don’t you? Otherwise you wouldn’t have come back for me. Just as I wouldn’t have saved you from the wreckage. Hold that close to your chest, Tseng. This will never leave this room, but if I were forced to choose between Shinra and the Turks, I know where I would stand on the matter. I’d like to think that all my fellow Turks would stand with me.”

Tseng considered this for a moment. Though he didn’t dwell on it often, if he had to consider how he felt about his superiors outside of the Turks he would probably be forced to admit he didn’t necessarily care for most of them. But his loyalty to Veld was unwavering.

“Yes,” he answered. “I would stand with you, sir.”

“Get some rest, Tseng. Once they discharge you, you’re on desk duty until your leg is healed.” Veld moved next to Tseng’s bedside and set a shimmering piece of green materia on the end table next to the bed. “This is quite rare materia,” he said. “It was given to me as a gift when I became leader of the Turks. I want you to have it.”

“Sir?” Tseng’s voice caught in his throat. He had never been one for sentimentality, but something about the gesture affected him deeply.

“When you’re healed, I’d like to discuss the details of your promotion,” said Veld.

“My promotion?”

“I’m assigning you to executive ranking,” Veld said. “Given a few more years of experience…I should like you to be in line to take up my position when I’ve reached the end of my usefulness to Shinra.”

Tseng didn’t want to consider such a time, but he was nevertheless deeply humbled by the implication of Veld’s words. “Sir, I…I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything.” Veld stepped back toward the doorway. “Continue to perform as you have been, as you did on the ship. That, above all else, will prove to me that you’re ready for your future role. I’ll leave you to rest now. Keep that materia with you. You never know when it might come in handy.”

“What is it, sir?” Tseng asked.

“Full-restore. It can save you from the brink of death. In fact, it already has once.”

Tseng stared at it and hoped he would never need to use it. When he looked up to ask Veld who had given it to him, he was already gone. So, content that he had more than redeemed himself in the eyes of his mentor, Tseng closed his eyes and let himself drift into a peaceful, dreamless slumber for the first time in years.

Chapter Text

Reno sat in front of Veld’s desk with blood staining his suit and shirt, flecked across his chest where he left his shirt unbuttoned, the iron reek of it stuck in his nose. Thus far in his two years of Turk training he had enjoyed almost every aspect of being a Turk outside of the whole taking orders shtick, but he had been dreading the torturing and killing thing since the moment they told him it was part of their final exam. He was gonna do it, of course, but he wasn’t gonna like it.

And he didn’t. It made him feel sick to his stomach when it was over, and he felt sure that if he gave voice to that feeling they’d fail him for having any semblance of a conscience. So he sat there, arms shaking - and not just because he was jonesing for a cigarette so bad he was about to explode - waiting to see who else passed the big final exam.

He was nervous, too, about Muscles passing. Two years frequently paired together had endeared him to Reno more than he cared to admit. He was a hardass in most situations, but weirdly gentle around kids and animals, and a fucking blast when they were drunk together. The last time they had gone out drinking, just before the exam week began, Reno watched him talk about a stray cat he had found, hands waving wildly as he gestured while talking and just for a moment - if only that - Reno thought ‘damn, I bet he’s good in bed’.

Better to shake that thought from his mind. He was pretty sure fraternization was a big no-no, though technically none of the other Turks had said as much except to say ‘don’t fuck the executives’ in fewer words. But the stupid thought was taking root anyway. Reno thought Muscles was attractive from day one: getting to know him only made it worse. But there were plenty of other fish in the proverbial sea and Reno could convince himself that mostly he was just worried his friend wasn’t going to pass the exam.

Though, maybe if he didn’t pass and he got shoved into some other department then they could fuck without breaking any rules.

He was depressingly worried Muscles was straight anyway.

All these thoughts were mingling in his mind at once, creating a cacophony that made him so antsy he wanted to scream. He tapped his foot against the floor in agitation and nearly jumped out of his skin when the door swung open and - thank the Gods - Muscles stepped in, blood staining his suit and the knuckles of his gloves.

“Hey,” he said gruffly, falling into the seat next to Reno.

“Oh man,” Reno breathed a sigh of relief. “You passed, huh?”

“Seems like it.” He glanced sideways at Reno. “You too, huh?”

“Guess so.” Reno’s hands were still shaking, so he gripped the arms of the chair to keep them still. “Can I tell you something, just between you and me?”

Muscles raised his eyebrows and said nothing. Typical of him.

“I hated the last part. Made me sick. I almost threw up once I stepped out of the interrogation room.” To Reno’s surprise, Muscles started laughing. Reno got a sinking feeling in his stomach. Maybe he should have kept his big mouth shut. “What’s so fucking funny?”

It took Muscles a minute to calm himself down. “I’m sorry,” he said, breathless. “I hated it too. I was afraid if I said anything I’d get reprimanded, but it was horrible. I just didn’t think anyone would feel the same, least of all you.”

“What, like I’m some hardened killer?” Reno bristled.

“No. Just…you know,” Rude shrugged. “You grew up in the slums.”

“Oh, so you think grounders are just naturally inclined to murder?”

“Ah,” Muscles frowned. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“No, no, go on, tell me all about how you really feel about me.” Reno was legitimately pissed. He thought Muscles was different, but apparently he was the same as every other upper-crust snob. He folded his arms and stared ahead at Veld’s desk. “I thought we were friends, but fuck that I guess.”

“I’m sorry,” Muscles repeated. “We are friends.” He followed Reno’s gaze to Veld’s empty seat. “Even if you annoy me all the time.”

Reno grinned at this, but he was still annoyed enough to remain silent for a few more seconds. He was about to say something when the door opened and Veld stepped in. For a few months halfway through their training Veld had been out on extended leave, and when he returned his left arm had been replaced with a metal prosthesis. No one knew what had happened, except maybe Tseng, who wouldn’t have told them even if he did. So everyone just quietly speculated as to what the hell happened, decided it was related to a top-secret mission, and didn’t bring it up. Even Reno knew asking about it was stupid if he valued his life and well-being.

“Congratulations to the both of you,” Veld said, taking a seat behind his desk. “You’ve made some impressive strides in the last two years. You were both Tseng’s recruits weren’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” Muscles answered.

“Yeah,” Reno groaned.

He still hadn’t quite gotten the hang of corporate kiss-assery, and he forgot to tack on the ‘sir’ to the end of sentences more often than he ought to. Veld didn’t chastise him about it too often, but if Tseng was hovering around, he was always breathing down Reno’s neck about addressing superiors appropriately and following company dress code.

Tseng was fucking hot, but he also had a stick up his ass. There was a constant battle in Reno’s brain between the absolute lust that overtook him whenever he encountered Tseng training in the Turks’ private gym and the irritation at being constantly scolded (though honestly…Reno was kind of into it). 

Muscles suggested Tseng was so hard on Reno because he wanted Reno to meet his full potential. Reno wasn’t sure about all that. He figured Tseng was just that kind of hardass who didn’t accept second-best from anyone. Great to think he would probably replace Veld as their leader one day.

“Have you decided on your aliases?”

Reno had decided on his alias almost immediately after being told he had to come up with one. He was partial to the name Red, really, because it had been thrust on him by the best people in Wall Market in his humble opinion. But he didn’t want to go back to ‘just Red’. So he decided to mix it with another word that got hurled at him all the fucking time: ‘No’. ‘Reno’ sounded pretty damn cool to him and now whenever someone told him no he could just break their fucking fingers if he wanted. Not that he really would. He liked wearing the word like a badge of honor. See who tells me ‘no’ now with this sleek black suit on.

So he told Veld his alias and Veld nodded, finding the name suitable apparently. Reno wondered if aliases ever got vetoed. But if they hadn’t vetoed fucking dickrag Legend’s alias, then what would they veto? Maybe Reno should have suggested ‘Dickrag’ as an alias.

Muscles opted for ‘Rude’, which Reno already knew was coming. When Reno probed him on it, it turned out his reasons were surprisingly similar to Reno’s. It was one part borrowing from his real last name - Rodriguez - and one part turning an insult into a badge of honor. When he had worked as a bouncer before Turk training, rich snobs had always been calling him rude for putting them in their place.

Reno liked the way it sounded, and that it was so close to his old name. ‘Rude’. It fit old muscle head perfectly.

They were allowed a day to celebrate after passing, but neither of them much felt like it after the shit they’d been made to do, so they went back to their quarters to wash the blood off their hands and then they sat around Skyview Hall, picking at the food they bought at the little cafe and commiserating, lamenting that none of their other classmates had passed.

“The final exam is too hard for most people, I guess,” Rude said. 

A few tables down, some third class SOLDIERS sat picking at their own food looking equally unhappy. Killing for Shinra took its toll on everyone apparently. At the end of the day, Reno would rather be killing low-lives stealing company secrets than shooting at civilians on the ground in Wutai. In the privacy of their own quarters, Reno and Rude had discussed their own thoughts on the war and their bloated stupid President more than once, but those words never left their mouths in mixed company.

“Well, partner, it looks like you’re stuck with me,” Reno laughed through a mouthful of rice. “Bet you were hoping to shake me with these exams.”

Rude looked at Reno, the corners of his lips twitching into the faintest hint of a smile. “You do get on my nerves. But I don’t think I’d know what to do with myself without your loud mouth next to me all the time.”

Reno allowed himself one slip of protocol then, one risky maneuver that could easily be read as innocuous if he had to defend himself. He nudged his foot against Rude’s beneath the table and grinned. And when Rude smiled back at him, he felt his heart flutter.

Well, you’re a fucking idiot, Reno.

Oh well.

Tseng found himself seated at a table with a group of his superiors growing increasingly uncomfortable. As of late, he had been attending certain meetings with Veld, though never any of the most important board meetings. When he had been promoted to executive rank, Veld had casually mentioned that he may have to sit in on meetings from time to time, but Tseng had quickly forgotten it as missions took up his time.

Now he was seated between Veld and Veld’s superior, the head of public security, Heidegger. Directly across from him sat Rufus Shinra and the President. Rufus stared a hole through Tseng. More than once in the four years since Tseng had passed his exams, he had been assigned to Rufus’ detail, and he left every encounter disliking Rufus more than before.

It was really too bad he was so handsome. In fact, Tseng was sure Rufus got better looking every time he saw him. It nagged at him that Rufus Shinra was exactly his type because he had such a horrendous personality that as soon as he opened his mouth it killed any and all attraction Tseng might have felt for him. That was probably for the best considering they would have definitely fired Tseng for even flirting with the notion of fraternizing with the President’s son.

Not that he would have wanted to with Tseng anyway. He wasn’t shy about his dislike of the Turks. Any personal failing on the company’s part somehow always circled back to a failure by the Turks to do their jobs appropriately according to Rufus.

Tseng wished Rufus would stop staring at him like he wanted to eat him alive.

“Where the hell is he, Heidegger?” The President barked, disrupting the very stiff silence that had filled the room.

Heidegger glanced at his watch. “Any minute now, sir.”

They had been called to the meeting because Heidegger had recently hired a new director to oversee the SOLDIER program, a promising young tactician by the name of Lazard Deusericus. Veld had been responsible for vetting him, but Tseng knew very little about him. Because the Turks and SOLDIER were both under the umbrella of the Public Safety and Maintenance Department, Veld had been asked to attend the meeting - with Tseng in tow - so that Lazard could meet his counterpart in the Turks as well as the two most important people at Shinra: the President and his son.

Another minute passed in uncomfortable silence with Rufus glowering across the table at Tseng. What was his problem anyway?

Mercifully, the door opened and Rufus’ attention was pulled away from Tseng. Lazard stepped into the room with a SOLDIER in tow and Tseng’s breath caught in his throat for two different reasons. The first was that the SOLIDER in question walking alongside Lazard was none other than the “War Hero of Wutai”, Sephiroth, his trademark silver hair tied into a neat bun at the base of his skull, his custom-made First Class uniform freshly polished, longsword in a scabbard at his side.

He was taller and more muscular in person than Tseng had expected. He had never really met any of the firsts. They were usually away on assignment and there existed some degree of animosity between the Turks and SOLDIERS because the Turks sometimes poached recruits from the pool of SOLDIER hopefuls. Sephiroth was only nineteen, but he held himself with the maturity and strength of a far older man.

The second surprise was that Lazard Deusericus looked so much like Rufus and the President that Tseng found himself glancing between the three men scrutinizing their every feature. He had the same face shape, the same silky ash-blonde hair, the same icy grey eyes, though there was a considerably kinder expression on his face than either of the Shinras wore at the moment.

Was Lazard related to them somehow?

He would ask Veld about it later, even though it was purely his own curiosity and he had no professional reason to dig into the matter.

Heidegger stood up and gestured to two empty seats at the end of the table. “Mr. President, this is Lazard Deusericus. And of course you know Sephiroth.”

“Sir,” Sephiroth bowed his head and took a seat.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir,” Lazard said, bowing his head as well.

The President nodded. He didn’t seem at all surprised by the appearance of a man that looked so like his son they could have been brothers. Then again, Veld had briefed Heidegger and the President on him, so they all knew more than Tseng did on the matter. 

Rufus, on the other hand, looked positively furious. He had quickly noticed what Tseng had and likely came to the same conclusions. The President’s predilection for petite blondes was no secret within the company, obvious from his revolving door of secretaries fitting the same mold. What was less well known was just how hands-on the President was with his secretaries. But Tseng knew, and Rufus undoubtedly knew as well. It was in fact the most likely answer that Lazard was the President’s bastard son. One of many, if Tseng had to speculate.

He felt a surprising pang of pity for Rufus.

“This is the President’s son, Rufus,” Heidegger introduced him with a frown. “And you’ve already met Veld.”

He didn’t even mention Tseng, but Veld introduced him anyway, which earned him an annoyed huff from Heidegger.

“Introductions aside, we’ll need to bring you up to speed with everything that’s happening in Wutai,” The President interrupted. Lazard’s predecessor had been recently killed on the ground in Wutai. The President had made it clear to Heidegger that whoever filled the role next would stay at headquarters and direct battles from there.

“Sephiroth has filled me in a little bit,” Lazard explained. “But I’m eager to hear the full story.”

Tseng found himself distracted during the meeting, partially because Lazard was, like Rufus, stunningly handsome and exactly Tseng’s type, but partially because he was so opposite to Rufus in so many ways: soft-spoken, with kind eyes, smiling often as he and the President discussed strategy with Heidegger. Tseng was really only there to meet Lazard and gain an understanding of what kind of meetings Veld attended, so he didn’t feel too badly about being so distracted. 

It was also nice to see Rufus’ ire directed at someone else now that Lazard was in the room.

When the meeting was over, Lazard thanked them all and left with Heidegger and Sephiroth to continue his work.

“Veld,” the President said as they all stood. He clamped his hand down on Rufus’ shoulder to keep him from fleeing the room. “Before you go, can you spare one of your men to see Rufus to Junon? He’s attending an event in my stead and I’d like to make sure he’s safe while he’s there.”

Not me. Not me. Not me. 

Tseng privately pleaded for anyone else to get the assignment. It would be an excellent mission for their newest inductees, wouldn’t it?

“Of course,” Veld answered quickly. “Tseng, would you mind taking this mission?”

Tseng forced himself to nod politely. “Certainly, sir.”

Rufus looked as unhappy about the assignment as Tseng felt. 

“You know these types of events,” the President said, lighting a cigar and blowing smoke into Tseng’s face. “Lots of liberal socialites with their anti-war agenda,” he snorted unhappily. “They pretend they’re friends with Rufus, but I don’t trust them. You know, the boy doesn’t have any real friends, they’re all after his money. Or me.”

Rufus stared daggers at his father and said nothing.

“Just make sure he doesn’t get hurt. Or do something stupid.”

“As you say, sir,” Tseng struggled not to cough as more rank smoke blew in his face.

“Very good. The event is tomorrow, but you can just stay in one of the spare rooms at the Junon estate. Rufus will show you, won’t you boy?”

Rufus said nothing in response and his father didn’t seem to notice. He sauntered out of the room, barking at Veld to follow him so they could discuss a different matter. 

Much to his chagrin, Tseng found himself alone in the room with Rufus Shinra. 

“Looks like you get to babysit me again, Turk,” Rufus said, stepping past him and waltzing out of the room. Tseng hurried after him, though he would have preferred him to go alone and risk getting hurt. Tseng had already forgotten all about the pity he felt at the way Rufus looked at Lazard when he entered the room.

The two of them stepped into the elevator and stood in a stiff and uncomfortable silence.

“What was your name again?”

Tseng knew Rufus already knew his name, because even if Veld hadn’t said his name more than once during the meeting, he had been assigned to Rufus’ detail multiple times in the past few years and Rufus had yelled his name at him many times when Tseng did something he disagreed with, but it was Tseng’s job to remain stoic and professional, so he answered all the same, squaring his shoulders and staring at the elevator doors.

“Right. How did you like our new director of SOLDIER, Tseng?”

“He seems well-suited to the position,” Tseng responded as diplomatically as possible.

Rufus scoffed loudly. “By virtue of my father blowing his load in some hapless secretary thirty years ago. That is the case isn’t it? I’m sure you Turks know all about it.”

“Veld vetted him, sir. I don’t know anything about him.”

“You have eyes don’t you?”

Tseng gave him a withering look, but realized too late that it was technically insubordination. He put on a more neutral expression. To his surprise, Rufus laughed.

“I’d rather have you roll your eyes at me than kiss my ass. But I suppose ass-kissing is a lapdog’s primary job isn’t it?”

“My job is to protect Shinra assets,” Tseng answered as he considered how easy it would be to trip Rufus when they reached the rooftop and watch him plummet over the side of the building. He didn’t care if Rufus called him a lapdog. He got that from everyone and the insult had no real effect on him. It was Rufus’ ignorance of what the Turks truly did for Shinra, and where their loyalty truly lay, that grated on Tseng’s nerves. Typical of a rich brat to assume he knew more than anyone else about any given topic.

The elevator doors opened and they made their way out onto the roof, into one of several helicopters resting on the roof’s multiple landing pads. Tseng held the side door open for Rufus and received a swift reprimand.

“It’s not your fucking job to act like a butler.”

It wasn’t the first time Rufus had said that to him.

Tseng assumed his seat in the pilot’s chair and Rufus sat next to him, arm’s folded, glowering out the window while Tseng took them up into the air and set a course for Junon. He had been there once or twice on assignment and while he did like the view of the sea, he liked Midgar better as a whole.

“Do you know anything about Veld’s shiny metal arm?” Rufus asked after a few minutes of silence.

Tseng only knew that Veld had been injured on a mission and Hojo had engineered the prosthesis for him. He told Rufus as much.

“Hojo,” Rufus scoffed. “My father’s biggest waste of money.”

It always annoyed Tseng when he agreed with Rufus on any given topic, but he was of a similar mind regarding Hojo and his sordid experiments. What little Tseng knew about what went on in research and development was more than he cared to know. The President funded a number of pet projects with questionable utility and Hojo was undoubtedly using his funds to run other unsupervised projects.

“No opinion on the subject?” Rufus prodded.

Tseng sighed. “My opinion doesn’t matter, sir.”

“Is every Turk so self-loathing or are you special? You’re all robots, aren’t you? Just doing whatever my father says with no thoughts of your own. It’s infuriating. When I’m President, I’ll be happy to relieve you of your duties,” he fixed Tseng with a fierce look and it was obvious he understood perfectly well what ‘relieving a Turk of his duties’ meant.

“I would hope,” said Tseng, choosing his words carefully, “that a good leader would assess the utility of each and every worker before dismissing them so easily.”

Rufus scoffed and said nothing.

Tseng was perfectly content to spend the hour-long flight to Junon in silence, as uncomfortable as it might be, but Rufus apparently felt the need to fill the silence, even if it was mostly with derogatory remarks toward the Turks. Tseng answered with one-word sentences and shrugs for the most part. It was evident Rufus was trying to get a rise out of him, but Tseng refused to break. He had endured worse during training academy than Rufus fucking Shinra.

“Have you ever fucked one of the other Turks?” Rufus asked.

“No,” Tseng lied.

“I guess you wouldn’t. You don’t seem like much of a rule breaker. My father fucked one of them once and then they had her ‘permanently relocated’ when he got her pregnant. I’m sure you know what that means.”

It meant they had walked her down a long hallway and carried her out in a body bag. Tseng clenched his jaw and said nothing.

“He sticks his dick in every cute little blonde who gives him the chance,” Rufus continued, though Tseng suspected he was no longer really talking to him so much as he was voicing his thoughts aloud. “That new director of SOLDIER is hardly the only bastard my father has running around. And if the women can’t be paid off, the Turks take care of the mess.”

“Why are you telling me this, sir?” Tseng interrupted.

Rufus snapped his gaze away from the window to look at Tseng, as if only just remembering he were there. “I assumed the Turks knew all about it.”

“We know only what is necessary to do our jobs.”

“Deaf, blind, and dumb,” Rufus spat.

They spent the rest of the flight in silence. When they arrived in Junon it was raining and Tseng offered to hold Rufus’ umbrella only to be chided yet again for ‘acting like his butler’. There was a car awaiting them when they reached the main road and Tseng and Rufus sat next to each other in the back seat while the driver took them to the Shinra Estate: a high-rise luxury condominium building belonging to the Shinras, the top ten floors of which had been turned into private apartments and recreational halls just for Rufus and his father.

It was really no wonder Rufus acted the way he did, growing up with so much wealth. This was just one of many homes Rufus split his time between. Meanwhile Tseng lived in a box in Sector 1 just barely large enough for the four pieces of furniture he owned, his kitchen little more than a stove and a refrigerator. Of course, Turks were paid well, but what use did Tseng have for an overpriced luxury apartment when he spent half of his time on missions?

Tseng followed Rufus up to the penultimate floor where a sprawling apartment took up the entire level. Unlike his father’s office, decorated in gaudy overdone marble and gold trim everywhere, Rufus’ apartment was surprisingly understated and modern, with an open floor plan that allowed a view of the entire unit and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the harbor. Rufus pulled his coat off and tossed it haphazardly toward a bench by the door. Tseng stopped and picked it up, hanging it on a coat rack next to the bench.

“There’s a guest bedroom down the hall you can sleep in,” Rufus explained. “I won’t have need of you until tomorrow evening. Even then…” he frowned at Tseng for several seconds. “I see no reason I need to be tailed by obvious security.”

“I won’t be tailing you, sir,” Tseng explained. “I’ll do a check of the building before the event and remain out of view during. I will simply be available if someone attempts to step in and-”

“Whatever,” Rufus waved a dismissive hand.

“Sir, it’s not my choice to do this,” Tseng continued. “Just as it wasn’t my choice to have to follow you around while you went out drinking with your friends. Your father is the one who assigned the Turks to these tasks.”

“And yet you carry out his requests blindly. A loyal, obedient little lapdog. Do you like licking my father’s boots, Tseng?”

Tseng clenched his fists and said nothing.

“Come on, tell me,” Rufus took a step toward him. “Would you suck his cock if he asked you to?”

The only thing that kept Tseng from breaking and punching Rufus in the jaw - which was something that might teach him a little humility in Tseng’s humble opinion - was the fact that he would absolutely get fired and subsequently killed if he laid a hand on the President’s son. But he was struggling not to bite back and Rufus clearly saw it, going for the throat as he took another step closer to Tseng.

“Does he fuck you like he fucks all his cute little secretaries? You certainly act like his bitch.”

“Why are you such a cunt!?” Tseng exploded.

Rufus balked at him and immediately Tseng wished he could take the words back, not because he hadn’t meant it - the more vitriol Rufus spewed, the more Tseng loathed him - but because he feared the repercussions of such an enormous lapse in judgment. Veld was grooming him to become his successor and this was how he repaid him?

Tseng stood, tense and ready to apologize when Rufus burst out laughing. Tseng stared at him as he clutched at his stomach and shook his head.

“So you aren’t made of stone, are you?” He kept laughing, walking over to the bar by the kitchen and pouring himself a drink. “You can relax now, little lapdog. I’m not going to have you tossed into the incinerator or whatever it is my father does with you when he’s grown bored with you. At least now I know how you really feel about me.”

“Sir-”

“If you apologize, I’ll change my mind,” Rufus snapped.

So Tseng said nothing.

“You can help yourself to whatever food is in the fridge, but most of it is probably expired. It’s been several weeks since I’ve been here.” Rufus wandered over to a chair by the window and slumped into it. “I’d prefer if you just leave me the fuck alone, if it’s all the same.”

Tseng nodded. “Goodnight, sir.”

The ‘guest room’ was larger than Tseng’s entire apartment and he lay for some time in the bed considering his outburst and Rufus’ unexpected reaction to it. He hated him, but at least he had been amused by the insult, rather than angry. As Tseng fell asleep, he decided he would keep the outburst to himself, rather than admit it to Veld. Despite his distaste for Rufus, he had a feeling it would stay between the two of them.

Rufus never minded a party, except when he was being asked to attend at his father’s behest. It was a gala at an art gallery for some cause or another: feeding the poor, saving the planet, Rufus could never keep all of the contradictory causes his father pretended to support straight, but he showed up because the alternative was being screamed at by his father with threats to remove him from the will.

Rufus’ future was constantly being held out before him like a gyshal green dangled on a string in front of a chocobo. ‘If you play your cards right, one day you might take over, Rufus, but don’t forget it’s never a guarantee.’ His father hiring what was unquestionably one of his bastards - whether Lazard knew it or not - felt like a thinly veiled threat. ‘Look how worthless my seed is, Rufus, I could replace you with any other bastard the minute you make a wrong move.’

Wouldn’t it be lovely to serve his father that bastard’s head on a plate? Not that he couldn’t replace him with another in a heartbeat.

More and more often, his father had been assigning Turks to his detail to keep him from making a fool of himself in the press, even though it had all been an act to begin with. Rufus resented being treated like a child. He was twenty-two. Wasn’t it time for his father to bestow the proper title on him? He had kissed his father’s ass as much as he could stomach and all it got him was a glorified babysitter looming around constantly. Small consolation that it was the most handsome Turk. Even if Rufus hated Tseng, at least he was nice to look at.

And being called a cunt by his father’s most rule-abiding little crony had been refreshing, frankly. He tried to imagine Veld breaking like that, but he couldn’t. He would have liked to tattle on Tseng to Veld just to see the reaction, but he didn’t believe in punishing good behavior like that.

Presently, Rufus found himself in a broom closet on the gallery’s second floor while a cute redhead sucked his cock. She wasn’t stunning by any means, but she was cute enough and after a little groping in the hallway and a few drinks, Rufus wasn’t setting his standards too high physically. She had been a good conversationalist, which usually counted more in his book. Unfortunately, she wasn’t very good at what she was doing.

“Is it good?” She asked in a throaty whine Rufus had heard a dozen times from men and women alike trying to mimic bad porn. It was almost enough to make him go soft. She pressed her lips against the head of his cock and he sighed. If they weren’t in such a public place he would have just taken matters into his own hands - literally - and asked to cum on her face. 

“It’s not,” Rufus wasn’t one to sugar coat things.

“Oh.” She sat back on her legs and frowned at him. “Could I…do something differently?”

Maybe she hadn’t sucked that many dicks. Rufus felt a little sorry for her now that she looking at him like that with those big eyes of hers. He gave her a few suggestions and she went back at it with little improvement, but it could have been worse. He leaned back against the wall and thrust his hips into her mouth until he finally found his release. The least he could do was return the favor, which earned him a very exaggerated response that grated on his nerves, then they stepped out of the broom closet to find Tseng waiting for them wearing a frown.

“Didn’t I tell you to stay out of my sight?” Rufus hissed.

“You disappeared with a stranger. It’s my job to make sure you aren’t in any danger.”

Rufus rolled his eyes and stalked away without a word. He hated the constant presence of his father’s men. There was never a moment he didn’t suspect his father was spying on him in some manner or another. He had grown so paranoid about it that he constantly checked his apartments for hidden cameras and bugs. Thus far, he hadn’t found any of those, but a Turk on his detail all the time was only one step away from that as far as Rufus was concerned.

He dropped the girl, whose name he couldn’t remember anyway, and moved through the gallery out onto the veranda where he came to rest against the railing, lighting up a cigarette and sucking it down while he waited for Tseng to inevitably appear at his side. Predictably, after a few minutes puffing on the cigarette, Tseng came to stand a few feet away from him and Rufus shifted so that his cigarette smoke blew into Tseng’s face.

Tseng frowned at him.

“Oh, sorry,” said Rufus without meaning it at all. “Do you not like the smell?”

“I don’t,” Tseng answered. “But you should know it also makes you look like your father, smoking like that and carelessly blowing it in people’s faces.” Rufus bristled and nearly put out his cigarette at the mere thought of resembling his father in any way, but he didn’t want to give Tseng the pleasure of knowing he was right about something. “If you’re going to sneak into any more closets for another indiscretion, a simple forewarning would suffice.”

“But Tseng,” Rufus said, tipping the ashes from his cigarette and staring out at the sea. “I would have thought you’d love to see me killed.”

“Be that as it may, I will lose my job if I let someone kill you.”

Rufus laughed loudly at this. “Fine. Now leave me alone.”

Tseng slunk away to hide in some dark corner as he had been all evening and once Rufus was sure he was out of sight, he flicked his cigarette over the edge of the balcony and discarded the rest of the pack with it.

Chapter Text

It was rare that Tseng had a moment to himself, especially in the shared spaces at headquarters, but for the first time in several months he found the break room mercifully empty and his schedule somehow open, so he took a seat by a window overlooking the slums, opened up a book he had been reading piecemeal whenever he had time and wasn’t too exhausted after a mission, and enjoyed the silence.

Turk headquarters were located three stories beneath the plate. They had been alloted the entire floor, which consisted of living quarters for the rookies, a private weight room, a rec hall with several courts, a library, a break room with a fully stocked kitchen, and the executive offices, in addition to several locked doors even Tseng wasn’t allowed access to. At any given moment there was usually someone lounging around the break room, often a group of rookies waiting for their next lesson, since they had limited access to other parts of the floor. In fact, Tseng couldn’t really recall the last time he’d seen the break room empty.

He had just gotten invested in the chapter he was reading when the door flew open and Reno and Rude walked in arguing loudly. Or, Reno was arguing loudly. Rude mostly rolled his eyes and wandered over to the fridge while Reno talked at him.

“I mean if you had just let me handle it-” Reno started.

“If I had let you handle it, you’d be missing an arm right now,” Rude grumbled.

“Hey, maybe I’d look cool. Look at Veld.” Reno shrugged and slumped down in a chair too close to Tseng for his taste considering the entire break room was available to him. He nodded at Tseng and flashed a grin. “How’s it going, Chuckles?” 

Tseng pursed his lips. Reno had a nickname for everyone.

“Fine,” he answered curtly, turning his attention back to his book.

Reno and Rude had been his recruits, and they were good at their jobs, but they bickered often for two people who had only been working together for a few years and Tseng found Reno difficult to deal with on a personal level. He was happy to let them handle their missions on their own and avoid them otherwise. Rude on his own wasn’t so bad - there was a sort of silent camaraderie between them and their exasperation with Reno - but when he and Reno were together it was often unbearable.

“Sheesh,” Reno huffed. “What crawled up your ass?”

“Reno,” Rude warned.

“What?” Reno slung his legs over the arm of the chair and placed his hands behind his head.

“Tseng is technically our superior.”

“Technically doesn’t mean shit.”

“Charming as usual, Reno,” Tseng muttered.

Reno frowned at him and turned his attention back to Rude. “Anyway, like I was saying, if you’d just trust me every once in a while-”

“Trust has nothing to do with it,” Rude protested. “The problem is I’ve known you for three years now and I definitely know when you’re about to do something stupid.”

“Yeah, you think you know me.”

“I don’t think,” Rude grunted. “I know.”

Reno waved a dismissive hand. “Whatever. Hey what are you reading anyway, Tseng?”

“A book,” he replied.

“No shit?” Reno rolled his eyes. “What book?”

“It’s historical fiction. I doubt it would interest you.”

“You don’t know! I might like it.”

Frankly, Tseng wasn’t even sure Reno could read, given his patchy upbringing in the slums. But obviously he had passed his written exam to become a Turk, so perhaps that was Tseng making inappropriate assumptions about orphan grounders. He resigned himself to the fact that he would not have any peace now that Reno had arrived, so he placed a bookmark inside his book and set it down on the table next to his chair.

“You only read comic books,” Rude said, sitting down next to Reno and taking a bite of an outlandishly large sandwich.

“Who asked you?” Reno barked.

This back and forth continued until Tseng felt ready to pull his hair out. He was just about to get up and retire to the executive office when the door to the break room opened again and another familiar face stepped in, one Tseng hadn’t seen in several months.

“Who missed me?” Legend asked, sauntering into the room with a broad grin. “Tseng, looking slick as usual.”

“Legend,” Tseng sighed. “Back from another mission I suppose?”

Since passing their exams they had seen very little of one another. Most of their interactions had been brief greetings while training the rookies, and noticing each other across the long meeting room table during the Turks’ yearly group meeting. Tseng didn’t mind Legend’s absence in his life - he had been difficult to deal with as a rookie and a few years of operating as an actual Turk had gone straight to his head.

Legend sat on the arm of Tseng’s chair and slung his arm around Tseng’s shoulder. Tseng attempted to shrug him away to no avail.

“Come on, admit it,” Legend said. “You missed me. When’s the last time we shot the shit?”

Tseng hated that expression. “Please.” He said firmly.

Legend let go of him, but remained on the arm of the chair. “Yeah, yeah. You and your personal space. And how are these charming young sprouts?”

“Who you callin’ sprout, old man?” Reno curled his lip.

“Old man?” Legend balked.

“None of us are old men,” Tseng muttered.

“You just let them talk to you like this?” Legend asked, elbowing Tseng in the side. 

Tseng groaned. “Mostly I try to ignore them. My mistake for thinking I might take a moment to read my book in peace.”

“Yeah, Chuckles here loves being left alone almost as much as he loves sticking his nose up Veld’s-”

“Reno!” Rude choked on his sandwich.

“Chuckles?” Legend snorted and elbowed Tseng once more. “All right, that’s pretty good isn’t it? Oh, but you’re not laughing buddy.”

“Hence,” Reno gesticulated toward Tseng.

“You got a nickname for me, kid?”

“He’s three years younger than you,” Tseng pointed out, though absolutely no one bothered to listen to him. 

“Carrot Top, right?” Reno looked to Rude as if expecting his approval. Rude looked thoughtfully at Legend and nodded.

“Seems right.” 

“Tch, these newbies.” Legend rolled his eyes and turned his attention to Tseng. “Anyway, did you hear the good news? Veld wants me and you to go on a mission together.”

“Excuse me?” Tseng reeled. “Since when?” He fumbled with his phone and quickly opened his e-mail, mortified to find a message from twenty minutes earlier requesting his presence in Veld’s office at four for a mission briefing. There were no details on what the mission would entail. Legend peered over his shoulder to read the message and nodded.

“He called me from Junon and said he had something for you and me to take care of. The ole’ dream team back together.”

“We were never a ‘dream team’,” Tseng sighed, pocketing his phone. 

Typically, he handled missions on his own. Every once in a great while he might be partnered up with another Turk for a mission that truly required more than one mind, but unlike Reno and Rude who almost always ran missions together, Tseng preferred to work alone. He hadn’t worked with Legend since they were in academy and he hadn’t enjoyed it then. Now that Legend was a full-fledged Turk with an oversized ego to boot, Tseng was dreading it.

What exactly was Veld thinking?

“It’ll be a blast,” said Legend, sliding off the chair and waltzing over to the door. “I’ll meet you in the boss’s office.” He winked as he slipped out of the break room.

“What a tool,” Reno said once he was gone.

“Reno,” Tseng snapped, rising to his feet. “Legend is your superior.”

“Yeah, okay, whatever you say, Chuckles.”

Tseng fixed him with a stern frown and was pleased with the way Reno shrunk down in his chair. He was mouthy, but he usually reacted appropriately when Tseng got serious with him.

Reno sufficiently reprimanded - or as close to reprimanded as he was going to get - Tseng made his way out of the break room and down the hall to Veld’s office where he could hear Legend conversing loudly with Veld. Tseng didn’t need to eavesdrop to know it was Legend’s typical self-aggrandizing story telling. He stepped inside without knocking and shut the door quickly behind him.

There was a look of relief on Veld’s face as Tseng entered the office. Tseng knew, perhaps better than anyone, how arduous it was to be stuck alone in a room with Legend. 

“Ah, Chuckles, you made it,” Legend grinned.

“I’m disappointed to see your subordinates rubbing off on you,” Tseng said, taking a seat next to Legend. 

“No sense of humor, this guy,” Legend said to Veld, who exchanged a meaningful look with Tseng and ignored Legend entirely.

“I know both of you have grown accustomed to working alone on your assignments, but I have a mission that could utilize both of your skill-sets and I know from your training that you’re capable of working well together when the situation necessitates as much,” Veld began. “As you’re both aware, there are a number of anti-Shinra dissident groups popping up every day in Wutai independent from the government opposition to Shinra presence.”

That was a polite way of saying ‘the war in Wutai’, Tseng supposed.

“One of these groups recently managed to take a weapons trader hostage. Unfortunately, the trader they kidnapped is a very prominent figure in the war effort. Losing him would be a detrimental blow to Shinra’s capabilities in Wutai. The President has requested that we retrieve the dealer before the dissidents grow inpatient and send us his head in a tidy gift-wrapped package.”

“So we go to Wutai, pull this guy out, and leave?” Legend shrugged. “Sounds easy.”

“The base is reportedly heavily fortified,” Veld warned. “When they absconded with the weapons dealer they took a large portion of his stockpile with them. Destroy the base and return the dealer to Midgar. That is your assignment. A helicopter will await you on the roof tomorrow morning.” He paused, looking between Tseng and Legend. “You’re dismissed.”

Tseng was dismayed to find Legend on his tail as soon as they were out of the office, slinging his arm around Tseng's shoulder with that old, obnoxious familiarity as they walked.

“Do you mind?” Tseng snapped.

Legend dropped his arm. “So. Not interested in a little roll in the hay before we head out, huh?” He looked Tseng up and down thoughtfully. “Bet you’ve improved a bit since the last time.”

“No.” Tseng said, pressing his lips into a thin line. What he thought privately was, ‘Never again, not even if you were the last man on earth.’ But he kept this to himself and continued along down the hallway to the elevator.

“Harsh,” Legend sighed. “Guess I’ll see you tomorrow then, buddy.”

Tseng frowned at him as the elevator doors closed in his face.

Before Tseng could head home, he was overdue for a visit to check on Aerith. So he made his way down to the Sector Five slums via the train. He preferred to take a helicopter purely to avoid the ire of the grounders when they noticed a Turk descending below the plate with them, but the train was faster at this time of day when demand for Shinra’s substantial helicopter fleet was always at its highest. 

In the three years since Tseng had been assigned to Aerith little had changed. Elmyra Gainsborough still detested his presence and made that apparent at every opportunity, flashing her gun as if Tseng wasn’t aware of exactly where she kept it at any given moment. Aerith had largely ignored Tseng for the first year or so, but as she grew more comfortable with his presence, she would sometimes ask Tseng to act as her bodyguard when she wandered the slums on her own. Considering the main reason for Tseng’s assignment to the girl was to keep her out of harm’s way, he obliged, following her around the slums silent and menacing and ensuring that no one came within a twenty foot radius of her.

This hadn’t lasted either.

“You’re too scary. You even scare away my friends!”

So now he mostly just lurked in the shadows where he could see her and step in to help if he needed to, but it never came to that. Aerith had a way with people that both inspired Tseng and filled him with envy. Even before it had been his job to play his cards close to the chest, Tseng had trouble forming meaningful social connections. Aerith, on the other hand, didn’t know a stranger, and everyone in the Sector Five slums seemed to love the girl and care for her like she was their own child.

Whether or not Tseng believed anything about the Promised Land or the President’s grand ideas for Neo Midgar, he at least believed that Aerith’s cooperation with Shinra could foster an era of peace Gaia had never truly known.

He kept all of this to himself of course.

That evening, he found himself standing on the dirt path that led through Aerith’s vast garden, holding two large wicker baskets while Aerith filled them with flowers. She took her time tending to each flower patch, pruning leaves, spritzing petals with water, picking only the most beautiful with the most delicate touch and laying them gingerly inside the baskets.

She was nearing her fourteenth birthday and had reached a level of acceptance with Tseng’s regular visits. Of course, some visits he was met with shouting and anger - she was an emotionally labile teenager after all - but most of the time, she simply put Tseng to work helping her with tasks she couldn’t accomplish on her own. Lately, that had been assisting her with cleaning up an old church on the eastern edge of the sector, but today it was flower duty.

“This basket is going to the Leaf House,” Aerith explained, placing a brilliant yellow lily in the basket hanging from Tseng’s right arm. 

The Leaf House was an orphanage not far from Aerith’s house where she volunteered regularly. It seemed all Aerith did with her time was such admirable tasks. It made Tseng feel that it wasn’t just busywork watching over her: he was protecting someone who made the planet a better place.

“And the other basket?” Tseng asked.

“Oh, I’ll figure it out,” Aerith shrugged. She hummed as she knelt in the grass trimming the flowers. “Sometimes I give a bouquet to my mom. Or I’ll just pass them out around town. Flowers always brighten people’s day,” she looked up at Tseng and smiled, but quickly frowned when he didn’t return the gesture. “Don’t you ever smile?” She grumbled. “You’re always so serious.”

“I had a terrible accident when I first started with the Turks,” said Tseng, completely monotone. “I’m no longer able to smile.”

For a fleeting moment, it was clear Aerith thought he was being serious, but when she realized he was joking, she rolled her eyes and snorted. “Didn’t know you could tell jokes either.”

“Occasionally,” said Tseng, and he allowed himself a small smile at that.

A comfortable silence followed. Tseng was typically uncomfortable around children, but he could occasionally hold a conversation with Aerith, who often made comments that were wise beyond her years. Usually though, he just did whatever it was she asked of him without a word and left when his task was complete, content that she had remained safe and sound for another month. 

“Tseng?” Aerith asked, placing a few more flowers in the basket for the Leaf House.

“Yes?”

“Do you really kill people? I mean when you’re not down here checking on me.”

“I think you already know the answer, don’t you?” He asked.

She nodded, a sadness washing over her face. “I can hear their voices sometimes.”

Tseng hated the thought of it. More than once Aerith had made it clear that the planet, or rather the lifestream, could speak to her. He never though to verify with Veld or Hojo if such a thing was true of the Ancients or just legend - she spoke so ardently that he simply believed her at her word. To think that the souls of those he’d killed had somehow spoken to her made him uneasy. It was one thing for him to lead the life he did. An innocent young girl didn’t need to hear or know of such things.

Then again, Aerith wasn’t much younger than Tseng was when he first arrived in Midgar. And she wasn’t naive either, after a life spent beneath the plate.

And frankly if the pranks she pulled were any indication, she actually wasn’t as sweet and innocent as her looks suggested.

“Does it bother you?” Tseng asked.

“Of course. You people…Shinra…they killed my mother, you know.”

“I know,” Tseng said solemnly. When she didn’t say anything else, he realized what her true concern might be. “Aerith, I won’t hurt you. You understand that, don’t you?”

She placed another flower in the basket and met his gaze. “I know that you believe you won’t ever hurt me.”

And that was all she said on the matter. Another one of those odd moments where she spoke with the voice of an adult. Tseng didn’t press the issue. Even after three years, he could hardly blame her for being scared after all Shinra had done to her.

When both baskets had been filled, Tseng carried them back to the house, where he was allowed to set them on the table before Elmyra was shoving him back out the door and slamming it in his face. His monthly duty fulfilled, Tseng headed to the train station, back up above the plate to his apartment to prepare for his next mission.

“You ready for the time of your life, buddy?” It was far too early in the morning for Tseng to have to deal with Legend. Not even the energy drink he had downed earlier seemed to help.

“I’m ready to see this mission through,” Tseng replied, taking a seat in the co-pilot’s chair in the waiting helicopter. He knew from experience that Legend would try to arm wrestle him to decide who would pilot the chopper, and he was too tired to deal with that.

It didn’t escape Legend’s notice, however. He slid into the pilot’s seat with a frown. “Ah man, you’re no fun.”

“Let’s just focus on the mission,” Tseng suggested.

“Still as straight-laced as ever,” Legend scoffed, leading them up into the air. It would be a long trip to Wutai, made longer by being stuck in a helicopter with only each other for company. Legend didn’t like a space to be filled with silence, so he asked questions purely to pass the time - a habit that had driven Tseng insane when they shared a room during academy.

“So,” said Legend, “you seeing anyone?”

Tseng looked sideways at him and quirked an eyebrow. “Seeing someone? As if that’s possible for a Turk.”

“Is if you want it bad enough. Of course I couldn’t ever settle down for long enough. But I mean, look at the chief. He had a wife and kid.”

“Excuse me?” Tseng hadn’t expected to be genuinely intrigued. 

Legend was better than anyone at blowing hot air, almost as bad of a gossip as Reno, but the information was interesting if it was true. Veld never spoke about his personal life and Tseng held it as a general rule of thumb not to pry into his coworkers’ lives, let alone his superiors’. Legend said this made Tseng seem ‘unfriendly’ and ‘unapproachable’ as though it were a bad thing - shouldn’t someone in their line of work be just that?

“Oh yeah, that’s what happened with his arm. Big raid on Kalm to weed out some anti-Shinra so and so. Guess he had a family living there but they got killed in the blast.” Legend shrugged.

“And how do you know about this?”

“Because, brainiac,” Legend flicked Tseng on the forehead, “some of us don’t follow the rules. I snoop around in files when I wanna find stuff out. You know…like a spy.”

Tseng rubbed his forehead with a scowl, “You shouldn’t spy on your own people.”

“Shows what you know. And to think the chief is grooming you to be his replacement. You have to know who your people are.”

“That’s what proper vetting is for,” Tseng argued.

“Yeah? And what if I snooped and found out Veld was working to undermine the Turks? Or Shinra? Isn’t that worth knowing? You find rot inside you gotta nip it in the bud, but sometimes the rot is well hidden, you get my drift? Anyway, I’ll take your answer to my initial question as a resounding ‘no’. At least tell me you’re getting out and getting laid on occasion.”

Tseng pursed his lips and stared out the window. “I don’t see why that matters.”

“A guy as tightly wound as you?” Legend laughed loudly. “You gotta release some steam somehow, buddy. Besides, I know better than anyone that you’re more human than you let on.”

“Please don’t remind me,” Tseng groaned.

“I’ll never let you forget, pal!”

By the time they reached Wutai, after several stops to refuel, the sun was setting behind the mountain peaks along the horizon. The base they were searching for was hidden in the dense jungles of central Wutai, which meant they were likely to encounter potential guerrilla troops on the lookout for any Shinra presence, in addition to the anti-Shinra dissidents who had captured the arms dealer.

Tseng opened the door of the helicopter and was hit with a wave of humidity. It was his first time setting foot in his father’s homeland and for the first time in many years, he thought of his parents and wondered if they were still alive, or if they had been one of the many casualties of the war. And what of his two younger sisters? They had surely gone to Wutai alongside his parents.

A little pang of emotion welled in his chest and he pushed it down. There was a mission to see through, and the battles Shinra was waging were nowhere near this part of the country.

Ahead of the clearing where Legend landed the chopper, a vast jungle spread over the foothills surrounding the snow-peaked mountains to the west. Legend led the way into the jungle and Tseng followed, keeping his eyes and ears open to any signs of danger. In addition to the threat of Wutaian military forces, there were wild animals and monsters within the woods to contend with. 

“Fuck it’s hot,” Legend groaned after several minutes of hiking. “I guess you’re more used to it than me.”

Tseng glowered at him. Legend knew nothing about Tseng’s past, but assumed he was from Wutai just as everyone else assumed. “I’ve never been to Wutai in my life.” He would not add that it was equally hot and humid in Mideel and so, yes, technically he was somewhat used to this type of climate.

“What, really? You’re all fluent and everything.”

“Well, I’m obviously Wutaian,” Tseng rolled his eyes. “My father is from here. You may not know this, but people are capable of emigrating.”

“Okay, wise guys, sorry I made an assumption,” Legend sighed.

They continued walking in silence. By the time they reached the dissident base, the sun had set and they were forced to wear their night-vision goggles to avoid attracting attention with any flashlights. Legend and Tseng crouched at the edge of a clearing where a surprisingly small set of prefabricated units stood in stacks facing each other.

“All these rinky-dink operations,” Legend huffed. “They have to hide because they know if Shinra found them they’d be toast like that.” He snapped his fingers.

“Be that as it may, they still managed to capture an important Shinra agent. Size clearly isn’t everything.”

“Don’t rag on yourself like that man, you’re packing plenty of heat.” Legend laughed.

“Could you be serious for five seconds?” Tseng growled. “What’s our plan of action here?”

“I’m gonna plant some explosives along the base of those units,” Legend explained. “You want to sweep the inside and look for the arms dealer or go in together?”

“I can handle the base,” said Tseng. He stood up and brushed the dirt from his legs. “Stay in touch on the comms. I’ll call for backup if it’s needed.”

“You got it, boss.”

“Don’t call me that,” Tseng chided.

“Hey, just practicing for when you take over for the chief.”

They parted ways and while Legend sneaked to the edge of the base to begin planting charges, Tseng scaled the side of one of the units and observed the central clearing around which the units had been placed. A handful of men and women stood guard on sentry duty, holding unwieldy guns they were clearly unaccustomed to. 

It was unsurprising to find a seemingly insignificant dissident group like this hiding in the jungles of Wutai. There were likely a hundred more groups like this, with new ones springing up every day: angry citizens tired of living in a war-ravaged country or else others with a gripe against Shinra who knew they could find support with the Wutaians. What was surprising was that this ‘rinky-dink operation’, as Legend put it, had captured a powerful Shinra player.

Perhaps the arms dealer was an idiot; he wouldn’t be the only powerful man at Shinra who was.

After a moment of observing the sentries, Tseng noticed an unguarded door on the north facing side of the unit across the clearing. Whether they had left it unguarded out of negligence or over-confidence, it didn’t much matter to Tseng. He would be able to break in either way. So he wound his way around the base, overrode the lock on the door, and slipped inside to find himself in a dimly lit hallway.

There was, unfortunately, no relief from the humidity inside, not that Tseng had expected as much. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he moved swiftly and silently down the hallway, peering into rooms and listening for any sounds. He encountered a man with a rifle in his arms as he turned the corner, but before the man could cry out, Tseng struck with swift and precise movements of his arms, rendering the man unconscious. He emptied his weapon and placed the clips in his pocket before continuing on his way.

Tseng could have given these people a few tips about the importance of shift workers and proper security. He encountered no one else until he reached the room he suspected the arms dealer was being kept in, primarily because it was the only room with sentries outside the door. How could fools like this expect to ever outwit or overpower Shinra when they didn’t understand subterfuge? 

Two people, likely untrained, would not be a challenge for Tseng. He rushed the first sentry and wrenched their head, snapping their neck and leaving them to crumple on the ground while the second sentry fumbled for her gun. Before she could even cock it, Tseng’s hand chopped down against her arm and snapped the bone. She let out a yelp of surprise and Tseng caught her before she could hit the ground. He held her up by her hair while she grimaced and clawed ineffectively at his hands.

“Do you know who I am?” he asked.

“Turk,” she spat.

“How did you get your hands on the arms dealer?”

“Fucking idiot got ambushed by some guerilla fighters up north.” Did she think Tseng was going to spare her life if she gave him this information? He didn’t even have to seriously threaten her and already she had opened the floodgates. These amateurs were pathetic. A rookie could have handled this mission. “They passed him off to us. Figured we could negotiate some trade with Shinra for his life.”

“Blackmail. The fighters weren’t doing you a favor,” Tseng corrected, “they knew Shinra would send us after such an important asset. They were hedging their bets. If you were successful, I suspect they were promised a share of your spoils?”

The woman’s eyes went wide with sudden terror as the realization that they had been played dawned on her.

“As I thought,” Tseng continued. “They placed the risk of capture onto you and whatever idiot is running this group.” He almost felt sorry for her, but there was no room for pity in a Turk’s line of duty. “Take solace in the fact that your death will be swift and painless.”

“Plea-” She opened her mouth to beg for her life and Tseng snapped her neck.

Now he would have answers for Veld when they returned. Of course, the most important aspect of the job was bringing back the arms dealer, but if he could glean a little more knowledge about Shinra’s enemies, that was important intel for the Turks to have in their back pocket. 

Tseng easily picked the lock on the door and stepped inside to find the arms dealer tied to a chair and sporting a few cuts and bruises, but otherwise unharmed. Tseng had been anticipating an older gentleman, someone like Heidegger really, but the man he found tied up in the room wasn’t much older than Tseng himself, with a pair of round sunglasses that reminded him of Legend.

“Oh thank fuck,” the dealer said. “I knew Shinra would send someone for me eventually. Didn’t realize it would be a bona fide Turk.”

Tseng pulled a knife from his belt and cut the ropes binding the man to the chair. “I’m Tseng. My colleague is planting charges outside to destroy this base, so we had better hurry up. Can you walk?”

“Yeah. They didn’t break my legs or anything. I’m Hugh by the way.”

His file had only listed his codename. Arms dealers under Shinra’s employ often went by aliases, much like the Turks, for their safety as well as Shinra’s. Tseng didn’t particularly care what his name was.

As they stepped back into the hallway, Hugh glanced at the dead bodies with his mouth agape. “You kill them?”

“How many men have you killed?” Tseng asked.

“Not as many as a Turk, that’s for damn sure. Cold-blooded, ain’t ya?”

“Keep quiet. We don’t want to alert anyone to our presence.”

Hugh the arms dealer thankfully listened to Tseng’s request, following him back along the route he’d taken until they were back outside in the dark of the jungle. Tseng slipped his night-vision goggles back on and Hugh groped blindly behind him until they found Legend setting the last charge on the southern edge of the base.

“Any trouble?” Legend asked, not looking up from his work.

“No. They sent us to deal with amateurs. Though I suppose Veld had no way of knowing purely from drone footage.”

“Yeah, some of these yahoos are the real deal and some of them are just small-fry wannabes, you know?” Legend stepped back and appraised his work. “Should be set.” He looked up and his face fell. “What the fuck is this? Hugh?”

Hugh squinted and moved closer in the dark. “Oh fuck. Kord?”

“You fucking kidding me? You rat bastard!”

Before Tseng could fully surmise what was going on, Legend launched himself onto Hugh and the to of them went tumbling through the dirt. Hugh was too weak to overpower a Turk, though he certainly put up a good fight. The spat ended as quickly as it began, Legend pinning Hugh to the ground with a scowl.

“What the hell is going on Legend?” Tseng demanded. “We need to blow this place and get out of here!”

“This asshole is the one who sold me out to Shinra! I could have died you stupid fuck!” Legend slammed his fist into Hugh’s cheek. Spittle and blood spattered across his chin.

“Let it go. We have a job to do,” Tseng hissed. “You didn’t die. You became a Turk instead, so what do you care?”

“No surprise you’ve still got your nose as far up Shinra’s ass as you can stick it,” Legend said, ignoring Tseng entirely.

The situation was absurd. Veld should have sent Tseng to take care of this alone. How had it slipped past Veld that the arms dealer was a former of associate of Legend’s?

“Oh-ho if that ain’t the pot calling the kettle black! Whose noses are further up Shinra’s ass than the Turks?” Hugh retorted.

“I’m not a Turk by choice you spineless sack of shit.”

“Legend!” Tseng moved to intervene, gripping the back of Legend’s shirt and trying to pry him away from Hugh, but before he could do much of anything, Legend whipped his pistol from its holster and fired off a shot point blank between Hugh’s eyes.

For a moment, Tseng stood staring at Hugh’s body in disbelief. 

“Sorry, man.” Legend stood up and wiped the sweat from his forehead. “I had to do it. That fucker doesn’t deserve to live after the shit he pulled.”

Tseng stared at Legend. He was so furious he couldn’t think straight. Legend had compromised the entire mission because of a foolish grudge. He clenched and unclenched his fists several times.

“Come on, man, you’re freaking me out. Say something.”

“Light the charges and let’s go,” said Tseng quietly before turning and walking away into the jungle.

They didn’t wait around for the blast but they heard and saw it as they made their way wordlessly back to the helicopter. There would be nothing left of the base except ashes by morning. Every time Legend tried to speak, Tseng fixed him with a look so stern that the words died in his throat. The entire flight back to Midgar was spent in a cold and uncomfortable silence.

Tseng was certain he had never been so angry in his life. A mission run with a partner was a mission both parties were responsible for. How had Legend been so cavalier about ruining things for them? What would their punishment from Veld be?

Midgar came into view with the early-morning sun. Twenty-four hours. That was all it took for Tseng’s future to be washed down the drain by a foolish act he had no control over. Legend tried to shrug it off, ‘We’ll fill the chief in later today, after we’ve had time to rest on it’, but Tseng forced him along to Veld’s office to debrief immediately.

Veld listened thoughtfully as Tseng took the initiative in recounting the events. Occasionally Legend piped in, but he stopped just as quickly when Tseng fixed him with a glare. Not once did Veld betray how he felt about the matter. When all was said and done, he sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers together.

“Do you refute Tseng’s claims?” he asked Legend.*

Legend shook his head. “No, boss, it’s just like he said. I shot him. He fucked me over and he deserved it. I’d do it again. I’m sorry I fucked the mission up, I really am. But he got what was coming. And anyway there’s one less anti-Shinra group running around causing trouble.”

“They were amateurs. We were doing the bare minimum,” Tseng protested. He fell silent when Veld held his hand up.

“Legend, your lapse in judgment will have serious consequences for Shinra’s efforts in Wutai, as well as for the Turks. The President will not be happy to hear about this. I should make you tell him yourself, but I won’t. You will be punished for this indiscretion, however,” Veld said.

Were they going to kill him? Tseng’s heart sank unexpectedly. He had been so furious with Legend the entire way back to Midgar, but he didn’t want him terminated. At the end of the day, he was Tseng’s only peer in the Turks, whether he could stand him or not.

“You will be placed under house arrest in Costa del Sol for the foreseeable future. No missions. A Turk and a SOLDIER will be assigned to monitor you.”

“What!?” Tseng balked. If termination seemed too extreme, this punishment seemed far too light. “He compromised a serious mission and you’re just giving him a paid vacation?”

“You forget yourself, Tseng,” Veld said firmly, though not without kindness.

Tseng nodded. “I’m sorry, sir. Whatever punishment you see fit is appropriate, of course.”

“I will not be punishing you. You carried out your mission to your fullest capability. You’re dismissed.”

“See you in another decade maybe,” Legend said as Tseng rose to his feet. “I’ll send you a postcard.”

Tseng heard Veld begin to lecture Legend about the seriousness of the matter at hand as he stepped into the hallway and shut the door behind him. The fact of the matter was that he was too tired to even think straight, clothes stained with sweat, body covered in filth from the jungle. Legend was being punished for his failure and Tseng wasn’t, which was as good an outcome as he could get from this terrible situation. So he returned home, washed up, and fell onto the bed to sleep away the day until he received his next assignment.

What he would only realize much later was they he had learned the valuable lesson that even though he always strove to control for every possible variable, he couldn’t control others. It was something Veld already knew as chief, but something Tseng had to learn to take his place one day. The best he could hope for was a group of operatives who knew where to draw the line. 

Chapter Text

If Rufus Shinra had to sit through another meeting of his father spewing Lazard Deusericus’ praises he was going to put a bullet between his eyes. It was bad enough that for the last year, Rufus had been forced to bear the bastard’s presence at every board meeting - on top of that, his father and the other executives were always tripping over themselves to praise his success with the SOLDIER program and his victories in Wutai.

The whole affair was disgusting. And Rufus didn’t trust Lazard’s nice-guy routine. No one responsible for the war crimes occurring in Wutai could possibly be a genuinely nice person beneath it all. Rufus was sure he had an ulterior motive and if he weren’t so busy working his way into his father’s good graces to earn his rightful place in the company, he would have done some more digging into his father’s bastard. As it was, he had already hacked into some of the Turks’ files solely to read up on Lazard’s background. The fact that he hadn’t been caught was another point against keeping the Turks around when he took over.

Rather than be forced to look at Lazard while the President sang his praises, Rufus settled for staring at Tseng. He was always nice to look at, and he hated when Rufus glowered at him. Rufus had come to enjoy making the Turk uncomfortable whenever he could, which was far more frequently than he guessed either of them would have preferred: Tseng was Veld’s first choice anytime the President wanted a Turk on Rufus’ detail.

When the President and Heidegger were done vomiting up their opinions on Lazard, Rufus tuned back in to listen to the company updates. Reeve reported on new highway construction, Palmer reported on development of a rocket (read: waste of Shinra’s money), Heidegger gave updates on casualties in Wutai as well as local SOLDIER assignments, Scarlet gave a detailed report on a new prototype mech that could be on the ground in Wutai in the next month, and Hojo said nothing at all about his own projects. Instead he inquired about Sephiroth, to which Lazard replied they could discuss the matter privately after the meeting.

Rufus was curious about Sephiroth and his meteoric rise to fame, but not enough to waste his time on it.

“And you, Veld? Any new updates?” The President asked.

“We have a batch of new recruits beginning training this week along side Lazard’s new set of SOLDIER candidates,” Veld explained.

Rufus scoffed. More rats scurrying around the basement levels of headquarters doing his father’s dirty work.

“Very good. If that is all, this meeting is adjourned. Rufus, I’d like you to stay behind for a few minutes.”

Whenever his father asked him to stay behind after a meeting it was usually to chew his ass out about something he had done. But Rufus couldn’t think of anything he had done recently to earn his father’s ire. In fact, for the last year he had been diligently kissing his father’s ass, as much as it sickened him to do so. He stopped going out to clubs with a huge entourage, stopped ending up in tabloids, and logged late hours assisting his father with work all so that he could prove his worth to a father who was always holding his future at the company just out of his reach.

Rufus walked to the end of the table where his father sat lighting his cigar and wrinkled his nose at the smell. He had never enjoyed the smell of cigars, but since quitting smoking he liked it even less. His father had smoked them for as long as he could remember and the scent of them made his stomach sour irrespective of the actual odor they put out.

“Mr. President?” Rufus asked. He had not called his father any sort of paternal name in some time now.

“Sit down, Rufus.”

Rufus complied, though his instinct whenever his father ordered him to do anything was to do the opposite.

“You’ve been keeping your nose to the grindstone lately, haven’t you son?” He asked, not meeting Rufus’ gaze, instead thumbing through messages on his phone with a look of disinterest.

“Yes, sir.”

“You provided some useful suggestions during our last meeting regarding the war. And Scarlet said you drafted some ideas for new rifles.”

Rufus wanted to ask him to get to the fucking point, but he bit back the words and nodded.

“I’ve decided it’s time to give you a proper position in this company.” The president looked away from his phone and fixed Rufus with a stern frown, “This isn’t a guarantee you have a permanent place here. Don’t forget that. If you want to succeed, you have to continuously prove to me you deserve to be at this table.”

Yes, yes, I’ll never be good enough for you.

“I’m making you Vice President effective tomorrow. My secretary has an e-mail drafted about the appointment that will go out tomorrow morning.”

Rufus bowed his head. “Thank you, sir.”

This position should have been his three years ago, but he would take it. Now he was a literal heartbeat away from the presidency. As long as his father didn’t demote him on an angry whim, he could focus his efforts on dismantling his father’s stranglehold on the executives and take his place on the throne.

“Don’t take this for granted, boy,” the President growled, blowing a cloud of smoke in Rufus’ face. “If you fuck it up, you won’t get a second chance.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Now go. We’ll discuss the nitty gritty later. You have studies to worry about.”

That was true, though Rufus didn’t devote nearly enough of his time to his ‘studies’. In addition to being a socialite, helping his father run Shinra, and trying to undermine his father in secret, he also studied at the university in Junon. His father thought he was getting a useless degree in politics, but he was actually studying engineering. What skill could be more useful in a city like Midgar? It didn’t take a genius to understand how to rule people (he would just do the opposite of the shit his father was pulling), but it did take real brains to understand mako energy and how a reactor powered a city.

Rufus stepped out of the board room to make his way back to his apartment. He wouldn't have to leave for Junon until the following morning. To his annoyance, when the elevator doors opened, Tseng stood with his shoulders squared. He greeted Rufus with the faintest hint of a frown.

“What, does Veld have you lurking around the elevators for patrols now?” Rufus asked.

“No, sir. Sometimes people use elevators to get from one place to another,” Tseng responded without affect.

“How clever of you.”

Ever since Tseng had called him a cunt a year earlier, he had been toeing the line of professionalism with his dry sarcasm. Rufus would have found it charming if he weren’t a fucking Turk.

They rode in a stony silence down to the first floor, where Rufus stepped off, knowing Tseng was headed down to the basement levels to Turk headquarters. No one besides the Turks had ever seen the inside of their headquarters - except perhaps the President - but even he didn’t technically have access. In order to protect Shinra’s secrets, Veld argued, they must be allowed the utmost privacy. The President just turned a blind eye to that absurd request the same way he turned a blind eye to Hojo’s atrocities. He threw money at things without understanding them and it infuriated Rufus.

His father had probably been a competent leader at some point: after all, he had built Shinra into the mako superpower it was today. But the rapid growth the company experienced had gone to his head. He had become bloated by his wealth and power and it kept him from seeing the forest for the trees. The war in Wutai was hemorrhaging far more gil than a reactor on the island would ever gain them back, but for Rufus’ father, actions were more about proving a point than doing what was best for the company.

When Rufus was president, things were going to change. Hopefully that day came sooner rather than later.

“FRESH MEAT!”

Rude looked up as Reno let out a whoop and hopped onto the table in the break room where, until that moment, Rude had been enjoying a quiet, peaceful lunch free of Reno’s presence.

“Excuse me?” Rude looked down his sunglasses at Reno as he squatted in front of him on the table.

“New recruits are starting today,” Reno announced.

Emma, the only other Turk in the break room at the moment, glanced up from her spot by the window. “You were fresh meat not that long ago,” she reminded them.

“So what?” Reno barked. “You want me to go easy on them? You weren’t easy on us.”

“I didn’t say that,” Emma replied. “Just remember you’re still leagues away from being good enough to make executive.”

“Well,” Reno pushed his nose back with his thumb childishly, “Sorry we can’t all be perfect like you and Chuckles.”

Emma crossed the room and Rude winced as she grabbed Reno by the hair and yanked him onto his ass. He let out a yelp and swatted at her hands, but she held his ponytail in a vicegrip. “If you aren’t careful, Reno, you’re going to go the same way as Legend. So watch it. And I’ll be watching you when we’re training the recruits. I don’t want you filling their heads full of rumors and hearsay.”

She let go of Reno and he fell onto his back with a thump. As Emma left the break room, Reno turned to look at Rude with an expression of disbelief.

“I don’t know what you expected,” Rude said with a shrug.

“Personally I heard Legend’s living in the lap of luxury on house arrest right now so if I’m following in his footsteps then-”

“Reno,” Rude said firmly. “Legend is lucky he didn’t end up in the incinerator and we all know it.”

“Sheesh,” Reno rolled off the table and slumped into the chair across from Rude. “Why you gotta be so serious all the damn time?”

“One of us has to,” Rude muttered.

It had been his luck that after they finished academy, Veld had been so impressed with their teamwork that he had officially partnered them together. Every Turk went on group missions eventually, but some Turks worked most of their missions alone and others worked primarily with a partner. Rude wasn’t sure who he pissed off in a past life - or maybe this one (he wouldn’t have put it past Rufus Shinra to hold a grudge) - to get him stuck with Reno for what could possibly be the rest of his career, but it had been an exercise in patience from day one.

Some days, it was fine. Reno may have been an obnoxious loudmouth, but he was also fun to be around and could navigate the city unlike anyone Rude had met. He just hadn’t quite figured out yet if all of Reno’s positive traits outweighed the negative ones. On missions, it was sometimes like a switch got flipped and Reno turned into a serious professional, but other times he let his temper get the better of him and more than once it had put both him and Rude in danger.

Today was a day Rude didn’t particularly feel like dealing with Reno.

“You see the schedule?” Reno asked, leaning back and tapping his foot rapidly against the floor.

“I saw it.”

Rude and Reno were responsible for giving the new recruits a tour of the building, including a Turk rite of passage: watching the new SOLDIER recruits receive their mako treatment. Watching it once had been enough for a lifetime as far as Rude was concerned. Turks got culled at the end of training, SOLDIERS got culled at the beginning and in a far less savory manner.

“Looks like we’ve got five new ones this time. Wonder what proficiencies they’ll go with.”

The door to the break room opened and Tseng stepped in, scanning the room and focusing on Reno with a frown. Rude had never seen Tseng smile, but his expression was typically neutral unless Reno was around. In fact, Rude was pretty sure Tseng had a special scowl he reserved just for Reno.

“Hey Chuckles, what’s up?”

“Excuse me?” Tseng quirked an eyebrow.

“I said ‘Hey Chuckles, what’s up?” Tseng’s frowned deepened, eyebrows knitting together until Reno tugged uncomfortably at his shirt and added, “I mean, ‘What can we do for you, sir?’”

“You can get up and follow me into the lecture hall to meet our new trainees. You’ll be escorting them through the building.” Tseng turned his attention to Rude. “Please keep him on a short leash.”

“Damn, I’m right here,” Reno grumbled.

“No gossip, Reno,” Tseng said sternly. “I don’t want the trainees coming back speculating about the monsters Hojo keeps in his lab.”

“But he does!” Reno protested. “I-”

Tseng held up his hand to silence him. “Reno.”

“All right, all right. Fine. You’re no fun.”

“Yes well, I’ll be sure to add ‘Fun-ruiner’ to my ID tag. Just for you.”

Rude chuckled and Reno glared at him. Tseng, for all his seriousness and his overbearing presence, could occasionally be funny in a dry sort of way which Rude appreciated, but which sometimes flew over the heads of their other colleagues, Reno included.

Finishing the last of his meal, Rude stood up and followed Tseng, Reno hurrying after them with a pointed ‘wait up long-legs’ that could have been directed at either of them. Rude hadn’t been inside the lecture hall since their own training finished just over a year ago. He didn’t miss the long hours spent listening to Veld talk about the history of Shinra.

Inside were five fresh-faced young teenagers holding their new weapons and chatting excitedly amongst each other. When Tseng cleared his throat, a silence fell over the room and they turned with rapt attention. Tseng had a way of commanding a room like that, though he also seemed to shy away from any expectation of leadership, delegating immediately to Reno and Rude in lieu of an introductory speech.

“Reno and Rude will show you around the building now,” he said. “Please do not stray from the group. If we find out you’ve been sneaking into restricted areas your training will be terminated.”

He left the room without another word.

“That was Tseng,” said Reno, leaning against a lectern at the front of the hall. “Don’t mind him, he’s just got a stick up his-”

“Leave your weapons here,” Rude interrupted. “The tour will take an hour.”

“An hour for this whole building?” asked a girl at the front. Her hair was pulled into a thick bushy ponytail and she held a shotgun in her arms in a manner that suggested she was comfortable with the weapon before she ever chose it as her proficiency.

“Not the whole building, brainless,” Reno said. “Don’t talk unless we tell you to.”

“Reno,” Rude sighed. Reno looked at him and shrugged as if he couldn’t possibly imagine what he had done to upset anyone. That was just Reno’s way: talk first, think later.

“Well, let’s get going,” Reno barked, tapping his mag rod against the lectern. “Chop chop!”

Rude took the lead and as the group began to follow him, he heard Reno say, “Hey, don’t I know you from somewhere?”

Spinning on his heels in anticipation of an altercation, Rude found Reno accosting the last in line: a slim boy of maybe seventeen with slick black hair gelled into odd spikes. The boy looked at Reno with a disinterested frown.

“Maybe. I’ve seen lots of Turks around the Wall Market.”

“Wall Market!” Reno shouted, shoving the kid against the door frame. “I know you, you little twerp. You worked Don Corneo’s place.”

“Hey man!” The kid growled, shoving back at Reno. “What the fuck else do you do to get anywhere down there?”

“Well I never fucking stooped so low and here I am so-”

Rude stepped between them, prying Reno away from the kid. “You got a name, kid?”

“They said I’m supposed to go by Two-Guns now,” he replied with only slightly less of an edge to his voice than he’d had with Reno.

“Well, Two-Guns, listen up,” said Rude, gripping the collar of his shirt while the other trainees looked on with rabid interest. “You assault your superior officer again and you’re going to be in for a brutal punishment. Do we have an understanding?” He lowered his sunglasses to look the kid directly in the eye, but there wasn’t a glint of fear there.

That was just like Reno too. Grounders, most especially grounders from sector six, didn’t seem to be afraid of much of anything.

“Yeah, all right. I get it. The Don had rules too.”

“That’s right!” Reno spat from behind Rude’s shoulder. “Rude’s got fists of steel! Don’t you, partner?” Reno smacked him in the arm.

“Let’s just do our jobs.”

Rude stepped away from both of them and Reno shot Two-Guns one more scowl before scurrying along after Rude like a bug. Reno moved so fast sometimes that Rude wouldn’t have been surprised if he did have six legs. They led the group of trainees, now sufficiently silent after the altercation, into the elevator and up to the lobby to begin their tour.

“We don’t have to take the stairs all the way to the top for this tour, do we?” Shotgun asked.

“What did I say about talking?” Reno groaned. “Anyway stairs are good exercise.”

Rude didn’t publicly address that Reno always bitched and moaned when he made him take the stairs.

The tour didn’t in fact take the stairs or it would have lasted forever. Rude gave a general overview of the floors beyond the lobby as they took the elevator up to the sixty-ninth floor, as far as they would go. The President didn’t allow tours through his office, but they could observe the executive suite on the sixty-ninth floor before making their way down.

“The first forty or so levels are mostly offices and labs for the various departments,” Rude explained. “After floor forty-five you get into more executive-level access. Turks have access to most of the building, but Professor Hojo’s lab is off limits without special permission.”

“Is it true he-” one of the recruits began.

Rude held his hand up to silence them. “Reno and I have never been inside Hojo’s lab so we can’t tell you anything.”

The trainees looked disappointed at this information but seemed to accept it.

The tour continued on past more executive offices, past Hojo’s lab, which they were only allowed to see the door of, down to the conference rooms on the sixty-fourth floor.

“Most of our meetings are down in our own conference room, but the chief might call you up to a meeting here from time to time if there’s an assignment involved,” Rude explained.

“Mostly Tseng gets invited to the big wig meetings,” Reno grumbled.

“Is he the chief’s second in command?” Shotgun asked.

“Why so many questions?” Reno barked.

Rude sighed. “The answer is yes,” then added, more quietly, “Don’t mention it around Emma. She’s been here longer than Tseng.”

Excited chatter rippled through the group, but they stopped at what they must have interpreted as a stern look from Reno. Reno was in fact capable of being fearsome - in battle, he sometimes looked like a wild animal - but right now he looked like a kid playing pretend at being an adult, trying to be imposing. The recruits seemed scared enough but Rude had to stop himself from laughing at Reno’s ‘tough-guy’ pose.

“The sixty-third floor is where the administrative offices for Urban Planning are located,” Rude explained, continuing along the tour. “You’ll encounter Director Tuesti from time to time, but mostly he’s holed up in his office.”

The tour continued through the rec center, which the group spent the most time oo-ing and aw-ing over - ‘This is way better than our space downstairs’. Materia storage was on the sixty-third floor, the archives and the mayor’s office on the sixty-second - ‘I heard Mayor Domino isn’t even real, I heard he’s just a hologram’ followed by a swift ‘Shut up, you morons’ from Reno.

“We’re bypassing the Shinra Museum for this tour,” Rude said. “Feel free to come back on your day off. Turks get in free.”

The tour ended at Skyview Hall on the fifty-ninth floor. Visitors and other employees milled about observing the stunning circular view of Midgar in all its glory, spread out around them nearly as far as the eye could see. Rude allowed the recruits some time to observe the view themselves, their black suits and the implication therein attracting plenty of stares.

“Were we this stupid looking?” Reno asked, tapping his mag rod against his leg.

“It’s only been a year since we finished academy, Reno.” Rude rolled his eyes. “But we were also a lot older than them to start with.” Rude had just celebrated his twenty-third birthday, and Reno was almost twenty-one. Rude was certain the recruits kept getting younger and younger.

“I don’t like that Two-Guns,” Reno said.

“Better not mention it around Veld. Group cohesion is important.”

“Yeah well,” Reno scoffed, “we’ll just see if he makes it through academy.”

When the recruits had had their fill of the view, the group made their way down to the forty-ninth floor where SOLDIER headquarters was located. Rude found it a little unfair that SOLDIER was technically under the same department as the Turks, but while the Turks were shoved down in the basement levels with a view of the slums out their windows, the SOLDIERS got a prime spot near the executives. It just went to show how much the President thought of the ones doing the majority of his dirty work for him.

“Aren’t Turks and SOLDIERS enemies or something?” Two-Guns asked. “I’ve seen a lot of fist fights break out between them in the slums.”

“A lot?” Reno prodded.

“SOLDIERS are our counterparts,” Rude ignored him.

“Brains versus brawn, huh?” Asked one of the recruits.

Reno nodded sagely, as though it were the first smart thing any of the recruits had said. “Sure, but don’t say it to Lizard’s face.”

“Really, Reno?” Rude groaned. “Director Deusericus has a good working relationship with the Turks. Some of his men are…standoffish…with Turks, but Turks help recruit new SOLDIERS. You shouldn’t start off here thinking they’re you’re enemy.”

Shotgun raised her hand, which earned her a withering look from Reno.

“Yes?” Rude asked.

“Will we get to see any of the firsts?”

“Oh yeah, will Sephiroth be here?” Another recruit asked.

“The firsts are all in Wutai, you idiots,” Reno barked.

They didn’t know that for a fact, but regardless, it was unlikely any of the firsts would show up to observe the mako shower. It was traumatizing enough for those who survived it. Rude sincerely doubted any of them cared to relive it.

Inside SOLDIER headquarters, Rude and Reno led the recruits down a hallway and through a door into a massive chamber lit only by the soft green glow of mako. The stench of it hit them immediately and while Reno and Rude were familiar enough with the smell to be somewhat used to it, the recruits coughed and covered their noses.

The group of them stood on a balcony looking down at the lower level of the room where the newest group of SOLDIER trainees - fifty in all, much larger than the Turks’ new class - were being organized into five rows of ten by a second-class. They had all been stripped of their armor and clothing.

“What are they doing?” Shotgun whispered to Two-Guns.

“This is a mako shower,” Rude explained. “All SOLDIERS are exposed to mako to enhance their abilities. Part of your training is to understand what SOLDIERS go through so that you can fully understand-” Rude almost said ‘your enemy’, but that wouldn’t have sat well after his speech that Turks and SOLDIERS were supposed to be friendly. The fact remained that if a SOLDIER went rogue, it was rarely other SOLDIERS sent to track them down and take care of them: that was a Turk’s job.

“You gotta know how strong the strongest of the bunch are if you stand a chance at neutralizing them if they piss Shinra off,” Reno finished for him.

“Right.”

They turned their attention back to the men and women standing below them. The second-class who had lined them up stepped away toward the far wall where he flipped a few switches and pulled a lever. It had been three years since Rude and Reno had to watch this display, but the images were still fresh in Rude’s mind. He didn’t particularly want to see it again, but there was a part of him that felt it was necessary not to look away.

A sprinkler system activated overhead, raining fluorescent droplets of mako down onto the recruits below, who stood stock still under the downpour with their eyes squeezed shut. For several seconds the room was silent except for the sound of the sprinklers and the mako droplets pelting against the metal flooring. Then the initiation truly began.

The first scream was followed by a body crumpling against the ground, fists pounding on metal as the SOLDIER recruit began to beg for it to stop.

“Please!” He cried. “It’s burning! It’s burning me!”

And it was. The skin on his arms had begun to slough off like it was paper, leaving behind blood and sinew exposed to the mako still pelting down on them. He writhed and screamed until the mako ate at his throat and his screaming became a sickening gurgle. Two more fell to a similar fate. Reno grimaced, but when one of the Turk recruits tried to look away, he grabbed them and forced them to look.

“You think any of you could survive this?” Reno asked, but there wasn’t an edge to his voice anymore - he sounded exhausted. When no one answered, he let go of the recruit who had looked away and said, “Keep watching. At least one of them won’t even flinch. That’s the one you want to keep your eyes on.”

Some of them didn’t react as poorly to the mako as the others, but it was obvious it was still causing them pain as it leeched into their bodies. Rude focused on one square-jawed young boy at the front who remained upright and unflinching throughout the process. He would be a second within a year or two if Rude had to guess.

The cries of those who could not survive the initiation rose to a cacophonous din. Some of them had their skin burned away, others didn’t react until the mako reached their insides. One of the recruits looked like he was handling the mako without insult until he dropped dead without warning.

When the sprinklers stopped, only six remained standing. Those who were still alive would not survive even if they were allowed medical intervention. Though Veld had long argued the Turks should be responsible for putting the men out of their misery, the President instead allowed Hojo to take their bodies to his lab.

Rude tried not to think too hard about how some of those men probably went on to live through experiments worse by far than the mako shower.

Reno led the group back out along the hallway to the elevator. There were no more questions after that final presentation. Instead, a somber silence had fallen over the group. As they stepped into the elevator and made their way back down to Turk headquarters on B3, Reno met Rude’s gaze and they exchanged a look of understanding.

It was a rare moment of seriousness for Reno. He had been badly affected by it during their academy training too.

Rude squeezed Reno’s shoulder.

Then they got back to business.

Tseng had been tasked with retrieving a stack of documents from Director Deusericus’ office to bring back down to Veld, which in itself was not a difficult or time consuming task, but the problem was that Tseng harbored a foolish crush on the director and had never really met him outside of the board room.

He handled worse than a workplace crush in his day-to-day, but he was awkward in a normal social situation and worried he might come off as socially inept to the very handsome and stylishly dressed director of SOLDIER.

Director Deusericus was, in Tseng’s opinion, the perfect solution to someone as beautiful as Rufus Shinra having such a rancid personality. The director had Rufus’ good looks with the exact opposite disposition. He was down-to-earth and friendly, always willing to engage in amiable conversation with his subordinates.

That just made it harder for Tseng to be around him of course.

Tseng put on his best neutral face and stepped into the director’s office, but he felt his ears warm the moment the director looked up from his desk with a broad smile.

“Ah, Tseng. Did you come to get the files Veld needed?”

Tseng cleared his throat, “Yes, sir.”

“Please,” The director leaned back in his chair. “You can just call me Lazard. I know we haven’t really met much outside of stuffy board meetings, but Veld sings your praises often.”

“Does he?” Tseng’s voice caught in his throat, which only served to make his face warmer than it already was.

“It sounds like you’re his most steadfast employee. In fact, we’ve been discussing putting you on assignment with some of my men in the future.”

Turks rarely got paired with SOLDIERS for assignments, mainly because a SOLDIER handled Shinra’s problems through brute force without any hint of subtlety while a Turk specialized in flying under the radar. If a Turk went out with extra muscle, it was typically just a security officer on loan from Heidegger.

“I look forward to that, sir,” Tseng lied. He had no interest in working with a SOLDIER at all if he could help it. “Er, I mean, Lazard.” It felt wrong to address a superior by his first name.

Lazard smiled and offered up a folder stuffed to the brim with papers. “I hope we’ll be seeing more of each other.”

Tseng’s stomach twisted as he took the folder. “Thank you. Have a good day.” And with that he turned on his heel so fast he nearly tripped over himself in his rush to get out of the room before his face betrayed him.

How embarrassing: Veld’s top man rendered useless by a pretty face.

Once he was safely in the elevator, he tucked the folder under his arm and pulled his phone out to catch up on e-mail. The first message in his inbox was an official announcement from the President.

“RUFUS SHINRA NAMED VICE PRESIDENT OF SHINRA ELECTRIC POWER COMPANY.”

Tseng deleted the e-mail without opening it. As if Rufus’ head wasn’t big enough, now he had an actual say in how the company operated. Worse still, now he was just a heartbeat away from the presidency itself. Tseng shuddered at the thought.

As if the Gods themselves were testing him, the elevator stopped on the twentieth floor and Rufus stepped in, fixing Tseng with his typical pouting frown. Tseng wished Lazard were more handsome than Rufus, but this up close and personal with the new vice president, it simply wasn’t true. There was truly no justice in the world.

“We just keep running into each other, don’t we?” Rufus said by way of greeting. “You’re not spying on me are you?” He laughed and Tseng refused to meet his gaze.

“Our chief has actually been working with Professor Hojo on cloning his men. They made one of me for every floor,” Tseng said. “I’m the one who just rides in the elevator all day.”

Rufus smirked at him. “You’re quite funny, Tseng.”

Tseng pressed his lips into a thin line. “Congratulations on your new appointment, sir.”

“I suppose I’m really your boss now,” said Rufus. “Officially I mean. But don’t worry.” He patted Tseng’s cheek condescendingly and, whether Tseng appreciated the gesture or not, his body reacted like a teenager to being touched by Rufus Shinra. “My father’s sending me off to Junon for a while to handle business for him there. I’m afraid this is the last you’ll see of me for a few months.”

“That’s a shame, sir.”

Rufus looked him up and down. “It is, isn’t it?”

Tseng was thankful when the elevator reached Rufus’ floor and he stepped out. “See you around, lapdog.”

Good fucking riddance.

Chapter Text

Reno’s favorite spot in the entirety of Midgar was Skyview Hall. In all his eighteen years languishing in the Wall Market where his highest vantage point was the top of a particularly towering pagoda, he had never imagined he might one day be able to look out on the entirety of the city any time he liked. That the view came with a big fat paycheck and a slick suit didn’t hurt matters one bit.

Reno and Rude often took their breaks in Skyview Hall despite the break room afforded them down in the Turk’s headquarters. Their own break room came with a dismal view of the slums and lately it seemed to always be filled with the rookies hanging around in between lessons. Skyview Hall, in comparison, gave them a great view of the city outside the windows, and a usually fairly decent view of their coworkers from other floors at the other tables. Shinra hired a lot of good looking people and Reno had a large appetite.

While Reno leaned back in his chair observing a woman three tables away whose shirt was bordering on unprofessional - not that he could judge - Rude sat across from him chewing on his lunch and staring out the window thoughtfully.

“You gonna eat that?” Rude asked.

Reno tore his eyes away from the woman with some difficulty and looked down at the untouched side salad on his plate. “No, go for it, man.”

Rude grabbed the plate and began picking at it. “You know, you stare any harder and you’re gonna have an e-mail from HR when we get back downstairs.”

“Excuse me?” Reno scoffed. “It’s not against company policy to look is it?”

“Is that all you were planning on doing?” Rude asked gruffly.

“What’s it matter anyway?”

Rude shrugged and said nothing more. He was never quite as enthusiastic about similar pursuits. As much as Reno knew he got on Rude’s nerves, they were still on friendly terms as work partners, and Reno still harbored a useless little crush on him whether he felt like thinking about it at any given moment or not. They would sometimes go out to bars together and Reno could almost always find someone to go home with, but Rude rarely did.

Something about ‘needing an emotional relationship’.

What the fuck did emotions have to do with it? At the end of the day, it was a physical urge that needed sating - anyone halfway decent would do. Reno wasn’t overly picky and he sure as hell didn’t want emotions coming into play.

Besides, lots of bored accountants (or whatever-the-fuck-they-were) at Shinra would claw each other apart for a chance to fuck a Turk and Reno planned to take advantage of that.

Reno was contemplating getting up and laying on the moves when the object of his interest, as well as several women in her vicinity, turned to look at someone crossing from the other side of the room. Reno followed their gaze, prickling with irritation as they giggled and whispered to each other, to find Tseng’s familiar looming figure, tray in hand, scanning the room for an empty table.

He couldn’t blame them, really. Tseng was so fucking hot it made Reno want to rip his hair out. But as far as Reno could tell from his last three years working beneath him, Tseng was also a sexless robot. Not once had Tseng joined the rest of the Turks for happy hour and Reno had never seen Tseng so much as flirt with another person. Honestly, if Tseng dropped his pants and he was just smooth down there, Reno wouldn’t have been remotely surprised.

It was such a waste of good looks. Tseng turned heads when he walked through a room and Reno wasn’t even positive he realized. People gossiped about the attractive Turk with the long, dark ponytail in hallways and in elevators - they would have given their left arm for a shot with him and he just walked around completely oblivious.

“Yo, Tseng!” Reno waved an arm. Couldn’t hurt to be seen with him - it would only help Reno’s own odds, right?

Tseng closed his eyes and sighed, but nevertheless made his way over to where Reno and Rude sat at a premium spot next to the window. He stood, stiff and awkward with his lunch tray in his hands, staring down at Reno and Rude.

Rude nodded wordlessly in greeting and Tseng returned the gesture before fixing Reno with a special frown he reserved just for him.

“You wanna join us, Chuckles?”

Tseng’s frown deepened, but he took a spot next to Rude. He and Rude ate in silence while Reno tapped his foot and watched the two of them in mounting irritation. Both of them were so stupid good looking and so infuriatingly tight-lipped. Having a conversation with either of them was like pulling teeth, though Rude would at least loosen up after a few drinks.

“You see Veld’s e-mail about the special meeting?” Reno asked. Tseng nibbled on a rice ball and nodded. “Well, do you know what it’s about or what?”

“No,” Tseng replied flatly. “I suppose we’ll all find out at three.”

“You know,” said Reno, turning his attention back to the woman he had been staring at earlier - as he suspected, she had been staring at Tseng, but quickly looked away when she noticed Reno’s attention, “lotta ladies in here seem pretty interested in you. You don’t even notice it, do you?”

“No, I do,” said Tseng without looking up from his food. “What does it matter?”

“I mean…you should take advantage of it, man!” Reno smacked his hand against the table.

“Shinra has rules against fraternization.”

“Good point,” Rude piped in.

“Ah, who asked you, Cueball?” Reno barked.

Rude chewed on his food and muttered, “Sensitive…”

“It’s just a damn waste.”

“I appreciate your concern, Reno,” said Tseng, “However I have no interest in pursuing a fellow employee. And while I’ll remind you that my personal life is most certainly not your business, you needn’t lose sleep over my celibacy status.”

Reno gaped at him. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I don’t need your assistance in finding a suitable sexual partner.”

“Gods, you are a robot, aren’t you? Who the fuck talks like this?” Reno looked to Rude for assistance, but he only shrugged.

“How would you prefer I talk about it?” Tseng asked. “The way you do? I’ve heard the sorts of stories you tell in the break room. I’m not here to regale anyone with stories of my sex life. It’s unprofessional.”

“Oh, pfft,” Reno blew a loud raspberry. “What the fuck is professionalism? We kill people for a living.”

Tseng fixed him with that special scowl and, as much as Reno loved to run at the mouth, it shut him up. If nothing else, the conversation had revealed that Tseng did in fact have sex…probably anyway. He would tuck that away for later use. Tseng was a mysterious figure, so Reno treasured any little tidbit about his personal life or past that he could pry from him.

“Look, I know you said you don’t need help, but just for future reference, you got a type or anything?” Reno raised his eyebrows. Maybe loud, lanky redheads, for instance?

“No.”

“Man, you’re no fun.”

They finished their lunch in silence, Reno glowering at the women who wouldn’t stop staring at Tseng, and then the three of them headed back to Turk’s HQ together to attend a department meeting. Typically department meetings were once a month to review updates and debrief on particularly important missions, so when Veld called an impromptu meeting without explanation, Reno’s curiosity was piqued.

“Whaddya think he’s gonna talk about? You think one of us is getting fired?”

“No one is getting fired,” Tseng sighed.

“How do you know?”

Tseng gave him a withering look and took a seat at the conference table as they stepped into the executive office. Emma was already there, as well as a few of their other colleagues. All in all there were ten Turks working under Veld - not including the rookies, but Balto was on assignment and they were still awaiting Kero and Piers. Reno and Rude were the lowest on the totem pole at the moment, until the current class finished their training.

Reno sat down next to Emma, partially because he knew she found him incredibly irritating, and Rude sat on his other side.

“Anyone know what this is about?” Reno asked.

“We’ll find out when the chief gets here, won’t we?” Emma snapped.

Why were all of Reno’s hottest coworkers also the ones who seemed to hate him the most?

They didn’t have long to wait. Not long after Kero and Piers finally showed up, Veld stepped into the room with a teenage girl in tow. She wore the Turk uniform, but Reno had never seen her before in his life. Was she a new rookie being added to the training group last minute? Something in his gut told him she was something else entirely. She looked at the table full of experienced Turks unflinchingly, and though she was a tiny little bit of nothing, she stood as tall as she could, head held high.

“I would like you all to meet your newest colleague, Cissnei.” Veld squeezed Cissnei’s shoulder as he passed her. “Please take a seat, Cissnei.”

She responded obediently, taking the empty seat next to Tseng. The kid couldn’t have been older than sixteen and Veld was introducing her like she was a full-fledged Turk?

Veld sat down at the head of the conference table and observed his employees with the faintest hint of a smirk. Reno wasn’t the only one curious or confused if the other faces around the table were any indication.

“I’m sure you have a few questions, so let me explain. Cissnei has been,” Veld seemed to carefully consider his words, “a long term pet project of Dr. Hollander’s. In fact, many of you have probably passed her in the halls without recognizing her. She has spent most of her life undergoing rigorous training, both physical and mental. Please do your best to welcome Cissnei into the fold. She’ll be supervising the trainees as one of her first assignments. As always, if you have questions, please come to me directly rather than spreading baseless gossip.” He looked directly at Reno as he said this.

So Reno was nosy. Was that a crime?

What he wanted to ask was whether or not Cissnei was some test tube kid like everyone said Sephiroth was, but the truth was, Reno didn’t know if those rumors about Sephiroth were even true and he knew Veld would scold him for asking about that.

“Cissnei, would you like to say anything?” Veld asked.

Cissnei smiled and it unnerved Tseng. It was the sicky-sweet smile of an innocent teenage girl, but there was a trained assassin hiding underneath it. “I’m excited to finally test my skills in the field and work alongside such experienced colleagues.” Her voice too was the sort of sing-song cutesy tone of a schoolgirl. Trust was important within the Turks, but Reno planned on keeping his eyes on this one.

The meeting ended as quickly as it began. No one asked any questions despite their curiosity because they all knew the answer would inevitably be ‘that’s classified’. That was one point of contention Reno had with being a Turk. He thought once he passed exams the floodgates would open and he would get to learn all of Shinra’s sordid little secrets, but most of them were so classified that only Veld had access to the information. Patently unfair, if you asked him.

But as Rude would say, ‘Life’s not fair, Reno.’

While Tseng was surprised by the sudden appearance of a lab-bred Turk to their ranks, he didn’t question Cissnei’s presence if Veld supported it. He introduced himself briefly to the girl - and while she was young, there wasn’t a hint of innocence in her eyes - and then it was time for his first night off in several weeks. He had willingly taken back to back shifts, but he was in genuine need of a break from both work and his colleagues.

It was both humorous and irritating that Reno had been so overly concerned about Tseng’s sex life. Reno was a nosy gossip, which was surely his primary reason for his interest, but the truth was it had been a bit longer than Tseng preferred and he could certainly use the release. That wasn’t Reno’s business though. Tseng was intensely protective of his private life because he considered it an extension of the need for discretion in every aspect of his life as a Turk - even if it was other Turks doing the prying.

He had a general rule against wearing his suit out on evenings when he was off duty, so the first thing he did when he left headquarters was return to his tiny little matchbox apartment in Sector One and change into a pair of comfortable slacks and a sweater before heading to a small club in Sector Two that he often frequented. Tseng would not describe himself as vain, but he took good care of himself and he understood the necessity of highlighting his more attractive assets when trying to garner attention from other men, which was why the sweater he wore that evening clung just a little tighter to his chest than he found comfortable.

The club in Sector Two was his favorite because it was small, dark, and quiet. Occasionally there would be live music, usually jazz, which was his favorite, so even if he didn’t find someone to go home with, he at least enjoyed himself. After years of sharing space with six other siblings and never having a moment to himself, coupled with a similar lack of privacy at work, Tseng found he truly enjoyed solitude. His idea of a pleasant evening was sitting alone in a booth in the corner of the club nursing a drink and enjoying the music.

Reno thought Tseng was unaware that other people found him attractive, but he was acutely aware simply because it was his job as a Turk to be observant. Tseng was neither self-conscious nor self-aggrandizing about his looks. Women actually seemed to pay him more attention than men, and he always had to politely turn them down when they approached him.

Most of the time, if no one approached him that struck his fancy, Tseng would simply pay for the release he was seeking. High-end bars and clubs on the plate came with high-end escorts and in his line of work it was less messy to just pay for what he needed and move on. Plus it afforded him the ability to choose someone who was exactly his type.

The club was fairly busy by the time Tseng arrived, but he managed to grab a drink and find a spot in a dark corner where he sat and sipped slowly. He didn’t drink often because he didn’t like losing control of his senses, so he had to take his time to avoid getting too tipsy. While he drank, he scanned the room, simultaneously looking for any signs of danger as well as any men that fit his admittedly specific preference.

A few tables away two beautiful Wutaian women sat whispering to each other and casting glances at Tseng. Tseng was not smooth when it came to social interaction and while he was aware of the attention he received, he didn’t handle it with any particular grace. He flushed involuntarily at the women staring at him and to his chagrin, one of them stood up and walked over to him, placing a delicate hand on his shoulder and speaking to him in Wutaian.

“You’re the most handsome man in the room,” she said. “But I suspect you know that.”

“I appreciate the compliment,” Tseng answered. “You’re very beautiful, but-”

“Don’t say ‘but’,” she sighed. “I hate that word.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Can’t blame a girl for trying, can you?”

Tseng smiled with as much kindness as he could muster, which he worried was likely insufficient, “Of course not.”

She left him to return to her friend looking crestfallen as they whispered to each other some more. Tseng scanned the room again as new people entered the club and nearly choked on his drink at the sight of Lazard Deusericus approaching the bar. Although he was already in easily the most secluded part of the club, Tseng tried to shrink back further into the booth, not once removing his gaze as Lazard ordered his drink.

This was surely some sort of test from the Gods, not that Tseng really believed in them anyway. Tseng was incredibly serious about company policy, including rules against fraternization, but he harbored such an absurd crush on Lazard that he couldn’t help but look. His ears warmed at the mere thought of him. It was unfortunate that in many respects Lazard seemed to be Tseng’s dream man - he checked nearly every one of Tseng’s boxes.

Unfortunately for Tseng, as Lazard stood with his back against the bar scanning the room, he noticed Tseng hidden away in his shadowy booth and greeted him with a broad smile and a wave, immediately stepping away from the bar to approach him.

“Tseng! What a pleasure running into you outside of work.” Lazard stood at the edge of the booth clearly awaiting an invitation from Tseng.

“Sir…er,” Tseng cleared his throat. “Lazard. It’s nice to see you.” His ears were so hot he thought they might fall off. Do not invite him to sit down. “Would you like to…er…join me?” Idiot.

“Certainly,” Lazard sidled into the booth across from him and set his drink down on the table. “Do you come here often? It’s one of my favorite clubs on the plate.”

Of course it was.

“I don’t get many nights off,” this much was true, “but I do enjoy the live music here.”

Lazard nodded and sipped his drink. “To be honest, I haven’t had a night off in a while either. It feels good to just relax for once.”

“I imagine your job is quite stressful.”

“Let’s not talk about work,” Lazard suggested. “What does someone in your line of work do with his time off, Tseng?”

“Nothing very interesting, I’m afraid.”

Lazard smirked, “Oh, I doubt that.”

This made Tseng flush even worse than he already was. He looked at his drink with sudden interest. “What do…you do with your time off?” he asked.

“Well,” said Lazard, settling back against the booth, “I used to be quite domestic, but I recently got out of a long-term relationship and I suppose I’m making up for lost time.”

It took Tseng a bit longer than it should have to say, “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It was his loss,” Lazard shrugged.

His loss.

It didn’t matter anyway, because Lazard was his superior and strictly off limits.

“I imagine your profession doesn’t allow for much in the way of relationships,” Lazard continued. Tseng appreciated that he danced around using the word ‘Turk’ in mixed company like this.

“Not really,” Tseng said, struggling not to tack ‘sir’ onto the end of every sentence.

“That’s too bad.”

Not really. Emotional attachments were messy. It had come as a huge shock to Tseng that Veld had a family - it was such a liability in their line of work, and frankly a weakness. Loving someone meant being vulnerable in more ways than one. Tseng had no interest in that sort of vulnerability. It was just showing his belly to any predator that wanted him dead.

“My work is fulfilling. It doesn’t bother me,” said Tseng.

Lazard scanned the room while the two of them drank in a silence that was surprisingly not as uncomfortable as Tseng expected it to be.

“Those women by the bar have certainly got their eyes on you,” Lazard noted.

“Perhaps they’re looking at you,” Tseng suggested.

“Hm,” Lazard shook his head. “I’m not convinced. Should I wave them over for you?”

“Oh,” Tseng’s entire face warmed. “No. I’m not…” He cleared his throat. “I’m gay.”

He had never told a coworker that before, mostly because he felt it wasn’t their business. A small part of him wanted Lazard to know, and he had been so flustered by the suggestion that Lazard might help him pick up women that it just came out.

Lazard chuckled. “My apologies. I didn’t want to assume.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

Lazard fixed him with an inscrutable look, quickly replacing it with a genial grin as he slid out of the booth. “I won’t keep you. I’m supposed to be meeting a friend here anyway, but it was lovely chatting with you, Tseng. You should stop by the forty-ninth floor more often.”

Tseng’s skin jumped when Lazard squeezed his arm as he stepped away from the table and he croaked out an awkward goodbye as Lazard walked away.

How utterly embarrassing.

Having spent all his social stamina trying to carry a conversation with Lazard, Tseng figured the evening was probably better spent with an escort. Once Lazard was out of sight, Tseng crossed the room and stood by the bar - his sights were already set on an attractive blonde escort seated elegantly on a corner bar stool sipping what he knew was a watered down drink.

“Hello,” Tseng said stiffly.

The escort looked up at him and batted his long eyelashes. “Hi, handsome. Can I interest you in some company?”

“Yes,” Tseng answered.

Sliding off of the stool in one fluid motion, the escort took his hand, “I’m Pim. And you?”

Tseng answered, allowing the escort to hook their arms together and leading him out into the cool night air. There was a hotel in Sector One that Tseng typically used for these sorts of exchanges, so they hailed a taxi and discussed the expectations while they traveled. Tseng checked into his usual hotel room, simply flashing his identification badge, and they wasted no time in getting down to business.

Sex insofar as Tseng had experienced was a formulaic ritual: a means of sating an urge and little else. He enjoyed the touch of another man, but there was nothing overtly sensual about the act for him. He kissed as little as possible because he found the act of kissing far more intimate than the sex itself. Tseng did do his best to make sure the other party enjoyed it - it only felt fair - but the primary purpose was and always would be finding his release.

When he was finished he paid and tipped the escort, waited until he left in a taxi, and then began the walk back to his apartment building to enjoy a decent night’s sleep now that his needs had been met. All in all it had been a truly successful night off - even the awkward encounter with Lazard had been enjoyable. It was the perfect end to the evening to cap the night off with a stroll through the sector, the cool air pleasant against his sweat-damp skin.

Not far from his apartment he heard a high-pitched mewling sound echoing against the walls of a darkened alley and he came to a halt, peering into the alley and listening for the sound again. It came a moment later, louder and more insistent, the truly pathetic wail of a likely injured animal. Tseng felt a little pang of guilt and stepped into the alley, careful to look for any signs of an ambush. It was so ingrained in him to expect danger that he didn’t think of how absurd it was in that situation.

At the end of the alley, he found a ripped and soiled cardboard box and when he knelt down, he found three impossibly small black balls of fluff within. Two bright yellow eyes looked up at him from the darkness and the kitten mewled again, scratching at the inside of the box and trying to claw its way out.

Tseng sighed. He reached into the box and found that the other two kittens were dead, but he offered his hand, holding it perfectly still for the remaining cat to sniff.

“Sad little thing,” Tseng said. His family had a pet cat when he was younger, a skinny little black and white cat that favored his sisters, but every once in a great while he would curl up next to Tseng to sleep. It was foolish of a Turk to take pity on a malnourished kitten who might not make it through the night, but it was a situation in which he simply couldn’t flip the switch to his cold, heartless work persona. The kitten rubbed against his hand and cried out such a desperate sound that Tseng conceded to scooping her out of the box and carrying her with him back home.

“You’re too small,” he told her. It was absurd to speak to an animal like that - he hadn’t done it since he was a child. “What am I going to feed you?” The cat whimpered, so he crushed her tighter against his chest. “I don’t have any meat for you, maomao,” he said.

Another moment of resignation: he would have to stop and pick up some food or the little thing would never make it. He carried her to a twenty-four hour shop not far from his apartment, picked up the minimum necessary items, and found himself walking into his apartment with a sack full of cat supplies and a mewling kitten in his arms.

“You probably have fleas, don’t you?” he asked, setting the kitten in the sink. “I’m going to wash you. I’m sorry. You won’t like it.”

The kitten stared up at him: two yellow eyes lost in a sea of black fur. He was right though - she shrieked and hissed and clawed at him while he scrubbed her clean in the sink, and nearly got away from him as he wrapped her up in a towel. He set her on the floor in the towel and she remained beneath the layers of fabric glowering at him.

Don’t be foolish, a cat can’t glower.

But she was, though she quickly forgot her grudge when he poured out a bowl of food and set it a few inches from the towel. She waited until he had undressed and climbed into bed before sneaking out of the cover of her towel and tiptoeing over to the food dish, freezing at the slightest sound from Tseng. He couldn’t help but laugh as he watched her. She was so timid, but her hunger was outweighing her fear.

Only when he heard the sounds of her teeth crunching on the kibble did he lean back and close his eyes.

What was he going to do with a cat anyway? Well, they did make automatic feeders and self-cleaning litter boxes now, didn’t they? She could manage on her own when he was on missions.

It wouldn’t be so bad to have a little company when he was home…would it?

Chapter Text

After years of struggle, years of playing pretend playboy to keep his father and his hounds off of his trail, and years still of kissing his father’s ass, Rufus finally had an official place at the table as vice president of the Shinra Electric Power Company. The icing on the cake was the completion of his masters degree after six years of busting his ass with schoolwork on top of everything else.

The only move left for him to make was to take his father’s throne, but that would require a bit more finesse, and he knew it.

Now that he was vice president it would be easier. He had been hatching this plan for years, from the time he was old enough to realize he was nothing more than an asset to his father, just as his mother had been before she died. He didn’t have the evidence to prove it, but that too he was certain was his father’s doing. How fitting then, for Rufus to be his father’s undoing?

For several years now, Rufus had been quietly and anonymously inserting himself into anti-Shinra dissident circles via their vast communication network. There was a complex political infrastructure to these dissident groups: many of them worked together until it was no longer advantageous to do so, and in that sense they were not so different from the company they were trying to dismantle. The irony wasn’t lost on Rufus, though he doubted any of the dissidents would find humor in the comparison.

After enough time observing their movements, Rufus made the decision to start funding the group he thought stood the best chance to make his father look like an ass. All he had to do was expose his father’s incompetence as a leader and the executives would readily side with a more competent leader like Rufus. If he could take out the Turks at the same time, that was all the better.

Like any good hunter, however, Rufus first had to lay the trap.

Following the completion of his degree, Rufus threw a party at the Junon estate, inviting the numerous socialites that were always eager to kiss his ass and let him buy them alcohol and drugs, happy to be his friend until they grew bored with him - they would be the perfect vapid backdrop to his scheme. He left security intentionally lax, failing to inform his father or anyone else at the company that the party was occurring specifically to avoid any Turks presence. Then he simply sat back and waited for the dissidents to take the bait.

There was no way for him to know which of the party guests might belong to one of the groups trying to destroy his father’s company - his company - but Rufus was excellent at reading people, so in between idle chitchat with people whose names he couldn’t or didn’t care to remember, Rufus stood by the window sipping his champagne and observing the crowd.

One woman in particular caught his eye, most immediately because of the shimmering emerald dress with a slit that ran just high enough to catch the eye but leave a little something to the imagination, an ornate prosthesis taking the place of her left leg. Her figure didn’t quite suit the dress - she was thin and flat-chested, lacking in many feminine curves. Her face, however, was beautiful, cropped chestnut hair falling across her forehead in thin wisps.

She looked so incredibly out of place that Rufus knew right away she must be one of the ones he was looking for.

When she didn’t approach him - smart of her - he watched her for a while, sizing her up. Her arms were toned enough that he wasn’t confident of his odds in overpowering her if it came to that. Better to play a little game of cat and mouse and go from there. He couldn’t bargain with her if he was dead, after all.

After some time of watching her linger around the party with a drink in her hand, never really speaking to anyone, Rufus wandered away from his place by the window and stood next to her, pretending to observe a pool match just in front of them.

He leaned down and whispered, “You look uncomfortable.”

At this, she glanced up at him, the corners of her lips twitching into a smirk. “Looks can be deceiving, Mr. Shinra.”

“Please,” Rufus stepped back and offered his hand, “Call me Rufus.”

She took his hand with a demure smile, looking up at him behind thick lashes. She had a cute face. “Rufus, then.”

“And you, do you have a name?”

“Genevieve,” she said. Rufus was certain she was lying, but he nodded and returned his gaze to the pool table.

“It’s a shame we’ve never met,” he said.

“Oh,” her cheeks flushed. “A friend invited me. I’m not sure if-”

“No need to worry,” said Rufus, placing a hand on the small of her back. “What would you say to a tour of the building?”

“Very forward of you. Not even going to offer me a drink first?”

“You can have as many drinks as you like,” said Rufus. “What shall I get you?”

She glanced back up at him and brushed her fingers against his jaw. “Something sweet.”

Rufus enjoyed playing games like this. There was an air of danger, but something tense and sexual bubbling beneath the surface as well. He wanted a conversation with this woman, but the longer they stood dancing around the obvious, the more certain he was that he wanted her as well.

There were worse ways to finalize a contract.

With exaggerated difficulty, he walked away from her to procure a drink: something sweet, offering it to her as he returned. She took it with one hand and took his arm with the other.

“Now, that tour?”

“Gladly.”

Rufus led her out of the main ballroom down through the kitchens and back into the housekeepers’ quarters. Many of the rooms were empty, given that his father had reduced the staff substantially in recent years, so as he feigned showing her around, reciting a tired history of the building, he led her into one of the empty rooms and shut the door behind him.

“Mr. Shinra,” she laughed. “Just what kind of woman do you take me for?”

Rufus smirked and tucked some of her hair behind her ear. “An intelligent one.”

He kissed her, pleased when she didn’t rebuff him. Instead, she leaned into the kiss, flexing her lips against his and eventually opening her mouth to greet his tongue with her own. This was a far more interesting means of negotiating than he had initially planned for, so he decided to take it as far as she was willing to go, backing her onto the bed and climbing on top of her, pushing her dress past her hips as their bodies ground together.

Rufus enjoyed sex as often as he could, which wasn’t as often as he would have liked both because of how busy and how famous he was. At first, he hadn’t held high standards - anyone attractive would do - but after a while he grew tired of all of the men and women who simply wanted to fuck him because of his name. He wanted an intellectual equal in the bedroom, someone who could hold a conversation and keep him interested. This woman, whatever her real name was, was most certainly holding his attention.

After a few heated minutes of kissing and groping, Rufus hooked his fingers in her underwear and pulled them down her legs, tossing them aside and moving to kiss a path up the insides of her legs while she sighed and arched her back beneath him.

He teased her for a bit, kissing the insides of her thighs, the crease where her hips met her legs, everywhere but where he knew she wanted him. She squirmed and gripped his hair, tugging lightly, but insistently.

“Was there something you wanted…Genevieve?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said firmly. “Your tongue.”

He liked a woman who wasn’t afraid to tell him what she wanted, so he didn’t waste anymore time, moving his head between her legs and bringing his tongue against her clit in slow circles that drew a moan from the back of her throat and sent a shiver straight down Rufus’ spine and into his groin.

“Gods you’re good at that.” Her voice was huskier now.

The praise was almost as arousing as the sounds she was making. She tugged on his hair and arched against him, desperate for more, and he complied, sliding a finger inside of her while his tongue moved. This earned him another throaty moan, which only served as positive reinforcement.

She came wordlessly, muscles clenching around his finger as she pulled so hard on his hair it was almost painful, her hand relaxing its grip as her back fell flat against the mattress.

When he sat up, she had a pistol trained on him.

“What kind of thank you is that?” Rufus frowned. “I give you an orgasm out of the sheer kindness of my heart,” he held his hand against his chest dramatically, “and this is how you repay me?”

“Come now, Mr. Shinra, I don’t believe you’re as stupid as the media makes you out to be.”

“Thanks,” he said dryly.

“Outside of your father’s head, you’re the most valuable bargaining chip a rebel could hope for.”

“Rebels?” Rufus sat back on his legs and glanced at the gun with disinterest, even as her finger held steady over the trigger. “Is that what you call yourselves?”

“What do you call us?” She pushed herself up until her back was against the headboard.

“Dissidents. Eco-terrorists. Either suits you, doesn’t it?”

She nudged his chin with the gun. “You know, you’re even prettier in person. It’s really too bad.”

“Is it?”

“You seem pretty blase for a man with a gun trained on him.”

Rufus smirked. “You strike me as a smart woman, and smart women don’t kill or maim men that would be far more use to them alive and capable of bargaining.”

She returned his smirk, “Keep talking.”

“We both knew what the other was walking into this conversation, didn’t we? What group are you with?”

“Why should I tell you?”

“Because I’ve spent the last four years infiltrating your networks and I want to know exactly who I’m dealing with.”

She answered readily, “Avalanche.”

This was even better than Rufus had hoped. Avalanche, in his experience scouring the dissident networks, was far and away the most competent faction with the strongest and most loyal following. If he could have had his pick of groups to start funding, Avalanche would have been top of the list.

“Interesting. And what’s your real name?”

“I go by Elfe,” she answered again, still holding her gun steady, pointed at his shoulder. Right now, she was aiming to injure, not kill - better to keep it that way.

“And how much say do you have in Avalanche’s affairs, Elfe?”

She leaned forward, pressing her gun against his stomach and gripping the collar of his shirt to pull him toward her until their noses brushed. “All of it. I’m the leader.”

“What would you say to an arrangement that would benefit the both of us?” Rufus asked.

“I’m listening.”

“I have access to an incredible amount of gil. An amount you wouldn’t believe. Enough to completely overhaul Avalanche’s structure: more men, more weapons, and best of all,” he brushed his nose against hers and toyed with kissing her even as the muzzle of her gun pressed painfully against him, “insider secrets.”

“And what do you get out of this?” She asked, raking her free hand through his hair and gripping it tightly at the base of his skull.

“I just want to expose my father for the incompetent fool he truly is. But if he dies in the process,” Rufus shrugged. “What a tragedy that would be.”

“Ah, so we’re playing party to a family squabble. And what happens to us if we succeed in killing him?”

“Then you have a friendly ear running the most powerful company in the world,” Rufus answered. “Someone who might be amenable to listening to your demands. I’ll tell you right now, that will never be my father. He wants to see each and every dissident group squashed under his heel. But not me.”

Elfe caressed his jaw with the side of her gun, the cool metal sending a shiver down Rufus’ spine.

“Why should I believe a single word you’ve said?”

“I can wire you money right now as a gesture of good faith. Name your price.”

“Ten million.” She didn’t hesitate.

“Done.”

She let go of him and leaned back, holstering her gun and quietly observing him. “Okay then. Send me the money.” She brought up a transfer interface on her phone and he complied. When the transfer went through, she glanced up at him. “Why shouldn’t I just shoot you now and take you back to our base as a hostage?”

“Because there’s far more where that came from,” Rufus said. “And as I told you, I can provide you with valuable intel. Intel you won’t get elsewhere. That’s worth more than my money.”

Elfe leaned forward, gripping his shirt and forcing him down onto his back, climbing on top of him and straddling his hips. “How do you propose we formalize this agreement, Mr. Shinra?” She asked, grinding down against his groin. Rufus was surprised and annoyed at the unbidden moan that left his lips.

“Don’t want to shake on it?” He asked.

“Something tells me you don’t either,” she said, gripping his cock through the fabric of his pants.

“Ah,” he huffed. “Enough talking.”

Their lips came together and her hands tore at the zipper on his pants, shoving them down his legs until they were out of the way while he fumbled with a condom, so eager to get it on that he nearly tore it. She sank down onto him with a sigh and rolled her hips, pressing her palms flat against his chest and throwing her head back with a moan.

This wasn’t exactly how Rufus envisioned seeing his plans through when the evening began, but he wasn’t complaining either. He thrust his hips up to meet her movements, bodies grinding together, both of them gasping and sweating. She pressed her chest flat against his and he gripped her ass, digging his fingers into the skin and thrusting as hard and fast as the position allowed until he came with a blinding burst of pleasure and she fell against him gasping.

After a few seconds of catching their breath, she slid off of him and kissed his cheek.

“A pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Shinra.”

Tseng sat in the Turks’ break room eating a wilting salad he had forgotten about from two days earlier and listening with growing irritation as Reno sat amongst a group of their colleagues, as well as all the new trainees, reading the briefing Veld sent out the day before about the emerging situation with SOLDIER.

“’Approximately two weeks ago,’” Reno began, “’SOLDIER First-Class Genesis Rhapsodos’ - is that really his last name?” He looked up from his phone, “Yo, Tseng, is Rhapsodos for real that tool’s last name?”

Tseng sighed and chewed his salad with a frown.

“Anyway,” Reno cleared his throat and continued, “’SOLDIER First Class Genesis Rhapsodos defected, taking with him roughly two-thirds of the second-class and third-class troops in addition to Shinra senior scientist Dr. Hollander Sterling.’ Woof. Talk about misplaced loyalty.”

“Reno,” Rude grumbled.

Reno ignored him. “’Approximately one week ago while on assignment in Wutai, SOLDIER First-Class Angeal Hewley was declared missing in action. Director Deusericus in conjunction with Director Heidegger and the President have expressed concern’, that’s an understatement, huh? ‘expressed concern that Hewley may be working in conjunction with Rhapsodos to undermine Shinra, Inc. In the following weeks, Turks may be asked to work in conjunction with SOLDIER to assist in containing this situation. Both men are considered armed and highly dangerous.’” Reno finished with a frown, and a few of the other Turks made sounds of disapproval.

“What’s so bad about working with SOLDIER?” Shotgun asked. She had been raised in Junon’s upper city in the same sorts of circles that Rufus Shinra ran in, and her personality was almost as bad as Rufus’. Almost. She at least had a little humility that Rufus sorely lacked.

“What’s so bad about working with SOLDIER?” Reno balked. “Those fucking meatheads? No offense, Rude,” Reno smacked Rude’s shoulder, which earned him a gruff ‘hmph’ from Rude.

“Reno, please watch your words,” Tseng said. “The chief expects us to work cooperatively with Director Deusericus’ men. We should put aside any notions of-”

“Gods, don’t act like you’re any happier about it than the rest of us. You hate it too, just admit it.”

Tseng did hate it, but he wasn’t going to undermine Veld’s directive either. He went back to eating his salad and Reno launched into a tirade against SOLDIER, which even Emma - who hated Reno with a passion - nodded along in agreement to. The tirade was cut short when Veld stepped into the room with his hands behind his back, scanning the group and zeroing in on Reno seated on top of the table with his legs folded under him. He frowned and Reno immediately scrambled into a seat.

“Chief, what can we do for you?” Cissnei asked.

“I was looking for Tseng. Can I borrow you for a moment, Tseng?”

“Of course, sir.” Tseng pushed his food away and followed Veld out of the break room and down the hall to his office.

It wasn’t until they were inside and seated that Veld spoke.

“Last week I sent Kero and Piers on a mission to Banora. Do you know what relevance Banora has to the…emerging situation, Tseng?”

Banora was known for very little besides the fruit that grew there. The juice was quite popular and the fruit only grew in Banora. This was something most citizens of Midgar knew merely because of the popularity of the drink. What relevance it had to the situation with SOLDIER was beyond Tseng.

“No, sir.”

“Both Rhapsodos and Hewley are from Banora.” Veld rubbed his brow. “We sent Kero and Piers to question Rhapsodos’ family but we lost communication with them. I had hoped it was merely due to necessary precautions on their end, but now that Hewley has gone missing as well, I fear something worse has happened. I spoke with Director Deusericus and I would like you to accompany a SOLDIER to Banora to investigate.”

“A SOLDIER, sir? Sephiroth is the only remaining first-”

“Yes. Please head up to the forty-ninth floor to meet with Director Deusericus and Sephiroth.”

“Of course, sir,” Tseng bowed his head and excused himself.

There were a million thoughts running through his mind. He hadn’t been close with Kero and Piers, but he knew them well enough and it left a bad taste in his mouth to consider what a SOLDIER like Rhapsodos might have done to them. It was a risk of the job, of course, but Kero and Piers had been competent Turks more than capable of holding their own. Part of what bothered Tseng was the concern he might meet the same end, even with Sephiroth at his side.

That too was gnawing at him as he rode the elevator up to the forty-ninth floor. He had never formally met Sephiroth, only seen him from time to time when he made appearances at board meetings. He felt a certain compassion for the boy, though Tseng supposed he wasn’t a boy anymore, now nearing his twenty-first birthday. Shinra had long used him as their poster boy for the SOLDIER program and he had become famous for murdering thousands of innocent Wutaians as part of the war. That was quite a burden to bear as a child, which he was when the war began.

Then there was the final, far more trivial issue of Tseng’s foolish schoolboy crush on Director Deusericus. Lazard. He asked you to call him Lazard. He had not seen Lazard since their run-in at the club a month earlier.

Tseng stood tense outside of Lazard’s office before knocking once and awaiting a response.

“Come in.”

He stepped inside to find Sephiroth seated in front of Lazard’s desk wearing a scowl, arms folded against his chest, and…were his eyes red? If Tseng didn’t know better he would have guessed Sephiroth had been crying. Maybe he had. The only thing Tseng knew about the three first-class SOLDIERS as a unit was that they were close-knit - ‘cliquey’ if you asked other SOLDIERS or Turks.

“Ah, Tseng, nice to see you again,” Lazard greeted him with a warm smile that made Tseng’s stomach clench. Foolish. “Have you and Sephiroth met?”

Tseng bowed his head in acknowledgment. “Not formally. A pleasure to meet you, s-” Tseng had to stop himself short from addressing Sephiroth as sir. They were technically equals in their respective departments, but Sephiroth’s reputation so preceded him that Tseng felt uncomfortable referring to him as an equal.

Sephiroth nodded. “Tseng, was it?”

“Yes.”

He turned his attention back to Lazard. “As I said. You’ll need to find someone else. Zack is up for promotion. It could be a good test of his abilities.”

“Very well,” said Lazard, folding his hands in front of him on the desk. “You may take your leave.”

Sephiroth stood up and though Tseng had seen him in person numerous time, standing directly next to him it took him by surprise just how tall he was. He nodded at Tseng and stepped past him, sweeping out the door.

“Sephiroth is refusing the mission, sir?” Tseng asked Lazard.

“No need for the sir, Tseng. Though,” he chuckled, “I’ve been made aware that of all the Turks, you aren’t particularly fond of eschewing the rules. But never mind that. Sephiroth has personal ties to Hewley and Rhapsodos. He felt his investigation couldn’t be carried out objectively. We have a second-class who will be a suitable substitute, though he was Hewley’s protege of sorts. I believe he can handle the situation. I’ll call him up. Why don’t you take a seat while we wait?” He gestured to the chair in front of his desk.

Tseng took a seat and tried not to stare at Lazard while he called for a SOLDIER named Zack. His eyes kept straying back to Lazard’s face, whether he meant to or not. For a man whose job was overseeing a group of supersoldiers and helping to coordinate one of the deadliest wars in recent history, Lazard seemed to always wear a smile. Tseng wondered if it was just a facade - it must have been. Just as Tseng had a flip he could switch with practiced ease between his work persona and his more human side, he felt certain the leader of SOLDIER must also know how to toe that line.

Maybe it was a necessity of working for Shinra to know how to wear many faces.

“Have you been to Banora before?” Lazard asked when he had finished his phone call.

“No.” It was not far from where Tseng had grown up in Mideel, but he was not in the habit of disclosing details about his past to anyone. That part of him was dead and had been for many years. Realizing his answer was too terse, he added, “I hear it’s beautiful though,” which was at least true.

“Yes, so have I. I’ve never been either. In fact, do you know until I took this job I’d never been outside of Midgar?” Lazard laughed. “And even now the farthest I’ve been is Junon. It’s too bad you aren’t going under better circumstances.”

As though Tseng took vacations? Turks were alloted the time to, but Tseng traveled enough on missions that on the rare occasion he took vacation - or rather was forced to by Veld - he mostly used it to catch up on sleep and other more basic needs he didn’t have time to see to as often as he would have preferred.

“Well,” Tseng said, “I try to take in the beauty of whatever locale I’m visiting, even if the circumstances aren’t ideal.” Which was true, though he rarely had the time to sit and take in the view unless a stakeout was involved, and even then he was usually stuck watching people talk for hours inside a cloistered room with stale air, often a seedy bar.

“I’ll bet you’ve been to plenty of interesting places, haven’t you?”

“I am…well traveled thanks to my job,” Tseng answered.

Lazard smiled and his eyes scanned Tseng’s face. “You’re an intriguing man, Tseng.”

Tseng’s ears grew warm and he was thankful for the sound of the door opening to indicate the SOLDIER’S arrival. When he turned around in his chair to greet the SOLDIER, he faltered, surprised at the sight of a boy who couldn’t have been older than sixteen. He was all muscle, with a mane of spiky black hair, bouncing on his heels as he came to rest in front of Lazard’s desk.

“You wanted to see me, Director?” He asked.

“Zack, thank you for coming. I’d like you to meet Tseng. He’s one of Veld’s men,” Lazard said, gesturing to Tseng. Tseng offered his hand and Zack shook it with so much force Tseng was almost certain his fingers were broken.

“Wow! A Turk, huh? I’ve never actually worked with one. Is it true that you guys burn your fingerprints off?” Zack raised his eyebrows expectantly and Tseng sighed.

So he was to complete this mission with a child soldier? A boy who was far too jovial and curious to be an extension of Shinra’s military. How young had he been when he joined SOLDIER to be a second-class at his age? Tseng hid his distaste for the situation, just like any good Turk ought to, prizing his hand from Zack’s grip and flexing his sore fingers.

“I’m afraid that’s classified information,” said Tseng.

Lazard chuckled and again, Tseng’s ears warmed at the attention. Zack went slack-jawed for a second until he realized Tseng was joking.

“Ah, I didn’t know Turks were funny!”

“We aren’t,” Tseng replied dryly. “Are you ready to leave?”

“Where are we going?” Zack asked, looking back and forth between Tseng and Lazard expectantly.

“Banora.” Tseng bowed his head to Lazard as a farewell and made his way out the door, Zack rushing after him and catching up easily. Tseng wasn’t short by any means but this boy was taller than he was, nearly as tall as Sephiroth.

“Banora?” Zack asked, bouncing on his heels once more while they waited for the elevator. “That’s where Angeal is from…hey! They’re not seriously making me investigate him, are they?” His youthful smile gave way to a deep frown at the realization. “Angeal is my friend, you know.”

“You work for Shinra,” Tseng said. “You should know better than anyone that your dedication to Shinra trumps all other loyalties.” The elevator doors slid open and they stepped inside, heading for the helipad on the roof. “Angeal Hewley has been labeled a deserter. It’s our job to figure out what he and Genesis Rhapsodos are up to.”

“I just don’t believe Angeal would do that.” Zack pouted and folded his arms.

How could anyone who went through a mako shower be this naive about the world? Shinra secrets were worth more than all the gil on Gaia and who knew more about Shinra’s secrets than two first-class SOLDIERS and a scientist who helped start the SOLDIER program? Angeal Hewley was either dead, likely by Rhapsodos’ hand, or working alongside him. Tseng could understand why Sephiroth would want to remove himself from this scenario, but was a kid who saw Hewley as a hero any better?

“Shouldn’t they have sent a first to do this mission?” Zack asked.

“Yes,” Tseng agreed. “However, Sephiroth refused.”

“What?” Zack balked. “I thought you couldn’t refuse an order. Why does he get special treatment anyway?”

“Maybe you should ask him,” Tseng suggested.

He led the way out of the elevator across the roof to the helipad, climbing into the cockpit and starting up the engine while Zack settled down in the co-pilot’s chair.

“Do all Turks know how to fly these things?” he asked while Tseng brought them up into the air, speeding away from Midgar south toward Banora.

“Perhaps it’s best if we don’t talk. I need to focus.” That was a lie, but Tseng didn’t want to spend three hours chit-chatting with a teenage boy.

You were his age when you joined the Turks.

But he was never this…bubbly. Tseng’s mother used to say that he had been born an old soul. ‘Two going on twenty’. He had never had the sort of youthful exuberance Zack had.

He was only seven years older than the boy, at most, but it may as well have been three decades for the difference between them.

Although Tseng had never been to Banora before, it didn’t look remarkably different than Mideel. The town itself was smaller than the city of Mideel, but nature had overtaken parts of the massive estates dotting the plains. They flew over miles upon miles of dumbapple orchards culminating in a cluster of homes where the main village of Banora was located.

“Wow, it’s prettier than Angeal made it sound.”

It was quaint. That was all Tseng could say about it. When they stepped out of the helicopter, there was a pleasant breeze, and despite its proximity to Mideel, it wasn’t as overbearingly humid.

They stood on the edge of a cliff overlooking the village. A waterfall in the background flowed into a river that ran through town, providing the only sound besides the gentle rustle of the dumbapple trees in the breeze. In fact, it was disconcertingly quiet, and not a single soul seemed to be moving about in the village.

Beside Tseng, Zack shivered. “Feels creepy.”

Tseng noticed a small cemetery near the bottom of the sloping hill leading into the village, but most notable was how fresh some of the graves looked. He made his way wordlessly down the hill and Zack hurried after him with a ‘Hey!’

Why were they making the Turks work with SOLDIERS when their approach to situations were completely antithetical to one another?

“Be quiet,” Tseng chided.

“Well, don’t go running off without telling me what the plan is.”

Tseng crouched down in front of the graves and observed them while Zack stood behind him shifting his weight restlessly from hip to hip.

“These graves are fresh,” Tseng explained, gesturing to the graves near the back that looked recently filled, the soil still soft and slightly damp. “I don’t believe these headstones are accurate.”

“What makes you think that?” Zack whispered, crouching down next to him.

Tseng gave him a withering look before explaining. “Two Turks were sent to investigate Rhapsodos before Hewley went missing. They’ve been lost to contact for a week and now there are fresh graves. Seems unlikely to be a coincidence.”

Zack grimaced, “You think they’re buried there?”

“I’m certain they are. Though, I’m not certain who else is,” Tseng crossed the graveyard and stood in front of the graves, readying the earth materia embedded in his gloves.

“You’re gonna dig them up!?” Zack cried before clapping his hands over his mouth to silence himself. He at least had the decency to look sheepish about his outburst when Tseng frowned at him. “Man, Turks really do have to do all of Shinra’s dirty work, don’t they?”

Tseng rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry about it. They pay us better than you. I want you to go into town and see if you can find anyone. It seems deserted.”

“What if I do find someone?”

Tseng avoided the obvious response of ‘question them’, only because he doubted Zack’s ability to properly interrogate a subject. “Just hold them until I’m done here. I have to make a positive identification on these bodies.”

Zack grimaced again, nodded, and bounded off into the village. Once he was gone, Tseng dug out the soil from the fresh graves with his earth materia until he reached the bodies. He didn’t have to dig far: the graves were shallow and the bodies had been dumped carelessly within. Though the corpses were badly decomposed, it was evident that two of the bodies belonged to Kero and Piers from the black suits clinging to their rotting flesh. Tseng choked back bile at the stench and reached down to tear with a knife at the fabric on the bottom right pocket of their suit jackets. Within the lining of the jacket he found what he was looking for: a thin metal chip that would identify them. The other two bodies were less obvious until he read the gravestones. Kero and Piers had been buried under fake names, but the surname on the other two stones read: Rhapsodos.

So Genesis had killed his own parents.

He took a picture of the bodies for his report and covered them back up with the displaced soil. Hopefully, he wouldn’t meet the same fate.

While Zack searched the town, Tseng moved up a hillside across from where they had landed to scope out the surrounding countryside. Banora, famous for its juice, was certain to have a production factory somewhere nearby, likely nestled between the orchards. From the hilltop, he would be able to locate it. If nothing else, the factory was a good place to start searching for clues. He wasn’t overly concerned with Zack searching the town - he could always make a sweep on his own afterward. Zack didn’t exactly strike him as the most observant kid on Gaia.

The hill plateaued after roughly half a mile of hiking and Tseng moved toward the horizon line where the plateau dipped into a sharp precipice. At the edge of this cliff, he found exactly what he had been looking for: a manufacturing plant built against the cliff side.

Careful to avoid being seen, Tseng pressed himself flat against the ground and crawled to the very edge of the cliff, glancing down at the factory entrance and inhaling sharply at the sight of Genesis Rhapsodos entering the factory.

“Zack,” Tseng spoke into his phone using the short-range communication function and waited for a response.

“Tseng?”

Who else would it possibly have been?

“I’m overlooking the factory on the western edge of the village. I’ve spotted Genesis. I’m moving in. Did you find anything in town?”

“Angeal’s mother was there…but no one else. It was strange. No sign of Angeal.”

Tseng would have to interrogate Hewley’s mother later, if she was even still there when they returned. Retrieving Rhapsodos and returning him to Shinra was his ultimate mission, so he scaled the cliff face down to the factory and slipped inside, hand hovering over his pistol where it rested at his hip in a holster.

It was quiet and dark within and Tseng waited a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. He moved through each room of the factory, silent as a ghost, listening for any signs of Genesis or the numerous troops that had defected with him, but he was met with an overbearing silence.

“What are you doing here, lapdog?”

Tseng whirled around, gun raised, to find Genesis Rhapsodos standing at the end of the hallway, but when Tseng fired off a shot, aiming for his leg to slow him, he disappeared in a wisp of smoke. Tseng’s hair stood on end and he continued along the corridor with his gun cocked, ready to fire again if needed.

It was far easier to deal with a mission focused on taking out Shinra’s enemies than monsters of Shinra’s own creation. Tseng knew only marginally more about Hojo and his experiments than some of his fellow Turks, and what he did know he frankly wished he didn’t. Hojo and Hollander had been responsible for the SOLDIER project. Tseng had seen what new recruits went through, but just what did it take to make the rank of first? He wasn’t eager to find out, but he had a feeling Genesis Rhapsodos was going to show him.

The hallway opened into a large room with industrial juicing vats that had been turned off, leaving the air rank with the sickly smell of fermenting fruit from the juice left behind mingling with the distinctly pungent scent of mako. Just past the juicers, bathed in the golden afternoon light cascading in through the floor-to-ceiling windows on the northern wall, Rhapsodos stood with his back to Tseng gazing out the window.

“How should we do this?” Tseng asked. He was more than aware that physically he was no match for a first-class SOLDIER and never would be. Rhapsodos had the advantage of mako-imbued blood and years of intensive strength training.

Rhapsodos turned away from the window with a scowl. “They already sent your people after me before. I assume you saw what became of them…what will become of you as well.”

“And your parents?”

“Two of many who have recently betrayed me.”

Tseng could feel sweat beading on his face irrespective of the stale heat inside the factory. Where was Zack? He needed backup to deal with this situation, as loathe as he was to admit it. Surely Hojo had some monster to rival Rhapsodos’ strength that could have been dropped in instead.

Rhapsodos raised his arm, calling forth a fire spell with his materia and aiming it directly at Tseng. Tseng ducked and rolled in response, fired off a shot that grazed Rhapsodos’ arm, and narrowly avoided a second fire spell. The wooden floor behind him exploded in flames and splinters. Tseng fired off another shot, this time with enough accuracy that it should have lodged itself in Rhapsodos’ shoulder, but it instead deflected on an unseen barrier.

Rhapsodos chuckled. “I grow so tired of Shinra’s games.”

“Why did you defect?”

“What makes you think I’ll tell you anything, lapdog?”

It was rich of a SOLDIER of all people to call Tseng a lapdog, but that sentiment wouldn’t have been well received in the moment, and Tseng didn’t come here to make small talk with a fugitive of the state. He readied an ice spell and was met with another deflection from an unseen barrier, different than the type materia could create. Tseng was more outmatched than he initially realized.

“Tseng!”

Zack’s voice sounded from the other end of the room, but Tseng didn’t tear his gaze away from Rhapsodos.

“Two lapdogs,” Rhapsodos sighed. “Very well.”

Before Tseng could react, a beam of light shot from Rhapsodos’ hand and struck him in the gut, knocking him hard against the wall, his head slamming into the side of one of the juicing vats. He crumpled to the ground and was vaguely aware of…was that Hewley…?

Then he lost consciousness.

He couldn’t have been out more than a few minutes, but Tseng found himself alone when he awoke, his head ringing and his gut burning. He struggled to his feet, activated his restore materia for a boost of energy, and decided to investigate the source of the mako smell and take a few pictures for his report before figuring out where Zack and the other SOLDIERS had disappeared to. The lack of blood in the room reassured Tseng that Zack had not left the factory in any severely injured state.

Whatever Rhapsodos had hit him with, Tseng felt weak and nauseous. He struggled up the side of the juicing vat, resting on the edge and peering down inside of it. The smell was worse this close and Tseng had to cover his mouth as he took in the contents of the vat. It was filled roughly three-quarters full with what was unmistakably mako and resting in the mako were…bodies? A dozen at least, floating as if in a stasis, and they all looked identical to Rhapsodos.

Tseng's head spun. He took a picture of the bodies and pulled his phone from his breast pocket. It rang twice before the other line picked up.

“This is Veld.”

“Sir, it’s Tseng. We encountered Rhapsodos in Banora. The SOLDIER assigned to the mission is in pursuit, but…Rhapsodos and Hollander seem to be using the factory for…well, they look like clones, sir. I don’t know how else to explain it. I have some images.”

Veld was silent for a few minutes. “I see. Listen carefully. I’m giving you one hour to get Rhapsodos and get out of there and then I’m calling in an air raid. Do you understand, Tseng?”

“Of course, sir. The assets…the evidence…it has to be destroyed. Sir, I also found Kero and Piers. They were killed in action.”

Veld sighed. “Very well. One hour, Tseng.” He hung up without another word.

With some effort, Tseng made his way back down the side of the vat and out of the factory toward the village. There were signs of a struggle halfway there: parts of the cliff face blown out by a powerful materia, two bodies that looked like the other clones of Rhapsodos. Tseng decided it was worthwhile to bring one of the bodies in to show Veld, so he snapped a picture of the clones lying dead next to each other before hefting one over his shoulder and continuing on his way into the village.

Inside the village, he found Zack crouched down in the doorway of one of the houses, staring at a woman’s body lying in a pool of blood.

“Zack,” Tseng cleared his throat. “What happened to Rhapsodos? And was Hewley here?”

“Tseng!” Zack stood up. “I’m sorry I left you, man, but-”

Tseng held his hand up to silence him. “You made the right decision. The mission always comes first.”

Zack nodded and for the first time that day, his face turned deadly serious. It made him look much older than he was, a shadow cast over his face as he glanced down at the dead woman.

“I don’t understand what’s going on.”

Neither did Tseng, and frankly, it wasn’t his business to understand so much as it was to neutralize the threat. This was just Shinra’s own creations getting out of hand, one point of evidence toward the President’s questionable oversight of his pet projects, not that Tseng would give voice to that.

“Where is Rhapsodos?” Tseng repeated.

“He got away,” Zack glanced up to the sky still wearing his frown. “Angeal was here too. I’m sorry, Tseng. I tried to stop them.”

“We were outmatched,” said Tseng. And the Turks would continue to be without Sephiroth’s assistance. “We have to go. Shinra is calling in an air raid to destroy the village.”

“What!?” Zack cried.

“Don’t be so naive,” Tseng chided, making his way back up the hill to the helicopter. Zack followed, though he was clearly upset. “This town has valuable Shinra assets hiding in that factory. Science funded by Shinra that Hollander absconded with. It has to be destroyed before it can leak to the public.”

That was just the Shinra way, something Tseng understood better after seven years working for the company. They left a fire in their wake wherever their money couldn’t buy silence. Most often, the Turks were the fuse that lit the fire so that no one else need dirty their hands with the affair.

Tseng placed the body of the Rhapsodos clone in a seat at the back of the helicopter, strapping it in and grimacing at the way its skin seemed to slough off at the touch. It was degrading so rapidly that Tseng wasn’t certain it would survive the trip back to headquarters. That was going to make for an unpleasant smell by the end of the trip.

Not long after they flew away from the quiet little village nestled between the dumbapple orchards, there was the distant sound of explosions as Shinra swept in to take care of their mess.

“Tseng?” Zack asked, gazing down at the landscape below with a somber face.

Tseng sighed. “Yes, Zack?”

“Do you think…do you think SOLDIERS are monsters? I mean…do you think working for Shinra…makes you one?”

Tseng clenched his jaw and stared straight ahead.

Yes. Of course it does. SOLDIERS and Turks…two heads of the same beast. Monsters whose job it was to secure peace and order through any means necessary. That was the importance of compartmentalization, of being able to control which aspects of you belonged to those crimes. At the end of the day, Tseng could live with being a monster sometimes, because it didn’t define him. It was only one aspect of who he was, however prominent a part of his life it was.

Tseng had a personal policy against needless lies with colleagues, but when he looked up at Zack, so young and naive despite his role, telling him he was a monster felt a bit like kicking a puppy. Tseng might have been a monster himself, but he did draw the line somewhere.

“No,” he said. “We’re not monsters.”

And the lie seemed to placate Zack. At least for the time being.

Chapter Text

Six thirty in the morning was too early to be expected to show up for work if you asked Reno, not that Veld ever did before calling him in. Reno supposed he deserved to feel as miserable as he did, dragging his feet the entire way from Sector One to Sector Zero, taking his time puffing on a cigarette and taking swigs of coffee, a pair of sunglasses he stole from Rude protecting his eyes from the harsh light of the Shinra building and the sun creeping up over the horizon.

He shouldn’t have gone down to the Honeybee Inn the night before. He knew he had to be at work early and despite his constant struggle with falling in line, he usually didn’t sabotage himself like this. It was Rude’s fault, really, not that Reno would ever admit that out loud.

The prior evening, as they were finishing up paperwork at their desks, Rude kept glancing up at him and Reno in turn kept stealing glances as well. It was the most innocuous fucking thing and yet it lit a fire in Reno’s belly that he knew…he just fucking knew…Rude would never quench.

It was against the rules, sure, but Rude had also never given a single indication he was remotely interested in Reno. So why did Reno’s stomach twist into knots every time they shared a moment like that?

A crush on a coworker was monumentally stupid. A crush on his partner was a level of stupid only Reno was capable of achieving.

So he went out to the Honeybee Inn and drank way too much and made out with…someone…went home with someone else, woke up with a pounding headache at three in the morning, stumbled home to his own apartment, slept for maybe two hours, and now he was on his way into work with a hangover the size of Midgar feeling even less fulfilled than before.

If Rude had just been some guy he met in a bar he would have had no issue laying on the moves. As much as Reno loved breaking the rules, at the end of the day he knew how serious an offense something like fraternization could be. If they were ever caught, the best case scenario was they wouldn’t be allowed to work together anymore - something so unimaginable that Reno would never risk it - but the worst case scenario was much much worse.

It was just a dumb fucking crush anyway. After all, who wouldn’t be attracted to Rude? Reno wasn’t the only Turk stealing glances in the shared gym that was for damn sure.

Reno stepped into the elevator to find Tseng standing like a statue within. He was always lurking like that. It gave Reno the creeps.

“Well, you look bright eyed and bushy tailed this morning, Chuckles,” Reno greeted him.

Tseng frowned at him. “You look terrible.”

“Thanks, it’s what I was going for.” Reno looked Tseng up and down as he sipped his coffee. Tseng probably never looked bad, even when he was this hungover. Then again, Tseng probably never drank enough to be hungover because he was just that kind of fun-hating, rule-abiding weirdo. “Did you hear the news?”

“You’ll have to be more specific,” said Tseng.

“Your favorite little brat is back in town.”

Tseng pursed his lips. Whenever the president’s son needed a Turk on his detail, the President always seemed to assign Tseng to the task. Reno loved it because Rufus Shinra seemed to be the only thing on the planet that could get under Tseng’s cool, composed exterior. He didn’t blame Tseng for hating the job though: bodyguard duty was shit work in general, but acting as a bodyguard to the planet’s most spoiled rich kid had to be ten times worse.

And now he was vice president.

“The vice president’s whereabouts don’t concern me unless I’m assigned to his detail,” Tseng answered diplomatically.

Reno grinned and pointed an accusatory finger at him, “See, I didn’t even say it was the VP. You just filled that in based on my description.”

For the first time that Reno could recall, Tseng faltered, his expression cracking as his mouth fell open, but just as quickly he straightened up and stepped out of the elevator onto their floor.

“It is a Turk’s job to be perceptive,” he said in his defense.

“Whatever you say!” Reno yelled after him as he disappeared into the executive office.

Reno sauntered into the office he shared with several of his coworkers and slid into his chair. Rude was already at his desk, directly across from Reno’s, typing away. He glanced up at Reno’s arrival, nodding a hello and then frowning.

“Are those my sunglasses?”

“Yeah,” said Reno. “Needed ‘em for some undercover work.”

Rude rolled his eyes. “If ‘undercover’ means ‘covering up your hangover’, you’re doing a bad job.”

“Could you keep it down?” Reno groused. “My head hurts.”

“Why did you go out last night anyway? You knew we had to be in early today.”

Reno shrugged, “Guess I’m just a masochist.”

“No surprise there,” Rude chuckled and Reno’s stomach twisted into knots again. “So, you ready to babysit the rookies on patrols?”

Not remotely, but that was the hierarchy of things in the Turks. Reno and Rude were the newest initiates, so it was their job to lead the trainees in sector patrols. Reno had been overly eager to go on patrols during his own training and he cringed at the thought of so much exuberance from whatever rookies he got assigned to, this early in the morning and with a hangover no less.

“I might need more coffee.”

“Tseng sent out the group assignments. You’re with Shotgun and Two-Guns.”

Reno slumped down further in his chair with a long, dramatic groan. “I swear to the Gods, Tseng knows I can’t stand them and paired me with them specifically to spite me.”

“I don’t know if Tseng’s quite that vindictive, Reno-”

“Oh,” Reno looked up at Rude, his sunglasses sliding down his nose, “he’s not being vindictive. No, no, no. I’ll bet you a million gil if you asked him about it, he’d say it’s necessary for team building or whatever bullshit.” He waved a hand irritably. “Cohesion is important, but who says those two dopes are gonna pass the exam anyway? Spoiled rich-girl-Rufus-Shinra-lite and Don Corneo’s thug. I’d rather bash my brains in right now.”

“Well,” Rude offered, “I’m sure that would be an option if you tell Tseng you don’t want to do it.”

“Thanks.”

After a few more minutes, they met the rookies in the training hall, where they also found Cissnei. Their ‘newest’ recruit still unnerved Reno. She didn’t talk about her past at all, but she showed a remarkable and unwavering loyalty to Veld - more so even than Tseng. When one of the rookies probed her about her feelings on Professor Hollander defecting, she remained tight-lipped about it, as a good Turk ought to, Reno guessed. He figured she must be secretly torn up about it. For all intents and purposes Hollander had raised her. He was probably the closest thing she had to a dad.

Sad life. Sephiroth wasn’t so different.

It was really no wonder so many SOLDIERS had deserted recently.

Rude was assigned to the two martial artists: a big brute of a kid and a skinny little wisp of nothing girl, Cissnei took the rest, then they made their way out to their assigned sectors. Reno had been tasked with making a sweep of Sector 8, so without exchanging many words, he barked at Shotgun and Two-Guns to follow him and they made their way out of Sector 0.

Rush hour was a good time to patrol because the streets were busy and it was the best time to weed out the rats. Patrols were ultimately a pointless waste of time. Most of the time it was a task for security officers permanently stationed in the sectors, but the Turks took over from time to time to look for less obvious offenses against Shinra. A security officer was all fine and good for breaking up some loud-mouthed rabble-rousers but they rarely noticed anything beneath the surface, which was where the Turks came in.

“Alright, listen up,” Reno said as he lit up a cigarette. “I’ve got a headache and I hate babysitting so we’re gonna make this quick. Stay in touch on the comms at all times. If you don’t answer when I call, the chief is gonna hear about it.”

“Are you hungover?” Two-Guns asked, crossing his arms and glowering at Reno.

“No, it’s just a look I’m going for.” Reno rolled his eyes and took a long drag from his cigarette. “You patrol the west side of the sector. Shotgun, you take the right. I’ll go down the center here.”

“What exactly are we looking for, sir?”

Reno bristled at being addressed as sir. Nobody had ever called him ‘sir’ before. Did he look like a fucking ‘sir’ now?

“Well, you know,” he shrugged, gesturing broadly with his arms, “Obvious stuff like idiot kids putting up anti-Shinra posters. But also anything suspicious. There’s a lot of anti-Shinra sentiment going around with the whole war against Wutai. You hear people saying shit about it, just kind of…” Reno puffed his chest out, “look intimidating. Tell ‘em. Make it clear we don’t stand for that shit.”

“So we’re just bullying rich liberals into only discussing the war in their houses?” Two-Guns asked, knitting his brow.

“Look, these patrols don’t achieve much, okay? It’s mostly to get you acquainted with the city and know what to look out for when trouble does pop up. Which it does. One of my patrols as a trainee we caught a guy building a bomb in his basement. Just make a sweep and report back anything suspicious, okay?”

“Fine.” Two-Guns pulled his pistol from his side holster and walked away toward the west end of the sector. Shotgun gave Reno a withering look and headed off to the east.

“Insubordination,” Reno mumbled. Then he sauntered off to find a coffee shop.

Rather than do his job - which really what was he going to turn up in one of the richest sectors in the city? - Reno took a seat at a table outside the cafe where he grabbed his coffee and sat alternating between sipping his drink and puffing on his cigarette until his headache finally began to ebb. Maybe if he was lucky, Two-Guns would fall victim to some tragic accident and he’d be out of Reno’s hair.

Nah, they’d find a way to blame Reno for it.

After a few minutes of lazing around, Shotgun’s voice sounded, breathless, in Reno’s ear piece.

“Hey, uh…Reno, sir?”

“This better not be a waste of my time,” he grumbled.

Shotgun took a few deep breaths, “I just um…ran into two men in uniform. I overheard them talking about an infiltration job. I chased them a few blocks and they engaged. One is dead and the other is incapacitated, but I think I might need backup. There’s chatter over their comms…we might be looking at a lot of troops.”

Reno scrambled out of his chair. “What? What kind of uniforms? What did they look like?”

“Military…desert camo colors. They’re definitely not with Shinra.”

“Send me your location, I’ll meet you there,” Two-Guns sounded on the comms.

“That’s my line, brainless,” Reno growled. “Listen, lay low until we get to you. Don’t engage if you see any more of them, but follow if it’s safe to do so.”

“Yes, sir!”

Shotgun sent her location and Reno hurried across the sector to meet her on the east end. He was really too hungover to be dealing with an actual crisis, and if he was being honest with himself, he was a little worried he wouldn’t be able to handle a fight in his current state.

When he reached Shotgun, she and Two-Guns were exchanging blows with three men in tan jumpsuits with military visors and weapons that looked a hell of a lot like they had been fabricated off of Shinra schematics. Reno stepped into help them, his stomach lurching unpleasantly as he flipped over the back of one of the militants and spun around to smash his EMR into her side. She stumbled backward and attempted to fire on him, but he met the side of her skull with his rod and she crumpled to the ground.

The fight didn’t last long and when it was over, Reno braced his hands against his knees and vomited all over the pavement.

“Blegh,” he groaned.

“You’re a real piece of work,” Two-Guns said.

Reno gave him a withering look. “Watch it, kid, I’m your superior.”

“Don’t call me kid, you-”

“Unit twelve come in,” One of the comm boxes on the dead militants sounded and Reno walked over to pick it up. “I repeat, this is Avalanche One, unit twelve, do you copy?”

Reno stared at the comm and then cleared his throat, doing his best to lower his voice. “Unit twelve copy,” he answered.

“You really think that’s going to-” Two-Guns started, but he was interrupted by the response on the comms.

“All units are converging on the rear entrance to the reactor. Rendezvous in ten minutes.”

“Copy that,” Reno answered, pocketing the comm box. He looked between Shotgun and Two-Guns with a sigh. “We’ve got a real problem on our hands. Now hold on.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed Veld, who failed to answer because of course he did - the chief was always busy with something. That of course left Tseng as the next point of contact, unfortunately.

The phone barely rang once before Tseng picked up. “Reno.”

“Hey,” Reno huffed. “We’ve got some trouble in Sector Eight.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“Whole bunch of yahoos in military gear descending on the sector eight reactor,” Reno explained. “We took out a few of them, but they’re well-armed…these weapons look like Shinra models without the Shinra logo on them. We might need some backup.”

“I’ll notify the chief and Heidegger. For now I need the three of you to get to the reactor entrance and head off as many as you can.”

“Ah man, do we really gotta bring Heidegger into this?” Reno complained. The line went dead, which was answer enough. He pocketed his phone and turned to his subordinates, who looked at him expectantly. That’s right, I’m in charge, kids. “Well, you heard the man. Let’s go!”

He took off and the others hurried after him.

“We don’t know how many units there are,” Shotgun said. “We’re going to be outnumbered.”

“It’s no big deal,” Reno lied. Three Turks against an unknown number of well-armed, well-trained (if their last battle was any indication) militant units was in fact a big deal. “We’re just holding them off until the cavalry arrives.”

“That’s putting a lot of faith in old horse-mouth,” Two-Guns muttered.

Reno chuckled. Maybe the kid wasn’t so bad after all.

As luck would have it, when they arrived at the reactor entrance, Rude and his rookies were already engaged in battle with more than a dozen troops swarming the gate. A helicopter flew by overhead with more troops rappelling from the sides. Reno paused for a millisecond to consider how the hell these troops and their choppers had bypassed Midgar tower control, but that would be a job for later - right now they needed to deal with the immediate problem.

Rude was having his ass handed to him and that riled Reno up enough to charge into the fray, swinging his EMR with the electricity powered up, batting left and right to clear a path to Rude and his rookies. Reno leaped into the air with a wail like a banshee and landed a spine-shattering blow against the back of the Avalanche troop assaulting Rude.

“Hey, partner, thought you could use a hand,” Reno grinned at him.

Rude laughed, wiping some sweat from his face and moving back-to-back with Reno with practiced ease. “I dunno. Think I could have handled it.”

“You’re welcome, by the way.”

“I’ll thank you if we get out of this in one piece.”

“You can count on it.”

They moved in lockstep, holding the troops off from the door with the rookies at their side. Rude would swing, Reno would duck, roll under him and go for the legs. It was almost like a dance, a certain gracefulness to their synchronized movements. As much as Reno knew he could grate on Rude’s nerves, they were a hell of a team on the field. He knew that was why Veld had paired them together, but he was more grateful for it than Veld would ever know.

“That backup could get here any time,” Rude panted, sweat dripping down his brow.

Reno’s head was back to throbbing and only the adrenaline pumping through his veins was keeping him from hurling up the contents of his stomach again. More troops must have been flooding in, because they had taken down a dozen already and still more descended upon them.

“Who are these fuckheads anyway?” Reno growled.

“Search me.” Rude grappled with one of them, caught him in a stranglehold, and wrenched his head to break his neck.

“Whoever was giving the orders called themselves Avalanche One,” Reno explained as he slammed his EMR into the side of an oncoming militant’s neck.

“Avalanche, huh? These dissidents are getting real bold.”

“Wonder if Wutai sent them.”

Rude nodded. “Hard to tell where Wutai ends and these offshoots begin sometimes.”

“One hell of a mess,” Reno agreed.

The backup arrived in the form of a few third-class SOLDIERS and a few dozen security officers, which wasn’t the best possible option, but considering how thin the ranks were in SOLDIER those days, the Turks would have to take what they could get. Around the same time that Heidegger’s men boxed the militants in, Reno’s phone rang.

“What’s the word, Chuckles?” he answered.

Tseng sighed. “Reactor cameras captured militants on the feed. Four of them.”

“What!?” Reno hissed. “How the hell did they get in?”

“Obviously, the assault on the gate was a distraction,” Tseng said it slowly, as though giving Reno time to catch up with his enormous brain.

“Okay, thanks for the explanation,” Reno growled.

“I need you to get inside and stop them. We believe they’re planning to plant explosives at the reactor core.”

“Ah, fuck. All right. We’re on it.”

“What did Tseng say?” Rude asked.

Reno answered as they doubled back out of the fray with the rookies, allowing the SOLDIERS to swoop in and clean house.

“We need to get inside. This was a distraction. They’re going to plant a bomb. Look, we’ll go in through the east side of the reactor and you and your rookies go in through the west side. That’ll flush them out one way or another.”

“Good thinking, partner,” Rude grinned at him and Reno could have killed him for it.

He didn’t have time to dwell on it, though. They made their way into the reactor, slowing their pace and creeping along the ramparts into the belly of beast.

“Now keep quiet and keep your eyes peeled for any of those dipshits in camo,” Reno whispered.

To their credit, Shotgun and Two-Guns both followed his lead, tip-toeing along the sky walks, looking for any signs of the militants. The closer they got to the core, the stronger the acrid smell of mako became. Reno hated the stench of it; it reminded him of the SOLDIER initiation, listening to those hopeless, foolhardy kids scream as it ate at their skin and tore through their insides.

He shook the thought from his head. Thank fuck he wasn’t a SOLDIER.

The militants were getting ready to plant the explosives when Reno spotted them stationed on a platform suspended above a sea of churning mako. One of the militants was messing with the reactor controls while the other dug the explosives out of a bag. The third man seemed to be the leader. He wore the same drab beige attire, with a green bandanna over his head, directing the two men and glancing around periodically for any sign of trouble.

“Follow my lead,” Reno said, then he launched himself from the sky walk and landed gracefully just behind the militants.

The leader whirled around to face him. “Turks,” he spat. “Not surprised.”

“You put on a hell of a show out there,” Reno said, clapping his hands condescendingly.

The leader took up a defensive stance, holding his fists forward. “Don’t stop planting that bomb,” he called back to his subordinates.

Reno nodded at the other two militants, “Go take care of that, will ya?” Shotgun and Two-Guns rushed forward and Reno leaped in the way before the militant leader could pursue them. “Uh-uhn,” he chided. “Just you and me, buddy.”

“Have it your way then, Shinra cocksucker,” he spat at the ground.

“Oo, I like that better than lapdog,” Reno laughed and launched himself at the man.

Reno prided himself on his speed. Helped along by a constant supply of haste materia, Reno was far and away the fastest member of the Turks, even on a bad day. He could run circles around his colleagues - something Rude marveled at when Reno’s diet consisted primarily of cigarettes and alcohol. Point being, Reno was damn fast.

This militant fucker was matching him step for step. He must have been using haste materia too. There was no other explanation for his speed. Every time Reno tried to rush behind him, the militant leader blocked him with ease. It took Reno a good five minutes just to land a blow, and in return, the leader gripped his active EMR like it was fucking nothing, tossing it to the side and bull-rushing Reno.

Before he even knew what was happening, Reno was flat on his back with a fist rapidly approaching his face. He tried to roll, but the militant’s other arm was blocking him. The punch landed square in the side of his cheek and his vision went black, though he was sure he could still hear the chaos happening around him.

“Avalanche one, come in. Orders to withdraw in place. Prime target is in Junon. Repeat prime target is in Junon. This order supersedes all previous orders.”

Reno wasn’t sure how long he was out before he awoke to Shotgun and Two-Guns standing over him. His head was throbbing and his rookies looked as beat up as he felt: Shotgun had a fat lip and Two-Guns was sporting a black eye.

“What the hell happened?” Reno asked. Outside of a sparring match with his trainers, it was the first time he had ever lost a fight since he became a Turk. He rubbed his swollen cheek and struggled to sit up.

“We stopped them from detonating the explosives,” Shotgun explained. “But their leader was too fast and too strong. He overpowered us and fled on new orders. It sounds like they’re moving in on Junon.”

“Fuck me,” Reno moaned. “Shotgun, figure out where the hell Rude and his team went.” He ordered while he fished his phone from his pocket. “Yo, Tseng.”

An audible sigh, “What’s your status, Reno?”

“We ran into some big trouble in the reactor, but we stopped the detonation. Look, these freaks are calling themselves Avalanche and they’re pulling out to head for Junon. You know anything about Junon?”

“The President is holding a press conference in Junon,” Tseng said, an audible note of concern in his voice. “Reno are you able to carry out another assignment or should I send in a replacement?”

With some effort, Reno pulled himself to his feet. “I can handle it. I’ll bring the rookies with me.”

“I’m sending an express helicopter now. You’ll be on the President’s detail until he returns safely to Shinra Tower.”

“Not a problem.”

Reno would just love a rematch with that smug Avalanche asshole.

Tseng found himself in the executive conference room with Veld, Heidegger, Lazard, Sephiroth, Zack, and Rufus Shinra. With the President in Junon for a press conference - a conference, Tseng noted with no small joy, he had conspicuously excluded Rufus from - this was the contingent left behind to address the sudden emergence of a very serious terrorist threat.

For as often as Reno irritated Tseng and flaunted his insubordination, Tseng had to admit he was handling this situation remarkably well. There was a reason he had become a Turk in the first place, after all.

“So tell me,” Rufus drawled from the head of the table where his father usually sat, “how is it that six unmarked helicopters made it past Midgar Tower Control and deployed…how many troops was it again, Veld?”

“Four dozen, sir,” Veld answered diplomatically.

“Four dozen troops onto the streets of Sector Eight.” Rufus smirked - that irritating self-righteous little prick - and continued, “Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t it the job of the Public Safety department to keep the public safe?” Heidegger was the head of their department, but he directed the question squarely at Veld.

Heidegger did not step in for Veld.

“That is correct, sir,” Veld answered. “However the Turks are not responsible for air traffic control-”

“Your men were on the ground patrolling the sector, weren’t they?” Rufus demanded.

“My men are the only reason that the Sector Eight reactor still stands,” said Veld, the faintest hint of an edge to his voice.

“No one’s pointing fingers,” Lazard offered, which earned him a look of pure fury from Rufus.

“On the contrary,” Rufus interjected. “I’m pointing my finger squarely where the blame lies.”

Heidegger’s phone rang and Rufus glared at him. Was this what it would be like when Rufus inevitably took over? Tseng understood perfectly well what Rufus was getting at. It was disconcerting that any helicopter had made it past air traffic control, let alone six of them. That, coupled with Reno’s reports that the dissident weapons resembled Shinra schematics raised concern for a mole in the ranks. Rufus was trying to weed that out - he obviously suspected a Turk, but he was letting his bias cloud his judgment. Not that Tseng himself would rule out the Turks completely, but he was far more suspicious of one of Heidegger’s men. After all, more than half of SOLDIER recently defected, who was to say some of them hadn’t stayed behind to funnel company secrets out?

Maybe this was tied to Rhapsodos and Hewley somehow.

Heidegger dabbed at his sweaty forehead with a handkerchief. “It’s your father, sir.”

Rufus rolled his eyes. “Well answer it.”

“Sir.” Heidegger answered his phone and the rest of the group waited in tense silence while he conversed with the president.

Sephiroth was still as a statue, face completely blank, staring unseeing at the wall. If Tseng hadn’t seen him so emotional the last time they met, he would have believed the rumors that he was a Shinra robot programmed to do nothing but kill. It was a stark contrast to Zack seated by his side, tapping his foot against the floor and watching the scene play out with the eager face of a curious puppy.

It should have annoyed Tseng, but there was something infuriatingly endearing about the boy.

“Understood, sir. Right away.” Heidegger hung up the phone, his normally ruddy face noticeably paler. “The President has been shot.”

There was a chorus of startled exclamations. It didn’t escape Tseng’s notice that Rufus was the only one who maintained a neutral expression at the news.

“He’s being attended to. Nothing fatal,” Heidegger explained, clearing his throat and regaining some of his color. “One of the dissidents managed to reach his quarters while the Turks on his detail were otherwise occupied.” He flashed a dangerous look at Veld and then Rufus went for the throat.

“You realize, of course, how poorly this reflects on your team, Veld. Your men were assigned to protect my father and they left him alone?”

“I’m sure the-” Veld began to defend himself, but Rufus cut him off.

“I don’t want to hear excuses. I want answers.”

Tseng bristled and did his best to maintain his composure as Rufus glowered directly at him.

“Sir, if I may,” Heidegger said. “The dissidents have rerouted their attack to the Sister Ray. According to your father, he asked the Turks to leave him in his secured quarters to deal with the new situation.”

Rufus’ face visibly fell at this news. “And what do they want with the Sister Ray?” Rufus demanded.

“That information was unclear,” Heidegger explained. He turned his attention to Veld, brow furrowing. “Get your men on the line right now and figure out what the hell they’re doing. If they aren’t single-handedly stopping those dissidents from taking control of the mako cannon then I want to know why the hell they thought leaving the President unsecured was acceptable, even on his orders.”

Heidegger was obsequious to whoever held the most power in the room and condescending to everyone else.

While Veld got Reno on the phone, Heidegger began barking orders at Lazard to get Sephiroth deployed on an express helicopter immediately. Zack, who had just recently been promoted to first, piped in asking if his assistance would be needed.

“You’ll go when we give you the order to go,” Heidegger snapped.

Zack’s face fell and Tseng felt a little pang of sadness for him. He was just so naive about the way Shinra operated and until now he had never been in an executive meeting like this.

Lazard stood up and pushed his chair in. “Come with me, Sephiroth.”

“Of course, sir.” Sephiroth bowed his head and followed Lazard out of the room.

Veld hung up with Reno and addressed the remainder of the group. “Reno reports that he and the others are in the process of infiltrating the Sister Ray. Avalanche intends to redirect its course toward Midgar. Understandably, it would cause a catastrophic explosion if they are to succeed. Recognizing the power of the mako cannon, I assume the President made the decision to prioritize his city over his own well-being.”

“I’ll hear the words directly from my father’s mouth over your…assumptions,” Rufus said. “I want a full report on this situation on my desk immediately. And I’d like to conduct a thorough interrogation of your team after this affair.”

Who would conduct the interrogation for him? SOLDIER? They did carry out interrogations on occasion when brute strength was the only means of getting anything out of a prisoner, but they would never be successful interrogating a Turk. Turks were the ones who did such dirty work for Rufus’ father. What did he think he was going to get out of them?

“Whatever you deem necessary, sir,” Veld answered, surely thinking exactly what Tseng was.

Rufus waved his hand. “Then get out of my sight and get it done.” Veld, Tseng, and Zack stood up, but Heidegger remained in his chair near the head of the table. When he failed to move, Rufus huffed loudly, “That means you too, Heidegger.”

Heidegger’s grumble escaped no one’s notice as he pushed past the rest of them to be the first out the door.

Zack audibly exhaled when the conference room door closed behind them. “Are all the executive meetings like that?” He asked Tseng.

“That one was particularly difficult.”

“The vice president seems really riled up about his dad.”

Tseng didn’t think so. He was riled up about a potential mole within the company, certainly, but it was clear his priorities were with Shinra Inc, not his father. His reaction to the news that his father had been shot was bland, verging on irritation when Heidegger announced the injury wasn’t fatal.

Zack parted ways with them on the forty-ninth floor and Veld and Tseng rode the rest of the way down to Turks headquarters. Without speaking, Veld indicated for Tseng to follow him to his office, which he readily did. If a debriefing was in order, Tseng was all too happy to comply. It had been a strange day, turning into a nightmare now that Rufus Shinra had directed all of his ire squarely at the Turks.

Inside Veld’s office, he spoke before Tseng could even take a seat.

“I agree with the vice president that there is undoubtedly a mole - possibly even several - somewhere within the ranks of Shinra. What I do not agree with is that the issue lies in our department, and I’d like to think that isn’t just a personal bias.”

Tseng nodded. “I agree, sir.”

“I’m putting you on a top secret mission, Tseng,” Veld said, his face deadly serious. “I want you to root out just who this mole is. Someone is providing these people with Shinra weapon’s schematics, and I have a feeling if we check with air traffic control, those helicopters were able to identify themselves as Shinra to bypass security.”

“Of course, sir. I’ll begin my investigation right away.”

“Tseng, let me make myself clear. No one is off limits. This kind of access suggests someone high ranking. If you want my own opinion on the matter, I would start with a thorough investigation of Lazard Deusericus. I’ll send you his files.”

Tseng felt stricken. Lazard? His immediate reaction was denial. Lazard was so friendly, so jovial. But wasn’t that antithetical to the behavior of every other Shinra executive? He could understand why Veld would suspect him, even if Tseng didn’t want to consider it himself.

In answer, he nodded solemnly. “No one is off limits. Understood, sir.”

Chapter Text

The time had come for Tseng’s monthly check-in with Aerith, but as of late, he had been so overwhelmed with work that he nearly forgot entirely about his longest-running assignment. Between missions, he was saddled with so many additional assignments that he was lucky if he was getting four hours of sleep a night, which left him running on coffee and haste materia in an effort to stay awake some days. More than once he had passed out in his office without meaning to.

In the aftermath of Avalanche’s shockingly successful assault on Midgar, Tseng had spent all of his free time over the last two months poring over files provided to him by Veld, struggling to piece apart who among them might be potentially assisting the dissident group. Veld’s number one suspect was Lazard, with concerns that perhaps the ongoing situation with Rhapsodos and Hewley could be related to the Avalanche attacks: a systematic attempt to bring Shinra to its knees. Tseng didn’t want to believe that Lazard could be capable of betraying the company in such a manner, but as a Turk he knew exactly how many people wore convincing facades in their day-to-day life. Reading his file, Tseng understood why Veld was suspicious. In addition to his ties to Rhapsodos and Hewley, he had been raised in the slums in an area of Sector 4 well-known for harboring anti-Shinra extremists.

And then there was confirmation of what Tseng already suspected: Lazard Deusericus was the bastard child of President Shinra and a former secretary. She was paid out neatly for the egregious crime of becoming pregnant, then sent away to find work elsewhere.

The only small solace was that as of the day before, the President was in Wutai for peace negotiations - at least the war would be coming to an end, which meant one less mess for the Turks to deal with when they were already stretched thin.

Tseng awoke to his alarm blaring in his ear to find himself passed out face down on his bed with his tablet in one hand and his phone in the other. He didn’t recall falling asleep and had no clue how long he had slept, except that it was most certainly not long enough to make up for his enormous and continually mounting sleep debt. Maomao, who had grown quite large since he first brought her home - and for whom he hadn’t thought of a better name - lay curled up on his back between his shoulder blades purring loudly in his ear.

Propping himself up just enough to look at his phone without knocking the cat off of his back, Tseng quickly scanned his e-mail to find thirty new messages since whatever time he had fallen asleep. He imagined this was just a small taste of what it was like to be the chief. How did Veld do it? He never seemed to waver, though he did often look exhausted.

A few of the messages were company-wide announcements from HR, which Tseng ignored. Another was from Rufus Shinra addressed to Veld with Heidegger, the President, Lazard, and Tseng copied: “I expect a status report on Avalanche on my desk by noon.”

Tseng could think of a different place he’d like to put that status report.

Most importantly, there was a message from Veld with a note marked ‘High Importance’ and a subject line that read: ‘NEW ASSIGNMENT’.

Tseng sighed as he opened it. Like he didn’t already have enough on his plate? Of course, he wasn’t going to complain. After all, what was his job if not his life?

The assignment detailed within was a request to scout the abandoned mako reactor at Modeoheim on the Northern Continent due to reported sightings of Genesis Rhapsodos and Angeal Hewley. Another assignment Sephiroth refused, though it seemed he had been brought along to Wutai for the peace negotiations as reassurance and was otherwise preoccupied.

The trouble with Rhapsodos never ended. Just a few weeks after Avalanche launched their assault on the Sector Eight reactor, Rhapsodos or his clones, Tseng wasn’t quite sure, managed to break into Shinra Tower to aid Professor Hollander in lifting important scientific documents from the research and development department. Tseng had been on a mission south of the Mythril Mines and missed the entire affair, but Reno and Cissnei had recounted the story to him with excited gestures.

Cissnei was professional and easy to work with, but when she was in a room with Reno it was like setting loose a bull in a porcelain shop. They behaved like siblings, bickering almost constantly except when it came time to band together to achieve a common goal, in which case they got along to a degree that unnerved Tseng. Reno would complain that Cissnei was ‘kind of creepy’ when she wasn’t around, just to work alongside her to pull a prank on one of their fellow colleagues (usually Emma). Perhaps they got along because Reno was childish and Cissnei was a child. Either way, listening to them regale him with the story of Hollander’s second escape from Shinra Tower left Tseng exhausted.

Once Tseng caught up on his e-mail, he was forced to get up, carefully shifting his shoulders to try and detach Maomao from his back, though she clung onto him with her claws at the last minute and scratched his skin. In his absence, she curled up on his pillow and gave him a contemptuous look.

“I’m sorry,” he sighed. “I can’t be your cat bed all day.”

She meowed loudly and continued to stare at him. She was the only creature in the world that could make him feel guilty with just a look.

Tseng had to hurry to get ready, pulling on his suit, scarfing down a protein shake, feeding the cat, and running out the door to catch the train down into the Sector Five slums. He wouldn’t have much time to spend checking in on Aerith - Veld’s message had been clear to rendezvous with Zack and Lazard as soon as possible, no later than noon. While he sat on the train chugging a coffee he picked up at the station, he sent Veld his updated report on Avalanche and briefly pondered if he could get away with the first letter of every row of the report spelling out ‘FUCK YOU VP’ but it was more effort than it was worth.

A light drizzle picked up, but disappeared as the train descended below the cover of the plate. That was one benefit of plate-cover, not that it outweighed the many negatives. The trek through Sector Five was second-nature after so many years of monthly trips to check on Aerith, and Tseng knew she would likely be tending the flowers in the abandoned church at the edge of the Sector. He didn’t mind an excuse to bypass an interaction with Elmyra, who never really backed down from the confrontational nature she had at their first meeting. Her gun was always visibly on display whenever Tseng stopped by.

It was too bad, really. Tseng liked Elmyra, even though he knew she hated him. He knew one day it might come down to an actual fight between them and he also knew she would die before she let Shinra take Aerith. He wasn’t keen to be the hand by which she died, but he wouldn’t pass the task to anyone else.

As Tseng suspected, he found Aerith leaning over the flowers in her church, but he stopped just inside the doorway at the unexpected presence of a second figure - a familiar one at that.

“Zack?” Tseng asked.

Both Zack and Aerith looked up from their place near the altar at the front of the church.

“Tseng? What are you doing down here?”

“I could ask you the same question.” Tseng walked down the aisle and stood by the edge of a crumbling pew. “Did you not receive the message from your supervisor? We have a new assignment.”

Aerith looked between the two of them with a deepening frown. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you two know each other.”

“Know each other?” Zack beamed, smacking Tseng’s back with so much force that he stumbled forward - this made Aerith giggle. “We’re buddies. Right, Tseng?”

“Er-” Tseng straightened himself up and adjusted his tie.

“Well, you know how he is,” said Zack, covering the side of his mouth as though this somehow shielded Tseng from hearing him. Aerith nodded very seriously and the two of them burst into a fit of giggles.

“How do you two know each other?” Tseng demanded.

“Hey, how did you know I’d be down here anyway?” Zack asked, ignoring Tseng’s question entirely.

Tseng sighed and looked between the two teenagers in front of him feeling for all the world like a glorified babysitter. Aerith fixed him with a pleading look, brows furrowed, and he understood what she was asking of him. Zack didn’t know who, or what, she was and she wanted to keep it that way. Could he really blame her? She wanted a normal life, but she would never have that.

“Answer my question first,” Tseng said.

“I fell through the roof after that last assignment chasing down Hol-er…you know who,” Zack explained, pointing to a large hole in the ceiling. “Aerith was here and she made sure I was okay. We chatted for a while and then she took me back to her house to have dinner with her and her mom. So now when I have time between missions sometimes I come down here and help Aerith with the flowers. Hey! How do you know Aerith?” He folded his arms and frowned at Tseng.

“She’s a potential SOLDIER candidate,” said Tseng without affect. Aerith covered her mouth as she fought back another giggle.

“Wha…?” Zack gave Tseng an incredulous look, but as his gaze moved to Aerith, he shook his head. “You’re pulling my leg.” He smacked Tseng’s shoulder. “You really are funny, man.”

Tseng pursed his lips. “I’m not. As much as I’d love to continue chatting. We need to get back to headquarters.” Tseng checked his watch. They still had a few hours before the noon deadline, but the sooner they saw this mission through, the better. He was sick of dealing with SOLDIERS and the mess they were making.

Zack’s shoulders slumped. “Okay, okay.” He grabbed Aerith’s hands and her cheeks flushed and it suddenly struck Tseng that this was more than two teenagers bonding with one another after a chance meeting. He took a few steps back to allow them some privacy in saying their goodbyes. “I’ll come visit as soon as I’m back from my mission, okay?”

“Only if you want to,” Aerith said.

“Of course I want to. I want to spend as much time with you as I can.”

It would have been sweet if Tseng didn’t know what the logical conclusion to the situation was. It was puppy love at best, and even puppy love between two normal children didn’t last. But neither Zack nor Aerith was a normal teenager. Zack was a SOLDIER, property of Shinra until he either outlived his usefulness or died on the field, and Aerith would one day have to return to Shinra Tower as well. If anyone at headquarters found out about the two of them, even as innocent as it seemed, there would be consequences.

Who was Tseng to get in the way of it? Better to let it fizzle out on its own, as such infatuation did. When Zack was older and a little less naive, he would understand that he could never have a sense of normalcy with Aerith.

Zack and Aerith hugged goodbye and Zack bounded down the aisle to meet Tseng, beaming from ear to ear. It was that bubbly canine disposition that stayed Tseng’s hand. Perhaps Maomao wasn’t the only creature who could guilt-trip him after all.

Rude sat at the table in the Turks’ conference room listening with mounting irritation as Reno tapped his fingers rhythmically against the tabletop. The entire department had been called to a meeting, undoubtedly to address the clusterfuck that was current affairs. In the span of a few months, SOLDIER had lost half its men and started a miniature war against Shinra and a new and very serious threat had arisen in the form of the most formidable anti-Shinra dissident group on the scene: Avalanche. All of this had turned the Turks from a group of trained spies and assassins to fill-in brute-force labor. All of Rude and Reno’s missions lately revolved around Avalanche or SOLDIER.

The most recent incident in a long string of issues surrounding the two crises (three if the war was counted) had been a break-in at Shinra headquarters that resulted in a chase through the upper plate to try and apprehend Professor Hollander, who, after making the monumentally stupid mistake to defect from Shinra, had made the even dumber mistake to return in an effort to steal valuable Shinra documents.

Rude was sick of the whole thing, frankly. It was exhausting. He missed missions that entailed real honest-to-Gods espionage. All he had done for the last few months was knock heads together and occasionally have his ass handed to him.

Veld entered the conference room five minutes after the meeting start time and took a seat at the head of the table. “Good, it looks like we’re all here. Tseng is on assignment in relation to the Rhapsodos situation and Balto is on the President’s detail in Wutai, but we have a new assignment for the rest of the group.” Veld observed his employees with a frown. “Before anyone thinks about complaining, please know this order came down from the President himself. I know we’ve been going through a…difficult time with the emergence of so many new threats, but this is part of what it means to be a Turk.”

Beside Rude, Reno muttered beneath his breath, “Shoot me now.”

They would, if he complained too much.

“Before I get to the assignment, I wanted to share a bit of positive news. The President is in Wutai right now working on a ceasefire treaty with Godo Kisaragi. If all goes according to plan, the war in Wutai will be at an end and that will be one less issue on our hands. The negotiations should allow for permanently increased Shinra military presence in Wutai, which we hope will dissuade any dissident groups that have been spurred to action in the wake of Avalanche’s success.”

And it was a success. Rude and Reno had been battered and bruised by their first encounter with the group during their siege on the Sector Eight reactor. Reno’s subsequent shakedown in Junon had not gone much better. Not only was Avalanche making the Turks look bad, but it had the vice president breathing down their neck about their failure to do their jobs.

Gods, Rude hated Rufus Shinra.

“The news reports about the peace treaty should be issued tomorrow,” Veld explained. “Barring any need for our assistance, we will all be updated at the same time as every other Shinra employee. Now, to the issue at hand. As you all are well aware, between the ongoing situation with Rhapsodos and Hewley and the war, SOLDIERS numbers are at a record low. Director Deusericus and the President have asked for the Turks assistance in recruiting new members to the department.”

A hushed whisper rippled across the table at this. They all knew exactly what a SOLDIER had to endure to move on to basic training. Personally, Rude wanted no part in convincing innocent people to join up when the likelihood they would survive the initiation was less than ten percent.

“I understand your hesitation,” Veld continued. “However, as with all of our assignments, we must carry out the request without complaint. Director Deusericus has put added emphasis on targeting potential recruits with the…appropriate qualities to endure the initiation procedure. We’ll be sending out three units - two inland units and a coastal unit - to scour cities for recruits. The President has promised an incentive of a monetary bonus to the team who brings in the most recruits.”

No one at the table seemed all that motivated by the potential bonus. Turks were well paid precisely because of what they did for Shinra. A few thousand extra gil hardly seemed worth condemning hopeful Shinra-fanatics to a painful death - or a lifetime of servitude if they survived.

Rude was thankful literally every day that he had been provided the opportunity to join the Turks, rather than SOLDIER.

“Sir, what do we do if they don’t want to come with us?” One of the rookies asked.

“Shouldn’t it be obvious?” Emma snapped. “If someone’s a good match, they come whether they want to or not.”

Veld nodded solemnly. “Unfortunately that is the case.”

He looked down at his tablet with a sigh and began to read out the assignments. Reno, Rude, Cissnei, Shotgun, and Two-Guns were being assigned to the coastal unit.

“Sweet deal,” said Reno, “We can sit out on the ship deck and sunbathe in between stops.”

“Awfully cavalier attitude, Reno,” Cissnei said.

“Awfully big word there, Cissy,” Reno bit back.

Rude groaned. It was going to be a very long assignment.

Apart from a few missteps, Rufus’ decision to fund an anti-Shinra extremist eco-terrorist group was going swimmingly. Providing money and city schematics had successfully befuddled his father’s lapdogs enough for an opportunity to strike at Junon during his father’s press conference. How the hell the Avalanche operative failed to lethally shoot the President when he had a moment alone with him was beyond Rufus, but it at least proved to him that Avalanche was capable of killing the President at some point. He had admittedly been angry, bordering on furious with the failure, but it was easy to pass off that ferocity as irritation with the Turks’ failure to protect his father.

He was going to kill two birds with one stone.

The Turks had no clue that it was Rufus funding the group and he was confident he could continue to hide it from them. Looking through their files, it was clear where they were currently directing their efforts and if Rufus could pin the blame on his bastard half brother, all the better.

Rufus had not seen Elfe since their first meeting, but he spoke often with her and her two co-conspirators: a man named Fuhito who seemed to be the brains of the operation and a man named Shears whose strongest personality trait was an unwavering loyalty to Elfe. Every week they shared a conference call in which Rufus doled out money and information and in turn they did his bidding, because at that particular moment in time his bidding happened to be tearing Shinra apart from the inside out and claiming the remains as his rightful inheritance. In a way, Rufus’ relationship with Avalanche wasn’t so different from his father’s relationship to the Turks - so that’s how he began to think of them: his Turks.

He wasn’t stupid enough, however, to think that their loyalty went any further than his wallet.

“The Turks are on the move again,” Rufus explained to Elfe. “They’re scouting SOLDIERS. Their success means more brute strength to fight back against your people, so I hope you can appreciate the importance of cutting them off at the pass.”

“You don’t have to convince me,” said Elfe. “If I can kill a Turk and keep an innocent person from being experimented on by those freaks in labcoats then I will. Where are they headed? I’ll have our troops sent out as soon as possible.”

“I’ll send you the route they’re taking. There’s three teams, but considering how substantial your little army has grown thanks to me, it shouldn’t be a problem, should it?” Rufus asked.

“And what of the files you promised us?” Fuhito interrupted.

“What of them? I’m funding you. I’m providing you valuable inside information. You’ll get the files when I’m ready to hand them over.”

Fuhito had requested archived files from Hojo’s laboratory, highly restricted. So highly restricted, in fact, that they were kept under lock and key in Veld’s office. There were only two people at Shinra allowed to request them: Hojo and the President. This meant Rufus needed to find a way to break into Veld’s office and get his hands on the files, which was a big risk for a group he was only using to try and make his father look like a weak idiot before he killed him.

“Those files would be our biggest weapon against Shinra,” Fuhito protested.

Elfe said something to him that Rufus couldn’t pick up, then she addressed the group at large, “We’ll focus on the Turks,” she said. “Send us their routes. And the agreed upon money. You know, Mr. Shinra, you really should come see our base in person some time. I think you’d be impressed with what we’ve done with your gil.”

Rufus smirked. He wouldn’t mind another run-in with Elfe, but he wasn’t planning on flying himself out to Wutai anytime soon, even with an impending peace treaty.

“I’ll keep it under consideration. I’m sending you the route information now.” He hung up without another word, sent the information, and stepped out of his office.

If he was going to get the files for Fuhito, now was a better time than any. All of the Turks had been sent out a day earlier to scout SOLDIERS and the few who remained would undoubtedly be home in bed. It was nearly three in the morning and while the Shinra building never truly slept, it was the quietest it would be.

Rufus had been given access to Turks’ headquarters - something normally only afforded to the President himself - in order to oversee their investigation of the mole and ‘ensure they were thoroughly vetted themselves’. It was a fun game to play, pretending and implying that perhaps Veld was the one to blame for the information leak, knowing all the while that it was Rufus himself who was leading the coup.

The Turks made their home down in the basement, their floor overlooking the slums from high above, close to the very underside of the plate. It was a dismal view, all those dilapidated buildings and dead earth. Rufus had the fleeting thought that his father could benefit from such a view - when was the last time the President descended below the plate? Not that Rufus could really blame him: it wasn’t a pleasant sight.

Rufus crept down the hallway around to a set of doors on the exterior wall. He knew one of them belonged to Veld and one was the executive office, but he couldn’t recall which. He scanned his identification card against the first door and it chirped affirmatively, allowing him access within.

He slid inside as quietly as he could, turning around to observe the office only to find, to his immense irritation, Tseng of all people seated at one of the desks staring at him with a look of shock. His arm was in a sling and one of his legs was wrapped in a cast, which was fine by Rufus. This evened the odds, since Rufus knew he couldn’t take Tseng on his own when he was at full strength.

“What are you doing here?” Tseng balked.

“What, no ‘sir’?” Rufus laughed. Tseng’s brow furrowed. “The President gave me access to this area in order to carry out my investigation. What are you doing here so late? Some people might start to get suspicious about behavior like that.”

“Forgive me, sir,” Tseng bit back, “I didn’t know it was a crime to work late.”

Of course he was working late. It would only figure that of all the Turks still hanging around, Rufus would run into Tseng, his glorified babysitter. Their relationship was contentious at best: Rufus knew Tseng disliked him (he had made that abundantly clear some years earlier when he called him a ‘cunt’) and Tseng knew Rufus hated the Turks. In fact, Tseng was really the only Turk with whom Rufus had been overly vocal about his distaste for the group.

According to the Turks’ files, Tseng was also the one in charge of uncovering the mole.

“What happened to your arm and leg?” Rufus asked.

“I was injured on my last mission.” He settled back into his chair, but continued to watch Rufus like a hawk. “If you’re here to carry out a search for your investigation, then be my guest.”

Rufus glowered at him. “I was looking for Veld’s office.”

“At three in the morning?” Tseng asked. “Some people might start to get suspicious about behavior like that.”

“Look at you,” Rufus smirked. “Not the same obsequious little lapdog you were when we first met, are you?”

Tseng said nothing, but he met Rufus’ gaze with a dark and disconcerting ferocity. There was a fire in his eyes and Rufus enjoyed playing with fire. He crossed the office and stood in front of Tseng, leaning over his chair and invading his space with a practiced ease, deriving a twisted pleasure from the way Tseng tensed at his presence.

“Let me be perfectly clear,” Rufus said. “No one is off limits from my investigation. That includes you and your precious leader.”

Rufus was subsequently taken by complete surprise when he found himself knocked flat on his ass with Tseng’s knee on his chest. There were no cameras here, no backup to protect him, and for a fleeting moment Rufus was genuinely frightened. Tseng was more than capable of breaking his neck and disposing of his body without a trace.

Tseng gripped Rufus’ hair at the base of his skull and yanked, which generated some very conflicting reactions inside Rufus’ body. He didn’t know Veld’s most loyal man was capable of anything besides hunching his shoulders and saying ‘yes sir, of course sir’.

“Let me be perfectly clear,” Tseng said, clenching his jaw. “No one is off limits from my investigation. That includes you, Mr. Vice President.”

If Rufus were not so acutely aware of his predicament he might have found it just a little arousing. Instead, a fire was burning in his chest. Tseng had managed to knock him on his ass, but with two broken limbs he couldn’t realistically put up a fight. Rufus pushed him away and he backed off, resuming his seat at his desk and glaring at Rufus.

“I guess we’ll both have to be wary,” said Rufus, clambering back to his feet and brushing himself off.

“I guess so.”

There was no point in pursuing the files now. Rufus stood by the door and gave Tseng one final frown for good measure. “Watch your back, Turk.”

Only when he reached the elevator did Rufus breathe a sigh of relief and allow his body to react fully to the run-in, the rush of adrenaline from the encounter making his limbs quiver. Next time he decided to snoop around Turks’ headquarters, he would be sure to bring his shotgun.

Rude had never been on a boat in his life. Or a ship. Or any sort of sea-faring vessel. As a result, he very quickly learned that his body didn’t enjoy being out to sea. In the twenty-four hours since his group left Junon on a Shinra frigate, Rude had spent most of that time leaning over the gunwale of the ship emptying the contents of his stomach.

It was safe to say he wasn’t having a good time.

Reno seemed disconcerted by the constant motion of the ship, but so far he hadn’t been ill. Cissnei and the two rookies had no trouble at all.

How was Rude supposed to do his job when he couldn’t stand up straight without immediately bending over to vomit?

“Ah, man you’re still sick?” Reno found him above deck their first night out to sea. He sidled up alongside of him, clutching at the gunwale and peering cautiously over the side. “Long drop, huh?”

Rude groaned and pressed the side of his face against the cool steel of the side railing.

“Sorry you’re having such a lousy time, partner,” Reno offered.

Rude choked down a bit of bile and tried to focus on anything besides the rocking of the ship. To his surprise, Reno placed his palm flat against his back and gently rubbed.

“I dunno if this actually helps, but Madam S used to do it when I had an upset stomach.”

That was the thing about Reno that prevented Rude from completely losing his cool with him at times. He could be so infuriatingly cavalier, absent-minded outside of missions, and delinquent on their paperwork to no end. He was a loud-mouth who chain-smoked and drank sometimes to excess and yet, he was also so unwaveringly loyal that not once did Rude ever have to question if he could trust his partner. He would go out of his way to do something kind and then pretend it meant nothing, or that he didn’t know what Rude was talking about when Rude brought it up. But Rude had seen him offer money to beggars on the plate, and now he was standing next to Rude trying to make him feel better in the only way he knew how.

“Thanks, Reno,” Rude struggled to smile against the nausea. “It does help.”

“The good news is, we should docking in like an hour.”

While Rude was certain he would collapse as soon as his feet touched solid ground, he was grateful they would be off the ship soon. “Thank the Gods.”

“We should find a doctor while we’re in town,” Reno suggested. “I’ll bet there’s some medicine or materia or something that could help you with the seasickness. Man, Veld really should have figured that out during training, huh?”

Rude laughed weakly. “Might not have made the cut.”

“Nah,” Reno patted his back. “No way they would have disqualified you just for that. Shiva’s tits, though, I can’t imagine if it was just me from our class. I don’t know what I’d do without you, man.”

Rude realized then, for perhaps the first time, that he felt the same way about Reno. He couldn’t have asked for a more loyal or trustworthy partner when their lives were constantly on the line. He needed to tuck that feeling away and remember it every time Reno grated on his nerves.

As Reno promised, the ship docked in Costa del Sol just as the sun was coming up. Reno slung Rude’s arm across his shoulder and helped him off the boat, settling him down onto a bench so he could spend a few minutes adjusting. Cissnei, Shotgun, and Two-Guns followed, all hovering around him expressing varying degrees of concern.

“I should call the chief,” Cissnei said. “There’s no way you can go for weeks like this on that ship. I’ll bet he’d switch you out with one of the other teams.”

“I appreciate the concern,” Rude held his hand up, “but I’ll figure it out.”

Cissnei frowned at him, but didn’t protest. Reno and Rude had been at the bottom of the totem pole amongst the Turks for what felt like forever, but in reality had only been a few years. It was still an adjustment to have other Turks defer to their authority though.

As they sat there allowing Rude some time to recover, Cissnei’s phone rang signaling a call from Veld.

“Chief!” She answered promptly. The conversation was short with several ‘uh-huhs’ and ‘understood, sirs’ from Cissnei before she hung up. As she pocketed her phone, her brow knitted in irritation. “That was Veld. They’re transporting Zack Fair here for an ‘extended leave’. Something major happened in Modeoheim apparently. They want me to keep an eye on him because he’s a flight risk.”

Cissnei often looked far older than sixteen with her uniform on in the heat of battle, but now with an exaggerated pout on her face Rude was reminded of how young she was.

“Babysitting duty,” Reno laughed. “Sucks. You should commiserate with Tseng sometime.”

“Well, anyway,” Cissnei said, ignoring him, “They won’t be here for a few hours, so we have some time to scout.”

“Yeah, yeah why don’t we grab breakfast first?” Reno asked.

Food was the last thing on Rude’s mind, but he wouldn’t mind sitting for a while longer, so he echoed Reno’s sentiment. “It’s barely dawn. Our best shot to scout out recruits is going to be in the evening at the bars. There are a lot of underground fighting rings in Costa. Those won’t be operating until later.”

Cissnei looked a bit put out that she would miss the entire recruiting mission to stick around keeping watch over a SOLDIER - one that could easily overpower a Turk if it came to it. Rude couldn’t blame her, but he also would have traded spots with her in a heartbeat if it meant never stepping foot on that damned ship again.

The rookies weren’t about to protest their superiors’ plans, so the five of them made their way to a little greasy spoon diner overlooking the sea. It was just as their food arrived that Shotgun pointed out the window at a ship unloading a number of sailors at the docks and said,

“Wait a minute…don’t those uniforms look familiar?”

Rude and Reno followed her gaze and Rude’s heart sank as Reno groaned and said,

“Fucking Avalanche.”

Chapter Text

When it rained, it fucking poured. This was an age old adage Reno had never taken much stock in before, but the last few months had been ample evidence for its truth. They had run into Avalanche no fewer than three times on their journey along the coast as they attempted to round up SOLDIER candidates - enough times that it was suspicious, but not enough times to definitively prove the existence of the mole Rufus Shinra (and now the President) kept harping on about. In addition, public interest in SOLDIER was mixed at best. The war with Wutai was over and while there were a handful of plucky young idiots eager to sign up and be the next Sephiroth, most weren’t interested now that the world was in a rare state of peace. This in turn led to a lot of…coercive behavior on the Turks part. Reno never minded a little coercion, but when the end result was an eighty percent chance of death by mako he felt more than a little bad about it. To add to all their trouble, Rude was sick the entire damn time they were on the ship - nothing touched his seasickness, not medicine, not materia, zilch.

They got back to Midgar with far fewer potential SOLDIERS in tow than they originally anticipated only to immediately get handed a report from Veld that Avalanche had bolstered their numbers and there was evidence to suggest a network of spies associated with the militants, which it was now Reno and Rude’s job to uncover, along with the rookies who had somehow become their permanent problem.

Meanwhile Cissnei got a fucking all expenses paid vacation in Costa del Sol for Gods knew how long.

Reno was fucking exhausted. One awful mission followed up by what amounted to patrols - which he had hated enough as a rookie - left him eager to go out and get drunk the minute they had a day off.

So he did, and for once he convinced Rude to come along with him, which meant a trade-off of bypassing Wall Market for the classier bars on the plate. Reno would take it if it meant a night out with Rude, which he enjoyed way more than his nights out on his own.

They should have changed out of their uniforms, but the decision was made after an excruciating day of patrols with the rookies, so instead they made straight for a bar in sector two as soon as their patrol was done. If Tseng had seen them out in their uniforms he would have undoubtedly berated them, but Reno couldn’t exactly imagine Tseng hitting the bars. He was still convinced Tseng was a sexless robot, even if Tseng himself had suggested otherwise.

Rude was always fun, but he was especially fun after a few drinks, so Reno ordered them two rounds of shots and drinks to follow and they sat for a while at the bar commiserating over the last few grueling months of work while Reno scanned the room for anyone he might be interested in going home with.

Admittedly, he would rather go home with Rude. He tried not to dwell too much on his crush, convinced himself it was just physical, but the more time that passed the more he realized it simply wasn’t true. If it were just physical, it would be like his little crush on Tseng, who was so attractive it distracted Reno during meetings - a waste of good looks if you asked him, but no one did. With Tseng though, that’s all it was. He was good looking and Reno would have taken the opportunity if it arose - it never would, Tseng was too professional even if there weren’t rules about fraternization - but Reno also wasn’t losing sleep over it.

The same could not be said about Rude. Reno liked spending time with Rude. He liked being around him. He missed him when they were apart. So much time working together had just left Reno…he hesitated to use the word lovesick, but that was sure as hell what it felt like. In fact, the longer Reno dwelled on it the more he realized Rude was the first true friend he had ever had in his life. He trusted Rude with his life which was more than he could say of almost anyone else he had ever known. The kids he ran with in the Wall Market had been fair-weather friends at best and the rest of the relationships in his life had mostly been people taking pity on him. Rude never looked at him with pity in his eyes, always put him in his place when he needed it, and was there for him after a particular rough day.

But Reno didn’t do love and he didn’t do stupid childish crushes. He needed to get the fuck over it, because it was never going to happen.

There were plenty of good-looking people in that bar and a Turk uniform, while intimidating to some, could be sexy and intriguing to most upper-crusters. Though usually Rude got more looks than Reno. And why wouldn’t he? He was damn good looking.

“See anyone good?” Rude asked, sipping his beer and looking around.

Rude almost never went home with anyone after a night out. Romance was one thing he and Reno rarely discussed together. On the few occasions they had broached the subject, Rude had made it fairly clear he was a ‘feelings’ kind of guy. Once during academy he had drunkenly told Reno he didn’t like having sex with people he didn’t know because ‘caring about someone just makes it so much better’. Reno wouldn’t really know.

“You know me,” Reno shrugged, “not too picky.”

Rude glanced sideways at him from behind his sunglasses. “You know, you could be.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Means you’re good looking,” said Rude, smacking his arm lightly. “If you just kept your big mouth shut you could probably get anybody you liked in this room.”

Reno laughed. “Those shots are already hitting you, huh partner?”

Rude rolled his eyes.

“Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you forever. Why do you always wear those sunglasses even inside?” Reno had been curious about it from day one but it was one subject he managed to keep his mouth shut about. He figured it would come up eventually, but it never had. Rude had a seemingly endless supply of the things though - anytime the glasses were broken during combat he always had a backup pair or two in his breast pocket.

Rude laughed so loudly it startled Reno. “Can’t believe it took you this long to ask. Usually you never mind sticking your nose in someone else’s business.”

“Hey, I resent that!” Reno said without conviction. He had always been a gossip, a byproduct of his youth spent eavesdropping in the Wall Market.

“I get real sensitive to the light,” Rude answered him. “Gives me migraines. So I just keep the sunglasses on and I’m fine.”

“Man, I didn’t realize that. I’m always shining my flashlight in your face as a joke on patrols!” Reno sat up in his chair and frowned deeply at Rude.

“Well, you didn’t know.”

“You coulda said something!” Reno growled, smacking his shoulder.

“Alright, alright! You know now. So stop doing it.”

Reno sighed and sipped his drink moodily. He felt really bad about it now, not that he possibly could have known. Still, Rude should have said something.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, though silence with Rude was never uncomfortable. Reno had his eyes on a guy across the room who reminded him too much of Rude. That was a line he hadn’t crossed yet, trying to sleep with someone who looked like Rude as some sort of substitute for the real thing. He knew if he made that move it would just put him in murkier water.

“Um…hey.”

Reno had been so busy watching the guy across the room that he didn’t notice the woman approaching Rude until she was at his side. She was cute, her cheeks flushing as she tucked some hair behind her ears and looked bashfully at Rude. Reno watched the scene unfold with a green heat rising in his chest.

“Hi,” said Rude, his cheeks flushing as well, though Reno wasn’t positive if it was from the attention or the alcohol.

“I don’t, uh, usually do this, but I was with my friends over there and I just couldn’t take my eyes off of you,” the woman said. “And I was wondering if, um…I could get your number?”

Reno bristled. Rude seemed surprised - for all his talk about Reno not realizing he could ‘have his pick’, Rude didn’t necessarily realize how attractive he was.

With a dopey grin, Rude sat up straight. “How about we start with names? I’m Rude.”

“Rude? What an interesting name! I’m Chelsea.”

They shook hands and Reno cleared his throat loudly, acutely aware he was being obnoxious and invasive, but a hideous jealousy was coiling tightly around his heart and he simply couldn’t help himself.

“Oh, uh, this is Reno. We work together.”

For some reason, this struck a nerve with Reno. Rude couldn’t have introduced him as his friend instead of his coworker?

“Nice to meet you both,” Chelsea nodded demurely.

“Yeah,” Reno waved his hand and suppressed a groan. “Look, I’m gonna go talk up that guy. You two have fun.”

He patted Rude’s shoulder and slunk away before he could allow his feelings to be hurt any further. It was utterly pointless of course. There was no world in which he and Rude could work together, even if Rude ever felt that way about him, so why dwell on it? Why let himself get so wound up over it? This night was supposed to be a fun diversion and now he was so irritated that he felt worse than he had when their shift ended.

It was easy enough to flirt with the man who looked too much like Rude - if he wasn’t good at anything else, Reno was good at flirting. He didn’t allow himself a glance back as he left the bar with the man, because he couldn’t bear to see Rude smiling and laughing with Chelsea. But he thought of Rude that night with his lips around the other man’s cock, thought of Rude when the stranger was pounding him into the mattress, and nearly said Rude’s name as he came.

When it was over he was left with a mixture of anger and sadness. He dressed quickly, returning to his apartment where he collapsed against the bed and mercifully fell asleep before he could dwell any longer in his thoughts.

Tseng found himself at yet another executive meeting while Rufus Shinra stared daggers at him. Ever since their confrontation in the Turks’ executive office several months prior, the already tangible tension between the two of them had been at a near breaking point. Tseng’s investigation into the mole providing information to Avalanche had been relatively fruitless, and he didn’t really suspect the vice president, but Rufus was so eager to prove the Turks were involved somehow that Tseng couldn’t help but point the finger in retaliation.

For once, the meeting wasn’t regarding Avalanche or the ongoing situation with Rhapsodos, except for the President to inquire about Professor Hollander’s status in the detention center in Junon. For the past several months, Emma had been in charge of interrogating the professor about the clone technology being used to aid Rhapsodos, as well as determining Rhapsodos’ whereabouts. Her efforts had thus far been as fruitless as Tseng’s investigation and Veld reported as much.

“What do we pay the Turks for, exactly?” Rufus drawled. “They don’t seem to be getting much of anything done.”

“Hm,” the President grunted in agreement. “I want some information by the next meeting, Veld.”

Of course, blood couldn’t be drawn from a stone, but the President and his spoiled brat of a son expected it nonetheless.

“Certainly, sir,” Veld answered obediently.

“What updates do you have for us, Director Deusericus?” The President moved on without another glance at Veld.

“The new SOLDIER candidates have begun their training and we have a handful of seconds who may qualify for a promotion to first given the proper guidance,” Lazard explained. Listening to him talk calmed Tseng’s nerves. He hadn’t seen much of Lazard lately, except at these meetings, and he missed their run-ins, even if he knew his foolish little crush would never go anywhere.

Even with the explicit knowledge of the truth, even with their striking resemblance, it was hard for Tseng to believe someone as thoughtful and kind as Lazard could be related to Rufus Shinra. His mindset wasn’t helping his investigation - Lazard was still high on their list of suspects, though Tseng hadn’t uncovered any information to implicate him beyond his ties to the slums.

“Zack Fair remains under supervision on extended leave in Costa del Sol. Sephiroth is set to accompany a group of engineers working on the construction of a new reactor west of Costa.”

“Good,” said the President, puffing on his cigar and blowing his smoke directly into Rufus’ face. Tseng had to stifle a laugh at the look of disgust on Rufus’ face. “With the war won, you should have plenty of time to divert your focus into training up as many firsts as you can muster. We need people with Sephiroth’s skill. Anti-Shinra sentiment is higher than ever now that Wutai has been defeated. Since the Turks aren’t handling this Avalanche situation as I hoped they would,” the President said this with a pointed look at Veld, “we need your manpower to quash their efforts. I’ve had enough of these disgusting insects.”

“Of course, sir,” Lazard said, bowing his head.

When the meeting was over, Rufus was the first to his feet, “Veld, may I borrow Tseng for a moment?”

Veld exchanged a look with Tseng before nodding. “If his services are needed, sir.”

Tseng fixed Rufus with a frown and stood by the edge of the table awaiting whatever stupid order he had decided to dole out. The others filed out of the room, including Veld, and then Tseng found himself alone with Rufus Shinra. This time, however, there were cameras pointing at the conference table from two directions, which Tseng knew - and he suspected Rufus had considered - meant he couldn’t put Rufus in his place as he had down in the Turks’ headquarters.

“How’s your little assignment going, Tseng?” Rufus asked with the same note of condescension he always addressed the Turks with.

“As I said in the meeting, sir, I have yet to turn up any promising leads.”

Rufus crossed the room slowly, holding Tseng’s gaze with a familiar intensity - he often looked at Tseng like that during meetings, like he wanted to eat Tseng alive and spit his bones back out. Working as a Turk often entailed Tseng putting his life on the line, but he had never encountered an opponent that unnerved him quite like Rufus Shinra did.

“No leads after months and months of investigation. You don’t seem particularly adept at your job. And yet Veld wants you to take over for him when he’s gone,” Rufus laughed. “Might not be long at this rate.”

Tseng bristled at the implication. “And what has your own investigation turned up, sir?”

Rufus moved until he was directly in front of Tseng, far too close for Tseng’s comfort. “I don’t like your tone, Turk.”

“My apologies, sir,” Tseng said, his jaw clenched tightly.

“I know that Lazard is one of your top suspects. So why is it that he hasn’t yet been interrogated?”

“We have insufficient evidence to suggest that an interrogation would yield any answers,” Tseng answered curtly.

“Hm,” Rufus gripped Tseng’s chin suddenly, his nails digging sharply into the skin until it was all Tseng could do not to wince at the pain. He held Rufus’ gaze, his eyes bright and intense and full of fury, “I’ve seen the way you look at the director during meetings. If I find out you’re protecting him from further scrutiny, there will be hell to pay.”

Tseng prided himself on controlling his emotions - that sort of stoicism, a division of personalities, was how he had survived as a Turk thus far. That Rufus had seen through him so easily, had noticed his longing gaze during meetings unnerved him for a whole host of reasons.

“If we uncover reasonable evidence to implicate the director, I won’t hesitate to bring him in,” Tseng answered, grimacing despite himself as Rufus dug his nails harder into his skin.

“Your loyalty isn’t admirable,” said Rufus with a sneer, releasing Tseng and taking a step back. “It’s disgusting.”

“And yet you benefit from it,” Tseng said, rubbing his raw skin.

“Do I? Show me where I benefit from anything the Turks have done. You follow me around like dogs, you fail to turn up anything useful regarding this entire situation. The only thing you’ve done to help Shinra recently is bring that worm Hollander in and even that was my father’s concern, not mine. I don’t benefit from your existence in the slightest, Tseng.” As he spoke, he stomped forward with such ferocity that Tseng took a step back in surprise until Rufus had backed him into the wall. “When you fail, which you will, I’ll gladly lead the mob demanding your removal. And if you don’t fail…” He looked Tseng up and down, his lip curling in disgust, “Then I’ll be all too happy to clean house when my father’s gone.”

He left with an aggravated huff.

With everything else going on: Rhapsodos, Avalanche, growing insurgency at home and abroad, Rufus Shinra was still without question the greatest and most immediate threat currently facing the Turks.

And only Tseng truly realized it.

Reno and Rude were out on patrols with the rookies yet again, which lately mostly entailed Reno and Rude going for a long walk, grabbing some coffee, and waiting for the rookies to ring in with the all clear. They were fast approaching their exams and subsequently growing more and more independent. As irritating as Reno had found both Shotgun and Two-Guns at the start, they had both grown on him considerably, though he would never admit it aloud. He secretly hoped they both passed their exams and as such had been harder and harder on them lately to beat every lesson into their brains.

He also knew it was petty, but he refused to ask Rude how his evening with Chelsea went. In fact, he knew he was being standoffish, bristling at Rude’s questions, but he couldn’t help the jealousy now seated firmly in his chest every time he thought about it. There was no point in taking his anger out on Rude - it wasn’t Rude’s fault Reno had developed this terrible, idiotic infatuation with him and it wasn’t Rude’s fault that there was nothing Reno could do to act on it, but he also never claimed to be reasonable when it came to his emotions.

Reno sat on a park bench in Sector Three puffing on a cigarette while Rude stood in front of him sipping a coffee. The streets were beginning to fill with people as work let out, bustling to the train station or to dinner, taking little notice of the two Turks in their dark black suits watching them pass. That was one thing Reno liked about the plate, no one even met their gaze up here. Below the plate, grounders knew the power in numbers and would hurl insults at one or two lone Turks. Reno had thrown rocks at Turks as a kid when they wandered through Wall Market, but now that he was one he fucking hated being beneath the plate for just that reason.

“Kinda quiet today,” Rude noted.

“Yeah, well, they’re finally independent,” Reno shrugged, tipping some ashes from his cigarette with a sigh.

Rude frowned at him. “Wasn’t talking about the rookies.”

“Maybe I’m just not feeling very talkative,” Reno bristled.

Rude raised his eyebrows and said nothing. That was the annoying thing about him: nearly four years working side by side all the time meant Rude could convey an entire conversation to Reno with just a look. Reno took a long drag from his cigarette.

“What?”

“Didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to say anything,” Reno grumbled.

“Something’s clearly bothering you. Usually you won’t shut up when you’re annoyed about something, but now you aren’t talking at all. And you left the club in a hurry the other night.”

“Because I wanted to get laid and there was a good looking guy who was interested. Was I supposed to hang around and third wheel with you and that chick?”

Rude sighed and finished his coffee, tossing it in the trash. “I guess not.”

A stony silence followed, the likes of which Reno had never really experienced with Rude. If he wasn’t filling the silence due to his inability to keep quiet for more than five seconds, then it was usually a comfortable sort of quiet that settled between them. This felt tense and uncomfortable and put Reno on edge. It was his fault, of course, but he was too irritated to apologize or set things right, which left Rude as bristly as Reno was.

The rookies showed up a few minutes later to report the all clear: no signs of Avalanche and no signs of rogue SOLDIERS, which was a refreshing change of pace after the last few months of nonstop chaos.

“Guess we can leave then. I’ve got plans at eight, so I’m out of here,” said Rude.

“What plans?” Reno demanded, realizing before he even said it that it wasn’t really his business.

“You don’t feel like talking,” Rude said, “maybe I don’t feel like talking either.”

He had never snubbed Reno like that and while Reno knew he sure as hell deserved it, he didn’t particularly care for it either.

“Yeah, well fine! Like I care!”

But he was already walking away.

Shotgun and Two-Guns exchanged a pointed look with each other. “What’s up with you two? Lovers spat?” Two-Guns laughed.

“Watch your tone, kid.”

Two-Guns groaned. “Whatever, are we dismissed or what?”

A thought struck Reno, a dumber one than he’d had in a long time, but as was often the case the words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself. “No, actually. I want you to tail Rude.”

“Excuse me?” Shotgun raised her eyebrows.

“I think he’s meeting this chick somewhere and I don’t trust her.” This wasn’t a total lie. Forming relationships with civilians as a Turk was always a huge gamble. They had been wearing their suits at the club, so there was no doubting Chelsea knew what they were. It wasn’t outside of the realm of possibility that she might be trying to get inside information out of Rude. This was how Reno justified what amounted to asking the rookies to spy on Rude for him because he was so fucking jealous it was consuming him entirely.

“You want us to follow our superior because you have a hunch the girl he’s dating is bad news?” Two-Guns asked, incredulous.

“Shotgun can do it if you don’t want to. Just go and report back what you find out.” When neither of them responded readily enough for Reno’s liking, he barked the order again, “I’m your superior. Do it or get written up!”

“Fine. I’ll go,” Shotgun sighed, taking off in the direction Rude left.

“You’re an idiot,” Two-Guns said.

“Yeah, well,” Reno tapped his shoulder with his mag rod and headed for the train station. “Never said I wasn’t.”

Tseng sat at his desk poring over files related to the Avalanche investigation while Emma sat at the desk across from him periodically looking at him and frowning. He knew she didn’t care for him, though he had never been anything but cordial with her. It wasn’t through any fault of his. She had anticipated being trained to be Veld’s successor because she was senior to Tseng and when Veld chose Tseng, it immediately made him her enemy.

“Can I help you with something, Emma?” Tseng asked.

She furrowed her brow at him and looked back at her computer. “No.”

Tseng was about to offer up his opinion that they ought to work together and put aside their differences, but his phone rang, interrupting any potential peace offering, which she undoubtedly would have refused anyway.

“This is Tseng.” This earned him an irritated scowl from Emma, so he got up and took the call outside the office.

“Tseng, it’s Zack.”

“Zack,” Tseng sighed. “How is your extended leave treating you?”

“Come on, don’t pretend it’s anything other than what it is.” He sounded crestfallen, not his usual plucky upbeat self. Tseng felt sorry for him. “How’s your arm and leg?”

“All better. Did you call me just to chat, because-”

“I was calling to see if maybe you could pass some messages along to Aerith for me. I know you keep an eye on her for some reason and they won’t let me access e-mail or anything here. I only just convinced Cissnei to let me call you.”

“I’m not operating a messenger service,” Tseng said. But he was due for his monthly check-in on Aerith and he had an increasingly difficult time begrudging Zack a few concessions. He was difficult to dislike, and that annoyed Tseng immensely. “But fine.” For reasons he couldn’t quite justify, he added, “And tell Cissnei you’re allowed to call me even if you can’t make other calls.”

“Really? Ah, man you’re the best, Tseng!”

“Don’t abuse it or I won’t answer your calls.”

“Promise!”

“Now what did you want me to tell Aerith?”

“Can you just let her know where I am and that I miss her and I’m thinking about her? I’ll come visit her as soon as I’m out of here…if they ever let me out.”

“They will eventually,” Tseng told him. And he was sure they would as soon as he was needed to help with the ongoing SOLDIER situation. “I’ll tell Aerith what you said.”

“You swear?”

Tseng chuckled. Their puppy love was endearing, even if Tseng knew it could only end in sadness. “I swear.”

“So?” Reno prodded, leaning over the break room table and brandishing his fry at Shotgun, “What did you find out?” He looked around cautiously, “And make it quick. Rude’ll be in here any minute.”

Shotgun held her hands out, “I have to admit, when you sent me to trail him I thought it was just some weird jealousy thing. He met with this woman for a date at a bar in Sector Four. She seemed to really like him, but I followed her after the date was over and,” Shotgun lowered her voice, “she’s working as a spy for Avalanche.”

Reno let out a low whistle and chewed on his food thoughtfully. “And you’re not just yanking my dick?”

Shotgun grimaced. “No. I’m serious. I ended up down in the fucking sewers covered in shit, but she’s definitely working for them.”

“Ah, man,” Reno sighed. Rude would be devastated, of course, but Reno couldn’t be the one to tell him the truth. For one, Rude was still giving him the cold shoulder - not that he could blame him - and for another, he didn’t think Rude would believe him anyway. If Shotgun could call jealousy for what it was, then someone who knew Reno as well as Rude did would see it right away. He needed to either gather definitive proof, or scare this bitch off and save Rude some serious heartbreak down the line.

If he was being totally honest with himself, he had expected Shotgun to come back empty handed, because deep down he knew it was just blind jealousy that made him order her to trail Rude in the first place. It was bittersweet to learn that Chelsea actually was up to no good, and it made him feel like a shitty friend.

Well, he was a shitty friend, wasn’t he? He should have been happy for Rude, because Chelsea clearly made him happy and instead he was too hung up on the fact that it wasn’t him in her place, that it could never be him. When had he become such a fucking sap anyway?

The conversation with Shotgun was cut short abruptly as Rude walked into the break room. He grabbed his lunch from the fridge and stood at the edge of the table. “Can I sit here or are you going to be an ass all day again?” he asked.

“I’m sorry, man, I was just in a bad mood yesterday,” Reno offered his best attempt at an olive branch.

Rude sat down, his expression softening. “Well, don’t take it out on me.”

“I know, I know. You’re just usually the only one around.” Content that Rude seemed to forgive him, Reno leaned back and did his best to sound casual. “You have a good time last night doing whatever it was you were doing?”

“I was on a date,” said Rude. “And yeah, it was nice.”

“Are you going to see her again?” Shotgun asked. Reno shot her a look and she shrugged.

“Yeah. We’re supposed to meet up tonight in Sector Two. Heard it might snow. Seems like a nice evening for a walk.”

“Aw, I didn’t know you were such a romantic, Rude,” Shotgun laughed.

Rude’s cheeks flushed, which Reno would have found cute if he wasn’t so hung up on the current predicament. He knew there was only one way to handle the situation. Since he couldn’t tell Rude the truth on any level, he had to corner Chelsea and confront her with his newfound knowledge. If he scared her out of town with some good old fashioned Turk intimidation tactics, Rude would just think he’d been stood up. Either way ended in heartbreak and Reno knew it, but at least his way Rude never had to know this woman was only using him. If Reno could spare him that at least, it was worth it.

And then you can show up and be there to comfort him when he realizes she isn’t coming.

That was a shitty thought. He would be there, because Rude was his friend, but the fact that even a small part of him considered how he could bend the situation to his own advantage made him feel like such a massive piece of shit that he decided he wouldn’t make an appearance that evening at all. He would just ask Rude how things went the next morning and comfort him then.

Reno could be a selfish asshole plenty of times, the product of being raised in an environment where altruism only got you so far, but he liked to think maybe Rude had been a positive influence on him in that respect.

That night, after another round of patrols, Reno took off, wishing Rude luck on his date with a feeling of immense guilt as he hurried to beat him to the meeting place in Sector Two. Luckily for Reno, he was fast, and it didn’t appear Rude was on a direct route there, so he found Chelsea alone on a bench under one of the few blooming trees in the sector.

Still in his uniform, Chelsea recognized him right away, though even if he hadn’t been wearing it, his bright red hair made him difficult for most people to forget (both to his benefit and detriment many times in his life). She looked more than a little surprised to see him.

“Oh…you’re Rude’s friend, right?” she asked. Reno didn’t miss how she clutched her purse against her side and slipped a hand inside.

“Better not try anything,” Reno said, his pistol already in hand, though he was careful not to point it at her.

“Is there…a problem?” She feigned ignorance.

Reno paced in front of her, keeping an eye out for any sign of Rude. “Yeah. The problem is you used my best friend to try and get information about Shinra to help your little fucking terrorist friends and I don’t appreciate it. Give me one reason why I shouldn’t take you back to headquarters and interrogate you? Or better yet, why shouldn’t I just shoot you now and take care of the problem entirely?”

Chelsea stiffened, her face creasing into a surprisingly convincing frown. “I don’t have a reason to offer you. You’re right. I am with Avalanche…and I should have known the Turks would be able to sniff me out easily. Does…does Rude know?”

“No. And I think it’s better for everyone involved if he never finds out.”

Chelsea nodded sadly and looked down at her feet. “For what it’s worth…I told them I wanted out of this assignment. I didn’t expect to have such a nice time with Rude. I just thought…well, you know what the Turks' reputation is.”

Reno cocked his gun. “That’s a nice story, but I’m done talking. I want you to leave. Leave this sector, leave Midgar, and don’t ever contact Rude again. Do we have an understanding?”

“But I-”

“You don’t get to negotiate with the Turks,” said Reno, taking a step closer to her. “Either you leave here on your own or I make you leave. And trust me, you won’t like my methods.”

“Fine,” Chelsea said, rising to her feet. “I’ll leave. And I won’t contact him again. But could you at least tell him I’m sorry, or-”

“I’m granting you this one concession. You get to walk out of here alive. Don’t ask me for more than that.”

She fixed him with a furious stare, but it was clear she knew she had been beat. She took off and Reno waited until she was completely out of sight to place his gun back in its holster, hurrying off in the opposite direction before Rude could show up and catch sight of him.

He wound up back at his apartment and sat for some time chain smoking cigarettes on the stoop outside his building, shivering against the cold as it began to snow. Midgar didn’t often get snow, and having spent his entire life beneath the plate, Reno had never really seen it up close before. He marveled at the tiny flakes as they landed on his skin and melted.

Did it make him a piece of shit for what he’d done tonight? Maybe Chelsea had been telling the truth. Maybe she really was going to give up the mission. If anyone could turn someone like that it was Rude. For his size and formidable strength, Rude was such a softy at heart - always feeding stray animals and giving money to beggars on the street. Reno often jibed that it was ruining their reputation as bad guys, as if he didn’t make frequent trips beneath the plate to make sure none of the Wall Market orphans were going hungry.

After some time, he pulled his phone from his pocket and typed out a message while he puffed on another cigarette.

[Reno]: How’d the date go man? Don’t respond if you’re still on it.

He was an asshole, but he had to pretend he didn’t know the truth.

Rude’s response came so fast it made Reno’s heart ache.

[Rude]: Not great. Got stood up. Just sitting alone at home now.

[Reno]: Want some company?

He thought better of it, though he desperately wanted Rude to want him in that moment.

[Reno]: I’m sorry man. That sucks.

When Rude didn’t respond, Reno sent one more message.

[Reno]: Let me know if you need anything partner

Then he stubbed out his cigarette and went inside.

Chapter Text

A headboard thumped loudly against the wall in a dimly lit hotel room overlooking Sector Three of Midgar, its occupants moaning against one another, sweat beading on their skin, their bodies writhing together, lost for a moment in their ecstasy. Rufus Shinra came with a groan, drawing out every last second of pleasure before he fell onto his back gasping for breath, tossing his condom aside in the wastepaper bin and turning languidly to look at his bedmate.

“I do enjoy these meetings, Mr. Shinra,” said Elfe, draping herself along the bed at an angle that highlighted all her sharp features.

Rufus couldn’t really claim to have a usual type, but he didn’t often go for women like Elfe. Still, he had enjoyed these infrequent business transactions - and that was all they really felt like at the end of the day. Once every few months, Elfe would make a trip to Junon or Midgar to meet with him in person, removed from the influence of her fawning henchman Shears and psychotic second-in-command Fuhito. It was these meetings where Rufus felt he got his best handle on Avalanche as a whole. Neither Shears nor Fuhito made their distaste for him secret, though he knew they both hated him for very different reasons. Fuhito was still all too ready to take his money and if given the choice between the two, he’d rather be caught alone with Fuhito than Shears, who had to know or at least suspect that Rufus was fucking Elfe on a semi-regular basis and probably would have killed him if given the chance.

It was a dangerous game Rufus was playing, but so far it was working out in his favor. They still hadn’t managed to take out his father, but for Rufus it was still enough of a point of uncertainty that simply sewing chaos and making the President and his Turks look like incompetent idiots was sufficient.

“You did well with your last attack,” Rufus said, propping himself up on his elbow. “I’m meeting with the President about it tomorrow morning. I presume everything is still in order for the move on Junon?”

“We’ll be there,” Elfe assured him. “Though I can’t help but feel like we aren’t making much personal headway.”

“Patience is a virtue,” Rufus told her.

“Do I strike you as particularly virtuous, Mr. Shinra?”

Gods, he fucking hated being called that, but he tolerated it from her for some reason. Neither of them were naive about their relationship. It was monetary and physical, nothing more, and they both knew there would come a day when they tried to kill each other. Once Avalanche succeeded in what Rufus needed them for, he would sever his funding and deal with all three heads of that particular beast once and for all.

“No, but maybe you ought to try.”

Elfe squeezed his thigh, nails digging in dangerously close to more sensitive skin. “What do we get out of Junon?”

“If you play your cards right, you get most of the Turks and the only two remaining first class SOLDIERS. If you and your men can’t handle them, then-”

“Sephiroth is formidable,” Elfe interrupted, relaxing her grip on his thigh to trace shapes gently against his inner leg. His skin prickled at this and he kept his gaze firmly on her hand while she spoke. “He killed several of our men the last time we encountered him in Junon and if I hadn’t fled he would have killed me.”

“I can’t control him. Lacking the brute force needed to overwhelm a SOLDIER of his ranking, you might try numbers instead.”

“Oh, is he bad at math?” Elfe laughed.

Rufus rolled his eyes. “Take my advice or don’t. I sent you pictures of the Turks I want taken out. Our next conversation won’t be this pleasant if they manage to make it out alive.”

“You may be funding us, Mr. Shinra, but the last time I checked I don’t work for you. We’ll take out the Turks if we can, mostly because it benefits us to have them gone too. They’ve made a mess of our units before. You sure Professor Hojo isn’t injecting them with mako too?”

Rufus bristled. “What do you know about Hojo?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Elfe smirked.

Rufus stared at her prosthetic leg. It wasn’t the first time he wondered if Hojo had something to do with it - in fact the design was remarkably similar to Veld’s prosthetic arm. It did look like Hojo’s handiwork.

“Careful,” said Elfe. “You look like you’re deep in thought and I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“Hmph,” Rufus huffed. He pushed her hand away from his leg and slid out of the bed, gathering his clothes up off the floor and dressing while she remained draped across the bed without any sense of urgency. “We’ll talk again after Junon. I expect results or your next paycheck might not be so generous.”

“Hm, and what does daddy think of all his money going missing?” Elfe asked.

Rufus didn’t dignify her question with a response. He left the hotel room and made his way back to his apartment in Sector One.

For the first time in quite a while, the President had called a meeting in which the Turks were entirely excluded, though Lazard was still irritatingly present. Rufus opted to keep his attention on his father and Heidegger.

“What are we going to do about this situation? Veld’s men failed to predict the attack on the cargo ship last week and they continue to fail at every turn to provide any evidence of the obvious mole in this company. How has Avalanche managed to best us every step of the way?” Rufus demanded.

Heidegger’s face was growing redder and redder. Veld technically answered to him and it was clear he was waiting for a chance to defend himself, to remove himself from Veld’s failings in whatever way possible.

“What do you suggest, Rufus?” his father asked.

“Should I tell you how to run your own company?” Rufus folded his arms. “If you can’t figure out the obvious next step.”

His father’s face twisted in irritation. “Make your point or get out of here, boy.”

Was he truly so incompetent? Rufus knew first hand that wasn’t the case, rather he supposed his father might actually be giving him an opening to speak his mind. But his moods were fickle, and he would just as readily expect his father to pull the rug out from under him at any given moment as some sort of teaching lesson.

‘All these years and you’re still just a loser, aren’t you boy?’

When Rufus’ mother was still alive, she would stroke his hair and kiss his forehead and tell him, ‘That’s just how your father shows you he loves you, my little chocobo. He wants you to do well. He wants you to succeed. The world isn’t always nice. He’s just testing you.’

Maybe it was what she told herself too. His father never laid a hand on either of them, but he didn’t have to. He did a good enough job shouting them down and belittling them whenever he had the chance. The worst part was that Rufus knew his mother was right. His father thought it was how you showed love, by forcing his loved ones to ‘do better’. Instead all it had done was drive Rufus’ mother to fling herself off the roof of Shinra Tower. It left Rufus so full of resentment he could hardly stand to look at his father most days.

"Perhaps it's time to remove Veld from his seat of authority if he can't do his job," Rufus answered.

“You’re right,” his father said, a rarity in itself. “Heidegger, you’ll step in as interim chief for the Turks.”

Heidegger cleared his throat. “Certainly, sir.”

“Who’s next in line for that position?”

Heidegger faltered. His oversight of the Administrative Research department had always been lacking. He left Veld to his own devices because - and Rufus would readily admit his enemies’ strengths - the Turks were good at what they did. They didn’t require oversight. It was that annoying diligence that had him covering his trail at every turn to try and pin his crimes on Lazard or anyone else at the company. Because he knew with every run-in with Veld’s most diligent and loyal little dog that if he gave Tseng an inch, he would readily take a mile.

“Tseng,” Rufus answered for Heidegger.

“Which one is he?” The President asked. Rufus glared at him. Was he truly so ignorant of his own men? Tseng had attended nearly every board meeting for the last two years.

“The Wutaian, sir,” Heidegger answered. “Veld’s shadow.”

“Right, right. The Wutaian. Sehng was it?” The President lit a cigar and puffed on it while he looked around the table in thought.

“Tseng,” Rufus corrected. Even if there were few people in the company Rufus could stand less than Tseng, his father’s virulent racism still always rubbed him the wrong way. “I would hesitate to allow him to step in as leader in Veld’s wake, given his loyalty to Veld.”

The President nodded and blew smoke in Lazard’s face. Lazard did his best not grimace, listening with rapt attention, but so far totally silent.

“Fine. As I said, Heidegger will oversee the Turks until we can determine if this Sehng is a good candidate to replace Veld. Veld is still useful, and he knows too much for us to send him off. Put him down in security for now.”

“Sir, if I may,” Lazard interjected. “Tseng has worked on many missions with my men. I think he would be a suitable candidate-”

“If I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it, Director.”

Lazard bowed his head. “Of course, sir.”

It came as no surprise to Rufus that Lazard was quick to step to Tseng’s defense. Though Tseng was professional to a fault, stringent in following rules in a way that drove Rufus mad, his gaze often lingered on Lazard during meetings. He suspected the two of them were involved somehow and if he ever had the evidence to prove it he would gladly kill two birds with one stone.

“If that’s all, then I’ll leave you to carry this out, Heidegger.”

Heidegger’s brow furrowed, but his nose was too far up the President’s ass to ever say no. “Of course, sir.”

Rufus left the conference room with a spring in his step. With Veld out of power, Heidegger would have to direct the Turks in their response to the impending attack on Junon. Heidegger lacked the subtle hand to appropriately direct the Turks, and Rufus felt confident the group would fall into chaotic disarray without their precious leader.

If everything went according to plan, Rufus would have the Turks’ heads on silver platters and he would be one step closer to pushing his father out of power.

Tseng shook in silent disbelief as Heidegger addressed the Turks while Veld stood behind him with his head bowed looking like a collared dog. Heidegger may as well have had him in chains as far as Tseng was concerned, and for the first time in the ten years since he first donned his uniform, Tseng truly understood the bite of the term ‘lapdog’.

“I don’t understand,” said Shotgun, who now went by her new alias of Freyra after passing her exam three months earlier.

Of the latest class, two others had passed: Two-Guns, now Ruluf; and one of the martial artists, now Maur.

“There’s nothing to understand,” Heidegger grunted. “Veld’s leadership has failed to net Shinra any substantive results in the fight against Avalanche and the SOLDIER crisis. I’m in charge now and Veld will be working in security under my supervision. Anyone who objects,” he cast a pointed look at Freyra, “can leave Shinra in the requisite way all Turks do.”

It was sickening how those in power threw around such a weighted threat, holding it over the Turks’ heads to bend them to Shinra’s bidding. Tseng was on Freyra’s side and, judging by the looks the rest of his colleagues were wearing, he wasn’t the only one.

‘A Turk’s most important defining feature is our loyalty. Not to Shinra, but to one another.’

That wisdom taught to him by Veld stuck in Tseng’s mind in that moment.

They weren’t given time or space to voice a protest however - and they would have, Reno was already opening his mouth to say something that would undoubtedly earn him a few weeks in an isolation cell in a best case scenario when Heidegger’s phone rang, cutting the meeting short.

“Sir,” Tseng spoke quietly to Veld while Heidegger took the call. “This isn’t right.”

“Stay loyal to your team, Tseng. I can handle myself. You’ll just have to trust me.”

“I do trust you, but I don’t trust…” He didn’t trust Heidegger or Rufus Shinra and he had a sinking suspicion both of them had been involved in the decision making process. Tseng would be next on the chopping block if that were the case - Rufus was not quiet about his distaste for him and Tseng’s failure to turn up anything substantive about the information leak within Shinra after two years of dead ends had not gone unnoticed. “This decision isn’t based on anything valid. We can’t stay ahead of Avalanche because someone in this company is always one step ahead of us. Someone who…”

It hit him like a freight train. Someone in the company was deliberately feeding information to Avalanche that, above everything else, made the Turks and the President’s decision to utilize their skills look useless and wasteful. Who else in the company had been so open about their distaste for the Turks?

‘When I’m President, I’ll be happy to relieve you of your duties.’

Wouldn’t it be rich if the mole was the one person who had been trumpeting the importance of rooting out the mole this entire time?

“Tseng,” Veld interrupted his thoughts. “Keep your nose to the grindstone. Focus on the team. They will very likely put you in charge next, which means the target will be on your back now.”

Tseng nodded. “I’ll do my best, sir.”

Heidegger hung up the phone and turned back to the group. “We have a situation in Junon. You,” he pointed at Tseng, “Sehng, isn’t it?” Tseng had learned the futility of correcting upper management on his name years earlier, but Reno chimed in from the back of the group,

“It’s Tseng,” followed by a barely audibly, “You shithead.”

Heidegger thankfully didn’t hear the last part. “The President wants you and Sephiroth to pick up the other first and head off the problem in Junon. You’re the one who’s been dealing with the Rhapsodos situation, aren’t you?” He didn’t wait for Tseng to answer. “Sephiroth will meet you on the helipad. The rest of you are to report to Junon as soon as possible. We need men on the ground. We’ll be sending some third class SOLDIERS to accompany you.”

“All of us?” Ruluf scoffed. “Isn’t that a security risk?”

“These orders come directly from the President and Vice President. Would you like to question them to their face or would you like to do your fucking job?” Heidegger demanded, his face going a brilliant shade of red.

Ruluf and Freyra exchanged a glance and there was another attempt at a hurled insult from Reno stifled by Rude’s hand clamping around his mouth.

Tseng didn’t wait to be given orders a second time, but he did send an e-mail to the group as he took the elevator up to the helipad.

“We can no longer rely on management to guide us in this situation. Stick with each other in Junon. Never let yourselves get cornered alone. And trust that Veld will find a way to rectify this situation.”

He hit ‘send’ as he stepped off the elevator, a pit settling in his stomach. Leadership had always been something he approached with reluctance. Veld believed in his potential of course, but he was less certain of himself than Veld seemed to be. It was so much easier to follow orders and get the job done. Sending that simple message to the other Turks was hardly all it took to lead, but it was the first time he’d felt compelled to step into that role and do something, anything.

Sephiroth awaited him on the helipad, cape billowing in the wind. Tseng had rarely spoke directly to Sephiroth and still found him intimidating despite once observing his tear-stained eyes as he left a meeting with Lazard. He looked more formidable than Tseng remembered him, standing several inches taller than Tseng, long silver hair cascading down his back, scanning the city with an unfocused gaze.

The situation with Rhapsodos was personal for Sephiroth and for that reason he had largely distanced himself from any involvement. Tseng couldn’t blame him for not wanting to kill one of the only friends he ever knew. After all, if one of the other Turks went rogue, could Tseng really pull the trigger if it came to that? Even if it generated a crisis of this proportion?

“Tseng,” Sephiroth greeted him. For some reason, Tseng was surprised he remembered his name.

“Sephiroth.” Tseng bowed his head.

“I understand we’re meant to extract Zack from Costa del Sol and attend to the situation in Junon.”

“That’s correct.”

Sephiroth stepped into the waiting helicopter. “If Genesis is truly in Junon, not one of these clones of his…I’d like to be the one to deal with it.”

As if Tseng was capable of facing off against a former first class SOLDIER? He’d already had one unsuccessful run in with Rhapsodos a few years prior. He wasn’t eager for a repeat.

“My job once we land in Junon will be to limit the extent of exposure to the city at large and neutralize any witnesses,” Tseng said in answer, taking a seat across from Sephiroth in the helicopter.

“’Neutralize’.” Sephiroth laughed humorlessly, “We’re just machines to them, aren’t we?”

For a fleeting moment, there was a look of profound sadness on his face, but it was gone just as quickly, replaced with a carefully neutral expression as he looked out the window.

The trip to Costa del Sol took longer than Tseng remembered and when they landed, he left Sephiroth to meet with Zack and Cissnei while he made a detour. Several years earlier, Veld had taught him the importance of thinking outside of the box if it could benefit the mission and he had taken that lesson to heart plenty of times, deviating from strict orders when he knew Shinra assets were at stake. This particular deviation felt more like a strike against Shinra than for it, but at the end of the day his loyalty was to the Turks and they needed all the help they could get.

He knocked on the door of a beach-side bungalow and it took several seconds before the door opened and a familiar face appeared in the doorway. Legend peered at him from behind sunglasses, a broad grin creeping across his face. His skin was a shade darker from years spent ‘under house arrest’ likely lounging in the sand and cavorting with the locals. At any rate, he hardly looked as if house arrest was treating him badly.

“What the hell are you doing here, man?”

“Legend,” Tseng said. “I don’t have time for pleasantries.”

“As if you ever do?” Legend laughed.

Tseng explained the situation with Veld as quickly as he could and Legend, to his credit, listened with rapt attention until Tseng was done. Two years earlier, Veld had attempted to ‘extract’ Legend from house arrest only to be met with resistance. Given Legend’s skill-set and knowledge, Veld opted to allow him to carry on with his house arrest rather than the alternative of forced retirement. It continued to feed Tseng’s belief that the chief was far too lenient with Legend.

When Tseng was done explaining, however, he was surprised at the serious expression on Legend’s face.

“Man, if the chief is down and out, you guys must really be in danger. I’m a little rusty, but yeah, why the hell not? I can still fit in the old suit. Let me grab it and I’ll meet you at the airport.”

“You have to be quick,” Tseng warned him, relieved Legend had agreed to join them, “We’re leaving as soon as we have the SOLDIER.”

“You got it, chief.”

“I’m not the chief,” Tseng growled.

Legend waved a dismissive hand and shut the door in his face.

Back at the airport, Sephiroth arrived with Zack and Cissnei in tow and Tseng found himself squeezed into a bone-crushing hug as Zack rocketed into him.

“Tseng! Man, it’s been too long. I missed you! Thanks for uh, for passing the messages along and all that. I really appreciate it. And I know uh…our mutual friend appreciated it as well,” Zack released him and Tseng struggled to catch his breath.

“We can discuss all of that when you’re back in Midgar,” Tseng said. But he allowed himself a smile. “I’m pleased to be working alongside you once again, Zack.”

“Wow,” Cissnei whistled. “That’s pretty high praise coming from Chuckles.”

Tseng fixed her with a stern frown. “Reno is a terrible influence on you.”

Cissnei laughed as she climbed into the helicopter. Sephiroth and Zack followed suit, Zack sticking his head out of the open door and yelling,

“Hurry up, Tseng, we need to get going!”

Tseng hovered by the door, his stomach tense until he saw a shock of orange hair alerting him to Legend’s arrival. Once they were all safely aboard, the helicopter made its way to Junon for Shinra’s loyal lapdogs to deal with the emerging threat.

Rude and Reno arrived with the rest of the Turks to find Junon in a state of complete and total chaos. What they anticipated when they hit the ground were Genesis clones overtaking the upper city: that much they had been warned about by both Heidegger and Tseng. What they didn’t prepare for were dozens, if not hundreds, of Avalanche troops descending upon the city as well. That, apparently, had transpired in the hour between leaving Midgar and landing in Junon.

Reno pulled his EMR from the holster at his hip and extended it. “Well this is a fucking shitshow.”

Rude nodded. “Seems like it.”

“You ready for this, partner?”

“Ready as I’m going to be.”

In truth, high stakes scenarios like this were where Rude and Reno both thrived. They always managed to work cohesively, even if they did often butt heads outside of the battlefield, but on missions where every move mattered they could really prove their mettle. Thus far, Reno had never let Rude down.

One advantage the Turks ran into immediately was that Avalanche and Rhapsodos’ sick little army of clones were clearly not being funded or fed information by the same party and subsequently Avalanche troops became cannon fodder for the much stronger Rhapsodos clones. This in turn reduced the number of immediate threats as Rude and Reno wound their way through the city. It was still tough going, and when they called into base where, typically Veld would provide direction, Heidegger failed to pick up the call.

“Anyone else getting through to Heidegger?” Rude asked.

“Nothing. Ruluf and I are corralling people indoors to limit witnesses,” Maur was the first to answer. “Tseng is en route with the SOLDIERS. All we were told was to avoid engaging Rhapsodos if possible.”

Reno sighed, “At least we can blame all of this on Avalanche. Fewer witnesses to cull with the SOLDIER crap. I hate that part of the job.”

Rude did too. Those who couldn’t be blackmailed into silence lost their lives: innocent people dying because Shinra couldn’t contain their terrible secrets.

But that was the job, after all.

It took twenty minutes for Heidegger to finally acknowledge their existence on the ground, and even then he failed to say anything about their request for direction, instead breaking over the line to say,

“There’s an urgent situation at Junon base. I need as many Turks to the tower as possible.”

“What sort of situation, sir?” Rude asked.

“Just do what I ask! It’s not your job to ask questions.”

“It is though,” Reno muttered, but it was obvious Heidegger was in a foul mood, ill suited to directing agents of espionage when his primary task as a tactician was to lead military troops. The two groups were fundamentally different in their approaches and rather than provide any sort of guidance, he wanted the Turks to fall in line and follow orders like they were SOLDIERS. That wasn’t how Veld ran things.

“This fucking sucks, man,” Reno said as they wound their way through side streets to make their way to Junon’s Shinra Tower overlooking the bay. “The chief would know exactly what to do and warn us what we were walking into.”

Rude silently agreed. But they all knew if they didn’t do as Heidegger asked, any of them might be next to fall under the President and Vice President’s ire. How were they meant to succeed when someone in the company was clearly trying to undermine them at every step? Rude clenched his jaw, his body brimming for a fight.

At Shinra Tower, they found the place overrun with Rhapsodos clones, but whatever was within didn’t seem to be of interest to Avalanche, which left the Turks to contend with several dozen copies of a first class SOLDIER. Admittedly, the clones were weaker, and moved as if in a trance, incapable of speaking, and degrading into a bloody pulp within minutes of dying.

“This is Balto reporting from inside Shinra Tower,” their colleague’s voice sounded in their ears. “The clones have Dr. Hollander.”

“So that’s what this is about,” Reno spat, swinging his EMR into the gut of one of the clones just outside the entrance to the tower. “Fucking SOLDIERS. Why are we always cleaning up their Gods damned messes?”

Rude grunted and ducked as a clone swung his sword at him. “Good question. Guess cleaning up messes is our job.”

“Yeah well, maybe Sephiroth could handle this fucking mess for once.”

Rude landed a swift series of blows against the Rhapsodos clone’s head and he crumpled to the ground. When he whirled around to assist Reno, he found Sephiroth looming between them.

“Is it my mess?” He asked, so eerily soft spoken that it gave Rude the chills.

Reno turned around and stumbled backward, nearly careening over the barrier wall in his haste to put space between himself and the notorious first class SOLDIER. Sephiroth looked between them with a neutral expression.

“Hollander is inside?”

Rude was vaguely aware of his heartbeat thumping loudly in his ears. “Balto, is Hollander still inside?”

“Negative. One of the clones escaped with him out the side exit toward the airport. I’m wounded and need backup.”

“They’re headed toward the airport,” Rude relayed to Sephiroth. “One of our men is stuck inside in need of backup-”

Sephiroth waved a hand and pivoted on his heels. “Help your friend. I’ll try to help mine.”

Once he was gone, Reno straightened himself up and shivered. “Guy gives me the creeps.”

Rude said nothing, but he was inclined to agree.

After parting ways with Sephiroth and Zack; Tseng, Cissnei, and Legend headed into the city to deal with the Avalanche troops descending on the city. The Rhapsodos clones appeared to be withdrawing, disengaging from battle and moving toward the airport, but the Turks had been given strict instructions to deal with Avalanche while the SOLDIERS dealt with their own.

Legend left them to find a higher vantage point from which to launch several high-grade explosives he carried with him in a box.

“Good way to get the old blood pumping, getting thrown back into the fray like this. Good luck. Try not to die,” he smacked Tseng on the back as he left.

“You two close?” Cissnei asked as they moved down an empty back alley to the other side of the upper city.

“We trained in academy together. I wouldn’t say we were close.”

“Zack speaks really highly of you,” she said. “Sometimes he wouldn’t shut up about it actually. He’s always going on about how nice you are and how much you help him out.”

Tseng’s ears warmed. “I’ll have to have a word.”

“Right,” Cissnei laughed. “You’ve got a reputation to keep.”

Tseng smiled in return.

They reached the end of the alley and ducked down behind a dumpster as a group of Avalanche members ran past, firing off shots against an unseen assailant. The screams that followed suggested their targets had been citizens rather than any member of Shinra. Why hadn’t Heidegger provided better backup? They had maybe a dozen SOLDIERS on the ground with them, hardly enough to contend with all of the Avalanche troops swarming the city. Of course, Heidegger hadn’t expected Avalanche. No one had.

Except perhaps Rufus Shinra.

“I’m going to call into Heidegger and ask what our plan of action is,” Tseng said. He waited a beat and spoke into his comm. “Sir, we’re vastly outnumbered here. What would you like us to do?”

More than five minutes passed before a response came.

“Do your damned jobs. Is Veld constantly coddling you?”

Tseng balked, exchanging an incredulous look with Cissnei. “No, sir, but in large operations like this we usually formulate a cohesive attack plan before storming in. If we try to attack without one, we’ll undoubtedly be struck down.”

No answer came to this. They were on their own.

“This is bullshit,” Cissnei hissed. Reno’s influence, undoutedly. Though she was no longer technically a child, she still seemed like one to Tseng. “We need to come up with a plan on our own.”

“That will be difficult without a blueprint on hand.”

“Tseng, can you hear me?” Tseng was surprised when Veld’s voice sounded over the comms. Cissnei must have heard it too because her eyes lit up.

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m on the secondary channel. Heidegger won’t be able to hear us here. I have a view of the security feeds from Junon. You need to focus the bulk of your force outside the Shinra estate. Avalanche is planting explosives inside and most of their troops are standing guard there.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” Tseng answered diligently.

“One of their leaders is inside. A man we previously picked up on our feeds during the attack on Midgar.”

“The one Reno fought, sir?” Tseng asked.

“I believe so. Tread carefully. These are formidable opponents.”

“Did everyone hear the chief?” Tseng asked. His colleagues answered in a chorus. “Then we make for the Shinra estate.”

Tseng had to hand it to Rufus Shinra, even if he hated him more than possibly anyone else on the planet in that moment. How better to throw the Turks off his trail than having Avalanche plant explosives in his own home? It would be a huge monetary loss to Shinra, but not insurmountable, enough to send the President into a rage and allow Rufus to put on a show of being angry all the while secretly funneling information - and very likely money - to the group he denounced at every board meeting.

He didn’t have the evidence yet, but Tseng was bound and determined to prove he was right about this.

First, though, they had to deal with the present situation.

They found their colleagues and half a dozen SOLDIERS engaged in combat with the Avalanche troops outside of the estate, which opened a path for Tseng and Cissnei into the building. In the lobby, there were more Avalanche troops waiting, and Tseng and Cissnei worked in unison to handle them. Back to back, Tseng ducked, Cissnei flung her shuriken, Tseng leaped and landed a swift kick to the chest of one man while Cissnei’s shuriken embedded itself in another’s neck. Any Turk, given the right opportunity, could work as fluidly and efficiently alongside another Turk, but Tseng had never actually seen Cissnei in action and he left the encounter suitably impressed by her skill.

Whether attributable to whatever Professor Hollander had imbued her with, or merely the result of being raised with that sole purpose, Cissnei clearly deserved her place in the Turks.

At Veld’s direction, they rode the elevator up to the twentieth floor where they found two men in Avalanche uniforms guarding a man laying charges along the wall.

“Sir!” One of the men yelled.

The man laying charges stood up and turned to face them. He wore an outfit of the same color as the Avalanche uniforms, but decidedly less utilitarian, a green bandana wrapped around his head. His body was all lean muscle, not unlike Tseng’s, and his scuffed leather gloves indicated he fought with a similar style.

“You miserable sacks of shit turn up everywhere trying to ruin our plans,” he spat. “Finish laying the charges. I’ll take care of them myself.” He flexed his fingers and took a defensive stance as he approached Tseng and Cissnei.

Tseng moved to the left and Cissnei to the right, hoping to overwhelm him, but he ducked, gripped Cissnei’s shuriken tightly in his hands and lifted her off the ground, tossing her aside like she weighed nothing. She screamed as her body slammed against the wall and she slumped to the floor unconscious.

“Just you and me now, lapdog,” the man said, dropping the shuriken.

Tseng held his gaze, assuming his own defensive stance as they moved in a tight circle while facing each other. “I like to know my enemy when he’s this formidable,” Tseng lied. “My name is Tseng. Do you have a name, or should I just call you terrorist?”

“Oh, I know who you are,” he answered. “I’m Shears. Not that it will matter in a few minutes.”

He ran at Tseng and delivered a series of blows against Tseng’s raised arms. Tseng rolled left, but Shears was alarmingly fast. He must have had haste materia embedded somewhere on him. Tseng barely had time to recover before Shears was on him again and it was all Tseng could do to hold his defensive posture and avoid any blows to his chest or face.

Moving as swiftly as he could, Tseng managed a blow to Shears’ shin which caused him to stumble backward and then Tseng was on him, slamming his fists against Shears’ face striking a blow with an open palm against the center of his chest and knocking the wind out of him. He almost fell onto his back, righting himself at the last minute and gasping for breath. Tseng went in for another blow and yelped in surprise as Shears caught his arm and wrenched it behind his back, shoving him to the floor and climbing on top of him.

Both of them were covered in a thin sheen of sweat now, strands of hair flying from Tseng’s ponytail, his face smashed against the floor as Shears grabbed him in a chokehold and dug his knee into his back.

“No hard feelings, Turk,” Shears grunted, struggling to maintain his hold as Tseng fought tooth and nail to free himself from it.

Tseng’s airflow was being cut off, his body weakening with each passing moment. He struggled to remain conscious, fingers digging against Shears’ arm, his vision going black around the edges.

Suddenly the grip on his throat relaxed as Shears was wrenched away. Tseng gulped in as much air as he could and rolled onto his back to find Cissnei brandishing her shuriken at their assailant, blood trickling from a wound at her hairline. She wasn’t holding herself steady with any conviction, quite likely concussed, but she wasn’t going down without a fight either.

Hand to hand combat was not an effective strategy against a man like Shears. Tseng ripped his gun from its holster at his side and fired off a shot that landed in Shears’ shin. He stumbled backward and the two men laying charges stood up.

“Sir!”

Tseng fired another shot that missed as Shears ran for the elevator, hobbling on his injured leg. Tseng struggled to his feet, and when he couldn’t get a good aim on Shears, he fired instead on his men as they attempted to retreat with him, shooting one between the eyes and hitting the other in the lower back. They crumpled a few feet from the elevator and Shears left them, jamming his finger against the door-close button as Tseng ran with what little strength he had remaining to try and stop him.

The doors slid shut right as Tseng reached them and it was over.

The Avalanche troop that was still alive groaned on the floor, attempting to crawl away. Tseng knelt down and pressed his pistol against the man’s temple, ending his suffering even if he felt he didn’t quite deserve that pity.

“Are you all right?” he asked Cissnei.

She sat against a pillar pressing a hand to her wound while she activated her restore materia. “I’ll live. We make a pretty good team, huh?”

“We’re alive anyway,” Tseng answered. “APB on Avalanche leader Shears. He’s heading for the exit.”

Legend was the first to reply. “I’ve got a few pretty bombs waiting for him if he gets in my path.”

Tseng knelt down on the floor next to Cissnei. His neck was bruised and raw, his body aching from the blows he received. They had managed to avert a bigger crisis, but Tseng worried one or more of their own might be dead or seriously injured after everything they had encountered that day. And while Avalanche was ultimately to blame for their vendetta against Shinra, there was a bigger problem now looming over them.

Rufus Shinra was the mole. And he wanted the Turks dead.

Chapter Text

“What happened in Junon was an unmitigated disaster.” The President stood before the entire board of executives puffing on a cigar and occasionally blowing it in Rufus or Heidegger’s face depending on the direction he was turned.

The board sat, silent and submissive, while Rufus’ father berated them for their failings.

“I am particularly disappointed,” he continued, “in you, Heidegger.”

The siege on Junon had not gone at all how Rufus hoped it would thanks to the interference of the rogue first-class SOLDIER and his cronies, but all that might have been forgiven if Avalanche had managed to do what he asked and capture the Turks in the blast meant to take down the Shinra Estate in Junon. Instead, the Turks managed to fight them off and Tseng - well battered and bruised from the encounter - was staring a hole through Rufus from the other end of the table. Beside him, Veld sat restored to power through questionable methods - Rufus wasn’t privy to whatever conversation he and the President had that led to his reinstatement.

Tseng’s singular focus on Rufus during the meeting was concerning, but there was always the President berating Heidegger to cheer him up.

Heidegger sputtered out a half-assed apology, but the blame still really lay with the President as far as Rufus was concerned. He was showing his true colors, his inability to continue to lead. Heidegger was a military tactician, a former soldier, not fit to lead the Turks at all. This of course had been part of Rufus’ plan, but he had not banked on the Turks banding together so competently in their leader’s absence.

“Perhaps you should have appointed an interim leader,” Rufus interjected, “instead of expecting a brute-force military man to know how to lead a group of spies and assassins.”

His father fixed him with a furious look, his face going slightly red.

“Let me be perfectly clear. I have had enough of this situation entirely. We’ve been dealing with the SOLDIER problem for far too long. And where the hell is this Avalanche group getting the funding for so many troops?”

“They also have weapons fabricated from our blueprints,” Scarlet noted. “Which means our young VP is correct in his assumption that someone is feeding them information from inside.”

The President slammed his fist against the table in an almost comical expression of his rage, directing his attention to Veld. “Well who the fuck is it then?”

Rufus rolled his eyes and turned to find Tseng staring at him with an absolutely murderous expression. Rufus had spent a great deal of time over the last few months beating the drum of rooting out the mole within the company, certain he could pin it on Lazard or, failing that, maybe bleeding-heart Tuesti. Had Tseng figured something out? But how would he have? Rufus had been meticulous in covering his tracks, up to and including rooting around in the Turks’ private files.

“Sir, I’m afraid we’re-” Veld began.

“We have a significant lead,” Tseng interrupted. It was perhaps the first time he had ever spoken at a board meeting without being directly addressed and his ears went red as the attention shifted to him.

“Do you?” asked Lazard, shifting forward in his seat. He looked uncomfortable; Rufus was still certain he was hiding something. How could he truly be loyal to Shinra after being raised in the slums knowing his father had left him to rot there?

“We should discuss it privately,” the President said.

“Sir, until I have the requisite evidence, I think it would be best to wait,” Tseng said, the red in his ears creeping into his cheeks.

“Fine,” said the President. “But don’t keep me waiting too long.”

“So you have a lead, but no evidence?” Rufus feigned boredom. “How is that helpful?”

Tseng met his gaze with eyes ablaze. “I’m confident in my ability to procure evidence, sir.”

If Avalanche couldn’t take care of this problem, it might fall to Rufus to do it himself before Tseng had a chance to dig up any substantive dirt. He made a mental note not to leave home without his shotgun from now on.

Tseng hadn’t meant for the outburst during the board meeting, but the more it was discussed, the longer he looked at Rufus Shinra’s smug face, the angrier he got until he couldn’t help but explode with it. Since the incident in Junon several days earlier he had wanted to tell Veld, but he was hoping for evidence beyond ‘Rufus Shinra hates the Turks’ to provide to him.

“Tseng,” said Veld as they walked to his office. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a lead?”

“I don’t have any evidence, sir. Nothing concrete anyway. I just…have a strong suspicion based on personal history.”

Veld held the door to his office open and allowed him inside. Rather than taking a seat, Tseng paced, wringing his hands while Veld sat on the edge of his desk and watched him.

“And who do you suspect?”

Tseng took a deep breath. “Rufus Shinra.”

Veld exhaled slowly and rubbed his chin. “That’s a large allegation, Tseng.”

“I know. That’s why I want time: to gather evidence. But I’m almost certain it’s him. He’s trumpeting about the mole to divert attention from himself. He’s been especially pointed in suggesting Laz-Director Deusericus. He must know about the director’s past. He’s trying to pin it on anyone but himself, but-”

“Tseng.” Veld held his hand up to silence him. Tseng shut his mouth and sat down. “You’re one of my best operatives. If you think this is a lead worth following, I want you to follow it. I think you understand the gravity of levying this charge against the President’s son. We cannot do so without ample proof of his involvement. What’s your plan?”

For several days, Tseng had been dwelling on just that and while he wasn’t completely confident, he felt the plan he had devised might be the best solution for definitive proof.

“I would like to discuss the Ancient when only he and the President are present,” Tseng explained. “As far as I’m aware, only you, me, and the President know about my mission involving her, correct?” He neglected to include that Zack was at least peripherally aware of the mission, largely because if anyone was at the absolute bottom of his list of suspects, it was Zack.

Veld stared at Tseng with a scrutinizing look. “Yes.”

“I’ll go to the President and give him an update on the Ancient while the vice president is in the room with him. It’s important that none of the other executives are there. I’ll explain the concern that Aerith-that the Ancient could be used as collateral if anyone were to find out her location. The President will undoubtedly have something to say about her importance and tell us to beef up security if we’re worried about it.”

Veld nodded. “And if Rufus Shinra is the one feeding Avalanche information, they’ll show up to try and extract the Ancient.”

“Right.” Tseng’s heart was racing. “He’ll probably wait a suitable amount of time to avoid making himself look guilty. He’ll assume others know about this project, maybe even try to pin it on Hojo not realizing even Hojo doesn’t know where she is. If Avalanche never makes a move, we can clear him of any guilt. If, however, they attempt to abduct her at any time in the future-”

“It will be thanks to the vice president’s help. That’s a clever solution, Tseng. I want you to move forward with this plan. Consider telling the girl’s mother so she can assist us.”

Tseng had to stop himself from laughing out loud. If he told Elmyra he was using Aerith as bait to deal with a political issue tearing Shinra apart from the inside out she would finally use the pistol she was constantly brandishing at him and, if he had to guess, she would not make his death quick or painless.

No, he would set up surveillance drones to scout the perimeter of her yard as well as a few to keep track of her throughout the sector. That would be sufficient to alert him to any incoming threat.

“I’ll see what I can do, sir.”

He left Veld’s office and returned to his own desk to plot out a time in the President’s schedule that guaranteed him the access he needed.

“A whole week without a major meltdown, huh?” Reno said, propping his feet on the table in front of him and glancing out the window. Rude sat across from him eating his dinner and staring out at the city as well. One table over, the only remaining first-class besides Sephiroth sat chatting animatedly with another SOLDIER and a few security officers.

“Seems like everything’s escalating,” Rude noted.

“Let’s not talk about work.” Reno tipped his chair back and placed his hands on the back of his head. “Meet anyone worth your time lately?” He was trying his best to be encouraging about Rude’s love life despite his ever-worsening crush. Resigned to the fact that the two of them could never work for too many reasons to count, he realized he should at least be supportive of someone who was ostensibly his best friend.

“What’s the point?” Rude answered, staring at his food glumly. “It’s not like we can have normal relationships in our line of work.”

For a fleeting moment Reno almost leaned forward to kiss him, desperate in a way he had never really known to keep him from being sad. The impulse left him, logic ruling for once in his life, but he did squeeze Rude’s arm in a comforting gesture.

“Sorry, man.”

“Yeah,” Rude sighed. “Thanks.” He shook his head and took another bite of his food. “Let’s just enjoy a moment of peace, huh? It’s finally quiet around here for once.”

Reno and Rude would eventually learn that even commenting on a moment of calm at Shinra was inviting chaos into the building. Less than five minutes after Rude’s comment, the building-wide alarm system went off.

“SECURITY BREACH. SECURITY BREACH. BUILDING LOCKDOWN UNDERWAY. SECURITY BREACH. SECURITY BREACH. BUILDING LOCKDOWN UNDERWAY.”

“Ah, fuck,” Reno hissed. He contemplated sitting this one out, but if Veld caught wind of it, there would be a stern punishment waiting for him. “Guess we better go figure out what it is.”

Rude threw his sandwich against his plate with a scowl. “It’s always something. Can’t even enjoy a nice meal.”

“I’ll take you somewhere fancy when this is over,” Reno grinned, extending his EMR and pushing past the startled employees nearby.

“Okay, but I don’t fuck on the first date,” said Rude, so deadpan it made Reno reel. Just the thought of it had his mind going places it absolutely shouldn’t be.

“Well, deal’s off then.”

Rude laughed. They made their way to the stairwell, swiping their access cards to override the lockdown and running into Zack the SOLDIER and his friends inside.

“Hey! Turks!” Zack shouted.

“We have names, y’know,” Reno groused.

“We’re headed down to find out what happened. Did you hear anything?” Rude asked, ignoring Reno.

“Heidegger sent out a notice,” Zack explained, holding up his phone.

Reno and Rude peered at it. It was a notice that suspected undercover Avalanche troops had breached the building and made it into Hojo’s lab before anyone could sound the alarm. They were either trying to kill Hojo or kidnap him and in the process of fleeing had intentionally released a number of lab specimens. Given all the rumors about Hojo, Reno was somewhat inclined to let them, but if anyone was considered a Shinra asset it was Hojo.

Sighing, Reno turned to Rude, “Guess we should try and stop ‘em, huh partner?”

“Guess so,” said Rude, resigned.

“We’ll come with,” Zack suggested, rounding up his friends.

“Uh, no offense kid, but I think this is a bit above the security clearance of public safety officers,” Reno said, nodding at the two security officers next to the other SOLDIER.

“Oh,” Zack deflated. “I guess you’re right. Cloud, Jory, stay here. You should be safe because of the lockdown.”

The two security officers exchanged a look and returned to Skyview Hall with shoulders slumped.

“You can come along,” said Reno, winding up the stairs without waiting any longer. “But don’t slow us down!”

“Hey! Wait!”

But Reno and Rude had already left the SOLDIERS behind to play catchup.

“SECURITY BREACH. SECURITY BREACH. BUILDING LOCKDOWN UNDERWAY.”

The alarm went off as Tseng returned from a meeting with the President and vice president to begin his plan of uncovering the mole. Slowly but surely, the Turks still hanging around headquarters filed out of offices and training rooms with puzzled looks on their faces, whispers turning into a din of noise as they all questioned each other about what was going on.

Veld stepped out of his office last. “All right, settle down. We’re dealing with another Avalanche breach.” This was met with a lot of moaning and groaning from everyone. Several of them were still sporting bruises from their encounter in Junon. Cissnei had a scar left behind from the run-in with Shears, partially covered by her hair.

“Look, I know we’re all growing exhausted with this thorn in our side,” Veld silenced everyone once more, “but we need to deal with the problem all the same. Reno and Rude just reported in. They’re headed to the roof with two SOLDIERS to try and head off the escapees. We believe they have Professor Hojo in tow.”

From behind Tseng, Emma muttered, “Let them take him.” A few of their colleagues nodded in agreement.

“What I would like from the rest of you,” Veld continued, “is to sweep the building for any stragglers. Question anyone who looks suspicious. They broke in wearing Shinra uniforms and using Shinra badges. Break into teams and start with all of the restricted access floors. Tseng, a word.”

This elicited a scoff from Emma as she and the others turned to leave. Tseng stayed behind.

“Yes, sir?”

“Your meeting was successful?” Veld asked.

“Yes.”

“Good. I’d like you to check the forty-ninth floor for any threats. Our system indicates that Director Deusericus overrode the lockdown to access the file room.”

Tseng’s heart dropped into his stomach. “Do you think-?”

“There could be any number of reasons for this,” Veld interrupted. “So instead of speculating, I’d like you to go investigate. Director Deusericus is on good terms with you. If he’s done nothing wrong, there’s nothing to worry about and while I think it’s unlikely that he and the VP might be working together…we shouldn’t underestimate anyone.”

“Of course, sir. I’ll check in on him.”

During a building lockdown, the elevators were off limits even to those who had the ability to override other locks, which meant Tseng would have to climb up forty-nine flights of stairs to reach Lazard’s office. Tseng was in excellent shape, but even the fittest SOLDIER at Shinra would have been winded by such a climb; by the time Tseng reached his destination, he was gasping for breath and clutching at a stitch in his side. Subsequently, he had to give himself a minute to recover before scanning his card to enter the forty-ninth floor.

Unsurprisingly, the floor was relatively deserted. During a security breach like this, any available SOLDIERS would be out sweeping the building and attempting to contain the threat. Tseng wound his way through the floor to Lazard’s office. The lights were off, but when he peered inside he could see movement, so he stepped inside with his gun drawn expecting to encounter resistance in the form of an Avalanche soldier rooting around in Lazard’s files.

Instead, Lazard emerged from beneath the desk with a large duffel bag in hand, shoving files into the bag and looking up in alarm at the sight of Tseng with his gun trained on him.

“Tseng.” Lazard looked disheveled, eyes wide and focused squarely on Tseng’s gun.

“Lazard,” Tseng said, lowering his gun even as alarm bells were ringing in his head. What had Tseng caught him in the middle of? Were his fears about Rufus really misplaced? Had Lazard orchestrated everything? He should have kept his gun trained on such an unknown variable, but Lazard had always been kind enough that Tseng felt he deserved a chance to explain himself. At least that’s how Tseng justified letting an absurd infatuation directly impact his ability to carry out his job. “What’s going on?”

“This must look pretty bad,” Lazard laughed nervously.

“I was asked to clear this floor of any threats,” Tseng responded, careful to keep his voice even and neutral. “What are you doing? Because it looks like you’re packing Shinra intel into a bag with the intent to flee.”

Lazard sighed and set his bag down, crossing the room slowly. He was wise to do so in the presence of a Turk, but for now Tseng was only keeping a watchful eye on his movements. He knew what he had walked in on, but he wanted a thorough explanation.

“Tseng,” said Lazard. “Tell me truthfully. Was I on your list of suspects? The vice president has been insistent about rooting out the mole and I’ve caught him sneaking around my office after hours when he thought I was gone. You must know who I am. What I came from. You do, don’t you?” He inched closer to Tseng as he spoke. Tseng’s pulse pounded in his ears.

“Yes,” he answered honestly. “You were on my list of suspects. I know that the President is your father.”

Lazard nodded. “No matter what else you learn in the coming months or years, please know I had nothing to do with Avalanche. I swear it on my life.”

Tseng scanned his face. In his gut, he believed Lazard was telling the truth, and so far in his life his gut had rarely steered him wrong. Unfortunately, his gut was also telling him that Lazard was dangerous whether he was being honest about Avalanche or not.

“If I believe you,” said Tseng, “I want an explanation for what I’ve walked in on.”

“Of course.” Lazard took a step closer and for a second Tseng considered grabbing his pistol again, but he wasn’t totally thinking straight and although he recognized it was stupid of him, he let his guard down in the presence of someone he almost considered a friend. “I wish I could give you a thorough explanation, Tseng.” Lazard cupped Tseng’s cheek and all rational thought was immediately shut off.

“Lazard,” Tseng breathed.

“I thought it would be easy…hating this place and everything it stood for. But it wasn’t as black and white as I thought.” Lazard’s thumb brushed lightly against Tseng’s cheek where he held it and Tseng realized he was holding his breath. He stared at Lazard’s lips, his head swimming, half of him screaming to move, to get away from Lazard as quickly as he could and the other half willing their bodies closer together.

“What…?” Tseng swallowed hard.

“I genuinely like you, Tseng. I don’t want to hurt you. I didn’t want you to get caught in the middle of this even though I knew you would,” he laughed, a look of profound sadness playing across his face. “It’s your job to get in the way, isn’t it?”

“I don’t understand,” Tseng breathed.

“Maybe…in another life we could have had something.”

Lazard brushed his nose against Tseng’s and brought their lips together in a tender kiss. So many thoughts assaulted Tseng’s brain at once that instead of acting on any of them he found himself leaning into the kiss, gripping Lazard’s shirt, opening his mouth to Lazard’s desperate for more. Lazard pressed him into the wall and kissed him more eagerly, tearing away before Tseng was ready for it to end.

Tseng remained leaning against the wall, breathless and dizzy.

“I’m so sorry, Tseng.”

“Lazard-”

Before he knew what hit him, Tseng was overcome with an unbearable fatigue. He slumped down the wall, all the strength gone from his muscles, and fell against the floor. The last thing he saw before the sleep spell overtook him was Lazard zipping up the duffel bag and hurrying out of the room.

“Tseng? Can you hear me?”

Tseng awoke to a skull-splitting headache and the sound of Veld’s voice hovering somewhere above him. He groaned and struggled to open his eyes, still fighting the sleep spell lingering in his system.

“You’re all right. Open your eyes for me.”

Tseng managed to obey the request. He found himself in the rec hall in Turk Headquarters lying flat on an exercise mat with Veld standing over him wearing a severe expression. As Tseng tried to parse what was happening and what he was doing on the floor like that, he recalled the kiss he shared with Lazard and the sudden betrayal as he was hit with the sleep spell.

“Sir,” he sat up too fast and got a head rush.

“Steady now. You got hit with a powerful spell.” Veld placed a supportive hand on Tseng’s shoulder. “Take your time. Stand when you think you’re ready.”

“Sir, Lazard. Director Deusericus, he-”

“I am aware of what you encountered in the director’s office,” Veld replied cryptically.

“Sir-”

“Tseng,” said Veld more firmly. “Stand up when you’re ready and we’ll go to my office and discuss this further.”

Tseng felt like he was going to be ill irrespective of the lingering effects of Lazard’s materia. Struggling to his feet, he followed Veld down the hall to his office and fell into the chair in front of his desk. Veld sat wordlessly behind his desk and turned his computer monitor to face Tseng, playing back a video of Lazard pressing Tseng into the wall and kissing him. Most damning of all was the way Tseng pulled Lazard against him after the initial kiss, clearly inviting more.

All of the blood left Tseng’s face and a pit settled in his stomach. He waited to say anything until Veld invited him to speak.

“Do you understand the severity of what happened, Tseng?” Veld asked, turning the monitor back to face him. Nothing about his demeanor gave away just how furious Tseng knew he must be, his reaction so even-keeled it made Tseng’s hair stand on end. “I have never been so disappointed in an operative. I…” He paused to collect his thoughts, clenching his fists. “I would expect this from someone impulsive like Reno, but you? Do you know what would happen if the President or Vice President saw this video?”

Tseng nodded, jaw clenched. “I understand, sir.”

“Explain yourself.”

In addition to his genuine terror that this might lead to his termination, there was an element of embarrassment as well. For all intents and purposes Veld had largely acted as a father figure when taking Tseng on as his protege. It was humiliating to admit he had let himself be lured in by a stupid, childish crush.

“Director Deusericus and I were on friendly terms,” Tseng began.

“Evidently,” Veld scoffed.

“Nothing ever happened until today,” Tseng was quick to correct. “I understand the rules against fraternization, sir. I take it seriously. I just had a…the director was always cordial with me. I worked closely with his operatives. When I encountered him in the office I asked him to explain himself and I was taken by surprise. I knew I should have pulled my gun on him and I failed to act.” He hung his head in shame. “I understand if this means I have to be terminated, sir.”

To his surprise, Veld let out a bark of laughter. “Terminated? Shiva, Tseng.” He shook his head. “I’m not going to condemn you to death for the crime of letting your feelings get in the way. I am extremely disappointed. I acknowledge that it’s not always easy to leave behind your emotions during a mission, but you have been the one operative I never had to worry about. I’m placing you on desk duty for the next month as punishment. Because of your mistake Director Deusericus was able to flee Midgar. We believe he has been acting as an informant for Genesis Rhapsodos.”

Tseng felt a mixture of emotions at all of this information: relief that he wasn’t being fired, anger at being deceived and betrayed, shock that mild-mannered Lazard had been aiding such a heinous operation. It was difficult to process all at once.

“I understand and accept my punishment, sir.”

“Your only field assignment will be to defend Aerith if your plan to expose the vice president comes to fruition. Am I understood?” Veld asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Tseng. Learn from this, but don’t let it destroy you. Turks are all still only human at the end of the day.” Veld rubbed his brow. “What I’m about to tell you never leaves this room.”

Tseng was too overwhelmed to do anything but nod.

“I made a far worse mistake than this when I was younger. Love…and lust make us do illogical things. Unfortunately, my mistake led to much more severe consequences than this. I fell in love with someone I shouldn’t have and in the end I was given my most difficult assignment. All I’m trying to say is you must find a balance. You can’t completely harden yourself to feeling, as I suspect you sometimes try,” he gave Tseng a knowing look and Tseng looked away. “But you also must shut those feelings off when you’re on the job.”

“I understand, sir.”

“You can’t possibly, but I want you to understand there are punishments worse than death.” For a moment, Veld looked overcome with emotion, but he choked it back and put on a stern expression once more. “As I said, this never leaves this room.” Tseng nodded once more to indicate he understood. “The woman I fell in love with was Margaret Shinra. And my punishment for being caught was the order to kill her.”

Tseng stared at his mentor, blank faced. “Sir?”

All Tseng knew about Margaret Shinra, the President’s only wife and Rufus’ mother, was that she had fallen to her death from the top of Shinra Tower. It had been ruled a suicide.

“I believe that I lost my wife and daughter as punishment too. Karmic retribution, if you will. There may come a day where President Shinra asks you to turn your gun on someone you care about as punishment for your crimes. A mistake like you made today could lead to a choice between your death or someone you care about.” Veld was no longer looking directly at him, his gaze distant and glassy-eyed. “I often wish I’d made a different choice.”

The lesson, Tseng supposed, was to avoid a scenario that forced such a choice. Instead, it left Tseng feeling conflicted about the one person he respected most while he silently vowed never to allow himself to be open with someone again. After all, if he hardened himself to love, he could never have it used against him, he could never let his guard down enough to be deceived as he had that day.

He would love no one and nothing. He would devote himself entirely to Shinra and the Turks. What else was left for him in the end?

Chapter Text

Tseng sat on a crumbling pew inside the church in Sector Five where Aerith spent much of her time, watching as she tended a small patch of flowers positioned directly in a beam of light that filtered in through one of several holes in the roof. Tseng had his concerns about the decaying structure of the building, but he understood it was a sort of refuge for Aerith.

For six years Tseng had watched over Aerith, watching her grow from a cheerful child, to an obstinate teenager, and now to an extraordinary young woman. She took her role as Tseng’s ward in stride. There had been periods of rebellion, half-hearted attempts to run away cut short by her fear of the world outside the safety of the plate, but now she largely accepted Tseng’s regular visits and treated him with a kindness and compassion he didn’t deserve.

He had come to think of her like a younger sister, an attachment he recognized was sentimental and foolish. He worked often to harden himself against it, still aching from the betrayal of trusting Lazard, but Aerith would not accept his attempts. She tucked a flower into his breast pocket every time he left and told him to give it to someone he cared about. Having no one, he usually left the flowers to die in a vase in his apartment, often meeting an untimely end when Maomao chewed the petals off.

Tseng would simply have to do his best to keep his attachment to Aerith private. A day would come when he would have to return her to Shinra Tower and it would be easier for everyone if they didn’t care for each other. Neither he nor Aerith were naive to the point of his visits, of course, and while she treated him with the same sweet disposition she reserved for anyone not actively attempting to hurt her, he knew she remained wary that at the end of the day he was a trained assassin.

“Have you seen Zack lately?” Aerith asked, taking a flower between her fingers to prune the leaves.

“Just last week,” Tseng answered.

He was both surprised and a little tickled that Zack and Aerith’s puppy love had lasted so long. More than a year had passed since they met and this was the first time in many months that Zack wasn’t lingering around when Tseng showed up for his usual check-in. Part of that was likely to blame on the fact that he had dropped in earlier than usual. Avalanche troops had been spotted in the sewers by one of his colleagues and Veld had given the word to let them pass so they could follow their path. If they found their way to Aerith, it would be the first scrap of evidence for the Turks to build their case against Rufus Shinra. As a result, Tseng was on edge, constantly glancing back at the entrance to the church.

“Zack likes you a lot,” Aerith told him. “He talks about you.”

“Perhaps you should correct him,” said Tseng, shifting in the pew so he could keep an eye on the entrance.

Aerith snorted. “Please. You’ve been coming to check on me for so long, I don’t buy your scary act. It’s just too bad I don’t have pictures of you holding my flower baskets.” Tseng raised his eyebrows and she giggled. “Good blackmail.”

In a pink dress with a pink ribbon holding back her braid, her large green eyes twinkling with mischief that someone who didn’t know her well might mistake for naivety, it was easy enough for strangers to misjudge Aerith as a sweet and innocent angel who couldn’t and wouldn’t hurt a fly. Tseng, having been the victim of many pranks at her hand when she was a young teen, saw through her sweet disguise. Aerith was both smart and cunning, skills learned from her mother and a lifetime living beneath the plate where showing weakness was a liability. Tseng liked to think he had helped play a hand in shaping her too - he had taught her a few key moves to protect herself. When he offered to buy her a gun and show her how to use it, she wrinkled her nose and shook her head, but she did settle on an aluminum staff which would render anybody unconscious if she hit them hard enough with it.

“Does your mother know you’re such an imp?” Tseng asked.

“Know? It’s her fault,” Aerith giggled again. Her laughter sounded like wind chimes, lovely and melodic.

Tseng allowed himself a smile. “Aerith. I should warn you that I’m here earlier than usual this month because we believe there are some men looking for you.

She seemed unperturbed by the information. “So, finally going to do some actual bodyguard work? You always say that’s why you’re here, but you’ve never actually protected me from anything.”

“I bought you that staff,” Tseng pointed out.

“That doesn’t count.”

“If these people show up,” Tseng said, ignoring her, “I need you to run into the back room and hide until I come find you.”

“And what if you don’t win, huh?” Aerith stood up and put her hands on her hips. “I’m just supposed to let them beat you and take me away? What do they want with me anyway?”

Every conversation with Aerith that centered around her importance to Shinra involved concessions on Tseng’s part, telling her company secrets that he could have been fired for. He chose his words carefully.

“These people want to destroy Shinra, but that doesn’t mean they want to help you. They just want to take you and sell you to the highest bidder. Or use you for the same means the President has in mind. Please trust me, Aerith. These people aren’t any better than I am just because they don’t like Shinra.”

Aerith’s brow furrowed. She held Tseng’s gaze with such an intensity that he already knew there was no telling her ‘no’, whatever came out of her mouth next.

“Fine. But I’m not leaving you to fight alone.”

He sighed, “Aerith. You’re seventeen and you learned all of your fighting skills from the streets. I’m a trained operative. I have almost ten years of experience under my belt. Just let me handle it.”

She puffed out her chest. “Make me.”

There was no arguing with her, he supposed. If and when it came down to a fight, all he could do was try to keep himself between her and Avalanche.

They didn’t have long to wait. A few minutes after their argument, the first troops appeared in the doorway. Their armor was the same tan they always wore when not undercover, but it looked newer and sturdier, the result of Rufus Shinra’s generous wealth Tseng guessed. Tseng raised his pistol and Aerith took a defensive stance behind him with her staff raised.

“We’re here for the girl, Turk.”

A woman stepped past the troops in the doorway with a sword in hand. She wore a green bandana around her neck similar to the one Shears wore on his head, her armor much lighter than that of the troops. Tseng had never encountered her before, but Reno had described a similar woman in Junon who had made a mess of things - only Sephiroth had been able to scare her off.

“Are you the leader then?” Tseng asked.

She smirked. “That’s right. You can just call me Elfe. I came to see this job through myself. Couldn’t let such a valuable find slip through our fingers. Especially after we botched the last job with Hojo.” She looked at Aerith and smiled. “What sort of lies has the Turk been feeding you, Aerith?”

Aerith tightened her grip on her staff. “Don’t think you can just sweet talk me into siding with you,” she growled.

“I see,” Elfe nodded. “They’ve had you under their thumb so long you think they’re your friends. Well let me tell you something. A Turk is always a Turk at the end of the day. I know from experience. They say they care about you, that they love you, but they’ll discard you in a second if Shinra asks it of them.”

“That’s enough,” Tseng said, cocking his gun. He was admittedly curious which Turk this ‘Elfe’ knew. “I made quick work of your friend Shears. I’m happy to do the same for you.”

Elfe laughed. “That’s not the way Shears told it. You did fuck his leg up, but it’s nothing a little materia didn’t fix. The way I heard it, he almost had you. And it doesn’t look like you have any Turk friends to back you up this time.”

“Think again, bitch!”

Reno leaped down from the rafters and slammed against Elfe’s back. Tseng, knowing Avalanche might bring someone as dangerous as Shears in again, had asked Reno, Rude, Emma, and Cissnei to assist him on this mission. It was a risk, allowing more Turks to know about Aerith, but he trusted them. Losing Aerith was too much to risk, so Veld had agreed to fill a few more Turks in on their most classified mission.

Elfe didn’t take long to recover from the blow Reno dealt, rolling onto her back and slicing at Reno with her sword. Reno hopped backward with the aid of his haste materia and swung at her with his EMR, but she dashed into the pews and he made contact with the side of one instead, sending splinters of wood flying through the air.

From the back room, Rude and Emma emerged as more Avalanche troops rushed in to aid their leader. Cissnei was still up above in the rafters, and she swung down, flinging her shuriken with deadly aim. It lodged between the shoulders of one of the Avalanche soldiers and he slumped forward onto the floor.

“Tseng!” Aerith cried, stepping behind him. “There’s so many of them!”

“Stay behind me,” Tseng commanded. He fired off a few shots at two approaching soldiers and inched down the aisle.

“Watch out!”

Tseng spun on his heels just in time to duck as Elfe launched herself at him. She caught him in the shoulder with her sword and he nearly dropped his gun as a bolt of pain shot through the nerves on his arm. He was subsequently shocked when he felt gentle fingers pressed against his back and the cool relief of restore materia spreading through the wound - Aerith was staying close.

“Protecting your captors?”

Elfe held her sword out and walked in a tight circle, Tseng following her movements. Around them, the other Turks kept the troops from encroaching, a cacophonous noise filling the church as gunshots and weapons scraping against armor reverberated against the stone walls.

“What’s the saying?” Aerith asked, knuckles white as she clutched at her staff. “Better the devil I know than the devil I don’t?”

Tseng smirked and fired a shot at Elfe’s feet. She jumped back just in time to avoid it. Her eyes scanned Tseng’s face as they continued to move in a circle around each other, Aerith sticking close to Tseng’s back.

“You must be Tseng, then,” Elfe said. “We’ve got special orders for you. Somebody at Shinra doesn’t like you very much.”

Tseng pursed his lips. “I’m aware of how Rufus Shinra feels about me.”

The shock on her face was fleeting and nearly imperceptible, but Tseng saw it all the same. It was further confirmation of what the appearance of Avalanche troops already told him: Rufus Shinra was funding Avalanche and he was using them to attempt to get rid of the Turks. Tseng imagined he had other goals in mind in funding what had started as an annoying but manageable group of insurgents.

“Should I be honored that he singled me out specifically?” Tseng continued.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Elfe feigned ignorance. “All I know is I’m inclined to carry out the order our funder gave us given what you did to Shears.” She leaped forward and Tseng caught her in the gut with a punch, but she still managed to tackle him to the ground, gripping his ponytail and yanking his head back to expose his neck to her sword. He grappled with her, jaw clenched, clawing and kicking with all of his strength, gripping the blade of her sword until it cut through the thick leather of his gloves. If he could keep it from his throat, that was ideal, but he was more concerned with keeping Elfe away from Aerith.

“Tseng!” Aerith cried out.

“Aerith!” He yelled. “Go to Reno! The redhead!”

She looked to Reno, engaged in a fight with two troops, back-to-back with Rude. Rather than listen to Tseng, she lifted her staff and slammed it against the side of Elfe’s head, dazing her enough for Tseng to get out from under her and scramble to his feet. He put himself between Aerith and Elfe once more and fired a shot that landed in Elfe’s shoulder.

Struggling significantly with her injuries, Elfe scrambled backward behind a pew. Tseng gave chase - he would kill her if he could. She slid beneath the pew, leaving a trail of blood on the floor in her wake, and Tseng fired off several shots through the seat of the pew.

“Elfe’s injured!” One of the nearby soldiers seemed to notice what was happening. Several of the troops engaged in combat with the other Turks disengaged to attempt to aid her.

“Get fucked,” Emma hissed, firing on the soldier who notified the others and landing a shot between the eyes.

“Send in the backup,” another Avalanche soldier spoke into a device at her chest. “Elfe’s injured. We need to get her out.”

More troops flooded into the church. Emma ran in front of Tseng, putting herself between him and the troops.

“Emma, what are you-?”

“Get the girl out of here,” Emma said. “We’ll hold them off.”

Tseng nodded. “Thank you.”

“We’re still Turks,” she told him. “That’s what matters, right?”

“Right.” Tseng grabbed Aerith’s wrist. “Aerith, come with me.”

They ran through the back of the church into a room hidden behind the stairs. It was better to wait there and keep Aerith safe than to try to engage the oncoming troops, even if Tseng hated the idea of leaving the others behind. Aerith was his top priority: protect Shinra assets at all costs.

“Are you all right?” Tseng asked, scanning her for any injuries.

She sighed and sat against the floor. “I’m fine. What about you?”

She gripped his arms and gently twisted his palms upward to reveal the damage done by Elfe’s sword. The blade managed to dig through the fabric of his gloves and leave gashes on both palms, which Tseng allowed Aerith to tend to with some restore materia, though he knew he would have difficulty gripping anything for a while. Despite the aid of materia, his wounds ached, and once Aerith was content that he wasn’t bleeding out, he sat down and leaned against the wall.

“I should have known you would have backup,” Aerith said, shaking her head. After a moment of silence, she added, “Thank you. For protecting me.”

“It’s my job,” said Tseng.

And though they both recognized it was more complicated than that, they both also realized there was no need to discuss it. After a few minutes, Reno limped in, leaning heavily on Rude.

“They got away, but we took out about ten or fifteen of them and injured several more,” Rude reported. “Emma and Cissnei are in pursuit. I think Emma’s hoping to bring the leader in.”

Tseng sighed. “Very well. Thank you for your help. How badly are you injured?”

“Ah, it’s nothing,” Reno muttered.

“He twisted his ankle,” Rude explained. “I’m going to get him back to headquarters. You want me to call in a cleanup crew?”

“No,” Tseng shook his head. “I’ll take care of it.”

Reno and Rude exchanged a look before nodding and making their way out of the church.

“Aerith, let me take you home,” Tseng said once they were gone.

Usually, Aerith would protest whenever Tseng wanted to follow her through the sector. Although Tseng suspected the citizens of the sector who had known her since she was a child were well aware she was ‘different’, Aerith disliked anything that marked her as such. A Turk following her through the sector made her conspicuous. This time, however, she didn’t protest. She looked exhausted - it was the first time since coming to live with Elmyra that anyone had come after her like this and it had clearly shaken her.

“Okay,” she said. “Should I…I’m not going to tell my mom about this.”

“That’s up to you. I’m happy to take the brunt of her ire,” Tseng chuckled, leading her out of the church, past several bodies. Blood leached into floorboards and Tseng directed Aerith not to look at it. He would clean it up and there would be no sign of what had occurred there.

When they reached the Gainsborough residence, Elmyra stood outside the door with her arms folded across her chest and her gun conspicuously present in a holster at her hip. Aerith ran to her and they embraced while Tseng stood awkward and uncomfortable a few feet away.

“Go inside, baby. I want to talk to Tseng alone.”

“Mom, he-”

“Go on.”

Aerith mouthed ‘I’m sorry’ to Tseng and did as her mother asked. Once she was inside, Elmyra marched up to Tseng, and though she stood several inches shorter than him, Tseng felt intimidated by her presence nonetheless.

“I just had several people here telling me a bunch of strange men in uniforms were storming Aerith’s church.”

Tseng nodded. “An anti-Shinra militant group interested in obtaining Aerith for the same reasons Shinra is interested in her.”

Elmyra clenched her fists and looked for a moment as though she might cry, but then her features softened. “To be honest, I thought something like this would happen sooner. You protected her from those people?”

“Yes.”

For the first time in the six years Tseng had been assigned to watch over Aerith, Elmyra placed her hand on his shoulder and squeezed it. “Thank you.”

“It’s my job,” Tseng repeated the same reasoning he’d given to Aerith, if only in an attempt to convince himself that’s all it was. Elmyra let go of him and took a step back. “Elmyra, there may be other Turks stopping in to check on Aerith from now on. We want to make sure she’s safe. This group…they’ve caused a lot of trouble.”

Elmyra nodded. “So long as the same rules apply.”

“Of course.”

Content with this answer, Elmyra nodded and returned to comfort Aerith while Tseng left to complete his job: meticulously cleaning up every body within the church and erasing any evidence that Avalanche had been there at all.

“We didn’t get the girl and the Turks almost killed me. Seems like they were expecting us.”

Elfe’s e-mail had been short and to the point and though mood was difficult to portray through text, Rufus got the feeling she was pretty pissed off. So was he. He didn’t really give a shit one way or another if they got the girl, though it would have been nice to hold over his father’s head given how long the Turks seemed to be tracking her. He was more concerned with getting rid of the thorn in his side that was Tseng: what once had been annoying at best was now quickly turning into a festering wound - he needed to excise it as soon as possible.

If the people he was paying couldn’t manage it, Rufus would have to take matters into his own hands.

The best course of action, he thought, was to corner Tseng somewhere where there weren’t cameras and where he was guaranteed to be alone. That meant finding him in the Turks’ headquarters late at night when everyone else had gone home. Barring that, he would have to figure out where Tseng lived and ambush him. He wouldn’t kill him right away, of course. If he could buy him over to his side, he’d be more useful that way, but Rufus didn’t suspect Tseng could be swayed so easily. Killing him also wouldn’t solve all of his problems, but it would at least send a clear message to the Turks.

So he waited until the early hours of the morning, waited until he saw Veld leave on the security feeds, and made his way down to Turks’ headquarters only to find his access card would no longer allow him entry. That was an easy enough fix; he overrode the locks by prying open the mechanism and manually forcing the access.

The hallway was silent and dark, but the door to the executive office was ajar and Rufus could hear the sounds of typing issuing from within. Moving as quietly as he could, Rufus readied his pistol and inched along the hallway toward the office. He knew if he brought his shotgun it would be far too conspicuous, making a mess of the office and marking him as an immediate suspect. So he opted for a pistol his father had given him many years earlier that largely went unused.

When he reached the door he stood still against the wall to the side of the doorway and listened as Tseng ceased typing and yawned. Good, better to catch him off guard while he was tired. Rufus wasn’t foolish enough to think he could take on a Turk with Tseng’s experience in a fair fight.

Taking a calming breath, Rufus swung into the office with his pistol raised to find the desks empty. Before he could turn around to scan the room, a blow to his back knocked the wind out of him, a firm grip around his wrist forcing him to drop the pistol. Tseng kicked it across the room and then wrenched Rufus to the floor with such force that his shoulder came loose from its socket with a violently painful pop.

Then he was on the ground, dazed, and Tseng was on top of him with his hand around his throat, firm enough to get his attention but not tight enough to leave a mark.

“Mr. Vice President,” Tseng said, jaw clenched. “Were you concerned for my well-being? Is that why you came down here with a loaded gun?”

Rufus didn’t bother fighting against his grip. He was well aware Tseng could crush his windpipe if he wanted to - and the look in his eyes suggested he was just hoping for a reason.

“That’s right,” Rufus said. “I thought I saw an intruder on the security feed.”

“How thoughtful of you to care about me that much,” said Tseng, his knees dug into Rufus’ thighs to the point of pain. “I had a run in quite recently with one of your friends. She said her name was Elfe. Sound familiar?”

“Never heard of her,” Rufus spoke with a feigned calmness, wincing when Tseng’s thumb pressed harder against his Adam’s apple.

Tseng leaned down until his face was so close to Rufus’ their noses touched. “I know you’re the mole, sir. I’m curious how the President might react to that news.”

Rufus scoffed. “Tell him. You don’t have the evidence.” He was confident of this much. If Tseng had sufficient evidence to pin it on him, he would have already told his father. He was trying to intimidate him into giving up more information. Rufus had spent far too much time with Turks lurking around him not to pick up a few of their tricks.

“I don’t,” Tseng admitted. “At least not enough. But you had better watch your back.”

“Are you threatening me?” Tseng pressed his palm hard against Rufus’ dislocated shoulder and Rufus couldn’t contain the groan of pain that left his throat. He clenched his teeth and bucked against Tseng to no avail. “If my father finds out about this, you’ll be fired.”

Faster than Rufus could process it, Tseng gripped his arm and wrenched his shoulder back into place. Rufus howled in pain and Tseng moved off of him, standing over him with a dark look in his eyes. “Tell him,” he said. “You don’t have the evidence.”

Rufus scrambled to his feet, glancing at the pistol on the other side of the room. It wasn’t worth the risk. He dusted himself off and met Tseng’s gaze.

“I’m not afraid of you.” It was a lie. The Turks were both loyal to his father and had no boundaries when it came to what they would do for him. Would his father have him killed if it came to it? He couldn’t honestly say.

“You should be,” Tseng answered.

“Well,” Rufus said. “I’m glad you’re safe. No intruder after all.”

“Right,” said Tseng, playing along. “Thank you for your concern, sir. If I catch you down here again, it won’t be a pleasant experience for you.”

“Oh, Tseng,” Rufus laughed. “It’s always pleasant running into you. You take care now.”

He left before he could get himself into further trouble, hurrying to the elevator while Tseng watched him from the doorway. In retrospect, he should have anticipated that Tseng would be prepared for such an ambush - he was a veteran Turk after all. The experience left him rattled, but mostly uninjured. He was confident that Tseng didn’t have sufficient evidence that he was the mole, but the fact that he had any evidence at all was alarming.

He would have to be more careful. Any slip-up could land him in hot water. He wanted his father’s seat of power, but was he willing to risk his life for it?

Then again, was he really a Shinra if he wasn’t?

Tseng stood before the President, Veld at his side, waiting for a response after recounting the admittedly limited evidence he had against Rufus. Given how other executives might gain access to valuable intel, Avalanche attempting to kidnap Aerith wasn’t concrete proof Rufus had given the order - it was enough to raise suspicion though.

“Well,” said the President, puffing on his cigar and staring out the window at Midgar. “It doesn’t look good, but it’s not exactly a smoking gun, is it?”

“No, sir,” Tseng bowed his head.

“Rufus…what is he thinking?” The President turned to face them. “Veld, put him on Rufus’ detail. I want eyes on him every second of the day.”

Tseng considered a protest, but Veld beat him to it.

“Sir, respectfully, if we have a Turk on his detail at all times, it will be difficult to catch him consorting with the terrorists. I suggest instead that we be allowed to place trackers and audio recording devices. Of course, I am happy to assign Tseng to the vice president’s detail during important events. Blocking his access to the terrorists during, for example, press conferences, helps ensure he can’t give orders in those situations.”

The President nodded and tipped some ashes from his cigar into an ashtray on his desk. “What kind of orders exactly?”

“Sir, Avalanche has already made an attempt on your life once,” said Veld.

“Fine,” the President barked. “I want him on Rufus’ detail at all major events. Otherwise get me the evidence through whatever means necessary. As soon as you have it I want him brought here to answer for it. And if you don’t get the evidence, I want to know who the hell was trying to pin it on him.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Now go. Get it done.”

Veld and Tseng didn’t wait for a second order. They walked to the elevator together and only once the doors had closed, did Veld speak again.

“I’m going to send Emma to bug his apartment and hide a tracker on that shotgun of his. You’ll review the data every week and report back to me. Understood?”

Tseng nodded. “Of course, sir. And the detail?”

“I know it’s not ideal. But I trust you more than anyone else to keep him from doing something seriously detrimental to this company. Or to the Turks.”

Tseng accepted the mission without protest. As much as he loathed the idea of watching over Rufus Shinra after as many times as he’d been forced onto his detail, he did enjoy the thought of how angry it would make Rufus, and that was good enough to get him through.

They just needed the evidence to completely pin it on him. Then he would be punished for his actions.

Tseng did wonder what that punishment might entail. Would the President order the Turks to kill his own son as he had his wife? Knowing what Tseng now knew about the late Margaret Shinra, he couldn’t really put it past the President to make the same order for Rufus. After all, wasn’t it Rufus himself who pointed out how easily his father could replace him with another bastard?

To his surprise, Tseng felt a little pang of pity, something for which Rufus surely would have mocked him. He deserved a severe punishment for what he had done, but did he deserve death?

Then again, why should Tseng waste any time pitying a man who had tried to kill him a day earlier?

All that really mattered now is that Rufus Shinra got the punishment that he was due, whatever that might entail.

Chapter Text

Monthly group meetings were Reno’s least favorite part of being a Turk, besides maybe following orders. Could he really be blamed if he had a hard time zeroing in on the point when Veld droned on for two hours straight? Reno wasn’t good at sitting still and paying attention to verbal orders, so a two-hour meeting once a month was fucking rough. He sat next to Rude tapping his foot impatiently, thinking about how badly he needed a cigarette in between hyperfocusing on his proximity to Rude.

“The next point of order relates to the ongoing situation with Genesis Rhapsodos,” Veld said.

There was a collective groan around the table at this. For two long years the Turks had been forced to deal with the rogue first-class SOLDIER every few months - on top of the continuing situation with Avalanche and their other duties as Turks. Reno was as sick of it as the rest of his colleagues were, but he supposed that was the essence of being a Turk: cleaning up Shinra’s self-made messes.

“I know it’s only been a few months since we last dealt with this issue and I’m sure you’re all tired of hearing about it. The fact remains, several workers have gone missing from the mako reactor at Nibelheim and we suspect Rhapsodos is involved. The President would like SOLDIER and the Turks to investigate. He’s sending both remaining firsts along with a group of security officers.”

Next to Veld, Tseng bristled. He often got shafted with the role of working alongside SOLDIER on these missions. At least Zack was tolerable and seemed to be on friendly terms with the Turks. Sephiroth was more of an enigma.

“Freyra, Balto, Ruluf, I’d like you to accompany them to Nibelheim,” Veld continued. “They’ll scout the reactor itself, but we believe Rhapsodos may have men stationed in the mountains surrounding the reactor. It has been…” Veld paused and seemed to choose his words carefully, “strongly suggested by Director Heidegger that the Turks move in first to help neutralize the threat prior to SOLDIER’s involvement.”

“Are you kidding me?” Reno muttered. “Two muscle heads like Zack and Sephiroth can’t handle it? We gotta clear the place out for them?”

“Reno, did you have something to share with the team?” Veld demanded.

“No, chief.” Reno sunk down in his seat.

“Good. We’ll meet to discuss the finer details of the assignment after this meeting is over,” Veld added to the three who had been assigned to assist in Nibelheim. “Tseng, the Vice President is scheduled to speak at an event in Costa del Sol tomorrow and the President would like you to accompany him.”

Tseng was stone-cold and often unreadable, but everyone in that room knew he couldn’t stand the VP. Of course, like a good Turk, he just nodded without affect and said, “Of course, sir.”

Another twenty minutes passed before Veld finally dismissed them and Reno had never been happier to get up out of his seat, speeding toward the elevator like a bullet from a gun. Rude never joined him for smoke breaks because he hated the smell, though otherwise they spent more time together than apart. Reno couldn’t decide if he enjoyed their constant proximity or not. He loved spending time with Rude, but he also let his mind run wild with impossibilities every time they were together.

Reno, who was otherwise terrible at following rules, had been steadfast in his decision that crossing a line with Rude was a bad idea, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t toe the line - and he toed it far too often - flirting with Rude during missions, going out of his way to find reasons to touch him. He’d never been hung up on someone so bad, but until Rude he’d never trusted anyone enough to get that close. This left him conflicted as well - was he really that into Rude or had he never had a true friend in his life?

This was all way too damn introspective for him, so he did his best to think about it as little as possible.

He took the elevator up to the lobby and stepped out into the welcoming pavilion to light up a cigarette, inhaling deeply and releasing a cloud of smoke with a sigh of relief. Nothing calmed his nerves like a good smoke. Rude was always trying to convince him to quit, but it was one vice he just couldn’t let go of.

As he stood smoking, a car Reno knew belonged to the Shinra fleet pulled up to the curb. Its windows were heavily tinted and a security officer was the first out of the back, holding the door open as the vice president himself stepped out wearing his perpetual frown. Reno let his gaze linger - only a blind man wouldn’t - until Rufus noticed him staring. He scowled as he swept past him inside the building.

Tseng always got put on the VP’s detail and at first Reno thought it was some sort of messed up punishment for something Tseng had done wrong well before Reno was ever a Turk, but more and more he thought maybe Veld just didn’t trust anyone else not to try and fuck Rufus Shinra. Laughing to himself, Reno stubbed his cigarette out on the ground and headed inside to return to work.

It had been some time since Tseng was assigned to Rufus’ detail and it came as no surprise at all to Rufus that he should be put on his detail for this trip to Costa del Sol so soon after their altercation in Turk headquarters. He would have to be exceedingly careful in his communications with Avalanche going forward - he imagined the Turks would be monitoring every phone call, every e-mail, every single action he took - and whether he liked it or not, the Turks were good at what they did. He might be able to circumvent some of their surveillance, but certainly not all of it.

And with Tseng breathing down his neck as part of his detail it would be next to impossible to slip away for any in-person meetings with Elfe and the others.

They were becoming more insistent on meeting their terms as well. A string of failures had Fuhito attempting to rally the others against Rufus. Elfe still had the final say, but it was clear she was growing frustrated with Rufus’ continued bad intel - foiled at each turn by the Turks - and the fact that even with his funding and insider information they had done little more than act as a thorn in Shinra’s side. In that sense, they were serving their purpose for Rufus perfectly. His father and the Turks continued to look like incompetent fools for the most part, unable to predict their enemies movements’. If they could just get the final job done of taking care of his father (and the Turks, if they could manage it) he could sever his funding and squash them as he had planned all along.

For now, he had to meet them halfway or risk losing them completely and having to start over with the Turks holding him under a microscope.

The only reason Rufus was giving this speech for his father in Costa was to stay in his good graces. ‘Funding a terrorist organization? I could never dream it father. Look at me fulfilling my duties as vice president. How could I be the mole?’ He could be very convincing when he wanted to, he only hoped he was convincing enough now when it mattered.

When the helicopter landed in Costa, Tseng didn’t let more than six feet of space separate the two of them at any given moment, trailing close behind Rufus as he walked through the city, two security officers taking the lead. Shinra had a villa by the beach that Rufus frequented in the winter as a child, but it had been a few years since he last visited. His father still used the residence often, absconding to let his subordinates deal with Midgar while he basked in the sun.

Everything about his father’s rule over the last decade or so made his blood boil.

“Is it necessary to hover so close?” Rufus snapped. “Surely you can see me without being right on top of me?”

“I’m here to protect you, sir,” Tseng answered.

“Cut the bullshit. We both know why you’re here. Do you really think I’m stupid enough to try something with you on my heels?”

“No. That’s precisely the point.”

Rufus huffed and said nothing. It was excruciatingly hot, the breeze coming off the sea providing little in the way of relief, and for once in his life Rufus regretted the many layers he wore. There was, however, some solace in the fact that Tseng must have been dying beneath his thick black suit. If he was uncomfortable, he didn’t betray it, though sweat beaded on his forehead.

They were granted some reprieve from the heat when they reached the venue where Rufus would be giving his speech: a conference hall that was mercifully air conditioned. The obsequious event-runners met them at the door and ushered them back to a private dressing room where Rufus was meant to wait until they were ready for him, Tseng looming by the doorway glaring a hole through him.

“I suppose Veld put you up to this,” Rufus said once they were alone.

“Right,” said Tseng. “Because, as you have kindly pointed out many times, Turks are incapable of thinking for ourselves.”

Rufus bristled. “Your success in Junon a few months ago cured me of any delusions that you can’t act without direction.”

They stared at one another in stony silence. It was, in Rufus’ humble opinion, a shame Tseng was so steadfast and devoted to the rules. Rufus had no qualms with crossing any number of lines for his own personal benefit and in another world - one where Tseng was willing to bend a bit more - he felt he could have pursued a situation similar to his relationship with Elfe. Tseng was both attractive and intelligent, two attributes Rufus found most important in a sexual partner.

He almost laughed at the thought of it. Did someone like Tseng even have sex? He seemed to live inside headquarters when he wasn’t on a mission. His entire life seemed nothing more than a devotion to Shinra.

Such a waste.

What might the steadfast Turk have to say if he knew Rufus was not only funding Avalanche, but fucking their leader?

“I don’t suppose you and your people ever managed to track down that bastard brother of mine,” Rufus said, feigning disinterest. Ever since Lazard fled Midgar, Rufus had been intensely curious as to where he had gone. The rumors that he was aiding Genesis Rhapsodos seemed as likely as any other explanation. He recalled the way Tseng looked at Lazard across the table at executive meetings and decided Tseng might not be as steadfast as he thought.

“We have been unable to locate Director Deusericus,” said Tseng. “Though we continue to receive rumored sightings.”

“He seemed fond of you. Surprising, considering his loyalty to the slums. Grounders don’t like Turks very much, do they?”

“Most people don’t like Turks very much.”

“But he was fond of you, wasn’t he?”

“I wasn’t overly close with the director. We had a cordial working relationship.”

Answered like a true Turk. What did Rufus expect? It wasn’t like Tseng was going to come out with something like ‘Yes, actually, we used to fuck.’

“I heard my father sent the firsts off to deal with more of this SOLDIER mess.”

“I’m afraid I’m not privy to the details of that mission,” Tseng squared his shoulders.

“Hmph. What can you talk about, Tseng?”

“I wonder if we should be concerned about Avalanche making an appearance today, sir. Or should we worry about them arriving in Midgar while both first-class SOLDIERS are halfway across the globe and several Turks are out on assignment?” Tseng quirked an eyebrow.

“I don’t see how I should know,” said Rufus with a shrug. “And I don’t know why you’re stooping so low as to act this stupid. We can both do better than that. I’m not going to give you any information you want and I don’t appreciate your bad acting.”

Tseng pursed his lips and said nothing.

“So what if someone tried to kill me today? Would you really take a bullet for someone you hate this much? Someone you suspect is actively undermining you?”

“Would you prefer I let you die?”

“I would prefer people who think for themselves.”

“You’re infuriating,” Tseng snapped. “You know perfectly well what a Turk’s job is and what happens to a Turk who fails to follow orders. If you have such an issue with the way we behave and the work that we do perhaps you should have a conversation with your father instead of complaining about his ‘lapdogs’.”

Rufus scoffed. “You seriously mean to tell me trained assassins can’t outwit or overpower my father and his SOLDIER goons if it came to it? Blackmail him. That would keep you out of the torture chamber, surely. This is exactly what I mean, your inability to-”

“Do you have any idea how powerful a SOLDIER is? Have you ever had to watch a mako shower? Shiva, you’re always talking just to hear your own voice without bothering to think about the truth. If I, as a Turk, let you - the vice president…the president’s son - die because I didn’t feel like stepping in the way of whatever bullet was marked for your head, there wouldn’t be a conversation. There would be three or four SOLDIERS waiting for me at headquarters and that would be it. It takes four or five Turks to neutralize a rogue SOLDIER and that’s still a challenge. For someone so smart sometimes you’re so…” Tseng clenched his jaw. “Naive.”

Rufus’ immediate impulse to react with irritation was canceled out by the fact that he much preferred dealing with Tseng when he actually spoke his mind. This was why Rufus was constantly trying to get a rise out of him; he still bristled at the accusation.

“Naive? I’ve been all over the planet, I-”

“All over the planet, but how many times have you been beneath the plate?”

Rufus fell silent. As a child he had not been allowed beneath the plate. As an adult, there was a certain fear of grounders that kept him away.

Their conversation was cut short as the event organizers arrived and led him out to give his speech - something suitably aggrandizing for his father’s donors. Rufus planned to put an end to this ass-kissing when he was in charge.

He resolved to shed his Turk shadow as soon as they returned to Midgar and get back to work with Avalanche sooner rather than later. Time was running short and he didn’t plan on letting Tseng outfox him.

Rufus wasn’t even playing coy with Tseng about his involvement with Avalanche any longer. He certainly wasn’t going to come right out and say he was funding them, but they both knew they were at a momentary stalemate. Rufus wasn’t stupid enough to feign ignorance, but he also wasn’t stupid enough to let himself slip up in front of Tseng.

Tseng was nothing if not patient - he would wait as long as it took to provide the President with the evidence necessary for Rufus Shinra to receive his just punishment.

In the meantime, he was pleased to have a break from him. After the speech in Costa del Sol, they returned to Midgar and Rufus ostensibly returned to his apartment, though Tseng suspected he was attending to business with Avalanche. In time, the bugs and cameras the Turks had planted would give them the answers they needed.

Tseng hadn’t been home to his own apartment in what felt like weeks and when he stepped inside he was greeted to a series of increasingly insistent meows as Maomao emerged from her nest between his pillows.

“I’m sorry,” he sighed, scratching her chin. “Maybe I should just bring you to headquarters. It feels like I live there.”

Veld would have something to say about that, undoubtedly.

Tseng liked to think Maomao was the one thing he was allowed to care about in his life. After the lesson imparted upon him by Lazard’s betrayal and Veld’s story of his affair with Margaret Shinra, he resolved to steel himself against emotional attachment. It wasn’t exceedingly difficult - he trusted the other Turks, but he had no interest in sharing details of his personal life with them or learning about their lives, and outside of work he had no meaningful social relationships. For anyone else, it might have been a point of shame, but he was a Turk. What use was it to care about someone? It either made them a liability or a weakness. He of course steadfastly ignored his obvious emotional attachment to his mentor, to Aerith, to Zack, instead rationalizing why he might place added value on trying to protect them.

But he was still human and whether he tried to shut that part of himself off, he needed an outlet for his emotion and it came in the form of his cat that he saw too infrequently. For as often as he was gone and she was left to her own devices, she didn’t seem to begrudge him his absence, immediately curling up on his chest and purring as he lay down on the bed. It was soothing, this unconditional affection - she could never hurt or betray him as a person would, would always forgive him for his failures more than he would ever forgive himself.

Without meaning to, he found himself drifting to sleep only to be awoken abruptly by the sound of his phone ringing. He sat up and Maomao slid off his chest to curl up on his lap, unperturbed, while he picked up his phone from the nightstand.

“This is Tseng,” he answered, trying his best not to sound drowsy, though when he looked at the clock he realized it was well after midnight.

“Hey, buddy!”

Tseng sighed, “Zack.” He rubbed his eyes. “What time is it there?”

“Oh, I forgot about the time difference. I’m sorry!”

“It’s fine.” Tseng sat back against his headboard and ran his hand along the top of Maomao’s head. “Are you still in Nibelheim?”

“Yeah. That’s why I’m calling actually. We tried to get in touch with Veld, but I don’t know if he’s busy or what. So I figured you’d be the next best person to call.”

Tseng’s skin prickled. “Did something happen?”

“Well…we went to the reactor and didn’t really find a whole lot, but Sephiroth’s been acting really weird since. He went into the old Shinra manor and locked himself in the basement. We tried to talk him into coming out, but he keeps saying he wants to be alone.”

Why were SOLDIERS like this? Then again, what did Shinra expect experimenting on people the way they did? The decline of the firsts seemed all but inevitable - Zack was the only halfway normal one.

“Any signs of Rhapsodos?”

“None. We did find some of the missing workers though…they were in, uh…mako vats inside the reactor.” Zack rarely spoke with such a sobering tone. Tseng recalled the Rhapsodos clones floating in tanks of mako in Banora.

“And they weren’t clones?”

“No. They were like…monsters. I don’t know how else to describe them.”

Something was definitely amiss. “And the Turks that traveled with you?”

“They’re here with us. We’re all just waiting in the town Inn. We’ve taken turns trying to get Sephiroth out, but he’s…not himself. I don’t know.”

Tseng slid out of bed, earning him a disgruntled trill from Maomao as he did so. “I’ll get in touch with Veld and call you back.”

“Okay. Thanks, buddy.”

“Stay where you are for now and call me if anything changes.”

“You got it!”

Tseng pocketed his phone, tried without much success to smooth out the wrinkles in his suit, fixed his ponytail, and then made his way toward headquarters, dialing Veld without success. When he reached Shinra Tower, he hurried down to B3, to Veld’s office where he found him at his desk with headphones on, sleeping against his keyboard. A combined audio-visual feed from Rufus Shinra’s apartment was playing on his screen.

“Sir,” Tseng shook him lightly and he sat up, dazed.

“Tseng?” Veld pulled his headphones off and rubbed his eyes. “What time is it?”

“Four in the morning, sir. I have news from Nibelheim.”

Tseng filled him in on all that Zack had told him. With a sigh, he pushed back from his desk and stood up. “I’ll have to speak to Heidegger. He’s the one who should be handling this mess. It’s his men. The firsts…this whole mess…” It was perhaps the first time Tseng had ever seen Veld look frazzled.

“Sir, if I can help in any way.”

“Just stand by. I’ll let you know when I know more.”

Tseng, Reno, Rude, and Emma sat in the back of a helicopter en route to Nibelheim. After the initial call nearly a week earlier, the situation had not improved. Sephiroth remained locked away in the basement of Shinra Manor despite repeated attempts to coax him out, including several attempted conversations on Zack’s part. Heidegger would send no additional assistance: ‘You know how SOLDIERS can be. Rhapsodos was dramatic as well. He’ll sort himself out.’

When Veld escalated the situation to the President, he had been equally dismissive. Tseng could understand to some extent. After all who could truly deal with a first as powerful as Sephiroth? He was unlike any other SOLDIER in Shinra’s military. Even a team of Turks would undoubtedly have a difficult time contending with him. And what harm was he really doing? He wasn’t hurting anyone locked away in that basement, though he was wasting Shinra funds effectively holding the rest of the party hostage while they remained on standby should the situation escalate.

A week passed with no change - Sephiroth would not leave the manor, and Zack was increasingly insistent that something was seriously wrong.

Then Ruluf called in from a chopper to inform Veld that the entire town of Nibelheim was ablaze. The younger Turks were ordered to evacuate while the more senior Turks and Veld flew in to scout for survivors and cover up any and all evidence of Shinra’s involvement.

Nibelheim was halfway across the planet and by the time they arrived, the town was nothing more than a steaming pile of ash, cinders still glowing hot as the breeze carried thin tendrils of smoke north toward the mountains.

“That’s fucking grim,” Reno said as Veld steered the helicopter toward the reactor nestled in the mountains.

Tseng silently agreed with Reno’s sentiment. This was Shinra’s fault, as all such devastation tended to be. Shinra created SOLDIER, turned Sephiroth and Rhapsodos into what they were, led them to war, to murder and destruction, and then failed to heed the warnings of both Veld and Zack that something terrible could happen if they didn’t deal with Sephiroth’s nervous breakdown.

And as they always did, the Turks were there to clean up the mess Shinra couldn’t be bothered to prevent.

“Ruluf’s report said Sephiroth and Zack were headed for the reactor,” Veld explained. “We’ll search for any signs of them, but be prepared. If Sephiroth is within, he’ll likely be hostile.”

“I don’t understand,” Emma said as they landed outside the reactor and one by one climbed out of the chopper. “Why would Sephiroth burn this place to the ground? What did they find that led them to this?”

“Zack said they found men in the mako tanks inside the reactor,” Tseng explained, checking his pistol and flexing his gloves to ready himself as they climbed the steps to the reactor. “Monsters. Something different than the Rhapsodos clones. He didn’t say anything else.”

Veld led them inside the reactor, the rank smell of mako wafting up from far below where it bubbled and flowed through processors. They wound their way across platforms without any sign of disturbance, making their way further and further inward toward the heart of the reactor.

“Hate the smell of mako,” Reno grumbled from the back. “Reminds me of the initiation.”

“It does reek,” Emma agreed. She shivered and tightened her grip on her pistol. “I have a really bad feeling about this place.”

Tseng felt it too. A stone settled his stomach when they flew over the remains of Nibelheim, but his insides were twisting now, a horrible foreboding taking hold of him. If Sephiroth had destroyed the entire town, what had he done to Zack? Zack was a first, so he was strong enough to hold his own against nearly anyone else on the planet, but could he stand toe to toe with Sephiroth? As it was, the other Turks were lucky to have made it out alive.

The central core of the reactor was separated from the rafters by a long, narrow bridge. On the other side was a platform with stairs leading through a doorway into the heart of the reactor where the core machinery was located. Veld came to a halt at the bridge and pointed to what Tseng and the others had already noticed: three bodies sprawled across the platform and the stairwell, blood pooling beneath them, a trail of it leading from what should have been the reactor core. Above the doorway to the core itself was a sign that read ‘Jenova’.

The Turks hurried across the bridge, the smell of mako so intense now that it made Tseng’s stomach churn. The first body they encountered was a boy in a security officer’s uniform, his crisp blond hair matted with blood, armor torn open at the chest, his hands ripped apart by the sword he still weakly clutched at the blade with one hand: Sephiroth’s masamune.

“Shit,” Reno said what they were all thinking.

Scanning past the boy, who Tseng recognized but couldn’t quite place - one of Zack’s many friends undoubtedly - they found the body of a middle-aged man who seemingly met a similar fate to the young security officer, run through with Sephiroth’s sword. On the stairs above him, propped up against a mako vat, Zack lay with his eyes closed and his hands against his side, a gaping wound spanning from his shoulder to his hip.

Tseng found himself wandering up the steps in a daze, his pulse pounding in his ears.

Not Zack. Not Zack.

“There was another body here,” said Emma, pointing to a pool of blood near the security officer. “Do you think Sephiroth took it? Or maybe it was Sephiroth.”

Tseng was vaguely aware of Reno responding to her. He knelt down next to Zack’s motionless form and pressed his fingers to his neck to check for a pulse. He held his breath without realizing it as he pressed harder and harder, desperate for some sign of life. Zack was just a boy, barely eighteen, one of the only SOLDIERS Tseng had truly warmed to. It was impossible to dislike the boy, he made sure of that. He couldn’t be dead.

He felt it then: the weak but certain pounding of Zack’s heart.

“He’s-” Tseng’s voice caught in his throat. “He’s alive!” He called to the others. “Fair is alive!”

Veld and Rude rushed over and while Rude helped Tseng do what they could with their materia - not much in the state Zack was in - Veld phoned into headquarters.

“Sir,” Veld spoke into his phone. “Yes. Yes. One survivor so far. Yes. Fair. No sign of him.” He paused and Tseng looked up to watch his expression. It was Heidegger speaking on the other end of the line. Though Tseng couldn’t make out much of what he was saying. “Professor Hojo, sir?” Veld’s brow furrowed.

“Hojo?” Reno growled.

“Sir, we need to get Zack out of here right away if he’s going to make it,” Tseng said.

Veld held up his hand, his eyes darkening. “Understood. Yes, sir.” He hung up the phone and pocketed it.

“Sir?” Rude asked.

“The President wants all evidence of what happened here wiped off the map. We have been instructed to take the victims down to the town. Hojo has an old lab beneath the manor.” Veld spoke without affect. An order had been passed down and the Turks were meant to carry it out whether they agreed with it or not.

“But sir, he’s still alive!” Tseng protested.

“No survivors,” said Veld. “That’s the official order from the President.”

“Hey, this kid’s still breathing too,” Emma called from her place by the security officer. “How the hell are they both alive?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Veld replied sharply. “We have to take them down to the village. When we’re through with that, we’ll clear all evidence of the fight that occurred here and the President will send in a team to rebuild the village. It will be as though nothing ever happened.”

In his career as a Turk, Tseng had carried out plenty of orders that left a sour taste in his mouth, but this one was difficult to stomach.

“Fuck this,” Reno said, stepping back from the security officer’s body. “This isn’t some asshole who did Shinra dirty. These are kids. Fucking children. They’re on death’s door for trying to contain Shinra’s biggest fuckup and we’re supposed to just finish them off? Worse,” he shook his head. “We’re supposed to hand them over to that fucking psychopath Hojo?”

Rude stood up and faced Veld. “I won’t do this.”

Emma remained next to the security officer, frowning down at him. “Never thought I’d agree with Reno, but…this might be too much, chief.”

A silence followed in which the only sound was the churning of the mako below them.

“And you, Tseng?” Veld asked.

Was this the exact situation Veld had warned him against? Despite his best efforts, he cared about Zack. How could he live with himself knowing he helped carry Zack to certain death when there might have been a chance to save him? He was being asked to turn his gun on someone that mattered to him.

He looked down at his hands, his gloves and arms smeared with Zack’s blood. His dissent meant nothing, of course. One way or another Zack and his friend and the dead man from Nibelheim would all end up in Hojo’s lab.

“He…” Tseng swallowed a lump in his throat. “He doesn’t deserve this.”

Veld nodded, but the anger Tseng was expecting in his eyes was absent. He looked around at his subordinates with sympathy. “Go back to the helicopter and wait for me. I’ll do it for you.”

“Sir,” Tseng started to protest.

“Tseng.” Veld placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “Say your goodbyes. You’ll have plenty of time to wrack up your own sins, but I’m past the point of redemption at this stage in my career. I’ll allow you all this one concession. And in the future when I ask you to do something, you’ll do it without hesitation. Am I understood?”

There was a weak chorus of, ‘Yes, sir.’

Tseng took one last look at Zack, squeezed his hands, and left him to his fate.

As the four of them walked back to the helicopter, leaving Veld to deal with the worst of it, Tseng felt like a coward for the first time in a very long time. His objection at the injustice of the President’s request now felt like a shirking of his responsibilities. Was it better or worse to leave someone else to turn his friend over to be experimented on like an animal?

Neither outcome felt right. They should have been walking out of that reactor with Zack on a stretcher, returning him to Midgar for treatment. Instead, they were filing out alone, covered in blood, the walk feeling like a funeral march for the somber mood that hung in the air.

How easily Shinra discarded its unwanted playthings when they outlived their purpose.

Chapter Text

Another day, another long night spent in the office after hours finishing up reports. In the months that had passed since the disaster in Nibelheim - easily the darkest day Rude had faced as a Turk, the truth of the matter kept secret from all but those who had been there - the Turks had been operating on overdrive.

First, there was the matter of covering up what happened to the last two remaining first class SOLDIERS. Although Veld allowed them the concession of walking away from condemning two badly injured boys to torture and prolonged death in the name of dubious science in Hojo’s lab, they were not allowed to shirk the responsibility of assisting in the rest of the cover up. They spent weeks scouting employees to fill in as ‘citizens’ while overseeing the rebuilding of the town, all the while keeping news of what occurred from spreading to any news outlet that couldn’t be quashed by Shinra.

While all this was underway, Veld reviewed and scrubbed the security footage. He never told them what he saw on it, except to confirm that Sephiroth had been killed.

More than three months after the terrible affair, the town was rebuilt and filled with employees paid to pretend they had lived there their entire lives. Then the President issued a statement that Sephiroth and Zack had been killed in action while on a mission on the Northern Continent. And that was that.

But even with Nibelheim as wrapped up as it could be, still lingering in the minds of those who had seen the aftermath of Sephiroth’s violence, there were still plenty of issues to deal with. Avalanche remained an ever-present problem, still launching occasional attacks on the city. When Rude asked Tseng if he was any closer to finding the mole he remained quiet and cryptic, but both Rude and Reno suspected he had a lead.

All of the field work Rude and Reno had overseen over the last few months meant piles of back end paperwork to wrap up, so for the fifth night in a row, they found themselves hunched over their desks filing reports. Reno tapped his pen idly against the top of his desk, groaning every few minutes - paperwork had never been his forte, he was incapable of sitting still for too long.

Quite frankly, Rude wasn’t sure how he would have made it through the last few months without Reno. Some days, Reno was the only person Rude saw or spoke to. It was strange to think how irritating Rude found him when they first started out. Now he would safely say, though maybe never out loud, that Reno was his best friend and closest confidant. There was no one else he trusted more, and though he still sometimes got on Rude’s last nerve, more often than not Rude craved the comfort of his proximity, even if they had nothing to say to one another.

More than anything, Rude appreciated that for as loud and rambling as Reno could be, he never minded if Rude didn’t feel like talking. After particularly tough missions, they would just sit together on the balcony outside Skyview hall in complete silence and it was enough to ease Rude’s nerves.

“I’m fucking sick of this,” Reno huffed, shoving his chair back from his desk. “It’s never ending. And for what? Field work that wasn’t even fucking fun.”

Rude nodded in silent agreement.

“Let’s just take off tonight,” Reno suggested, stretching his wiry body until his shirt lifted. Rude stared at Reno’s exposed skin and was surprised to find his own skin prickling. When he said nothing, Reno rolled his head to face him. “C’mon. No one’s around. Who’s gonna know? We’ll fuck off for a few hours, come back and get a catnap in, and then finish up. Gods know we could both use the break.”

“Okay,” Rude said.

Reno sat bolt upright. “Seriously?”

Rude chuckled, stretching his arms and standing to find his legs stiff from disuse. “Yeah. Just for a few hours. We could both use it.”

Reno didn’t wait for him to change his mind, grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair and shrugging it on as he stepped out of the office. Rude followed him and they took the elevator up to the front entrance.

“Where are we going?” he asked as they stepped into the lobby.

“How long we been Turks? Almost six years? I’ve never given you the real deal tour of Wall Market have I?”

“You took us once during training,” said Rude, moving to Reno’s other side as they stepped outside and he lit up a cigarette.

“Yeah that wasn’t the real deal, I just took you to that Wutaian place on the main drag. And honestly that’s not even the best Wutaian place in Wall Market. The best place is in the really seedy part of the market. We should go grab a bite there and I’ll show you my old haunts,” Reno suggested.

Rude always had a good time when Reno showed him around the parts of the city he never had the chance to experience as a child growing up on the plate, so he didn’t object. It was wild how different Rude’s upbringing was from Reno’s despite growing up in the same city at the same time.

It was a short train ride below the plate, but there was no station in Sector Six, so they got off in Sector Seven and walked to Wall Market at a leisurely pace. Though the air beneath the plate was stale and warm, it still felt nice to be out of the office without dull fluorescent lights flickering overhead.

“The old chocobo breeder who took me in for a while when I was a kid passed away a couple of years ago,” Reno said. He had a habit of making conversation from a topic that seemed to come from nowhere, but Rude had long since learned that his brain tended to jump from point A to point C with his own internal point B that no one else was privy to. “There’s this new guy Corneo’s got in his pocket. He’s kind of a cunt.”

Rude soon understood where the line of conversation had come from as they passed a well-weathered sign pointing them down the path to take to reach the chocobo stables just outside of the south end of Wall Market. They turned down the path and Reno continued talking while Rude listened.

“Tourists only ever stick to the main drag and back during training I didn’t think you guys could stomach anything outside the tourist-trap parts of the market. But you get deeper into the back alleys and the east side of the market and it’s kind of a mixed bag. Great food. All you hear is Wutaian. But that’s also where the black market runs. Some really dark shit happens on the east side of the market. When I was seven or eight I almost wound up sold to this pervert from Junon. Maybe the most scared I’ve ever been.” He shook his head and flicked his cigarette butt to the ground. “Didn’t mean to go down that path.”

In the five years since they met, Reno had disclosed a great deal about his past to Rude, but there were still many things Rude didn’t know about just how difficult Reno’s life was before he became a Turk.

They reached the Wall Market after a short walk, the light from the neon signs dotting the main drag reaching them before they rounded the corner. Wall Market was far and away the most garish place Rude had ever been: a sensory overload as soon as you stepped onto the main drag, and bustling even at this late hour. Just one visit had been enough to explain a great deal about Reno’s temperament and personality.

Reno led them a ways down the main drag where there were a wide variety of shops and restaurants and parlors, most of them owned or at least beholden in some way to Don Corneo, whose gaudy palatial estate stood visible all the way down the strip. Taking a sharp turn halfway to the Don’s mansion, Reno led them down a series of twisting back alleys, over a low fence - ‘This way’s faster, but don’t tell anybody I told you about it’ - into a decidedly more destitute part of the Wall Market.

Children caked in dirt chased each other along a poorly paved street while escorts with rags hanging from their bodies and makeup covering the scars and bruises on their skin hung from doorways beckoning them inside. Reno came to a halt in front of a squat, poorly-constructed lean-to between two larger buildings and squatted down.

“Mr. Reno!”

Several children ambled out of the lean-to, impossibly thin, hair matted and filthy, but there was a certain resilience in them that Rude recognized. Reno faced them with a toothy grin and reached into his pocket.

“What did you bring us?”

“Mr. Reno, look! I’ve been working out!”

“Do you know Mr. Kadowaki? He said he knew you.”

The children shouted over each other, kicking and punching at the air to show Reno their moves, each of them clambering for his attention. Rude watched in awe as Reno counted out a large pile of gil and held his hands out. Each child came up to him and took a handful of coins, thanking him as they continued to shout questions at him.

“All right, all right, I can’t hear you all at once,” Reno said, standing back up once all of the gil was distributed.

“Mr. Reno do you think I could be a Turk one day?” A little girl who was missing a front tooth jumped up and down in front of him.

“Hm,” said Reno, looking at her with feigned uncertainty. “I dunno, squirt, you’re kind of short. You’ve got to be this tall to get into the Turks.” He held his hand just over her head and she shrieked, jumping up and grabbing his arm.

“Look I’m tall enough now!”

Reno chuckled. “Well, you’ve got to get a little older too.”

“Mr. Reno, who’s your friend?”

“This is Rude. He’s a Turk too.”

There was a chorus of ‘wow’ and ‘cool!’ and ‘Mr. Rude!’

Rude laughed. This was truly a side of Reno he had never seen, but he was pleasantly surprised by this unexpected softness. Reno looked up from the kids and grinned at him and Rude felt an emotion well in his chest that he hadn’t felt in a very long time. He shook it off and looked down his sunglasses at the children.

“Look, me and Mr. Rude are going to get some dinner, but I’ll be back in a couple of weeks, okay? Don’t spend that gil all in once place.”

“We won’t!” The children replied in a chorus.

“You better swear!” said Reno, clutching his hand to his chest.

The children mimicked him, breaking into a fit of giggles and shouting goodbyes as Reno led Rude further down the street. Rude was still completely in awe of what had just occurred, unable to find words to express just how it made him feel. He knew - had known for some time - that despite his rough exterior Reno was a genuinely good person underneath. He put on a show on field assignments, but he also cared deeply for the other Turks, even the ones he picked at and annoyed relentlessly like Emma and Tseng. Even so, Rude never imagined Reno was secretly distributing his paycheck to raggedy orphans beneath the plate in his spare time.

“You better not tell anybody about that,” he warned. “I’ve got a reputation to keep.”

Rude clutched his hand to his chest, mimicking Reno’s earlier gesture. “I swear.”

Reno rolled his eyes in return. He led them a little further down the street to a storefront with a dingy exterior, the sign above the door flickering, peeling and yellowed flyers pasted in the front window. All of the text was in Wutaian and as they stepped inside this dubious little hole in the wall, Rude was greeted to a wave of heat and the pleasant scent of food wafting from the kitchen in the back. Shouts in Wutaian drifted toward the front as the chefs argued over something, but the dining area itself was relatively quiet, peaceful orchestral music playing through the speakers and a few patrons chatting over tea.

The hostess greeted Reno in Wutaian - she seemed familiar with him - and he responded in kind. This was Reno in his true element, the way he had grown up, a way Rude had never quite fully experienced him before.

They took a seat by the window and Rude stared at the menu with a frown. There were no pictures and everything was in Wutaian.

“You’ll like this,” Reno said, pointing to one of the dishes. “I can order it for you.”

Rude trusted Reno’s judgment so he nodded and leaned back in his seat. “Is this the part of Wall Market you grew up in?”

Reno nodded. “Well, I mean I kind of lived all over, but from the time I was maybe eight or nine until I was fourteen or fifteen I mostly stayed here on the east end. Picked up Wutaian without meaning to, but I’m lousy compared to a native speaker.”

Their waiter brought them tea and took their orders. Reno leaned back until his chair was standing on two legs, rocking back and forth.

“This is nice though, isn’t it?”

Rude nodded. “We both needed the break.”

“I keep thinking about those kids in Nibelheim,” Reno sighed. “Zack was a good kid. It’s just bullshit. And I keep thinking…that could be us, you know? What if our next mission tanks and we end up half dead and Tseng and Veld find us like that but Hojo decides he wants to use us as lab experiments instead? Then what? They just turn us over like that?” He snapped his fingers.

It was something Rude found himself thinking about lately as well. He stared at his tea and considered his response. “The Turks are loyal to each other. I’d like to think if it came down to that with one of us, the chief really would put his foot down.” He met Reno’s gaze and found Reno watching him with a hopeful glint in his eyes. “The chief has a lot of information that could seriously harm Shinra.”

“You’re saying the chief would blackmail the President for us?”

Rude shrugged. “I hope he would.”

“You think Tseng would do that if he was in charge?”

“I think Tseng cares about us. You know, Reno, he’s not hard on you because he hates you-”

“Please, I get on his last nerve.”

“You do,” Rude agreed. “But he’s hard on you because he wants you to succeed.”

Reno quirked an eyebrow skeptically. “I dunno, partner, I think sometimes Tseng just has a stick up his ass and that’s all there is to it. You know I told him about this place and he asked me why I ‘presumed he would be interested’? But then I saw him here so he’s just a cagey bastard.”

“Tseng is a lot more private than you or me.”

Rude liked Tseng, but he also understood why Reno often butted heads with him. Tseng was intensely private and singularly dedicated to his work - he wasn’t interested in being chummy with his colleagues the way Reno was.

When the food arrived, it was far and away the best Wutaian food Rude had ever tried. Having spent a life eating Midgar-stylized ‘Wutaian’ takeout, this felt like the true and authentic experience. He took his time savoring the flavor, watching as Reno scarfed his food down like he was starving. As long as Rude had known him, Reno had eaten like that. It was, Rude guessed, the result of a lifetime of not knowing where his next meal was coming from. So when Reno stopped eating and held up a piece of food on his chopstick to offer Rude a bite, the thoughtful gesture took him by surprise.

Rude stared at the food dangling from Reno’s chopstick - he wanted to try it, but felt suddenly shy and awkward leaning over the table to take it in his mouth.

“Good, isn’t it?” Reno asked, grinning at him. Rude felt a pull at his bellybutton and looked down at his own plate as he nodded.

What the hell was wrong with him?

Reno managed to finish his entire plate, but Rude was feeling suddenly introspective and decidedly tense. He ate half of his plate and offered the rest to Reno, who managed to eat the rest of it.

“I don’t know how you eat the way you do,” Rude said.

Reno shrugged and let out an earth-shattering belch. “Good metabolism I guess. You ready to head back?”

Not really. Rude would have gladly spent the rest of the day with Reno, even as tense as he suddenly felt, but they still had far too much work to do. So with their bellies full, they walked back to the train station - Reno smoking another cigarette as they went - took the train back to headquarters, and made their way down to their office.

Headquarters was as empty as when they left and they sat back down at their desks to resume their work, Reno groaning loudly as he slumped in his chair.

Rude stared at his computer, but he was having trouble concentrating. He found himself repeatedly glancing over at Reno, who sat tapping his foot, or stretching until his stomach was visible again, yawning loudly, chewing on the end of his pen.

Rude had known since he was much younger that he found other men attractive, but he had never pursued another man before. In truth, he hadn’t been in many relationships in his life. He had a serious girlfriend in high school, went on several failed dates while working as a bouncer, had one more or less successful relationship, and then he became a Turk. For Rude, emotions had always mattered more than looks when it came to attraction. Where he knew that Reno treated sex as something casual and fun, Rude viewed it as something far more intimate.

The fact that these thoughts were swirling around in his head as he stared at Reno was a problem.

When they first met, Rude would have described Reno as scrawny and irritating. After years of working as partners, mutual trust, confiding in Reno things that no other Turk knew about him, he felt differently. He had never stopped to consider how beautiful Reno’s bright, nearly mako-tinged eyes were; never thought so intensely about his sharp cheekbones, accented so perfectly by his tattoos.

Rude stood up abruptly and Reno snapped his head up. “What’s up?”

“I just need to use the restroom,” Rude replied gruffly, moving far too quickly out of the office and down the hall.

When he reached the bathroom he stood in front of the mirror staring at himself for a few seconds. He needed to get a grip. This was his partner. Fraternization was against the rules, and besides that it was messy. Not that people didn’t do it all the damn time. Shinra was a giant incestuous pool of fraternization. There was even a rumor that Tseng had fooled around with one of his fellow recruits during academy. If Tseng was susceptible, what chance did Rude stand?

He took a few calming breaths and walked back to the office. It was late, he was tired and wasn’t thinking straight. That’s all this was, right?

When he stepped into the office, he stood next to Reno’s desk and stared at him.

“You okay, partner?” Reno asked, looking up at him.

Decidedly not.

“Reno, I…”

Reno’s brow knitted with concern, his lips turning down in a frown. “Something happen?”

Without really thinking about what he was doing or any of the repercussions, Rude braced his hands against the arms of Reno’s chair and pressed his lips against Reno’s. His lips were surprisingly soft, parting slightly as Rude kissed him, a moment of hesitation at the surprise of it and then Reno’s hands were clutching at his neck and his back. He moved his lips against Rude’s to reciprocate and Rude’s head swam.

Part of being a Turk meant trusting your gut, and in that moment Rude simply couldn’t fathom how something that felt so incredibly right could ever be a mistake.

Regardless, after a moment of heated kissing, both of them breathing heavy through their noses, Rude pulled away and stepped back. His heartbeat pounded in his ears and he stared at Reno with a mixture of emotions welling in his chest. Reno stared back looking shellshocked.

“Rude, I, uh…” It was perhaps the first time Rude had ever seen Reno lost for words.

“I’m sorry,” Rude said quickly. “I know it’s a bad idea. I just…” he shook his head. What could he say? He had acted out of character on impulse and then it felt so right that he didn’t want to stop, like something missing had finally clicked into place.

Reno stood up and pressed his lips against Rude’s wordlessly, backing him into the wall, running his hand along Rude’s head and down his neck. Heat pooled in Rude’s stomach. He clutched at Reno’s waist and pulled their bodies together, opening his mouth as Reno’s tongue tangled against his own.

He hadn’t known that he wanted this until this exact moment, but now he felt like he had never wanted anything more.

Reno’s hands were suddenly at his belt. Rude grabbed his wrists gently and broke away from the kiss, though their noses still brushed and he could feel Reno’s breath hot against his skin.

“Reno. I don’t-” He swallowed hard and tried to redirect some blood flow to his brain. “We shouldn’t. I’ve never actually been with another man. And we’re in the office. And-”

Reno nodded and pressed his lips softly against Rude’s neck. “I got it. We can take it slow. We don’t have to fuck.” He traced his thumb against Rude’s lip, his voice huskier than Rude had ever heard it. He unzipped Rude’s pants and snaked his hand inside his underwear, drawing a gasp of surprise from Rude’s throat when Reno’s fingers wrapped around him. “But I want to make you feel good.”

Rude’s brain momentarily short-circuited as Reno pumped his hand up and down his cock until it throbbed between his legs. The knowledge that anyone might walk in on them was simultaneously horrifying and titillating, though Rude knew it would be hours before anyone else turned up.

“You don’t…” Rude gasped. “You don’t have to if…”

What was he even saying?

Reno let go of him and brushed his nose against Rude’s. He chuckled. “You have no fucking clue how many times I’ve thought about this exact fucking scenario, partner. I just didn’t think you would ever…well to be completely fucking honest,” he leaned back, “I thought maybe you were straight.”

Rude laughed. “I’m not.”

“If you don’t want me to-”

“I just don’t want you to feel like-”

They both spoke at the same time. Reno grinned and Rude sighed.

“Look, Reno. I want this. I never knew I wanted it, but I do. I just…move at a different speed than you do.”

“I know,” Reno said. He kissed the corner of Rude’s mouth and then dropped suddenly to his knees. “So you tell me if you want me to stop.”

Rude stared down at him, incapable of doing anything except watching as Reno worked his pants down to his ankles and gripped his cock, pressing his lips to the base and sending a shiver of pleasure down Rude’s spine. He was transfixed, hovering between utter disbelief and anticipation. All he knew was that he didn’t want it to end.

“Hey Rude?” Reno purred, kissing up the length of his cock while holding it at the base, his other hand gently cupping his balls.

Rude could only manage a gasp in lieu of an actual response.

“Anyone ever tell you you’ve got a beautiful cock?”

Rude didn’t have time to consider a reply before Reno’s lips circled around the head of his cock and took it into his mouth as far as he could manage. Rude’s hips jerked at the sensation and his eyelids fluttered, but he opened his eyes to find Reno looking up at him with pure, unadulterated longing in his gaze.

A violent sensation took hold in Rude’s chest and he brushed his hands delicately through Reno’s hair.

In addition to the physical pleasure mounting between Rude’s legs, emotion was welling inside of him. He wondered if Reno felt it too, or if it was a purely physical attraction for him. It couldn’t be that shallow, could it? He and Reno trusted each other with their lives and now suddenly there was this new element between them that Rude had never once considered, intangible but overwhelming.

Reno hollowed his cheeks and bobbed his head, swirling his tongue against Rude’s cock and it drove him closer and closer to the edge, his fingers curling against Reno’s scalp. He was so close…

The door to the office opened at the same time that Rude’s orgasm hit. He let out a low groan, spilling himself inside Reno’s mouth and then jerking away in surprise at the sudden intrusion, leaving a damning trail of evidence on Reno’s lips and chin. Reno didn’t even have the decency to look sheepish as he wiped his mouth, instead grinning from ear to ear as both of them turned to find Tseng standing in the doorway wearing a look of horror.

Tseng, who was so eternally composed that he didn’t show a hint of emotion even when dealing with the vice president, stood with his mouth agape, eyes lingering if only for a moment on Rude’s cock dangling between his legs, darting to Reno’s glistening lips where he remained on his knees.

“Ah, Tseng, we uh…” Reno started. “What’re you doing here so late?”

Rude scrambled to pull his pants up, completely and utterly mortified that the one time he decided to have a lapse in judgment and bend the rules, this was his reward.

Tseng stared at them. “The less I know about this,” he said, gesturing between them, “the better.”

And then he turned around, shutting the door behind him.

“Well shit,” said Reno, getting back to his feet. “Did you enjoy it at least?”

Rude sighed. “Look, Reno.”

“Uh-oh,” Reno slumped into his chair and leaned back until he was on the verge of tipping over. “Don’t get sappy on me now, partner.”

“It was great. It was. But I’m not-” Rude considered his words. He was about to say ‘I’m not like you’ but that would have come off wrong and upset Reno. “You’re my friend and I care about you. And I’m not going to say it’s a mistake or that we shouldn’t do it because I want to, but-”

Reno nodded, more serious than Rude had ever seen him. “I get it. I’m prone to moving too fast and you like to take things slow. I can try to take it slow.” He grinned and Rude felt a warm pull at his bellybutton. “I figure you’re worth it.”

Whether or not he might regret this later, Rude couldn’t be bothered to care in that moment. He was simply too happy.

Something had happened in Nibelheim and now Sephiroth was dead, but the exact details of the Turks cover-up was being held from everyone except the President and Heidegger. Despite Rufus being the vice president, whenever he tried to press the matter further he was met with non-responses, and when he tried to dig into the Turks records, he found himself locked out at every turn. Veld and Tseng had finally grown wise to his tricks and were actively fighting back.

As much as Rufus enjoyed a good challenge, it was becoming exceedingly difficult to get in touch with Avalanche with Tseng constantly breathing down his neck. For over a month, Rufus had been trying to get to Wutai for an in-person meeting with Avalanche, but there was no way around it without arousing more suspicion than the Turks already had. If he took off with a helicopter alone, that would raise too many red flags, but if he asked for an entourage to make a trip to Wutai - a place that was still dangerous for someone with a Shinra name to step foot on even under Shinra occupation - Tseng would be put on his detail and there would be no escaping him to sneak away for a clandestine meeting.

So he had to settle for phone conferences where it was sometimes difficult to get a word in edgewise over Fuhito.

“You’re making it exceedingly difficult for us to pursue the path we want to, and your information has been next to useless thanks to Turk intervention,” Fuhito complained. “What use is your money when we make no headway?”

Rufus leaned back on the couch in his apartment in Midgar and swirled the drink in his hand with a frown. “Without my money you wouldn’t be able to do anything. Need I remind you of how small and ineffective you were when Elfe and I struck our deal?”

“So ineffective that we specifically drew your notice,” Elfe piped in. “Fuhito is right. We need to be able to start calling the shots. And you need to give us better intel. Or figure out a way to keep the Turks off of us.”

“Well, the Turks will be spread thinner for a while,” Rufus offered. “There’s no first class SOLDIERS left and it will be some time until any remaining seconds can be trained up to that rank.”

Elfe scoffed on the other end of the line. “Why is it we had to hear about Sephiroth’s death from the news? Is that not something the vice president might have informed us about? He’s been the biggest threat to us. A Turk is manageable on his own, a SOLDIER isn’t.”

Rufus was not about to let them know he hadn’t been privy to any of the information about Sephiroth, that he had only been told about the SOLDIER’S death a few days prior to the news outlets reporting on it.

“It was hardly relevant information at the time. And as long as I’m the one funding this operation I’ll make the decisions on what information I choose to withhold. Now I want you to listen carefully. When I started funding you, my number one objective was for you to assassinate the President. Has that happened yet? Nothing but a piss-poor botched attempt by Fuhito.”

“You understand that once the President is gone you’re next on our list, assho-” Shears started. He rarely spoke thanks to his intense hatred for Rufus combined with his lovestruck devotion to Elfe.

“That’s enough,” Elfe interjected. “But surely, Mr. Shinra, you understand why we might be hesitant to push your father out of play. Even if we did have assurances from you that we would be safe under your rule, why would we trust your word? Let’s call this what it is - a relationship of convenience. As soon as one of us gets what we really want, the other loses. Isn’t that true?”

“A stalemate,” Fuhito chimed in.

Well, they weren’t stupid. But of course, Rufus knew that when he started funding him. He did, however, think Elfe’s goals were ultimately different than Fuhito’s. Without Elfe to rein Fuhito in, Rufus could imagine a version of Avalanche hellbent on destruction of not just Shinra and its reactors, but anyone who didn’t believe in his militant vision of a planet devoid of human destruction. There had been enough comments to that effect, met with clipped requests to stay on track from Elfe, that Rufus could see exactly who the most dangerous of the group was. Elfe, on the other hand, seemed to have a personal vendetta against Shinra. He supposed it had something to do with her prosthetic leg and whatever incident led to the loss of her limb. He didn’t know or care what her motivation was. Elfe he could deal with, Fuhito was a bigger problem. Shears, as far as Rufus was concerned, was a non-issue - he would fold to whatever Elfe asked of him.

Ideally, once his father was dead and he took his spot as President, he would take out Fuhito and drop funding. Elfe could be useful, possibly bent to assist Shinra under the right leadership and with the right false promises. It wouldn’t be easy, but far more feasible than changing the mind of someone like Fuhito.

“I’m not my father,” Rufus said. “I can’t say what this relationship will look like if and when I take power, but I can promise you a conversation could be had that my father would refuse.”

“Again. Forgive us if we don’t trust your word at face value, Mr. Shinra,” said Elfe.

“If you want intel, Shinra is planning a rocket launch in a few months time. A monumental waste of time and money. If the rocket were to fail to launch for some reason, it would paint my father as a laughing stock for his ludicrous spending on this pointless project. Furthermore, he’ll be giving a speech at the launch. You could consider killing two birds with one stone.”

“Duly noted,” Elfe said. “I expect more specific details to follow?”

“Of course.”

“Then I think our conversation is finished. We have our own plans to make.”

“As your funder I expect details on that as well.”

“In due time, Mr. Shinra.”

She disconnected the call before Rufus could say anything more.

Tseng sat in the church where Aerith grew her flowers trying to think about anything besides what he had walked in on between Reno and Rude earlier that day. He was far from naive about what his colleagues got up to. Despite his own adherence to regulation, many people flaunted the rules regarding fraternization and the Turks were no exception. He had to remind himself that he was also no exception, as loathe as he was to admit his embarrassing past with Legend. Of all the Turks to suspect, Reno and Rude would have been highest on his list anyway - he almost never saw them apart. It still would have been fine by him to never have to walk in on Reno with his mouth around Rude's-

He shook the thought from his head and glanced up at Aerith. She was placing flowers into a cart that Zack had built for her. Within the last year or so she had taken to selling flowers up on the plate, which Tseng knew was a step outside her comfort zone having grown up under what she considered the safety of the ‘steel sky’. She had not accepted the news that Zack was dead, refuted it by telling Tseng she didn’t feel Zack’s presence in the lifestream. Now every time he visited her, she sent him back to headquarters with a letter ‘to give to Zack when you see him’.

It felt like a punishment of sorts to Tseng, a reminder that so long as Aerith didn’t feel Zack’s presence in the lifestream that meant he was still alive in Hojo’s lab having Gods knew what done to him. It made him sick to think about, so he pushed it down and tried to forget about it. What could he do about it anyway?

He didn’t discard Aerith’s letters. He kept them in a special drawer in his desk and tried to remain as hopeful as Aerith was - maybe one day Zack would be free and Tseng could keep his promise by delivering the letters.

“You seem distracted today,” Aerith said without looking up at him.

“There’s a lot going on. Did your visit with Emma last month go well?”

Aerith shrugged. “I don’t know the other Turks as well as you. She didn’t talk much.”

“Reno will talk enough for both of them when it’s his turn to check on you.”

“Why are you sending the other Turks to look after me now?” Aerith asked.

“I’m very busy…and one day I’ll be in charge of the Turks.” Hopefully not anytime soon. “So you’ll have to get used to some new faces. None of them will force you to do anything you don’t want to.”

“Until they do,” said Aerith, finally meeting his gaze. “I’m not a child anymore, Tseng, and anyway I’ve known for a long time that one day it will come to that. I appreciate how you handle things, but at the end of the day you or one of the other Turks will try to take me in.”

In that moment, she sounded much more like Elmyra than she ever had. Tseng didn’t offer this input because whether or not he liked to hear it, they both knew she was right. So he simply stood up and nodded.

“Do you have another letter for me?”

Aerith nodded solemnly and handed him a sealed envelope. “For when you see him.”

“Right,” said Tseng. “When I see him.”

Whenever and wherever that might be.

Chapter Text

The air was unseasonably cold for April as Tseng stood directly behind Rufus Shinra in a field where a rocket and the scaffolding surrounding it loomed high above. Shinra had been planning this launch for some months, with constant input from the executives at every board meeting as to the utility of such a publicity stunt. And that’s what it was at the end of the day. Launching a rocket into space to say it could be done, to showcase the sheer power of mako energy, had no major scientific purpose - though there were plenty of scientists assigned to the project. It was one area Tseng actually agreed with Rufus Shinra, the program’s most vocal opponent.

Half of the Department of Administrative Research had been assigned to the executives’ details as part of the project. Both Veld and the President were rightfully concerned that Avalanche, or perhaps even worse - Rhapsodos - might make an appearance and spoil the big day. Tseng was more concerned with an assassination attempt. The rocket had been constructed in the middle of nowhere on the Western Continent, miles and miles from any medical facilities. The launch was also being televised live. It was a perfect scenario for someone to make an attempt on the President’s life and while the Turks were trained to stabilize, time was of the essence in getting the President (or any other executive on the hit list) to a critical care facility.

Rufus pulled his coat tight against his chest and shivered as the wind whipped across the plain.

“I hate the cold,” he hissed, scanning the field and the forests beyond. “It’s miserable here. Why didn’t they build the rocket near Midgar if they were going to waste so much time and money on it?”

“It would be substantially easier to sabotage, I would think,” Tseng offered.

“Thank you for the unsolicited opinion, Turk.”

“Certainly, sir.”

Rufus scoffed at this and hurried across the field toward the rocket. “You know you don’t have to follow so closely,” he snapped.

“I’m just doing my job, sir.”

Ahead of them, Veld followed the President and Director Palmer, who headed the aeronautics department. Until the rocket project he had largely been relegated to directing pilots and engineers in construction of airships and overseeing Shinra’s fleet of helicopters. Palmer was quiet and somewhat obsequious, but purportedly relatively intelligent, with a degree in physics. Tseng still wondered how he found his place amongst the directors. Only Director Tuesti was similar in his reservedness. Neither of them seemed to have the cutthroat mentality necessary to survive amongst the executives, but they had done so regardless.

Veld conversed with the President and gestured to a stage in front of a backdrop with the Shinra logo emblazoned on it, but from this distance and with the wind whipping at their ears, Tseng couldn’t make out what was being said.

Rufus was visibly distracted, glancing out to the edge of the field repeatedly as he shivered against the cold. In a sleek coat with a scarf around his neck, his hair disheveled by the wind, he looked as handsome as ever. It continued to be one of the greatest injustices in Tseng’s mind that Rufus Shinra’s beauty was wasted on such a hideous personality.

“Is something bothering you, sir?” Tseng asked.

Rufus snapped his attention away from the tree line. “Nothing besides what a monumental waste of time this day is.” He looked Tseng up and down. “Aren’t you cold?”

In just his suit, Tseng was cold, but he was also a Turk and he wasn’t about to complain or show a moment of weakness to someone just waiting for him to expose a soft spot for attack.

“I don’t get cold. I am a robot after all.”

Rufus pursed his lips. “Always so clever, aren’t you?”

“Would you prefer the person assigned to keep you alive to be stupid? When you take your father’s place and clean out all of the people you suppose are loyal to him, are you going to replace them all with brainless muscle? You might have a hard time staying alive that way.”

“Is that a threat?” Rufus bristled.

“Merely an observation. Surely someone smart enough to have a masters in chemical engineering might appreciate the utility of an intelligence branch that’s actually intelligent.”

Rufus took a step closer to him. “How the hell do you know what my degree is in?”

Tseng kept a neutral expression. “It’s my job to know things, per our entire conversation for the past five minutes.”

“You know, Tseng, you toe the line of insubordination an awful lot. I think I liked you better when you were afraid to voice your opinion.”

“I think we both know that’s not true,” Tseng replied.

To his surprise, Rufus laughed and fixed him with a scrutinizing look. “I’d like you if I didn’t hate you so much.”

“Finally something we seem to agree on.”

Even if Tseng did hate Rufus, he could appreciate a cunning opponent when met with one. This game they were playing would come to an end sooner rather than later. It would be a smart move on Rufus’ part to have Avalanche make an appearance at the rocket launch. Even if they failed to sabotage the event or kill anyone, it would raise doubts as to his involvement. Tseng could just see him arguing to his father: ‘If I were the mole why would I tell Avalanche to attack an event I was attending and risk my own life in the process?’

The President beckoned Rufus to join him near the stage and, with a annoyed huff, he marched across the plain and Tseng followed.

“You’ll be standing next to me during the speech,” the President said. “Veld thinks it will be good for optics.”

“Why would you take orders from a subordinate?” Rufus protested.

“Why shouldn’t you want to stand next to your father?” the President growled. “You’ll be on my left and Palmer will be on my right. That’s an order from the President.”

Rufus pressed his lips into a thin line, “Of course, sir.”

It was a small pleasure to hear Rufus submit to authority in that way and Tseng took solace in it while he could. While the President chatted with Rufus, introducing him to the pilot responsible for the project - a gruff young blonde man with a mouth like a sailor - Veld stood next to Tseng with his shoulders squared.

“The others are scouting the perimeter,” he said to Tseng. “Any suspicions?”

“I think we should anticipate Avalanche,” Tseng replied.

Veld nodded. “I share the same concerns. It stands the chance to absolve the vice president of his involvement while also making the President look bad. The President will be giving a speech and then Mr. Highwind and Director Palmer are taking them on a tour of the rocket. Stay close to the vice president’s side and gather any evidence of suspicion.”

“Of course, sir.”

As the President, the vice president, and director Palmer took their places on stage, Veld guarded one end while Tseng took the other, standing with his shoulders squared while he scanned the small crowd. There was no real event per se: several dozen Shinra employees had been flown out to watch the President’s speech while it was televised for the world to see. Beyond that there were a number of engineers and scientists milling about making final checks on the rocket.

Veld had suggested heavier security: second-class SOLDIERS and security officers, but the President didn’t want to waste what limited resources remained in SOLDIER. He approved a dozen additional security officers, who would prove of little use if Avalanche moved in with full force.

For now, it was peaceful and quiet however, except for the chill wind whistling through the trees.

“Fuck me, it’s cold,” Reno hissed, shivering against the wind as he fumbled with his lighter.

It never got cold beneath the plate, the heat of an entire city trapped within, and even above the plate it might rarely get cold enough to snow in winter. By far the biggest adjustment every time Reno left for a mission was the weather. Heat he could generally handle, but cold - even a mild one - positively gnawed through him.

“Maybe if you had gloves that covered your entire hand,” Rude offered.

Reno gave him a withering look as he took a drag from his cigarette. “Yeah, that’s the problem.”

Rude returned his look with the faintest smile and Reno felt his heart skip a beat. It had been almost a month since Rude first kissed him and he could still hardly believe it had happened. He could have lived the rest of his life without talking about the meaning of fooling around with someone he actually cared about - something he had no experience with whatsoever and was subsequently thoroughly fucking with his brain - but he knew eventually Rude would want to discuss it.

‘Taking it slow’ had been an enormous test of Reno’s patience: Reno, who was used to one-night stands and considered a handjob first base. This was the culmination of years of longing and he just wanted Rude to fuck him so badly it hurt - plus he couldn’t get the thought of Rude’s big beautiful perfect dick out of his head. But he understood that Rude moved at a different pace than he did and if anyone on Gaia was worth waiting for it was Rude, so they mostly ended up making out in the office when no one was around - Tseng never entered without knocking anymore after they traumatized him the first time.

“Do you have to smoke those things?” Emma stood just downwind of Reno’s cigarette, wrinkling her nose.

“Move in front of me if it bothers you so much, damn.”

“Need I remind you I’m your superior?”

“You remind me all the fucking time,” Reno snapped.

“Hey,” Rude interjected. “We have a job to do.”

“Lousy job,” Reno muttered, toeing the dirt miserably.

While Tseng and the chief got to babysit the bosses and tour the fancy new rocket, the rest of the Turks had been relegated to patrolling the forest around the launchpad for any signs of Avalanche. So far they hadn’t encountered anything besides squirrels and birds. Reno could appreciate that the job was necessary after the number of times Avalanche and Rhapsodos had fucked things up in the last few years, but he was cold and miserable and he hated surveillance duty. Puffing nicotine was the only thing keeping him sane in that moment.

“I should have been part of the President’s detail,” Emma complained. “I’ve been here two years longer than Tseng has and yet-”

“Complaining helped you yet?” Reno asked.

Emma bristled. “That’s rich coming from you. You complain more than anyone I’ve ever met in my life.”

“That’s just how I am,” said Reno, tipping some ashes from his cigarette. “I don’t actually mean shit by it. You do though. We all get it. You’re pissed because the chief likes Tseng better. Well, I’m sure he’s got his reasons and if you wouldn’t bitch about it to his face then shut up already.”

“If you’re not careful I-”

“Shh!” Rude stopped abruptly and held a hand up. “Did you hear that?”

Reno stumbled into Rude’s back and Emma stopped short of running into both of them. They held perfectly still, listening against the sound of the wind.

“Footsteps,” Emma whispered. “Find cover and try to catch sight of them. It could be anybody, so be prepared.”

Emma went one way and Reno tailed Rude the other way, hiding in a thicket and listening as the footsteps drew closer.

“Ah, man, I was really hoping we could have one day where one of these assholes wasn’t trying to ruin shit for us,” Reno grumbled.

Rude grunted in agreement.

Nearly a minute passed before the source of the footsteps came into view, the familiar tan uniforms of Avalanche marching in file through the forest. Ten of them passed by the thicket where Reno and Rude hid, continuing on through the forest in the direction of the rocket.

Once they were out of earshot, Rude picked up his phone and dialed quickly. “We’ve got a situation.”

Tseng walked behind Rufus on the scaffolding leading up to the rocket, the President leading the way with Veld and the pilot, Cid Highwind. Rufus wore a pout as he shielded himself from the wind, glancing out along the horizon across the line of treetops, squinting as if searching for something - this piqued Tseng’s interest at approximately the same time that Rude’s voice came crackling into Tseng’s earpiece.

“We’ve got a situation. Avalanche troops inbound from the west. At least ten that I could count, but there may be more.”

“There’s two dozen,” Freyra’s voice broke in, breathless, “northern edge of the forest. Ruluf, Balto, and I are holding them off as best we can, but they’re breaking off headed for the rocket.”

Tseng stepped closer to Rufus. “Looking for something, sir?”

Rufus scowled and said nothing. Ahead of them, Veld stiffened and leaned over to whisper something to the President, who waved a hand and told Cid to continue the tour. Veld nodded, stepped back, and spoke into his comm link. Security troops on the ground below began to mobilize.

“Are you needed elsewhere?” Rufus asked. He was as observant as a Turk was trained to be, though he didn’t think like a Turk when all was said and done and that was the only thing that gave Tseng the advantage against him most days. Regardless, he certainly noticed the movement.

“My duty today is to protect you,” said Tseng. “There are others in place for any additional problems that arise.”

“Hmph,” was Rufus’ only reply. He turned away and followed his father inside the rocket.

Tseng couldn’t pretend to understand the complex inner workings of a device made for spaceflight, but he could pretend to listen and seem interested while Cid explained the systems to the group, all the while watching Rufus and listening in his ear piece for any updates. All around them the flight crew and engineers scurried about finalizing and double checking every last detail to ensure the launch went off without a hitch.

“This is all very impressive,” said Rufus, with an air that suggested otherwise.

“It oughta be, what your old man paid for it,” Cid answered gruffly.

Rufus chuckled, but said nothing more. Tseng continued to watch him as they wound through the rocket - something was amiss, beyond the inbound Avalanche troops, but he didn’t know what. Rufus was acting too calm, too cocky, even more so than he typically was. When Rufus looked back and noticed Tseng staring him down, he smirked and winked and Tseng felt a prick of irritation mingle with a far more unpleasant pull at his navel.

While Cid introduced the president and vice president to the head engineer, a woman named Shera, Veld stepped back and conversed quietly with Tseng.

“Heidegger’s troops are assisting with the issue on the ground, however my larger concern is it may be a distraction.”

Tseng nodded and kept his eyes on Rufus, who began asking Shera questions that for all the world seemed to be out of a genuine interest. It was perhaps the only time Tseng had ever seen Rufus Shinra be genuine about anything.

“The vice president is up to something, but I can’t pinpoint anything amiss.”

“I want you to step back from the group and explore the rocket. Look for any signs of tampering. It’s crucial to the President that this experiment is successful.”

Experiment was a generous word for what amounted to a publicity stunt, but Tseng supposed it was the farthest mankind had ever gone with air travel to that point. It didn’t matter to him either way, his job was to protect Shinra assets, and that included this rocket.

“The vice president?”

“I’ll keep an eye on him. He won’t try anything in front of his father,” Veld sighed, “At least I hope he won’t.”

Tseng nodded and quietly removed himself from the group, though he was sure it wouldn’t escape Rufus’ notice. He slipped down the hall and wound his way through the bowels of the ship, clinging to the shadows and observing the engineers as they moved about. Those who noticed him paid him little mind - Turks could go wherever they deemed necessary and a ship hand certainly wasn’t going to question his presence there.

To his dismay, he couldn’t find much of anything wrong as he moved along room to room. He watched from a distance as engineers tinkered with machines, but no one seemed particularly nervous and he wouldn’t have been able to tell if one of them was doing something wrong anyway. It wasn’t until he reached the engine room that he finally encountered something of note.

A man in the same uniform the other engineers wore was tinkering with the cooling tanks, and when Tseng stepped into the room he jumped up in alarm, taking a defensive posture immediately. Tseng flexed his fists and barred the doorway.

“Is there a problem?” Tseng asked.

The engineer did a poor job of hiding his anxiety, his face reddening, his fist clenching tight around the wrench in his hand.

“No. No problem,” he answered, unconvincingly.

“What were you doing with the cooling tank?”

“Nothing. I mean, I was just making sure everything is in order.”

Tseng pulled his pistol from its holster at his side and cocked it, pointing it squarely at the engineer’s chest. “Drop the wrench and tell me the truth.”

“Fucking Turk!”

The fake engineer threw the wrench with full force at Tseng’s head and he narrowly avoided it by ducking, spinning and blocking the man’s exit by tripping him as he tried to flee. Tseng was on him before he had time to right himself, cuffing his hands behind his back and holding him against the cold metal floor while he called over his comm to Veld.

“Sir, there was a man disguised as an engineer in the engine room. I have him in custody now. I suspect he’s with Avalanche and that he was sabotaging the cooling tanks.”

Veld’s voice cut through shortly after. “Understood. Bring him outside.”

Tseng forced the man to his feet and pushed him along up through the rocket and back out onto the scaffolding leading to the ground below. Between Rufus and the ringleaders of Avalanche, they were shrewd tacticians: the troops in the forest had likely been a diversion all along to keep any suspicion off of their infiltration team.

It took several minutes before Veld arrived with the president and vice president in tow. Rufus did a good job of looking disinterested by the sudden development.

“Caught yourself a dissident, have you?” he asked Tseng.

Tseng ignored him and spoke to Veld. “Sir, there may be more of them on the ship.”

Veld nodded. “Emma’s pulling back to do a sweep. Mr. Highwind and his chief engineer and doing their own checks to make sure no other equipment was tampered with. Sir,” he turned to the president, “I think it’s best if we stay close to the helicopter in the event we need to make a timely escape.”

The president waved a dismissive hand and lit up a cigar, puffing the smoke into Rufus’ face. He wrinkled his nose and folded his arms.

“Tseng, stay with the president and vice president. I’d like to extract some information from this infiltrator.”

As much as Tseng loathed babysitting Rufus, he disliked interrogations even more, so he passed the captive over to Veld and stood with shoulders squared behind the president and Rufus, keeping an eye on the crowd behind them and tree line around them.

“I hope you’re not too disappointed,” he said to Rufus while his father spoke to Heidegger over the phone.

“Why would I be disappointed?” Rufus asked.

“Aren’t you the one who told me not to act stupid about what we both know to be true?” Tseng raised an eyebrow. “I applaud your efforts.”

Rufus laughed and patted Tseng’s cheek condescendingly, which again elicited a mixture of a revulsion and a feeling quite the opposite as he did so. “The day isn’t over yet, Tseng.”

What was he hiding up his sleeve? Tseng stared at him and said nothing - he may have been bluffing, and even if he wasn’t, what could Tseng do about it at this point? Emma would run a sweep of the rocket and if they failed to turn up any evidence of further sabotage, but the launch still failed, Rufus would find a way to pin the blame on the Turks.

He was somehow always one step ahead of them and it was infuriating.

Veld returned half an hour later with flecks of blood on his shirt and gloves. “He claims to have been the only man on the infiltration team, but I’m still not convinced,” he told Tseng. “Emma hasn’t found any evidence of further sabotage yet.”

“Director!” The President barked. “What’s the word? We’re scheduled to launch in twenty minutes.”

“My operatives have found no further proof of tampering, sir. It seems we can continue with the launch.”

“Good, good. Call up to the pilot and let him know.”

With a sigh, Veld pulled out his phone. The more Tseng saw of Veld’s work, the less certain he was that he even wanted all the complexities that came with leadership. This was the first field work Veld had seen in ages - most of his time was spent at his desk dealing with paperwork or at meetings with the other executives.

With the rocket secured, the pilot called down to inform the president that his chief engineer was just running some final checks in the engine room to ensure it was safe to launch. The rest of the crew began locking down the rocket and preparing for countdown, and the president, the crowd, and even Rufus, turned their gaze upward to watch the historical launch.

The thrusters at the base of the rocket began to glow red-hot as smoke and flames issued from beneath, preparing for the final countdown. Tseng watched with bated breath, his gaze moving constantly from the rocket, to Rufus, who seemed as tense and uncertain as Tseng felt. The power increased, the thrusters pushed the rocket away from the ground, and then just as suddenly the power cut and the rocket fell back down with a deafening boom, the shock of its enormous frame hitting the cold earth creating a gust of wind so intense it knocked Tseng backward onto the ground and leveled a number of trees in the surrounding forest. Tseng struggled to sit up, slightly dazed, to find everyone else had been pushed back too. The rocket teetered precariously, leaning into the scaffolding along its side where it came to a halt slightly askew.

“What the hell just happened?” The President barked, directing all of his ire at Veld. “I thought you said you had it cleared!”

“Sir, I-” But Veld couldn’t get a word in as the president continued his tirade, his face growing redder as he yelled.

A look of elation passed over Rufus’ face before he was quick to replace it with his usual look of disinterest.

It took some time for the chaos of the failed launch to calm and the crew to be extracted now that the scaffolding was badly damaged. When they finally managed to pull the pilot and his chief engineer out, it was discovered that the pilot himself halted the launch when his chief engineer failed to evacuate the engine room - she had been triple checking the cooling tanks as countdown began. This left the President furious with both the pilot and the Turks, the pilot furious with his engineer, and Rufus undoubtedly reveling in it all.

He had succeeded this time, but Tseng was going to make absolutely sure he pinned him with the evidence he needed before there could be a next time.

Chapter Text

“The rocket launch was good work.”

Rufus sat in his apartment on a video call with the three heads of Avalanche nearly a month after their successful sabotage of his father’s useless pet project. Until the very end, he hadn’t been certain Avalanche would succeed, but the unmitigated disaster that was the rocket launch had been a pleasant surprise - even better was the look of pure rage his father directed at Veld.

“It was excellent work,” Elfe corrected. “And we’re moving on an even bigger project.”

“The reactor?” Rufus asked.

His father was building a reactor in the mining town of Corel after months of negotiations with the miners. Rufus wasn’t sure why his father bothered negotiating at all - it was neither out of character nor a poor use of funds to just firebomb the town and build the reactor anyway. His father was always trying to placate the people he subjugated. To what end? It was a worthless endeavor as far as Rufus was concerned.

“The reactor,” Elfe echoed. “Our plan is to infiltrate to the core during the night when construction is halted and security is limited. We’d love for you to meet us there, Mr. Shinra.”

“Hm, I suppose it was about time I saw your work in action. Suppose I tip the Turks off that this is happening and we killed several birds with one stone? I’d love to be there when you put a bullet in Veld’s head.”

There was a moment’s pause. “Let them know,” Elfe answered. “I’d love to be the one to put the bullet in his head.”

“When should I meet you then?”

“Friday evening. Meet us in the core. We’ll put on a lovely show for you to thank you for your generous contribution.”

Rufus smirked. “I can’t wait.”

It was exceedingly difficult for Rufus to escape Midgar without notice or without his father assigning a detail, but it was essential that he do so to avoid having Tseng on his ass. So he slipped out on a commercial airship flight to Junon and from there took a Shinra helicopter across the sea to Corel. He had taken flight lessons, among many others, as a teen and while he wasn’t the most proficient pilot, he could get himself from point A to point B in a pinch. As he fled, he left a message for Tseng specifically:

‘Hate to have to do your job for you, but I have it on good authority that Avalanche plans on destroying the mako reactor currently under construction in Corel. Better hurry if you want to stop them.’

Tseng was a formidable adversary, more so than Rufus would have anticipated when they first met seven years prior. While Rufus would be glad to watch Veld die at Elfe’s hands, he admittedly felt a bit more ambivalent about Tseng. He wanted to be rid of the Turks because they were too loyal to his father, and he was certain Tseng could not be bent to his will after so many years of animosity between the two of them, but he wouldn’t revel in his death in quite the same way he would with Veld and the others.

All that would be left when this was over would be to kill his father, which he would do himself if he had to. Everyone else would fall in line when the transition of power was over and he could cut funding to Avalanche, stamp them out, and maybe convince Elfe to come to his side with the right persuasion.

It was a long flight to Corel and then Rufus had to find a way to slip inside the reactor without security noticing him. He was admittedly unused to getting his hands dirty himself, not that he had never trained in combat. Crawling through the tunnels of a former mine to make his way to the center of the partially constructed reactor was not exactly his idea of fun, and his clothes were quickly covered in dirt as he went. He simply had to keep reminding himself it would be worth it to see the look on the Turks’ faces right before they died.

An emergency trip to Corel was not what Tseng anticipated when he awoke Friday morning, but he nevertheless found himself in a helicopter with Reno, Rude, Emma, Freyra, Ruluf, and Veld to head off an attempt by Avalanche to destroy the mako reactor before it could be completed.

There was undoubtedly an underlying catch in Rufus’ plan: why else would he freely disclose what the people he was funding planned to do? Veld agreed with Tseng - they had to be ready for any number of traps.

Tseng sat tense, staring out the window at the landscape passing by beneath them as the sun set along the horizon. Protecting Shinra assets was his job, and he had always known that might entail dying in the line of duty, but he rarely worried that his life was in major danger on most missions. This time, there was a gnawing concern at the back of his mind that this mission might be his last. Rufus was smart and shrewd. Whatever he was planning, Tseng knew he had the advantage.

Corel was a town of little importance or consequence as far as the planet at large was concerned. It was populated by a small group who made their living mining coal from ancient mines beneath the ground. Coal had been on its way out for decades with the advent of mako and Tseng was genuinely surprised any coal miners remained, let alone that they had apparently fought Shinra tooth and nail over the installation of the new reactor - only the promise of new jobs within the reactor for all the townspeople had won them over.

The reactors itself was a few miles outside of town, but Veld landed the chopper far enough away from the reactor to avoid alerting any potential Avalanche troops to their presence. Once landed, the group of Turks piled out of the helicopter and made the hike through the hills to the reactor’s security entrance, where they immediately found two Shinra security officers lying in pools of blood.

Emma knelt down and turned one of the officers over to find his throat had been slit. With a grimace, she dropped him and stood back up. “We better hurry. They’re already inside.”

“Remember,” Veld warned, “We are highly suspicious Rufus Shinra is their informant and he’s also the one who tipped us off to this attack. We must proceed with extreme caution and assume that an ambush is awaiting us. Fan out to cover all paths and converge at the core, but be prepared to flee if we become overwhelmed.”

“Understood, sir.”

“Tseng, Emma, come with me. Reno and Rude, you’ll go together. Freyra and Ruluf, you stick together. We’ll see you at the core.”

Emma gave Tseng a withering look before joining Veld. There was no helping her animosity and Tseng never really begrudged her for it, but he would have preferred almost anyone else to join them into the bowels of the reactor.

They were quiet as they went along, climbing up into the rafters and making their way inward. Tseng had never been inside a partially finished reactor before - he was accustomed to the acrid stench of mako, but as the reactor hadn’t begun working yet, no mako was being pulled up from the lifestream and refined. Instead, it smelled mostly of iron and dirt within, which was preferable as far as he was concerned.

Veld stayed ahead of them with his gun drawn, but came to a halt, removing his phone from his pocket and holding up a hand to gesture to Tseng and Emma to stop as well.

“Mr. President,” Veld spoke. “Yes. Yes we are. I see. From Junon? Understood.” He hung up and turned to Tseng and Emma. “The vice president has gone missing. It seems he booked a charter flight to Junon and coincidentally a Shinra-issue helicopter went missing from Junon shortly after that flight landed. We should anticipate that he may be here.”

“What are our orders, sir?” Tseng asked.

“If we find the vice president here aiding and abetting terrorists, the President wants us to apprehend him and take him to await punishment at headquarters.”

‘Punishment?’ What would that entail, Tseng wondered. Likely nothing more than a slap on the wrists when Rufus was guilty of treason, amongst other lesser crimes. All the same, it would bring Tseng great pleasure to be the one to apprehend him and bring him in after all the legwork he had put into uncovering Rufus’ identity as the mole.

They continued on through the reactor, periodically checking in with the others, who had yet to find any further evidence of infiltration. Closer to the core of the reactor they found more dead security officers below, enough to suggest there were a number of Avalanche operatives within. Tseng and Emma drew their weapons, watching the adjacent rafters for any sign of movement as they inched along.

That was when Tseng saw a flash of silvery-blonde hair in the fluorescent light on a rafter across the room.

“Sir!” Tseng pointed.

Veld followed his gaze and they watched as Rufus Shinra sprinted along the rampart toward the reactor core.

“GO!” Veld cried.

Tseng and Emma gave chase, running as fast as their legs would carry them to reach the core before Rufus did. Behind them, Veld’s footfall clanked loudly against the metal grating of the ramparts.

“Avoid injuring him if you can,” Veld called, “Shoot to incapacitate if you must.”

Tseng didn’t like doling out pain frivolously, but he also might lower his threshold for Rufus Shinra.

They breached the threshold into the reactor core at roughly the same time as Rufus. He leaped down onto a platform at the center of the room and Tseng jumped down to meet him, launching himself onto Rufus, the two of them tumbling against the ground and rolling to a halt right at the edge of the platform, narrowly avoiding a dangerous plummet to the ground below.

“So glad you could join me, Tseng,” Rufus hissed, attempting to knee Tseng between the legs. Tseng jerked to the side to avoid the blow and brought his hand around Rufus’ throat. Emma stuttered to a halt a few feet away with her gun raised, then Veld. A moment later, Reno and Rude rocketed into the core as well.

“It’s over, sir,” Tseng spat, still struggling to keep a hold on Rufus.

“Far from it. I-”

“If you’re all quite done.”

A familiar voice sounded from a rampart high above and the entire group of them turned to find Elfe, flanked by two men - one of whom Tseng recognized as Shears - as well as a dozen or more troops in Avalanche fatigues. Rufus squirmed out of Tseng’s grip and righted himself, turning to face his co-conspirators with a smirk.

“I’ve been waiting for this day for some time,” Elfe said, leaning over the railing of the rampart and looking down on them. “What do you think? Surprised to see me, daddy?”

“Daddy?” Reno mouthed to Rude.

Tseng looked to Veld, whose face had gone pale, his mouth agape. “Felicia?”

“Felicia?” Rufus balked.

“Oh, good,” Elfe laughed. “I had hoped you hadn’t caught on either. You’re smarter than I would have expected for such a pretty face, Mr. Shinra, but I hate to inform you that I’ve been using you this entire time.”

“I think we both knew-” Rufus began.

“Stop interrupting me,” Elfe barked, drawing a gun and training it on him. “I won’t ask again.”

This had the remarkable effect of silencing Rufus Shinra.

“Does someone wanna tell me what the hell is going on?” Reno asked.

“That woman is my daughter,” Veld said. “Who, until this moment, I thought was dead.”

Elfe scoffed and Tseng barely had time to register his shock before she spoke again. “Don’t be so naive. Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t know what that deranged professor does to people who survive Shinra fuckups. Did you really think I was dead or did you just convince yourself that I was so you didn’t have to feel guilty about what was really happening?”

Veld’s lip quivered and Tseng was shocked to see tears welling in his eyes. Whatever Tseng anticipated about this mission, he couldn’t have predicted this situation in a million years.

“Felicia,” Veld said, his voice quavering. “Please believe me. Of course I know what Hojo does, but I thought you and your mother were dead. I lost my arm, I-” He pulled his sleeve back to show the prosthesis he received several years prior. “I thought you were both dead.”

“Well, you were right about mom. Not me though. I managed to survive. And what did I get in return? I was tortured and experimented on for months at the hands of the very people you bow to like a loyal little dog. I even got my own shiny trophy, just like yours.” Elfe lifted her pant leg to display her ornate prosthetic leg.

“Enough of this,” Rufus found his voice again. “I don’t give a fuck what your motivation was. I paid you to do a job and I hand delivered the Turks to you. Now shoot them down and be done with it.”

Elfe’s eyes flashed as she fixed Rufus with a hateful look. “I’m not your whore, Mr. Shinra.”

“Felicia, please,” Veld begged. “If we could just talk about this. If I had known, I would have left and spent every waking moment trying to find you and free you from that suffering. Please. You’re more important to me than any of this.”

For a moment, all of the rage in Elfe’s eyes died and she looked like a sad, lost little girl. Her resolve faltered.

“Don’t listen to him,” the man at her side opposite Shears said. “He’s just trying to get your guard down. You can’t trust any of Shinra’s lapdogs.”

Elfe was not so easily convinced. “Why should I believe you?” She asked Veld. “All of this destruction I’ve wrought with my group has been for revenge. You abandoned us to serve your master.”

“No,” Veld spoke forcefully. “If I had known you lived…I’ll prove it to you now, Felicia. I’ll walk away from Shinra.”

“They’ll kill you if you try,” she scoffed, but she was clearly fighting a war in her mind.

“They will try,” Veld agreed. He looked to Tseng, who was doing all he could just to keep up with all of the information being thrown around while keeping his eyes on the several guns trained at them. “Tseng, I’ve trained you for this day. I admit I imagined it would come much later than it has, but please understand why I have to leave.”

“Sir,” Tseng struggled to find the right words. He wasn’t ready to take up Veld’s mantle. He wasn’t ready for his mentor to leave.

“I understand if they ask you to hunt me down. If that’s the case, please…I want you to be the one to end it.”

“Sir, I couldn’t-”

“I have no choice. I have been loyal and faithful to the Turks as long as I can. I have to look after my family now. Felicia,” he turned back to Elfe. “I’ll walk away. I want you to walk away too. Leave this behind. Let us heal together, away from Shinra.”

Elfe’s eyes glistened. “I-”

“This is absurd!” Rufus interjected. “Kill them now before they can walk away! Fuhito, if Elfe won’t rise to the challenge-”

The man at Elfe’s side nodded, a strange glint in his eye. “As you wish, Mr. Shinra.” He turned his back to them. “Kill them all and bring me the bodies when you’re done.”

“Fuhito!” Elfe cried. She turned quickly to meet Veld’s gaze. “Dad, run! Meet me on the outside.”

“Stop her!” Fuhito yelled.

A cascade of chaos followed.

Elfe turned to run, aided suddenly by Shears, who attacked his own men to clear a path for her. Freyra and Ruluf appeared above in the ramparts and began to fire on the Avalanche troops. Veld took off the way they had come as fast as his feet would carry him, and Fuhito raised his gun, aiming it directly at Rufus.

Tseng had a very short time to make several decisions, but he made them rapidly.

Veld was gone. There was no further time to dwell on it or speculate as to whether or not Elfe was being sincere with him. Tseng was, whether temporarily or permanently, the de facto leader of the Turks in that moment. A Turk’s job, above all else was to protect Shinra assets, and in that moment Rufus Shinra was a more valuable asset than the mako reactor - a more valuable asset than Tseng himself, as loathe as he was to admit it. He grabbed Rufus’ shoulders and thrust him out of the way of Fuhito’s bullet. Instead, it lodged in Tseng’s shoulder and he stumbled backward as a blinding pain shot through his arm.

Rufus staggered and stared at him, dumbfounded. “Why did you do that?”

“Get the vice president out of here!” Tseng yelled to the others. “Get him out of the reactor and put him in handcuffs. We’ll deal with him once we’re out of harm’s way.”

“Go!” Emma shouted at Reno and Rude. They hesitated for only a moment before manhandling Rufus and dragging him out of the reactor core. Emma ducked out of the way of more gunfire and stooped down beside Tseng. “Can you walk?”

Tseng grimaced through the pain and rose to his feet. “Yes, but I can’t fire.”

“I’ll cover you. Let’s go.”

“Enough!” Fuhito yelled over the din. “Get the explosives lit and evacuate immediately. From this moment forward I’ll be issuing the orders. Deal with the Turks or don’t, just make sure this reactor blows.” He took off in the opposite direction - not before Emma fired a few shots that missed their mark - and the troops withdrew to follow.

“Shit,” Emma hissed. She gripped Tseng’s side and pulled him to his feet. “We have to get out of here before it blows.”

Tseng nodded and together they ran out of the core as fast as they could. Although his legs weren’t injured, the pain in Tseng’s arm was only worsening as he ran, blood soaking through his shirt and suit jacket, his breath ragged. They sped out of the reactor as a blast sounded from within and the ground began to shake.

“Don’t stop,” Emma warned. “We have to get clear of the blast radius.”

Tseng’s lungs burned and his shoulder throbbed, but still he ran alongside Emma, through the hills, until they came upon Reno and Rude at the crest of a hill nearly a mile out from the reactor. Rufus sat between them with his hands cuffed behind his back, but rather than looking furious he just looked like a child who hadn’t gotten his way, pouting and glaring between the Turks.

“Sit down and let me look at the wound,” Emma demanded.

Tseng didn’t protest. He took a seat on a bit of flat rock and helped Emma peel his suit jacket and shirt away, wincing at the pain of trying to manipulate his arm.

“Not like I’ve never been shot before,” his breathing was labored from the run and the pain.

“I don’t understand why you stepped in front of that bullet,” Rufus growled. “I just tried to have you killed and still you just blindly sacrifice yourself for Shinra?”

Tseng furrowed his brow. “Are you complaining that I saved your life?”

“I-” Rufus frowned. “No, but-”

“Then shut up. Sir.”

Emma let out a bark of laughter at this. “Anyone ever tell you you’re a real cunt, Mr. Vice President?”

Rufus met Tseng’s gaze. “Funnily enough, yes.”

“There’s a shocker,” Reno muttered.

“This’ll hurt a bit,” Emma warned, pressing her hand against Tseng’s wound as she activated her restore materia.

“It hurts anyway.”

“That’ll do it.” She stepped back and observed the mako reactor. Another blast shook the ground and a section of the reactor collapsed in on itself. “Did Ruluf and Freyra make it out?”

“We didn’t see them,” Rude answered. “I tried radioing, but they were in the middle of a fire fight.”

Tseng watched the reactor begin to crumble with a profound fatigue. Veld was gone, possibly dead if Elfe hadn’t been sincere, they failed to stop the reactor from being destroyed, and now two of their operatives might be trapped inside.

They had at least captured Rufus and now had concrete evidence of his guilt - a small silver lining in so much mess. When Tseng turned his gaze away from the reactor he found Reno, Rude, and Emma looking at him expectantly. That was the moment he realized he was well and truly in charge now.

“What now?” Reno asked.

Protect Shinra assets, but Turks always stay loyal to other Turks. That was an important lesson Veld imparted upon Tseng so many years before.

“Our mission is complete. We can wait for them. They might still have a chance to escape.”

The group breathed a collective sigh of relief. Reno paced and lit a cigarette, Emma sat a few feet from Tseng, and Rude stood just upwind of Reno’s smoke.

Tseng couldn’t bear the anxiety of staring at what remained of the reactor for a sign of Ruluf or Freyra, so he turned to face Rufus, whose childish pout had turned to a surprising look of resignation.

“Here you tried to have me killed and instead wound up with me in charge of the Turks. Not your finest hour.”

Rufus laughed despite the circumstances. “No, I suppose not.”

“I doubt you have much to worry about. Your father will probably just give you a slap on the wrists.”

This earned him a scoff. “You don’t know my father like I do.”

“I don’t,” Tseng agreed. He scarcely understood Rufus’ relationship with the President. He especially couldn’t understand why he would try to have his father killed when he already stood to inherit the company sooner or later. The Shinras as a whole were a confusing, power-hungry bunch whose aspirations Tseng couldn’t quite empathize with.

A silence fell between them. The sounds of the reactor crumbling filled the space.

“Do you think he would have me killed?” Rufus asked suddenly.

The fear in his eyes was real and Tseng was surprised to feel a pang of sympathy for him. He considered Veld’s story of his betrayal - killing Margaret Shinra for her infidelity and making it look like a suicide. Even if no one knew the truth, Rufus was smart enough that he must suspect his father played a role in his mother’s death. Tseng couldn’t truthfully answer Rufus’ question because he didn’t know. Was this an offense on par with his mother’s? Would the president kill his own son?

“I don’t know,” Tseng answered.

Their conversation was cut short when Emma leaped to her feet and pointed toward the reactor. “Look!”

Freyra staggered away from the wreckage with Ruluf slung over her shoulders. She looked badly injured, but better off than Ruluf, who was bleeding freely from his scalp.

“Go help them. I’ll stay with the hostage,” Tseng ordered.

Emma skidded down the hill, Reno and Rude quick to follow, hurrying to Freyra’s side to relieve her of her burden. Emma lifted Freyra and carried her the rest of the way.

“You aren’t exactly a natural born leader,” Rufus commented. “But they still listen to you as if you are.”

“I’m not,” Tseng agreed. “But at least I understand what loyalty means.”

Rufus frowned and said nothing more. When the others reconvened, they tended to Freyra and Ruluf’s wounds enough to get them stable, then hiked the rest of the way back to the helicopter. Ruluf remained unconscious, but his heart was still beating and he was still breathing.

“Reno, take us back to headquarters,” Tseng said. “I have a lengthy report to file.”

Nothing could beat the embarrassment of Rufus being presented to his father on his knees with Tseng towering behind him. His plans, all well laid and meticulously thought out, had crumbled just like the mako reactor. How could he have known Elfe was Veld’s daughter? He suspected they might turn on him at the reactor but not quite in the fashion they did.

Mixed with that was the simmering irritation that Tseng had not only bested him, but saved his life in the process. Rufus was furious with everyone and everything, but no one more than himself.

From behind his desk, the president puffed on a cigar and frowned at Rufus.

“Insurrection. Funding militants. Attempted murder. Destruction of my reactors.” He shook his head and tipped some ashes from his cigar into an ugly brass tray on his desk. “Care to explain yourself, boy?”

“What is there to explain?” Rufus scowled. “I simply learned the ruthlessness you taught me and put it into practice.”

“All I have done for you has only ever been to make you better, Rufus. It’s disappointing you don’t understand that.”

His father’s vision of tough love was, in Rufus’ humble opinion, bordering on emotional abuse, but he was hardly going to say that out loud, let alone in front of Tseng.

“So what are you going to do to punish me, father?” Rufus asked. “Make Tseng put a bullet in my brain?”

“You think I’d stoop as low as to have you killed?” His father was eerily calm as he asked it, not a hint of surprise on his face. “No. As far as is possible, I want Shinra to remain in Shinra hands. But what you’ve done can’t go unpunished.” He turned his attention to Tseng. “Turk. I understand you’re the director now that Veld has fled with his tail between his legs.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Remind me of your name again.”

“Tseng, sir.”

“That’s right. You’ll be given access to the east wing of the B3 level. I suppose you’ve never been over there.”

“No sir,” Tseng confirmed. “The door to that wing remains locked.”

“There’s an apartment I had built to house important political prisoners. It hasn’t been used in a decade or more, but it will serve a use now. I’m placing the vice president under indefinite house arrest. I want a Turk with him at all hours of the day, video surveillance of the apartment, and multiple lock codes in place to keep him there. I’ll issue a statement that he’s on extended leave for business.”

Rufus glowered at his father and said nothing. In that moment, death seemed preferable to an indefinite amount of time as the Turks’ ward. It was truly a fitting punishment: no power, no optics. He would simply be forced to languish away in exile, right beneath everyone’s noses, until his father decided he was repentant enough to return.

“Indefinitely, sir?” Tseng asked.

If anything good could be found from this situation it was that Tseng sounded as displeased by it as Rufus felt.

“Indefinitely. No one but you and I and a handful of your operatives will know about this. Am I understood?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Then take him down to the east wing and lock him up. Rufus, I’ll meet with you in a few weeks to discuss your progress.”

Thoroughly shamed, seething with rage and indignation, stripped of his power, all Rufus could do was bow his head and say,

“Yes, father.”

Chapter Text

The mood in the room for the first team meeting following Veld’s departure was a somber one. Reno and Rude had barely gotten any sleep the night before, staying awake into the late hours with Emma and Tseng to prepare the newly accessible east wing apartment for their long-term guest: Rufus fucking Shinra. Eventually Reno fell asleep against Rude on the couch in their shared office only to be awoken by Tseng, who said absolutely nothing about the position he found them in and only asked them to get up and join the meeting.

That was at least something, wasn’t it? Tseng had already seen Reno with his mouth around Rude’s cock and now he was in charge of the Turks. So it wouldn’t really hurt anything rules wise if they finally crossed the line Reno was so desperate to cross, would it? Tseng wouldn’t get rid of them for something like that, even if he was a hardass.

It was strange and unsettling to watch Tseng take the chief’s chair at the head of the table in the conference room. He looked uncomfortable with it himself, settling awkwardly into the chair and observing a stack of papers in front of him.

“As I’m sure you’re all aware by now, yesterday the chief defected while on a mission in Corel.” He paused and waited for the hushed conversation to die down. “In addition, Ruluf is currently in the infirmary in a coma. He’s stable, but the doctors could not provide a timeline for his recovery.”

Freyra looked the most upset by this news, her eyes glistening as she turned away.

“Wonder if they were fucking,” Reno whispered to Rude, who frowned at him in response. “What? Just saying.”

“The President has placed me in charge of the Turks,” Tseng continued. “As a result, I’m placing Emma as second in command should I be unable to fulfill my duties. She will take over my field work as I have to dedicate more of my time to work here at headquarters.”

“Tseng,” Balto spoke up, quickly correcting himself. “Er…director…chief, sir.”

Tseng’s ears flushed. “Yes, Balto?”

“Is the President going to make us hunt down the chief? I mean Veld. I mean-”

Tseng held a hand up to silence him. All eyes turned to Tseng and Reno found he was holding his breath. He wanted to believe even if it was an order from the President, Tseng wouldn’t turn on their old chief like that. After all, Turks were loyal to other Turks, weren’t they? And as far as Reno was concerned, once a Turk always a Turk.

“I cannot reasonably ask any of you to apprehend or neutralize the chief. I can’t do it myself.” It was the most emotional Reno had ever seen Tseng. “I do, however, want to find out where he is.” Before anyone could protest, he silenced them. “If we know his whereabouts before Heidegger or SOLDIER, we stand a chance of keeping him safe. I can lie to the President. I’ll take the brunt of that responsibility as your new chief.”

“Damn,” Reno said. “Didn’t know you knew how to break rules, Chuckles.”

“Occasionally, when the circumstances permit, I can bend a little,” the corners of Tseng’s lips turned upward in the faintest hint of a smile before deepening into a frown as his brow furrowed. “And you will address me as ‘sir’ or ‘director’ from now on. Not ‘Chuckles’.”

“Yeah, all right,” Reno waved his hand. “I guess you’ve earned it.”

Tseng ignored him and continued on with the meeting. He doled out assignments, with additional assignments to scour the mission locales for signs of Veld. Poor Cissnei was relegated to helping Scarlet and Heidegger ‘clean up the mess’ in Corel by razing the town. Typical Shinra to burn any evidence of their incompetence to the ground, even if it meant innocent lives being lost.

As far as Rufus Shinra went, Reno, Rude, and Emma were the only others who knew about their special new hostage, but Tseng addressed the use of the east wing in proper Turk fashion.

“You may notice from time to time that myself and some of your colleagues are utilizing the restricted space in the east wing. Unless you’ve been granted specific permission to access this area, you will not go anywhere near the east wing. If I find out anyone without access has been overly curious, there will be consequences.”

With that warning issued, Tseng and Emma left to pay a visit to the forbidden east wing.

“What about us?” Reno asked, following alongside Rude as they left the conference room.

“You two can go home and get some rest,” Tseng said. “I need you in top shape to take over tomorrow evening. I’ll be making a weekly schedule for our security duties.”

“Babysitting you mean,” Reno laughed.

“Go home, Reno. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He and Emma disappeared around the corner and Reno turned to Rude.

“Well?”

“Well, what?” Rude yawned. “I’m not going to ask twice if Tseng’s giving us the day off after everything that went down yesterday.”

Reno followed him into the elevator and up through the lobby out into the streets of sector zero. They walked in relative silence back to the apartment building where several Turks made their home away from headquarters. When they reached the front stoop, Reno turned to look at Rude with his stomach in knots.

How could he say what was on his mind? That all the sudden chaos had made him appreciate their bond even more. That he was bone tired, but he didn’t want to sleep while his mind was flooded with thoughts of everything they hadn’t done yet. That even if he was going to sleep, he didn’t want to sleep alone.

It was all too fucking sentimental for someone like Reno - someone who had never loved or been loved, to the point that he was certain he didn’t deserve it even if he wanted it.

So instead he just said, “Guess I’ll see you whenever we both wake up.”

Rude smiled, that stupid handsome smile of his, and pecked Reno on the cheek, which took his breath away.

“Good night, Reno. Or…I guess good morning.”

With that, they went off to their separate apartments and despite his fatigue, Reno found himself staring at the ceiling for some time, thoughts swirling through his head, and a new and uncomfortable feeling settling in his chest.

The secret apartment hidden within the Turks’ headquarters was a far cry from the luxury penthouses Rufus was used to, but as far as prison sentences went, it could have been considerably worse. There were three sets of security doors, which Rufus thought was a bit extreme, but then Tseng knew even if his father didn’t that he was smart enough and had the proper education to bypass anything less than air-tight security.

Once past the security doors, an open living room-kitchen area was decorated in his father’s particularly gaudy tastes, funneling into a hallway with a room for whatever Turk happened to babysitting him at the time, a bathroom, and finally his room, complete with a plush king-sized bed and a window with a view of the slums far below.

Rufus had been allowed to request a handful of his effects - clothes, books, his chess set, and his cello, as well as a little box of sex toys that would likely be the only touch he knew until he was released. He couldn’t decide how long his father truly meant by ‘indefinitely’ but his father never did anything lightly, so he was prepared for at least a year under the Turks’ watch.

His first night in the apartment had been spent stewing over his own failure. He always knew the inherent risk that came with his plans, with funding insurgents and trying to overthrow his father, but he never imagined it would all go to hell in such a spectacular fashion. He was angry, but more than anything he was disappointed that he had lived up to exactly the kind of failure he knew his father expected of him.

A loser.

It would require years of brown-nosing and ass-kissing and even more furtive planning to undo what this mess had created.

By the time Tseng and Emma arrived to establish law and order on the indefinite house arrest, Rufus hadn’t slept in nearly two days, not for lack of trying. He was also hungry and the combination of hunger and lack of sleep put him in such a foul mood that as soon as he heard the security doors opening, he hurried down the hall and shut himself in his room.

Tseng and Emma’s voices carried from the living room down the hallway and then Rufus listened as their footsteps approached and there was a curt wrap on the door to his room.

“Mr. Vice President?” Tseng asked.

Rufus scoffed. Tseng was the one with the power now: power over the Turks as their new leader, but also power over Rufus in a way neither of them ever could have imagined. Rufus may still have been the vice president of the Shinra Electric Power Company, but he was the Turks’ ward and they had undoubtedly been given free reign on how to handle his imprisonment. The thought did worry Rufus, if only a little - he knew what Tseng and the other Turks were capable of if push came to shove - but the fact that Tseng was still addressing him by his title despite the absurdity of the situation and the sudden power shift set his mind at ease.

“I’m coming in,” Tseng announced loudly before gently opening the door and standing just beyond the threshold.

Rufus rolled to face the window, turning his back to Tseng. “If it’s all the same, I’d rather be left alone.”

“I understand,” said Tseng. Rufus almost chided him for his submission, but before he could think to say anything, Tseng continued. “I understand why you might think you have any say in the trajectory of your imprisonment with us. This is certainly a modest and comfortable apartment. Don’t let that lure you into a false sense of authority here, sir.”

Rufus sat up and met Tseng’s gaze. No matter how many times he had gone round with Tseng, he was always taken by surprise when he showed a backbone. He didn’t carry himself like a leader - there wasn’t Veld’s sense of arrogance and authority, nor the inflated self-importance the other executives seemed to have (except perhaps Tuesti). Tseng was, as far as Rufus was concerned, the very essence of a good spy: tall dark and handsome, but easily able to blend in to the background, to nod his head and say ‘certainly, sir’ and do exactly as he was told. It was both a surprise, and frankly a delight, anytime Tseng took on that role he seemed so averse to.

“So what will you do with me then? Chain me up and feed me gruel?” Rufus laughed.

“You’ve been provided very reasonable accommodation,” said Tseng. “And you will continue to be provided with reasonable accommodation so long as you remain a cooperative prisoner. What that entails is up to us, not you. You don’t get to decide when you want to left alone because you haven’t earned my respect or the respect of any of my subordinates.” His eyes flashed as he held Rufus’ gaze. “I sincerely doubt you even understand the meaning of the word.”

“You sound like my father.”

“If that were true, you probably wouldn’t be where you are right now,” Tseng bit back. “Emma will be staying with you this week. There’s a notepad on the kitchen counter for you to write down any food requests. Let me be perfectly clear: you won’t be getting room service here and we aren’t your chefs.”

Rufus would not admit aloud to someone like Tseng that he didn’t have the faintest clue how to cook because he had never in his life been taught how, nor had he needed to. The idea of trying to cook anything more than some microwave noodles felt like a punishment in itself. It was exactly what Tseng would expect of him, though, so he simply shrugged.

“And I can request any foods?”

“You can request any foods,” Tseng agreed. “You might not receive everything you request.”

“Fine. If that’s all-”

“For now.” Tseng took a step back and paused in the doorway. “You’ll be under surveillance every hour of every day. And if I find out you’ve been rude, aggressive, suggestive, or otherwise inappropriate with any of my subordinates you’ll be forced to deal with me as your full-time overseer. I think that’s something neither of us want.”

Rufus snorted. “I’d rather cut my cock off than fuck a Turk.”

This was patently a lie because Rufus would have gladly fucked Tseng if he weren’t such an uptight rule-abiding asshole. And he would have fucked that muscle-head who brought him in with Reno the loudmouth. But in his current predicament, his hand seemed like a much better option.

Tseng didn’t dignify this comment with a response. He walked away, closing the bedroom door behind him and leaving Rufus to stew in his thoughts once more.

Elena Lindholm was used to scraped knuckles and bloody noses, so she didn’t shirk away from them when she found herself in a fight - which was more often than not. Blood trickled from one nostril and her fists were covered in tiny cuts, her own blood mingling with that of the man beneath her who shielded his face in a vain attempt to slow the torrent of blows she directed at him.

He expected, she knew, what every single other man seemed to expect of a petite blonde who hid her lithe muscle beneath a stained, over sized waitress’ frock: a submissive little waif who couldn’t fight back.

She hadn’t even been the target this time. A woman at the bar had been ordering drinks when he showed up - he wouldn’t leave her alone despite her insistence, and then he slipped something into her drink. Growing up in the slums and working at a bar had given Elena a keen eye for such things. She also knew how to play a situation to her advantage.

It was easy to make it look like she spilled the drink on accident. ‘Silly me, I’m always so clumsy. Don’t worry, miss, I’ll get you another.’ And while her coworker prepared a replacement drink, she batted her eyelashes at the man and moved her hips this way and that and asked if he could come out back with her while she took her smoke break.

As soon as they were outside, his disgusting hands were on her and then her knee was between his legs and her fists were flying at his face. He never saw her coming. They never did.

“What the fuck?” He choked, spitting up bits of his own blood as she slammed her fist into his face again. He had managed one good head butt that caught her nose before she had him flat on his back.

“I saw you drug her drink,” Elena hissed. “Consider this a warning.” She stood up and kicked him in the ribs with the full force of her legs. “If I see you here again, you won’t be walking away.”

“You’re a fucking bitch!” the man spat, crawling away from her and struggling to right himself.

“Maybe I am,” Elena agreed. “Now get the fuck out of here.”

She stepped back into the bar, wiping the blood from her nose onto her frock. Her coworker sighed at the sight of her.

“Another one? Really?”

Elena only shrugged. Was it her fault that violence and sex were the only tools she knew how to use to solve her problems? If she was giving an honest answer to the rhetorical question, it was her father’s fault. He chose to raise her and her sister in the slums, he chose to keep them under his thumb, falling in line to authority to such a rigid degree, and he chose to put her through the Shinra Military academy.

Top of her class. The best martial artist they had seen in decades. An excellent candidate for SOLDIER or the Turks.

And yet somehow always standing in Emma’s shadow.

Elena didn’t take issue with falling in line under authority she respected - it was why she had done so well at academy once she was out of her father’s classes - but she was too hot-headed for her own good. Her father had yet to write her any sort of recommendation for a position at Shinra until she could ‘prove herself’.

It made her fucking blood boil. Emma never had to prove herself to get a recommendation to join the Turks. And Emma was half as good of a marksman as Elena was a martial artist. Hell, Elena was a better marksman than Emma, and it wasn’t even her specialty. The over-protection, the constant sizing up against her sister, she knew it all came from their father’s ineptitude at coping with the loss of their mother. As if it hadn’t hurt her too?

Why should she have to suffer through so much more than Emma ever dealt with when she was twice as good as Emma would ever be?

The job at the bar had been her father’s idea - it would show she could handle herself in the real world without losing her temper - so long as her father never heard about the patrons she picked fights with.

Unfortunately, proving herself to her father also meant following his rules: regular lessons with him at the academy, a curfew of eleven on nights she didn’t work, one hour after last call on nights she did work, paying him three hundred gil a month in rent just to show she knew how to budget, and a laundry list of other pointless requirements Emma never had to meet.

Worst of all the demands though, was his insistence that she ‘be nice to her sister’ whenever she came around.

But she wanted a recommendation to SOLDIER more than she had ever wanted anything, so if that meant kissing her father’s ass and pretending to be nice to a sister she could barely tolerate, she would do it.

It would all be worth it for the look on Emma’s face when she became a SOLDIER. After all, SOLDIERS were stronger than Turks, more valued by Shinra.

Maybe then she’d finally get the respect she’d been chasing her entire life.

Sleep eluded Reno.

He stared at the ceiling for hours, his mind occupied with thoughts of Rude and his feelings he couldn’t bear to put a name to. He didn’t get emotionally attached because there was no purpose to it - no value. It only served as a weakness.

Except he knew he was full of shit.

As a kid he’d loved Madam S like she was his mother - and she was the closest thing he’d had. He had a soft spot for the chocobo handlers who took him in as well. Reno’s entire life, he liked to think he didn’t form emotional attachments - and it was easier when he became a Turk and it seemed like part of the job - but the truth was he had always been a clinger hiding behind a face of aloof disinterest. And of all the people he’d ever unintentionally given a little piece of his heart to, he had given the most to Rude by a longshot.

Even before his crush completely twisted around his insides, Rude had been his first true friend, the first person he could genuinely trust every fucking moment of his life.

Was he in love with Rude? How could he even know when he had never been in love before? All he knew was he had never felt the way he felt in that moment.

It was fucking killing him.

After a few hours of restless tossing and turning in bed, he got up and paced, chain smoked a few cigarettes, paced some more. His heart was racing and he couldn’t get Rude out of his mind. They had already crossed so many lines, but they were taking it slow because Reno’s natural speed setting was significantly faster than Rude’s. But hadn’t they done enough waiting?

Fed up with being wrapped up in his own thoughts and admittedly not thinking as clearly as he probably ought to, Reno made an executive decision. He threw his door open and moved down the hall and up the stairs like a bolt of lightning, coming to a stop outside of Rude’s door and knocking once.

Gods, he was gonna feel like a dick if he woke Rude up from his first undisturbed sleep in ages.

He didn’t have to wait long though, his hand had barely pulled away from the door when it flew open and he found Rude standing in the doorway in his boxers with his sunglasses off looking as wired as Reno felt.

His eyes were so fucking gorgeous that Reno had long ago decided he was doing the world a favor by wearing those sunglasses of his because who the fuck could keep their eyes or their hands off of him as soon as he pulled them off?

“I couldn’t sleep,” Reno said.

“Me either.”

“Can I-?”

“Yes.”

Rude took a step back and Reno moved inside, hovering by the door after Rude closed it. He laughed nervously - he had never been so fucking nervous in his entire life. It was embarrassing actually.

“All these thoughts in my head and I can’t think of what to say.”

“Reno,” Rude said. “I…”

“You know, maybe for once in my life I could just shut up, huh? What if we didn’t talk?” He took a step closer to Rude. “Hell, I mean, we don’t need to talk half the time to know what the other is thinking, right?”

In answer, Rude gripped Reno’s hips and pulled their bodies together, pressing his lips softly to Reno’s as his fingers dug into his skin. Reno leaned into the kiss, opening his mouth to greet Rude’s tongue, guiding one of his hands to the edge of his underwear beneath the fabric where his grip clenched around the curve of Reno’s ass.

Reno surprised himself with the moan that left his throat, heat quickly pooling between his legs. He held Rude’s arm with one hand and ran the other across the contour of his chest, his large muscles a stark contrast to Reno’s comparably smaller frame. They broke away for a moment, noses still brushing while they caught their breath. Reno’s head spun.

“I don’t…I don’t want you to feel rushed-”

“I want this,” Rude interrupted him. His lips hovered close to Reno’s, his breath hot against Reno’s face. “I want you so badly I can’t stand it.”

Reno chuckled against him. “The feeling’s mutual then.”

Their lips came together again and they stumbled backward toward Rude’s bed, Rude climbing on top of Reno and moving his kisses down to Reno’s neck and along his collarbone. By this point, Reno’s heartbeat was throbbing between his legs and all he could think about was how beautiful Rude’s cock was and how badly he wanted it inside of him. It had been too long since he’d had sex at all, but he had wanted this with Rude for far longer.

Rude was an attentive lover, his lips moving down Reno’s chest, his tongue gliding over Reno’s nipple while he palmed at Reno’s erection through the fabric of his underwear. Reno arched his back to meet Rude’s touch and was met with two strong, firm hands pinning him back to the mattress. Reno squirmed while Rude moved his kisses further and further south, his thumb gliding over the head of Reno’s cock through his underwear until he was so hard that it hurt.

“Fuck,” Reno huffed.

Rude knew better than anyone how impatient Reno was. He was just as impatient in the bedroom. He was used to fooling around with men and women who were quick fucks, eager to get theirs and move on, and as a result he had never really been teased like this. Or at least, it felt like teasing. Reno wasn’t quite aware that in a relationship built on mutual respect, this was just attentive foreplay.

Finally, Rude’s mouth reached the edge of Reno’s underwear and he hooked his fingers under the fabric, pulling it down Reno’s legs and tossing it aside. Reno was suddenly acutely aware Rude had never seen his dick before, and while Reno had never exactly been self conscious about it, it wasn’t much of a display compared to what Rude was packing.

Of course, you never would have known the way Rude looked at it. He planted soft, delicate kisses all along the sensitive skin of Reno’s thighs and hips before pressing his lips against the base of Reno’s cock and kissing a path to the head.

“Ah,” Reno gasped. And then Rude’s mouth encircled his cock as his tongue swirled around the head. “Fuck!”

Rude bobbed his head and Reno gripped the back of Rude’s neck, biting down on his lower lip as Rude’s tongue drove him to a near-frenzied state. He wanted to cum, but he also wanted Rude to fuck him first.

“Stop, stop…” Reno panted. “I don’t want to finish before we’ve even started.”

Rude released him and sat back on his legs, a bashful look on his face. Gods, but he was so cute. “To be honest, I’ve never done that before. I was worried it wouldn’t be good.”

“Not good?” Reno balked. “Partner, that was the best head I’ve ever had.”

Rude rolled his eyes. “Are you seriously calling me partner right now?”

Reno shrugged. It only felt natural. “I promise I won’t yell that when you’re fucking me.”

Before Rude could respond, Reno tugged on his arm and forced him to sit back against the headboard, following Rude’s lead and slowly trailing kisses down his body to the line of his boxers. Rude tensed slightly beneath his touch, but Reno knew it was just his nerves.

He pulled Rude’s boxers down and tossed them to join Reno’s underwear on the floor.

“You want me to lead, partner?” Reno asked, gripping Rude’s cock at the base and stroking up and down the length of it. Rude’s mouth fell open and he barely managed a nod. “You got some lube?”

“Nightstand,” Rude answered.

Reno found it quickly and straddled Rude’s lap, grinding his ass back against Rude’s erection and placing the bottle in Rude’s hand. “Use your fingers,” he directed.

Rude didn’t need to be told twice. He slicked a finger up with the lube and brought his hand against Reno’s ass, the other hand gripping at Reno’s thigh as his finger slide inside. Reno pressed his chest against Rude’s and kissed his neck while his finger moved.

“AH FUCK,” Reno nipped at Rude’s skin as Rude’s finger brushed against his prostate. “Right there.”

Rude moved his finger against it again and Reno’s cock throbbed. After a few seconds of this, another finger slipped inside, pumping against him while Reno ground his hips to meet Rude’s hand. He couldn’t bear it for very long before he felt so desperate to have Rude’s cock inside of him that he felt liable to explode.

“Enough, enough,” Reno gasped. “I need you to fuck me, now.”

He grabbed the lube and squeezed some into his hand, pumping up and down the length of Rude’s cock and taking the lead while Rude held his hips and watched, tense with anticipation. Slowly, Reno settled down against Rude’s lap, guiding Rude’s cock inside of him and shifting his hips until it hit that sensitive spot inside of him and he nearly came undone.

“Oh, fuck,” Reno breathed against Rude’s shoulder. “Fuck me, you’re big.”

“Does it hurt?” Rude asked, and when Reno looked up there was a look of such concern in Rude’s eyes that his heart swelled. He laughed despite Rude’s concern and rolled his hips to move their bodies together. “No, it feels fucking amazing.”

Reno didn’t mind leading in most situations, and he found it almost endearing how inexperienced someone as handsome and charming as Rude was in this situation. Reno moved slowly at first, guiding the movement while Rude’s fingers dug into his hips. After a few seconds of this, the tension Rude was carrying seem to release all at once and he allowed his mouth to fall open and his eyes to flutter shut, moaning from deep within his chest as two distinct syllables left his mouth:

“Reno!”

Reno was subsequently both surprised and a little embarrassed when his cock throbbed and he came across Rude’s abdomen with a groan, the orgasm hitting him so violently that his body shook. He ground to a halt, gasping for breath, his face flushed.

“Ah, shit,” he panted. “I’m sorry, I-”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Rude answered quickly.

Honestly, as ridiculously sappy as it was, Reno had hoped they might cum together.

“I want you to finish,” Reno said, clutching at Rude’s neck. “Finish inside of me.”

Rude nuzzled against the top of Reno’s head. “If you’re sure.”

Reno nodded, digging his nails into Rude’s skin as Rude took control, clutching at his ass and thrusting his hips. Despite the fact that Reno was so sensitive it almost hurt, he also wanted it so badly. Rude’s breath grew ragged as he pumped into him, his movements becoming clumsy, his fingers digging more insistently into the flesh of Reno’s ass until he finally came with a low groan followed by several soft moans as he fell still.

All things considered, even if it hadn’t gone exactly like Reno had hoped, it was well fucking worth the wait.

For several minutes they lay against each other catching their breath, sweaty and sticky, until the cum drying on their skin between them became too irritating to ignore, at which point Rude was the one to get up and attend to the mess, delicately and affectionately wiping a towel against Reno’s skin, kissing his shoulder as he did so.

Fuck.

Reno’s heart fluttered. He lay propped up on one elbow waiting for Rude to return to the bed, uncertain what he should do next. To his immense relief, Rude solved the problem for him. He climbed under the sheets and turned to face Reno, smiling with heavy-lidded eyes.

“You’ll stay and sleep, won’t you?”

Reno nodded wordlessly and curled against Rude, overwhelmed by the comfort of Rude’s arms wrapping around him and then, finally, he found some much needed sleep.

Chapter Text

When Reno showed up at Rude’s door the evening prior, he had decided to finally throw caution and reservation fully out the door. He knew what he wanted - knew he had wanted it for a long time - but he was both nervous and scared. There was a degree of fear of the unknown to be sure - Rude had never been with a man before Reno - but more than anything he was terrified of what it might mean for the future of their friendship. Rude knew Reno too well to not have at least a little concern that he was a flight risk after what had been, for Rude at least, an incredibly emotional experience.

So he was both relieved and a little surprised to find Reno curled against him the following morning, legs tangled with Rude’s, a string of drool trailing from his mouth to Rude’s chest, which anyone else might have found disgusting, but Rude found oddly endearing. For a few minutes Rude lay as still as he could, afraid if he breathed too loud or shifted he might frighten Reno off like a stray cat, but eventually his arm began to go numb and he was forced to move it, shifting Reno’s head onto the pillow where he yawned as his eyelids fluttered open.

“Good morning,” said Reno, greeting Rude with a sleepy grin.

Rude rolled onto his side to face him. “Morning.”

“Last night was something, huh?”

“It was incredible.”

To Rude’s surprise, Reno’s cheeks flushed and he stared up at the ceiling.

“Can’t remember the last time I actually stayed the night with someone. Maybe never,” Reno sighed. “Look, I know I can be kind of…” He trailed off. “I’m not great at the emotional thing. I didn’t have friends I could actually trust growing up.” He turned his head to face Rude. “I trust you more than anyone on this entire fucking planet. You know that, right?”

Rude smiled. “I feel the same.”

It was a big step for Reno, being vulnerable in any capacity. Rude knew he was the only one who had seen that side of him and he held it close to his heart. It wasn’t time yet for stronger words - this was too new for both of them in different ways. But for now they could have this moment of frank honesty.

You matter, I care about you, I lo-

No. Rude wasn’t quite ready to admit that just yet.

Putting a rotating schedule in place for managing the Turks’ new ward had seemed like the ideal scenario when Tseng first suggested it, but the reality of the situation quickly made it apparent that such a quaint little plan was not in the books.

Emma had stayed with Rufus the first week, reporting back that he mostly just locked himself in his room and didn’t speak to her when he did happen to leave. Reno took the second week. Rude was scheduled to take the third, but in addition to realizing how difficult it was to keep plans in place, Tseng was quickly realizing that leading the Turks was significantly more tedious than Veld ever let on.

His operatives had places to be whether he liked it or not and it was his job as leader to delegate missions to those operatives. As a result, he was stuck at headquarters the majority of the time, relegated to field assignments that didn’t take him further than the plate surrounding sector 0. Because his operatives had work to do and assignments to carry out far and wide, this left him with the terrible realization that he alone would have to be responsible for overseeing Rufus Shinra’s time to maintain any sense of stability over the situation.

So, two full weeks into Rufus’ house arrest, Tseng took over babysitting duties and unofficially moved into the spare bedroom in the hidden apartment on B3. There wasn’t much to carry over from his sparse apartment: a few books and MaoMao mostly. He did worry somewhat about introducing MaoMao to the situation given his justified distrust of Rufus Shinra, but he did think if Rufus didn’t draw the line anywhere else, he might draw it at animal cruelty. Besides, MaoMao had never met anyone else in her life - she would probably just hide in Tseng’s room all day anyway.

When Tseng arrived with a box of his belongings in one arm and a cat carrier in the other, he was greeted to Rufus sitting on the couch with a book in hand. He greeted Tseng with a scowl and turned his nose back to his book, but did a double take as he noticed MaoMao.

“Are you moving in?” He asked, quirking an eyebrow.

Tseng frowned at him. “I didn’t know you were speaking to us.”

“I had a perfectly pleasant conversation with that little red-headed weasel you employ.”

“Reno,” Tseng corrected. “Which you know.”

“Yes, but it’s more fun to watch you get frustrated.”

Tseng sighed - this really was babysitting in nearly every regard. Rufus knew he was devoid of any power in that room, but he couldn’t erase twenty-six years of being raised an only child with a superiority complex and serious daddy issues. Not that Tseng was one to judge - he was still reeling from the loss of the closest thing he’d had to a father figure since he was fifteen.

“My operatives are busy,” Tseng explained, even though Rufus didn’t really deserve an explanation. “I spend nearly every moment of my life on the other side of this floor behind a desk now. It just makes sense for me to be the one keeping an eye on you.”

“Hmph,” was all Rufus said in response, turning back to his book, but notably eyeing the crate as Tseng walked past him to put his things away.

He took his time setting up Maomao’s things before letting her out of her crate and though she had only ever experienced his tiny studio apartment, she didn’t waste much time exploring the new scenery once she was out. She looked around with wide eyes and looked back at Tseng, chirped, and then disappeared under the bed.

“All right,” said Tseng, who had long since given up on worrying about how stupid he sounded talking to his cat. “I’ll give you some time alone to explore.”

He shut the door to his room as he left and carried a small bag of groceries over to the fridge. To his horror, the fridge was almost completely empty.

“Do you not eat?” he asked.

Rufus gave him a withering look and continued to stare at his book, though Tseng doubted he was actually reading.

“Why is there no food in here?”

“Reno brought me some interesting food from beneath the plate. I’ve never had anything like that before.”

“Of course you haven’t,” Tseng muttered.

Perhaps what annoyed Tseng about Rufus the most was how a man who had threatened his life so many times, who had orchestrated a years-long treasonous scheme against the company, who was easily one of the most intelligent and well-traveled people Tseng had ever met, could also be so petulant, flippant, and naive.

“It was incredibly greasy,” Rufus continued.

“And you and Reno the weasel are fast friends now, are you?”

“Now Tseng, I’m frankly offended that after seven years you don’t know me well enough to know I wouldn’t call a Turk a friend if my life depended on it.”

“My mistake.” Tseng rolled his eyes, but since his back was turned to Rufus as he filled the fridge, it went unnoticed. When he was finished he leaned against the counter and folded his arms. “What have you been doing for the last two weeks? Because Emma said you spent the entire week in your room and Reno said you mostly sat around reading books and yelling at him.”

Rufus set his book down on the coffee table. “And?”

“This isn’t a vacation.”

“You made that perfectly clear when you stopped by before. Is lazing around an apartment under constant surveillance your idea of fun?”

“As long as I’m overseeing this house arrest, there’s going to be a schedule in place,” Tseng explained. What good was some indeterminate time of Rufus moping over his defeat and likely scheming up some new plan for as soon as he was released? If Tseng was going to be forced to essentially live with the person he despised most, he was going to knock as much sense into him as he could manage - or at least make his stay as miserable as he could.

“Excuse me?” Rufus sat up.

“I follow a strict schedule and so will you. If you don’t like it, you can feel free to take it up with your father.”

Rufus pursed his lips and fixed Tseng with a murderous look.

“I wake up at four thirty every morning,” Tseng continued, taking some small pleasure in the look of horror on Rufus’ face. Tseng wasn’t stupid of course, he knew Rufus likely followed his own strict routine outside of house arrest - he was fit and he was sharp-minded and neither came from being lazy. Whatever protest Rufus might have to this new schedule, he was almost certain it had more to do with being obstinate than any true opposition to the principle. “We’ll have one hour of exercise in the morning, followed by breakfast. While I work I’ll provide you with assignments-”

“Oh, what would you like me to do, Tseng? Write ‘I will not try to overthrow the company and have Tseng killed’ a hundred times on a chalk board?” Rufus spat.

“Between work will be meals and training time. I expect you to assist in preparation of meals. You’ll be allowed a few hours of recreational time in the evening.”

As far as Tseng was concerned, it was still luxury treatment. Someone in an actual prison would not be so comfortable, but it was obvious it rubbed Rufus the wrong way.

“And if I say no?”

Tseng took a few steps toward Rufus and watched him sink back against the couch. “I think we both know who would win in a hand-to-hand fight here.”

“My father-”

“Your father has given me free reign over this assignment,” Tseng interrupted. “So I suggest you find something else to fall back on. You can have today. Tomorrow we start the new schedule.”

He walked over to the dining room table and opened his laptop to start working. Rufus remained on the couch glowering at him from behind his book and huffing childishly now and then, but he was otherwise remarkably silent.

Tseng was of two minds regarding a training regimen with Rufus. On the one hand, if Tseng could teach him anything beyond his grandiose upbringing, it would be worthwhile. Forcing Rufus to see the reality of what went on - who really ran the company at his father’s behest, might knock some sense into him. And he knew nothing of loyalty. Who was Rufus Shinra loyal to besides himself? His house arrest was best used not getting him to recant his hatred of his father, but to perhaps appreciate the Turks enough to not try killing them again once he was free. It was selfish, perhaps, but Tseng’s loyalty had long been placed solely with the Turks.

On the other hand, training Rufus how to be more competent could be handing him a loaded gun once he was released, however long that might be.

Tseng was less than confident in his skills as a leader, already drowning under the demands of his position as Director, but he would have to fake confidence if he wanted the Turks to survive the chaos that surrounded them.

After some time, during which Tseng spent what felt like hours responding to e-mails and making note of various meetings in his schedule, Rufus spoke again.

“Can I still request things from outside?”

Tseng looked up from his computer. “You can request whatever you like. I’ll be the one approving and screening everything.”

“So you can just deny me anything fun.”

Tseng looked back at his e-mail. “Hardly. I approved and screened all of the various items you’re undoubtedly keeping in your nightstand.”

If he expected Rufus to react with any semblance of embarrassment, he was disappointed. Instead, Rufus laughed.

“Like anything you saw?” When Tseng didn’t dignify this with a response, Rufus continued. “Please. Everyone has needs. Don’t tell me you don’t own any sex toys.”

“Careful,” Tseng warned. “I’d hate to have to get HR involved with your house arrest.”

At this, Rufus burst out laughing. “You’re quite funny, Tseng. I forgot that about you.”

Tseng did his best not to smirk or betray any emotion.

“To answer your question,” he said. “Good behavior may incline me to approve items I might otherwise reject. Like the whiskey I know you’re fond of.”

“Hmph,” said Rufus, though he looked less annoyed now. “Funny how much you hate me and yet you know so much about me.”

“Unfortunately, that’s my job, sir.”

“Oh, spare me.” Rufus stood up. “If I’m going to be stuck here doing your bidding and answering to your whims I won’t have you calling me fucking sir or Mr. Vice President. You know, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you call me by my name once in all the time we’ve known each other.”

Some of the directors preferred to be called by their first names: Scarlet, Professor Hojo, Palmer, but it felt unusual - even wrong - to refer to the President or Vice President by anything but sir or their title. Tseng supposed it was a reasonable request, even if it made him uncomfortable.

“Fine,” he said, meeting Rufus’ gaze. “I’ll see you in the morning, Rufus.”

Rufus smirked as he walked away.

Rufus was having an incredibly pleasant dream. He sat in the President’s chair with his pants around his ankles and a beautiful man working the length of his cock with his mouth. Rufus stared out at the city beyond, his city, while the handsome stranger drove him closer and closer to his breaking point.

“It’s time to get up.”

He was jarred awake to a towering shadow looming over him. As he blinked away the sleep and tried to orient himself he found Tseng frowning down at him wearing nothing but a pair of tight-fitting exercise pants. This unfortunately provided some very conflicting signals in Rufus’ brain, given the dream he’d just abruptly been pulled out of it, and it took him longer than he cared to admit to look away from Tseng’s bare chest.

“What time is it…?” Rufus groaned, attempting to turn his head back against the pillow and being met with a firm hand pulling him back up.

“It’s four-thirty. As we discussed.”

“You said you woke up at four-thirty. I thought that gave me some wiggle room.”

“Get up and get changed. If you’re not in the living room in five minutes I’m coming back for you.”

Rufus groped around until he found a pillow and attempted to toss it at Tseng, but he was already gone. He had to hand it to his father, this was in fact the best possible punishment Rufus could think of: Gods knew how long stuck with an uptight, rigid Turk controlling his every movement.

Part of him wanted to test just what would happen if he ignored Tseng, but a bigger part of him was genuinely afraid of the answer given the number of run-ins he’d had with Tseng that ended with him flat on his back with a hand around his throat. So he opted to get up, pull on some sweat pants, and shuffle into the living room desperately longing for a moment to sit down and sip some coffee.

He hadn’t had any in the weeks he’d been stuck there because he frankly had no clue how to make it. In fact, he had never be taught how to cook anything more than a piece of toast - there were always servants to do those things - but he was too embarrassed to ever admit that to the Turks, especially Tseng.

Tseng awaited him in the living room, the coffee table cleared away to make a training space. Rufus knew the Turks had their own rec hall with a fully stocked gym just outside that apartment, but he was unsurprised that Tseng wouldn’t allow him to use that facility.

“I know you know how to use a gun because I’ve seen that contraption you call a shotgun,” said Tseng. “But do you know how to defend yourself in an actual fist fight?”

Rufus stared at him, still not fully awake, and let his eyes linger on Tseng’s body again now that they were in a well-lit room. He was hiding a remarkable amount of well-toned musculature under that suit of his. It really was a waste.

“Why would I need to worry about a fist fight when I have a gun?” Rufus yawned.

Tseng sighed. “Because someone could disarm you and then you have nothing but your own body to protect you.”

“Why teach me this?” Rufus demanded. “When I’ll just use it against you.”

Tseng laughed, a deep genuine laugh the likes of which Rufus had never heard from him. In fact, he didn’t know Tseng was capable of that much emotion.

“Your arrogance really knows no bounds, does it?” He shook his head. “I have eleven years of martial arts training. No amount of time spent training with me is going to make you a threat.”

Rufus was nothing if not stubborn, so he took it as a challenge. “Fine. Then what would you have me do?”

“Let’s start with what you know. Just make an attempt to come at me.”

Rufus was more than fine with the idea of getting his hands on Tseng’s body in any manner of the word, and he was tired and irritated, which served to spur him on, so he ran at Tseng with the full force of his body, which was admittedly much lither than Tseng’s.

He barely had time to register what was happening before he was on his back against the floor and Tseng was on top of him.

“Wrong,” said Tseng. He stood up and offered his hand to Rufus, who refused it out of that prideful stubbornness of his. “If you just run straight at me, I’m going to knock you down every time.”

Rufus groaned. He was already sick of this and it was only day one. He didn’t like being told what to do on a good day - he especially didn’t like someone who was ostensibly his subordinate telling him what to do. But he also didn’t want to whine like a petulant child and give Tseng the satisfaction of being right about him.

“I’ll show you slowly,” Tseng continued. “Follow my movement.”

Tseng moved with a grace and fluidity Rufus had never seen. Every muscle was held taut in just the right position to propel his body forward exactly as he commanded it to. Not every Turk was built like this, of course, but it was apparent both in the effortlessness of his movement as well as the tone of his muscle that Tseng dedicated an immense amount of time to making his body a weapon in and of itself. It was both stunning and terrifying to behold - perhaps the first time in the many years Rufus had known him that he finally fully saw Tseng for what he was: an apex predator.

Rufus was so enraptured that he wasn’t really paying attention to what he ought to. Tseng ducked low, shifted to the side, and swept his leg out to knock Rufus backward. Rufus stumbled and before he could fall, Tseng was upright with his hand around Rufus’ wrist to pull him back up.

“We’ll have to start with some strength training,” Tseng said. “You don’t have enough muscle.”

Rufus looked down at his comparably smaller frame. He was taller than Tseng, if only by an inch or two, but he had a naturally drawn waist. And while he was certainly in good physical shape thanks to regular exercise, he most definitely lacked the sort of muscle tone he needed to move the way Tseng did.

“I don’t see any weights here,” Rufus grumbled.

“Using your body as a weight is more effective. We can start with push-ups.”

Rufus couldn’t suppress the groan that left his throat at this. Before Tseng could say anything, he held his hand up. “Spare me. I’m aware this isn’t a vacation, Director.”

Reluctantly, he got down onto the floor and into position for a push-up.

“Your form needs work,” Tseng told him. Suddenly the flat of his palm was pressed against the small of Rufus’ back while his other hand gripped Rufus’ hip to adjust his position.

A flare of irritation and unwelcome arousal sparked simultaneously inside Rufus. He did a few push-ups and found it more difficult than he would have liked to admit.

“Keep going,” Tseng instructed. He got into position next to Rufus and began doing push-ups as well.

“This isn’t fair,” Rufus huffed.

“Something to consider next time you try having me killed,” Tseng answered, not a hint of struggle in his voice as his body moved up and down like a well-oiled machine.

Rufus managed fifteen push-ups before he collapsed against the floor, his arms burning. Tseng continued to move, unfazed.

“If you can’t do any more, then try some crunches.”

Rufus glared at him, but shifted position nevertheless. Crunches were more manageable than push-ups, but he was still slightly winded, his hair damp and sweaty, his abdomen gradually beginning to ache. All the while Tseng continued at steady pace, occasionally glancing over at Rufus to monitor his progress.

“It will get easier,” he said.

“My body,” Rufus grunted as he moved, “wasn’t…built for this…”

“You have to work at it.”

“Gods, I really should have shot you years ago.” Rufus fell back against the floor.

“Side planks,” Tseng commanded.

And so it went for an entire hour, Tseng barking orders at Rufus to keep him from sitting still. He must have done a hundred push-ups while he lorded over Rufus, which just served to further exhaust and demotivate him. At five-thirty promptly, Tseng stood up.

“We’re done now.”

“Thank the Gods,” Rufus sighed.

“Get cleaned up and we’ll have breakfast.”

Rufus took his time in the shower, partly because the hot water felt so good on his already sore muscles and partly because he didn’t want to go back out and face more of Tseng breathing orders down his neck. Was this how Tseng’s employees felt? For as doubtful as Rufus was about Tseng’s capabilities as a leader, he was proving more than competent as a captor.

Once he was dressed (he was almost surprised Tseng hadn’t provided him with some bland prison jumpsuit for his stay), he found Tseng in the kitchen with an array of ingredients spread out on the island and two pans on the stove.

“Do you want to make the eggs or the oatmeal?” Tseng asked, already chopping up pieces of fruit on a cutting board.

Rufus stared at everything and thought for some time of any possible way he could get around Tseng finding out he had no clue how to cook whatsoever. He could crack an egg open, sure, but what did he do with it then?

“Well?” Tseng looked up from his work.

“Can’t we just have cereal?”

Eggs and oatmeal sounded far more appealing than cereal to Rufus’ grumbling stomach, but he was contending with his very big ego in that moment and he hadn’t quite decided which one would win out.

“No,” Tseng answered. “You can cook the oatmeal. I’ll make scrambled eggs.”

“I usually take mine poached,” Rufus said without thinking.

“I’ll be making scrambled eggs,” Tseng reiterated.

He set about cracking several eggs into a bowl and whisking them up, adding pinches of different seasonings. Rufus watched him while holding a box of oats Tseng had thrust into his hands.

“Are you going to stand there and watch me or are you going to get the oatmeal going?” Tseng asked without glancing back at him.

Rufus groaned. “Fine! I don’t know how to cook! Okay? I’ve never had to make anything for myself in my life. I had a nanny and then I had a chef. I don’t even know how to boil a fucking egg, alright?”

Tseng stopped whisking abruptly and turned to face Rufus, his face a mask of neutrality. Rufus had expected an eye-roll or a laugh, but instead he got those sharp brown eyes focused on him like a hawk with not a hint of what he was thinking behind them.

“This is an important lesson,” Tseng finally said. “Pride will get you nowhere.”

“I’m seeing that now,” Rufus grumbled. Pride had landed him in this entire fucking situation.

Tseng grabbed some measuring cups from the cupboard and handed them to Rufus, opening the box of oats and explaining with a calm patience Rufus hadn’t expected.

“Here. You want about one third the amount of oats as you have liquid. You can use milk or water. I usually use milk for the protein and texture.” He set the milk down next to the measuring cups. “Just follow the instructions on the side of the box.”

He returned to prepping the eggs and Rufus, thoroughly embarrassed, took his time reading the instructions, pouring out the milk and setting it to warm on the stove.

“Careful you don’t get it too hot,” Tseng said.

“Why?” Rufus asked. Again, he expected a reprimand that never came. Tseng was frequently cold and unyielding, but there was a strange softness lurking under the surface that Rufus had never really taken the time to notice. He supposed he expected retaliation because it was what his father would have done. ‘How can you not know what that means, boy? Don’t you know anything? Have you learned nothing from me?’

“If the temperature gets too high the proteins in the milk will burn and clump at the bottom of the pan. You get brown bits. It’s very unpleasant.”

“Oh,” said Rufus, watching the milk more intently now. “How will I know?”

Tseng looked at the stove and turned the heat down slightly. “Just turn it down to medium low when it starts to boil. Then you can pour the oats in. But-” He sighed and looked around. “It won’t taste very good if you don’t season it.”

He sprinkled some spices into the pan with the milk and stirred it. Rufus watched with rapt attention, barely aware that he was now eagerly learning something from Tseng.

“You could add some honey when the oats are almost cooked,” Tseng explained.

Rufus had to balance watching the milk warm with watching Tseng prepare the eggs. He recognized quickly that this was a simple meal to prepare, but still one he never would have been able to pull off on his own. He followed Tseng’s instructions, adding oats to the milk, stirring while he turned down the heat, a bit too pleased with himself when no nasty brown bits appeared in the milk. When it had thickened up, he pulled it off the heat and Tseng inspected it.

“There you go. You can cook something.”

Rufus frowned. “You don’t have to be condescending.”

“I’m not,” Tseng said. “You just assume I am because that’s all you know.”

Rufus bristled and would not admit Tseng was right yet again. Food plated, Tseng set some coffee to brew and picked at his food while he loaded up work on his laptop at the table. Rufus sat at the island, annoyed with how flavorful and delicious the eggs were, but at least a little pleased his oatmeal was edible, alternately watching Tseng and the coffee pot.

This was his life for the foreseeable future - hardly the ending he anticipated when he first started funding Avalanche. He wondered for a moment where Elfe was, if she had betrayed Veld after all or escaped with him to somewhere safe. Tseng must have been searching for them, even if only at the President’s behest.

Thinking too long about his failure put him in a bad mood, so even if he would never admit it aloud, he was relieved for the reading assignment given to him by Tseng when breakfast was through - something to keep his mind occupied.

In fact, despite how miserable his morning already was, he had to at least privately admit that Tseng forcing him into a routine felt a hell of a lot better than indefinitely wallowing in his failure.

And it was still better than being stuck with that loudmouth Reno.

Chapter Text

To Tseng’s surprise, despite Rufus’ initial stubborn streak, the two of them fell into a schedule surprisingly easily. Rufus was certainly still haughty and obstinate, but beneath that there seemed to be a genuine desire to learn something - whether he might use what he learned for ulterior motives was something beyond Tseng’s control, all he could do was guide him to the best of his ability.

He was not remotely shocked to learn Rufus Shinra had never been taught to cook, but approaching it with the sort of even-keeled patience Veld used to approach training paid off. Perhaps more than anything, Rufus seemed eager to prove himself, though he initially did so in the detrimental spoiled fashion of showing off. As the weeks progressed he began to take his own initiative, assigning himself roles in the kitchen and around the apartment - another point of initial contention that he had to help keep the place tidy.

That was becoming the biggest issue when all was said and done. Tseng had learned to live alongside Rufus surprisingly quickly and vice versa, though they continued to spend their evenings in their separate rooms avoiding each other as much as possible. Most every aspect of the living situation was more tolerable than Tseng had expected, except for the fact that Rufus Shinra - always clean and well-dressed - was an absolute slob.

He left things around the apartment constantly and Tseng felt like a mother chiding a child every time he had to remind Rufus to leave his mess in his room. It stood to reason that someone who had always had servants to pick up after him wouldn’t know or think to ever tidy up his living spaces, but for someone as strict and organized as Tseng, it was a source of constant irritation.

Reno found the whole thing immensely funny and would tease Tseng about it whenever he was in charge of watching Rufus while Tseng was at a board meeting.

All things considered though, if the worst Tseng had to deal with were a few snide comments and arguing about where coats belonged (the coat closet, not the floor or the couch) he would be able to tolerate the remainder of Rufus’ house arrest just fine.

At the moment, Tseng was stuck in a board meeting while Reno and Rude kept an eye on Rufus. Whatever was going on between Reno and Rude had only seemed to amplify in the last few weeks, but Tseng decided the best approach there was to turn a blind eye as long as their work wasn’t affected. He suspected Veld had taken a similar approach - now that Tseng was director there was genuinely nothing that happened at the company that he wasn’t aware of. He had access to quite literally every file in the company and had seen a number of things on the security feeds he wished he could unsee. He had no doubt now that Veld was well aware of the amount of fraternization that routinely occurred. It didn’t matter unless the mission was compromised.

“What updates do you have on the search for Veld?” Heidegger asked from across the conference table.

“Half of my operatives continue to be on assignment around the globe looking for traces. So far, we haven’t turned up much. Unfortunately, because he’s privy to so much information as former head of the Turks, he’s using that intel to stay well hidden.”

The truth of the matter was that even if Tseng did know where Veld was, he wouldn’t have told Heidegger. He knew that was a lie that could mean his life one day, but he wouldn’t betray Veld’s trust.

Heidegger scowled. “I don’t want this turning into another Avalanche situation.”

“Director Tuesti,” the President interrupted him with a wave of his hand. “How are the repairs on the sector seven reactor?”

“The crews will be finished within the month, sir.”

Reeve Tuesti was the only remaining tolerable member of the board of directors at Shinra and as such, Tseng felt a sort of camaraderie with him. Like Tseng, Reeve’s loyalty was less to Shinra and more to the city of Midgar, a city he had helped maintain and oversee for over a decade.

“Good, good. Then we’ll adjourn and meet again next month,” said the President. “Tseng, if you could stay behind for a moment.”

Tseng bowed his head, “Certainly, sir.”

He gathered his papers and stood behind his chair, waiting as the rest of the directors filed out of the room. When everyone was gone, the President lit a cigar and leaned back in his chair.

“How is the vice president handling his stay?”

“As well as can be expected, sir. Do you have an estimate on how long we might-”

“As long as it takes,” the President replied cryptically. “I’ll await your next report. You can leave.”

Tseng didn’t wait to be told twice. He made his way to the elevator where he ran into Reeve. The two of them nodded politely to one another and stood in silence as the elevator made its descent.

After several seconds, Reeve broke the silence. “How are you adjusting to your new role, Tseng?”

Tseng considered his response. “I didn’t realize being a director entailed so much tedious desk work.”

Reeve laughed. “That’s about all there is to it isn’t there? If you ever need a break, do feel free to stop by my office and chat. I know I’m bad about taking them myself. Veld used to come by from time to time and remind me to stand up and stretch. Oh, this is me.” He stepped off on the fortieth floor. “Good evening, Tseng.”

“Good evening, Reeve.”

The elevator doors slid shut and Tseng braced himself for what might await him after two hours of Reno and Rude being in charge of Rufus. Reno and Rufus didn’t get along, to say the least, and Tseng might have considered bringing Cissnei or Emma into the mix and removing Reno entirely if he didn’t require their skills in the field so frequently.

When he reached the east wing of B3, Tseng stood for a second outside the security door before taking a deep breath and stepping through the three sets of locks and into the apartment.

If he had walked in on Reno with his arms around Rufus’ throat it would have been less upsetting than the sight of the two of them joking and laughing together while Rude sat with MaoMao on his lap.

“Tseng,” Rufus looked up. “Your cat finally came out.”

MaoMao had been hiding in his room since he’d moved her in and he assumed she would continue to hide in the presence of strangers.

“Pfft,” Reno snorted. “You should have seen this idiot, Chief. He was on his hands and knees meowing in your doorway trying to get it to come out.”

At this, Rufus frowned. “I wasn’t.”

MaoMao chirped and stretched, leaping off of Rude’s lap and greeting Tseng by rubbing against his legs.

“You’ve betrayed me,” he whispered. She purred and continued to wind around his legs.

“I didn’t know you had a cat, Chief,” Rude said.

Tseng felt he might never get used to the people who had been his colleagues just a few weeks prior referring to him as ‘chief’. He didn’t feel like he deserved the title, but he would admit he preferred it to ‘Chuckles’.

Reno smacked Rude’s arm. “Is there anything we do know about him? Besides that he’s got a stick up his ass? No offense - that’s why the chief picked you as his replacement, right?”

Tseng sighed. “I need you two to go down and check on Aerith. I don’t have time to do it.”

Reno wilted. “Seriously?”

Rude only shrugged. “I don’t mind.”

“Goodbye, Reno,” Tseng reiterated.

The two of them walked side by side out the door and only when they were gone did Tseng turn his ire on Rufus.

“I thought you hated Reno.”

“I don’t hate him,” said Rufus, leaning back against the couch and putting on a nonchalant attitude. “I just find him annoying most of the time. He was quite pleasant today. The only person I hate besides you is my father.”

“I’m flattered,” Tseng replied flatly. “MaoMao, enough.” He scooped her up to keep her from rubbing and clawing at his legs.

Rufus snorted. “Is that her name? MaoMao? You know, Tseng, I’m really surprised you have a cat. I didn’t know you were capable of caring about anything besides your job.”

Tseng bristled, mostly because he disliked anyone knowing he had any amount of vulnerability. “I found her on the street several years ago so I took her in.” He set her down in a chair, but she just as quickly leaped out of it and followed him while he slipped his shoes off.

“It’s nice actually,” said Rufus, “having the company. I always wanted a pet, but my father would never let me.”

Tseng looked up at him and for a moment he saw a raw honestly in Rufus’ eyes. But it was quickly replaced with his typical arrogance when he realized Tseng was watching. He got up off the couch abruptly and stalked down the hall to his room without another word.

It didn’t matter. Tseng had a mountain of virtual paperwork to attend to. He slumped into the armchair and opened his laptop while MaoMao curled against his side. For several minutes he worked in a content silence, scrolling through e-mails, doling out assignments, reviewing security feeds across the city.

As he sat trying to focus on his work, Tseng thought of the files sitting at his disposal, just a click away if he truly wanted to see them. Over a decade as a Turk had taught him that it was better to know as little as possible about the details of what Shinra did to people - he knew the minimum he needed to carry out a mission, and even that was often times more than he wanted to know. It led to innocent blood on his hands and it left him struggling harder and harder every day to keep up the expertly crafted walls he had made in his brain.

He didn’t really want to know what happened to Zack, but the fact that he could know with a few clicks of his mouse lived constantly inside his mind. Was he even still alive? Aerith maintained that he was and Tseng was inclined to believe her. Knowing all he knew about Shinra - and even his knowledge was barely the tip of the iceberg - he wished Aerith were wrong. Whatever it was Hojo was doing to him in that secret lab up in Nibelheim, Tseng’s didn’t truly want to know.

Often, he would hover over the folder for Hojo’s documents, once or twice typing in half of the passkey before clicking away. He found himself staring at the folder once more.

There were many things Tseng had done that he would never find redemption for, but he was certain leaving Zack in Hojo’s hands had been the worst.

He clicked away before he could do something he regretted, and returned to the work at hand.

“One babysitting job to the next,” Reno grumbled, toeing the dirt as he and Rude wound their way through the Sector Five slums.

Given their proximity to Wall Market, Reno had spent his fair share of time clambering over the rooftops of this sector as a kid, but it didn’t have the same sense of comfort his shit-stained home in Sector Six did whenever he returned.

Part of that might have been the fact that Elmyra Gainsborough would barely let him step foot on her property, though she was always happy to invite Rude in for snacks and tea.

“I’d take Aerith over the vice president any day,” said Rude.

“Yeah, well, that’s because she gives you flowers.”

Rude chuckled. “Elmyra doesn’t like you because she thinks you’ll try to get handsy with Aerith.”

“Excuse me?” Reno feigned offense. “I don’t know where she would have gotten an idea like that. Me? I’m a perfect gentleman.”

“Hm,” said Rude with a note of skepticism. “You never even considered it?”

“I mean, she’s cute, but I kind of have my sights set on somebody else.” Reno batted his eyelashes with exaggeration and Rude snorted.

“You’re a real romantic, partner.”

“What can I say?” Reno shrugged and lit up a cigarette. “My charm is irresistible.”

Reno could fake confidence any day of the week - his whole life had been an elaborate disguise of any self-doubt. He was good at being bawdy and loud and he carried that with him for the last twenty-four years. The truth was, though, he didn’t know what the hell Rude saw in him. Rude was the kind of handsome that turned heads - and not just because he was wearing a Turk uniform. By comparison, Reno felt like a slob: his suit was always slightly wrinkled and unbuttoned, he constantly smelled like cigarettes, and he felt like he just didn’t measure up.

All that disgusting self-doubt lingered beneath the surface, but when Rude looked at him...when he kissed him...it was fucking sappy how good he felt about himself. He’d never felt that way with anyone before: like being with Rude made him a better person.

They reached the Gainsborough residence to find Elmyra fixing a fence near the edge of the property. Reno didn’t get too emotional about much besides Rude, but he always took pause at the sight of Aerith’s flowers blanketing the landscape around the cottage she lived in with her mother. There was no doubting there was something magic in a girl who could make life flourish in the stale air and dead earth beneath the plate.

“Aerith isn’t here,” said Elmyra without looking up. “So you don’t need to go any further.”

“Fine by me,” Reno muttered, careful to tap the ashes from his cigarette into the stream below rather than near the flowers.

Elmyra wiped her hands on her apron and glanced at the two of them. “Tseng’s been sending the two of you down a lot more often.”

“Well, you know,” said Reno, leaning against the fence Elmyra was actively trying to repair. Rude sighed at this. “Tseng got a big promotion so he’s busy these days.”

“Well I’d take Rude over you or Tseng,” Elmyra answered. “How are you, dear?”

Rude’s cheeks flushed. “Fine, thank you.”

“Tell Tseng I don’t like that other little redhead either. She’s as mouthy as Reno is.”

“Cissnei?” Reno laughed. “Where do you think she learned it?”

Elmyra pursed her lips. It was strange how accustomed she was to the Turks’ constant intrusion in her life. She made her distaste for them evident, but she didn’t hinder their mission whenever they showed up. She must have known, just like every grounder did, that cooperating with Shinra got you a hell of a lot further than spitting in their face. After all, how long had been Tseng been making his visits down here, and Aerith still remained as free as was possible for a girl like her.

“Aerith’s at the church,” Elmyra told them.

Rude nodded. “Thanks, Elmyra.”

“You take care. And don’t bring that weasel back with you when you come next time.”

Reno scoffed. “What is it with ‘weasel’? The VP called me that too.”

Rude looked Reno up and down, shrugged, and said nothing.

“Hey after we pay Aerith a visit what’dyou say we grab a drink in Wall Market? I’ll bet Emma and Cissy will meet us,” Reno suggested.

“If you’re going to invite them, you should invite the others.”

“Fine, fine I’ll send a group text. Should I invite Chuckles?”

“Reno,” Rude sighed, “you have to stop calling him that.”

“What? I don’t call him that to his face anymore. I’ll just add him so he doesn’t feel left out. He won’t come anyway, cause he’s too busy babysitting the VP.”

“Speaking of which, the VP spent a lot of time talking about the chief today, don’t you think?”

Reno considered it as he flicked some ashes from the end of his cigarette. “I guess. I mean what else is he gonna talk about? All he does is sit in that apartment getting ordered around by Tseng.”

“Not totally different from us,” Rude chuckled.

“Yeah, but at least I can still get laid at the end of the day.”

Reno was pleased with the red that colored Rude’s cheeks at that.

Working a bar in the Wall Market meant an interesting crowd at any time of day, but Elena had learned she could fairly accurately gauge what kind of clientele to expect depending on the hour.

The bar opened at nine in the morning, because that was the kind of place Wall Market was. They only closed for about six hours for cleaning and to prepare for the next day. The morning crowd were a lot of locals who came for the absolutely appalling breakfast plates the chef made. Elena had seen too much in the kitchens to ever consider eating the food that came out of that place, but she served it up to the regulars without question.

Around noon, they would get a lunch crowd of tourists who were too scared to visit Wall Market in the dark, even though the bar wasn’t far from the main drag and therefore as safe as you could get in that sector. The slowest part of the day was the early afternoon until about five when everyone got off work and people from all over the city flooded the place. After ten there would be a lot of bachelor and bachelorette parties just leaving or preparing to head to the Honeybee Inn for a show, and the stragglers at the end of the night until last call were either a ton of fun or unbearably belligerent and never anything between.

It was during the afternoon lull, while Elena was washing some glasses behind the counter, that the bell on the door chimed and she looked up to see several figures in black suits walking inside. Her heart sank and she put on a scowl without even realizing it. There, in the front of the group, was her sister Emma.

“Oh, I didn’t realize you’d be working,” she said, leaning against the bar.

“This your sister?” The man next to her asked, eyeing Elena with a smirk. This earned him a smack from Emma.

“Don’t think about it.”

This left Elena conflicted: she hated Turks and she hated men leering at her, but she loved antagonizing her sister and what would make her more upset than if she slept with one of her colleagues?

She pushed it to the back of her mind, it wasn’t worth fooling around with a Turk.

“We’re gonna need five pitchers to the table in the corner, Lena.”

Elena bristled. “Fine. And don’t call me that. You know I hate it.”

Emma waved a dismissive hand and sauntered over to join her colleagues in the corner. Elena glared at them while she poured the pitchers. Why did they need to come to this bar of all places? There were hundreds of bars in the city, and surely the ones on the plate were more suited to Shinra employees than this shit heap. Did Emma come here just to antagonize her?

If she gave voice to that, Emma would call her self-centered.

She carried the pitchers over on a platter and slammed it onto the table, watching the beer spill over and splash onto some of the Turks’ suits.

“Whoops, sorry.” She shrugged.

“Oh, fuck off,” Emma growled. “You did that on purpose.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. But I have work to do.” She stomped away before Emma could say anything else to her and returned to her spot behind the bar, glowering at the Turks while she worked.

She hated how she turned into such a petty, competitive brat around her sister. She was skilled and competent in her own right, top of her class, one of the best martial artists in all of Midgar, and she was reduced to nothing but a little kid standing in the shadow of her successful older sister whenever they were together.

Maybe she would fuck that Turk, just because she knew she could.

Rufus stared at the ceiling in his bedroom and when he tired of that view, he got up and paced and looked out the window at the thousands of tiny buildings dotting the ground that made up the slums below. It had been more than a month since he was placed under house arrest, and cabin fever was well and truly setting in.

Though he would never admit it aloud, he was grateful for the routine Tseng kept him on, perhaps the only thing keeping him even remotely sane. But Rufus was an extrovert - he thrived in good company and good conversation and he now longed for it so desperately that it was almost painful.

Who was there to talk with but Tseng, who was closed up so tight he couldn’t imagine a meaningful conversation that didn’t end with a dry remark or some sort of lesson he was trying to impart.

But he was desperate, and this was his future for some horrible indeterminate time, so what else was there to do?

He left his room to find Tseng seated in the armchair with his cat curled against his side, scrolling through his laptop with a glazed-over look.

The cat had been a surprise. That a Turk could form an emotional connection wasn’t shocking at all - there was something between Reno and Rude that was apparent in the few hours Rufus had been forced to spend with them, and he had seen other Turks who were chummy or else fraternizing in some way. Even Veld had a family.

But Tseng was a monolith: so stoic and cold that Rufus long thought he was more machine than man until he’d managed to egg him into calling him a cunt so many years earlier. It was almost endearing that he had a pet, and one he talked to when he thought Rufus couldn’t hear him - a bizarre dissonance between the Tseng that Rufus knew and whatever personality might be lurking beneath his steely exterior.

“Hello,” said Rufus, taking a seat on the couch. He had a bad habit of lashing out at Tseng after so many years spent with his looming presence in the background, but he realized he would have to reel it in at least a little if he was going to survive this house arrest.

Tseng glanced up from his computer. “Hello, Rufus.”

It was still strange hearing the Turks call him by his name, but he did prefer it to being called ‘sir’ while he was being ordered around in the same breath.

For a moment they sat in an uncomfortable silence while Tseng continued to look at his computer. The cat, seeming to suddenly notice Rufus’ presence, stood and curled her back into a stretch before leaping off of Tseng’s lap and up onto the couch to receive scratches from Rufus.

“She’s very sweet,” Rufus said. “Nothing like her owner.”

Tseng chuckled. “I won’t argue with you.”

Rufus smiled despite himself. Tseng could, on occasion, be tolerable. He supposed in all fairness he had never given the Turks much chance or ever tried to get to know any of them. They were his father’s lapdogs, thorns in his side, and for the past several years Tseng had been breathing down his neck trying to catch him in the act of treason.

But they were just playing a role. And maybe that’s all Rufus had been doing too: childhood rebellion taken to its most extreme.

“Why did you name her MaoMao?”

Tseng looked between the cat and Rufus. “It’s just Wutaian for ‘kitty’.”

“I know,” Rufus answered in his best Wutaian.

Tseng shook his head. “I’m afraid I’m not very creative.”

“That’s shocking.” Rufus rolled his eyes.

He was pleased when Tseng closed his laptop and set it on the table beside him. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised you know a little Wutaian.”

“A little?” Rufus scoffed. “I’ve been taking lessons since I knew how to talk. Necessary for diplomatic relations according to my father. My accent probably doesn’t sound very good.”

“The Wutaians in Wall Market make fun of my accent,” Tseng laughed. “So I’m sure it’s not much worse.”

They fell silent again. MaoMao purred and rubbed her head into Rufus’ hand until he resumed petting her. It was a small pleasure to have an animal around the apartment after weeks in what felt like isolation. He had longed for a pet so often as a child and was refused by his father at every turn, and then he was far too busy to devote the time to one once he had his own apartment.

“Should we make dinner?” Tseng suggested.

Rufus wasn’t overly hungry, but he wasn’t opposed to the suggestion either. He enjoyed learning to cook more than he would ever admit, mostly because he didn’t care to admit he enjoyed doing anything with a Turk, or that he wished someone had taught him how to do this when he was younger. If his mother hadn’t died, she would have imparted some real-world skills on him, but it was beyond his father’s interest or concern.

Tseng began pulling food from the fridge while Rufus stood by the island awaiting instruction. He had quickly learned that Tseng didn’t eat meat, though he didn’t comment on it until now.

“Isn’t it odd,” Rufus asked while Tseng laid out a variety of mushrooms, “a trained assassin concerned about murdering animals for food.”

Tseng fixed him with that stern frown of his. “Shouldn’t we try to do right by the planet where we can?”

“You think the planet cares if you eat a rabbit every now and then?”

Tseng sighed. “I do enough harm with my work. This is one area where I can control how much pain I’m doling out. I’ll stick with my vegetables.”

He began chopping up the mushrooms and Rufus watched until Tseng thrust some onions at him and told him to start cutting them. He was not as efficient as Tseng with a knife, but he had come a long way from his first few evenings in the apartment.

“Where did you learn to cook like this anyway?” Rufus asked.

As with everything he did, Tseng was singularly focused on the task at hand. Rufus had to question him again to get him to answer.

“My older sisters taught me to cook. And my father sometimes,” Tseng answered with a shrug. “One of many skills I learned from them.”

It felt as though Rufus were learning something forbidden. He knew that most Turks eschewed their families when they joined Shinra - a necessity for their line of work - but while he could imagine some faceless family welcoming the other Turks home should they ever return, Tseng seemed as though he must have sprouted out of the ground fully formed and already wearing a suit.

“You have sisters?” Rufus asked. His only experience with siblings were his bastard half-siblings, one of whom had nearly ruined his claim for the throne.

Tseng seemed to remember himself. “It’s not important.” Rufus scoffed, but said nothing until Tseng frowned at him again. “What?”

“Is this what this house arrest is going to be?” Rufus demanded. “And don’t remind me that I’m not on vacation, I’ve heard it enough. I’m stuck here with you as my only company. I know this might be a foreign concept to you, but I need socialization to get by. I’m not a robot with no need for companionship like you are, Tseng. Shiva’s tits. I can’t spend possible years isolated from the world and get as much from you as I would if I were talking to a wall. What harm does it do to have a fucking conversation with me?”

As Rufus spoke, a heat rising in his chest, he continued slamming his knife down against the onions only to catch his finger with the blade. He drew his hand back with a yelp and brought his finger to his lips.

“FUCK!” He shouted.

Tseng offered him a towel to stem the blood while he searched for his materia. When he found what he was looking for, he moved to Rufus’ side.

“Let me see it.”

Reluctantly, Rufus offered his hand and Tseng activated his restore materia. The wound stitched itself up, a sharp pain coursing through Rufus’ finger before a cool relief washed over it. Rufus was intensely aware of the weight of Tseng’s hand against his.

“I’m sorry,” said Tseng, dropping his hand and returning to his work. “I know I’m not good company.”

Rufus began chopping the onions once more. “I know that you don’t trust me. And you shouldn’t.”

As it stood, Rufus still resented the Turks for being so efficient at their jobs, for foiling his plans. But in the end, the ultimate blame lay with his father. If Tseng had been right about one thing it was that Rufus was selfish to the point of detriment. He had never considered involving anyone in his plans who couldn’t be bought off, but if he was going to be stuck under house arrest for what might be years, he realized it might behoove him to look to building loyalty, as unfamiliar with the concept as he was. Tseng was rigid, and he seemed unlikely to bend to Rufus’ will, but he was also intelligent.

Rufus reasoned it ought to be easier to test the loyalty of an intelligent man who knew what he had to gain than a stupid one who blindly followed.

“I suppose,” Tseng continued, “trust and conversation don’t need to be mutually inclusive.”

Rufus smiled. “No. I suppose they don’t.”

Chapter Text

Part of Tseng’s new role as director of the Turks entailed reading through dozens of reports from each of his employees as they returned from various missions. The reports were usually dry, as Tseng knew his own had been, boring to the point that he would find himself dozing off at the dining room table where he most frequently worked these days. Occasionally, however, there would be a report that sparked his attention.

Today it was Freyra’s report from a trip to the Western Continent following an admittedly small lead into a sighting of Veld and Elfe.

“Target was briefly sighted on flyover of the Nibel mountain range [image attached]. Lost sight of target over northwestern edge of mountains. A search on foot failed to produce a trail.”

Tseng opened the attached image and saw a blurry, yet unmistakable image of Veld. He could speculate what he might have been doing near Nibelheim, but there had been no reported sightings of him or Elfe in the town itself, which by now was filled with security cameras and regular flyover drones.

If only there were a way to get in touch with him without all of them risking their lives.

He filed the report away - he would not tell the President about it for now, not until he felt Veld had put a sufficient distance between himself and the Nibel mountains. If the President wanted to - and Tseng knew he would do it eventually - he would simply have Heidegger and Scarlet send in troops and mechs to hunt him down once the Turks had targeted his location.

Tseng couldn’t be a party to that, no matter how many other heinous things he might do for Shinra.

While he finished working, Rufus was in the kitchen attempting to cook a meal all on his own, which was quite a feat considering just a few months prior he couldn’t boil water. The smells wafting from the kitchen were dubious, but Tseng had already decided he would be polite and pretend to enjoy it either way.

He was still trying to figure Rufus out. He didn’t trust him, and recognized he probably never would, but he did believe there was some truth to Rufus’ ardent plea for company. Tseng had spent enough time in his years as a Turk working Rufus’ detail to know that his life was ultimately incredibly lonely, now made lonelier being forced under house arrest. Still, Tseng was too smart and too skeptical to think there wasn’t some ulterior motive in Rufus’ growing cooperation.

Maybe whatever they were both planning could be mutually beneficial, but Tseng wouldn’t let Rufus pull the wool over his eyes.

“Do you need help in there?” Tseng asked.

“Even if I did I wouldn’t tell you.”

Tseng sighed and closed his laptop. His eyes hurt from staring at a screen all day - it was frustrating how fatigued work made him when he barely moved from one spot. He stood and stretched and leaned against the counter to watch as Rufus plated up what might have been soup, or might have been some type of cheesy pasta dish. Tseng wasn’t entirely sure.

“Look, it’s done,” said Rufus, offering Tseng a plate and carrying his over to the table. There was a look of pride on his face so genuine that Tseng did his best not to cough or choke when he took a bite of the barely palatable food.

“Hm,” he cleared his throat. “What did you put in it?”

“Well it called for lemon juice but we didn’t have any lemons so I just put vinegar in. Is it too much?”

Tseng swallowed with some difficult. “Not at all.”

Rufus frowned. “I don’t appreciate being lied to, especially not out of pity.”

“Vinegar is…not always a suitable replacement for other acidic ingredients,” Tseng answered diplomatically.

Rufus had not yet taken a bite of his food, but as he did so, he coughed and puckered his lips. “This is horrendous.”

Tseng stared at his plate. “It’s not the worst food I’ve ever tasted.”

Rufus gave him a withering look and carried his plate over to the sink, dumping the contents down the drain. Tseng was just relieved he didn’t have to take another bite.

“Now what?”

“It’s Friday,” Tseng said. “I’ll order something.”

It had been his usual routine to order takeout on Fridays after work, which he would eat alone in his apartment before falling asleep doing paperwork afterward. Since moving into the apartment to oversee Rufus’ stay, he hadn’t ordered food at all. He realized it might be a nice treat for both of them, and a sort of reward for Rufus’ tolerable behavior as of late.

“Do the Turks get room service?” Rufus laughed.

“Have you never had takeaway?”

Rufus stared at him. “I had my own chef.”

“Well in that case I’ll order from my favorite Gongagan restaurant.” Tseng dug through his briefcase until he found the menu, tossing it at Rufus. “Pick what you want. The curry is good.”

“And they’ll just deliver it to us?” Rufus asked. “From where?”

“They’re on the plate, so they’ll deliver,” Tseng explained, gathering his plate and beginning to clean the dishes. “Places below the plate will deliver sometimes, but the fee is always exorbitant and the food is cold by the time it gets to you.”

“Hm,” Rufus looked skeptical.

“You really just live an entirely different existence than the rest of the world,” Tseng laughed.

At first, Rufus’ arrogance and naivety had been annoying. The longer they were stuck together in that apartment, though, the more he just found it sad. For all Rufus’ silver spoon had given him, how much had it also kept him from? His lived experience was so far removed from any of the people in his city that he could never competently lead even if he went in with good intentions. That was at least one area where his father had him beat: the President knew how to control people because, at one point or another, he had seen their lives first hand. Rufus knew nothing but fame and fortune.

“I’ll have the green curry then.” Rufus handed the menu back to Tseng.

When the order was placed, they sat in their usual silence: Tseng on the couch with MaoMao curled against him, Rufus curled up in the armchair glowering out the window.

“Were you a grounder?” Rufus was usually the first to break any given silence, but then again Tseng could have gone days without speaking and not noticed.

“I lived in the slums for a short time when I first came to Midgar,” Tseng said.

Tseng and Rufus both understood that information was as good as gil. Tseng never spoke to any of his colleagues about his past, about who he was before he was a Turk, because it didn’t matter and because they rarely asked. If Tseng wanted to earn Rufus’ trust enough to create a loyalty between him and the Turks (however fragile) he recognized that he would have to make some concessions. For the time being, that meant answering Rufus’ questions and carrying on a conversation, even if he was unused to talking about himself in any capacity.

Interestingly, while Rufus seemed to love the sound of his own voice, he rarely talked about himself or his past. Perhaps his head wasn’t quite as big as Tseng thought.

“So you’re not from Midgar,” Rufus noted.

“No, but thank you for not assuming I’m from Wutai.”

“I’ve only ever lived here. And Junon, I guess.” Rufus stared out the window at the slums below. “But you probably know this city better than I do.”

“Hard to get to know a city when you’re constantly sitting up in your ivory tower.”

Rufus furrowed his brow and frowned at Tseng, but it was more of a pout - that stubborn side of him not wanting to admit that Tseng was right.

“Why did you come to Midgar?”

“Why does anyone come to Midgar?” Tseng shrugged. “I wanted a job with Shinra.”

Many years had passed since Tseng had even thought about those first few months in the city. What if he had been successful in getting a bland office job and never become a Turk? What kind of person might he be?

“Was assassin what you had in mind?”

“You understand I do more than just murder people for your father, don’t you?” Tseng asked.

To his immense surprise, Rufus nodded. “I’m sorry. Old habits die hard.”

“To answer your question, I didn’t come here thinking I wanted to be a Turk. I barely knew what a Turk was before I moved to Midgar. But it happened. Veld found me and took me in, trained me, made me his protege. And here I am.”

“Veld,” Rufus scoffed. “You Turks have so much to say about Hojo and the SOLDIER project, but Veld’s practices are just as predatory.”

Tseng bristled at this. “What do you mean?”

“I mean the Turks have always been about taking people who have no other way out and forcing them into this role. I mean, look at Rude. I’m not proud of my behavior in the past, but I know he would have been put in a prison cell to rot for a few years for putting me in my place and instead Veld told you to make him an offer, didn’t he?”

Tseng held Rufus’ gaze. When he didn’t answer, Rufus continued.

“And Reno. He’s much more loquacious than you, Tseng. Every time you put him on babysitting duty he tells me a story about his childhood as a street rat in the Wall Market. Veld plucked him right out of there to turn him into a killing machine. But Veld was just doing what his predecessor taught him. Come now, Tseng, you’re not naive. Every aspect of this company is about taking advantage of someone else’s weakness.”

Of course, Tseng knew Rufus was right, but he had never spent any great deal of time dwelling on it. If Veld hadn’t offered him a spot in academy all those years ago, Tseng would have probably been murdered by Don Corneo’s goons. In fact, given all Tseng knew about the Don and his connections to Shinra, it had probably been his goons who first tipped Veld off about Tseng.

It wasn’t as though Tseng didn’t know Veld wasn’t a good person. No Turk could be a good person after all they did for Shinra, but Veld had been like a father to him. Looking back on all of his colleagues, he realized that, yes, Rufus was right, all of them had been preyed upon as a recruitment tactic.

“And now you’re loyal to him,” Rufus continued like a predator going for the kill. “So you won’t turn him into my father even if you ever found him, would you?” He laughed. “Very smart on his part.”

“My loyalty isn’t just to Veld,” Tseng protested.

“Right, it’s also to Shinra,” Rufus waved a dismissive hand.

“No. You don’t understand. Maybe you never will.” He stood up. “I have to go pick up our food in the lobby. I’ll be right back.”

He left before Rufus could say anything more.

“How much further?” Rude asked.

For the last ten minutes, his view had been Reno’s ass as they climbed an access ladder of the wall dividing sectors six and seven. Not that it was necessarily a bad view, but Rude was tired of climbing, and Reno still hadn’t told him what they were doing.

They’d just finished running a kill mission in the Sector Four slums, which always left both of them feeling like shit. Murder was just part of the job description, and the people in question had embezzled money from a Shinra side company. The security officers who joined them on the mission took the bodies back to headquarters for disposal and Reno told Rude he had something to show him, to get the bad tastes out of their mouth.

Apart from the job, it was a beautiful day. The smog usually hanging in the air around the city had dissipated enough to allow some sunshine through the gaps in the plate, and it cast a pleasant golden light across the slums. When they reached the top of the wall, Reno sat down and dangled his legs over the edge, patting the spot next to him for Rude to sit. Rude looked down at the dizzying drop and tried not to think too long about it.

“I used to climb up here as a kid,” Reno laughed. “Best view of Wall Market you can get. Usually I’d just scramble up to the top spire of Corneo’s pagoda, but this is way better. Long way for a kid to climb, though. Long way to fall too. And sometimes you run into flying monsters around here, but it looks clear today.”

Reno’s life before he was a Turk never ceased to amaze Rude. It was astounding how the two of them could grow up in the same city and have such vastly different experiences. Rude had seldom been allowed beneath the plate as a child, he’d always had food in his belly, even when his parents’ wallets were stretched thin, he always had a bed to lay his head in at night. For Reno, that sort of security had been an unknown until his first paycheck as a Turk.

And yet he had turned into someone amazing despite the arduousness of his upbringing. He never saw it like that, Rude knew. He could talk a big talk, but Rude saw the doubt and insecurity that sometimes plagued him. It was hard to be a good person and do bad things, but Rude had been a Turk long enough to know they all were on some level. Reno still fed the orphans in Wall Market - there was good in him, even if he often did his best to hide it.

“It’s a beautiful view,” Rude said honestly.

The pagodas that made up the Don’s estate glittered in the sunlight and from this height it was impossible to see the trash that littered the ground of the Wall Market. Without all the gaudy neon signs, it was actually a quaint looking little town, tidily boxed up by Shinra - the same way they handled all their problems.

Reno placed his hand on top of Rude’s and laced their fingers together and Rude’s heart swelled. When he made the decision to kiss Reno so many months ago it had been mostly impulse. Over the years, their relationship had grown from reluctant cooperation, to friendship and genuine trust - he had never bargained on an attraction between them, but it had bloomed without fanfare.

“Rude,” Reno said, still staring out at the sector below them. “I gotta be honest with you. I’ve had this stupid crush on you since we met practically. And for so long I thought, you know, what’s the point? Fraternizing with some stranger in accounting isn’t the same as potentially screwing up what we had, right? I mean…you already know how I grew up. I’ve never really been able to trust anyone…never had anyone care if I was going to be okay. I just feel like…I’m a better person around you.”

Rude met his gaze and smiled. “I know the feeling.”

“Fuck, I’m bad at this,” Reno sighed. “I have so much welling inside of me I feel like I’m gonna burst, and I’ve never felt like this before. It honestly kind of hurts? Like…indigestion or something. Shiva’s tits, that’s not romantic.”

Rude couldn’t help the bark of laughter that escaped his throat at this.

“I didn’t think I was capable of this feeling honestly,” Reno continued. “But I have to say it because if I don’t I think I’m just gonna explode, and if you don’t feel the same it’s fine, I don’t want it to be weird. I just-”

“Reno,” Rude squeezed his hand.

“I love you, okay? I’m in love with you! It’s like this all-consuming thing. It’s fucking miserable sometimes actually. And I just had to tell you that, and I thought well this is a pretty romantic place to do it and if you don’t feel the same and it gets too embarrassing I can always just plummet to my death.”

Rude snorted and gripped his arm. “Reno?”

Reno looked up at him hesitant, almost shy. “Yeah?”

“I love you too.”

“Oh, thank fuck,” he sighed. And then he leaned forward and brought his lips to Rude’s.

Rufus felt a little bad about the conversation he and Tseng had prior to dinner. His own thoughts on Veld and the Turks were so clouded by his prejudice that he only assumed a Turk would be aware of how predatory their recruitment tactics were. They weren’t unique, SOLDIER and the security corps were more or less the same. As far as Rufus was concerned it was better Tseng realize the truth - maybe that would help bend his loyalty over time.

They ate in silence, but that wasn’t so unusual for either of them. The food Tseng ordered was remarkably good and yet again Rufus felt foolish for how little he knew of the world around him. His life was so far removed from that of someone who had spent time, however short, living in the slums.

It was a treat whenever he managed to get Tseng to talk about his past. There was an element of trying to gain his trust, certainly, but lately he was genuinely curious as well. Reno talked about his past ad nauseum, Emma’s past was no secret because her father ran the Shinra military academy and she had not cut ties with her family, Rude would occasionally discuss his past, though he was about as talkative as Tseng on most occasions.

Tseng was a mystery: a puzzle Rufus intended to solve.

Unfortunately the longer he was stuck with Tseng as his sole company, the more he couldn’t help but focus on what else was sorely lacking from his house arrest. A toy was a poor substitute for the real thing and mornings spent practicing shirtless hand-to-hand combat with Tseng were taking their wear on Rufus.

He would have gladly fucked Tseng even when he hated him - now that he was finding his company gradually more tolerable, the thoughts of what he would have preferred to do in their down time were relentless.

“What do you think of the food?” Tseng asked.

“Much better than what I made,” Rufus answered truthfully. He had been so pleased with himself for cooking, but it had been inedible. Still, it was almost charming how Tseng tried to pretend he didn’t mind it.

“It takes practice.”

After a few more seconds of silence, Rufus asked. “Do any of the other Turks have families? I mean like Veld did. It seems dangerous, but I suppose it must have been if he thought his wife and daughter were dead.”

“If they do, I’m unaware of it.”

“I think you would know,” Rufus frowned.

“Some of them are fraternizing with each other.” Tseng shrugged. “But the extent of those relationships is their business as long as it doesn’t affect their work.”

“Fraternizing,” Rufus laughed. “You’re such a robot sometimes, Tseng. Though I am surprised you know it’s happening and don’t seem to care.”

“I can do many things,” said Tseng, looking up from his food, “but I can’t control Reno.” He paused a beat and added, with the faintest hint of a smirk, “Don’t tell him I said that or it’ll go to his head.”

Rufus chuckled. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

What Rufus really wanted to get at was Tseng’s own history. If he had a cat, it wasn’t inconceivable that he might also have a romantic partner of some sort - though he was so busy and spent so much time at headquarters that it seemed unlikely.

“You and Lazard were close,” Rufus commented.

“You’re very subtle,” Tseng responded dryly.

It irked him how good of a read Tseng seemed to have on him at any given moment. It made it impossible to be as deceptive as he usually was, but in a way maybe that was good for him.

“Fine, did you fuck him?” Rufus asked.

“No,” Tseng answered readily. “I wanted to, but unlike my colleagues I have a healthy respect for the rules. And then he turned out to be a traitor to the company. I suspect he may still be out there somewhere, but we haven’t had any encounters with Rhapsodos or his brood in some time.”

Rufus was frankly surprised at his honesty. “So you’re telling me you’ve never broken the ‘fraternization’ rule?” It was laughable, really. Every employee at Shinra seemed to have slept with another employee at one point or another. Rufus himself was not immune, not that he could remember their names.

“I didn’t say that.”

Rufus sat up, suddenly immensely curious. “Excuse me?”

To his delight, Tseng’s ears flushed red and he got up to put his leftovers away. “It was a very long time ago when I was a young, stupid teenager.”

“Silly me, wouldn’t want anyone to think the great stoic Tseng was capable of submitting to more mortal desires.”

“I’m only human.”

“Just tell me who it was,” Rufus begged. “I won’t tell anyone.”

“I’m afraid it’s too embarrassing.” Tseng resumed his seat on the couch and made every effort not to meet Rufus’ gaze. It was absolutely stunning to watch someone as composed as Tseng, going redder and redder in the face at the conversation. “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

Rufus burst into an unexpected fit of laughter at this. “Was it Rude?”

“No.”

“Emma?”

Tseng gave him a withering look. “I think you’re smarter than that.”

Rufus had long suspected what Tseng seemed to be confirming, but he shrugged. “One can never tell.” This earned him another look of exasperation from Tseng. “Who then? Oh Gods, it wasn’t Veld!”

“NO!” Tseng looked appalled. “Shiva, no. It was Legend.”

“Legend?” Rufus had met the ostentatious Turk a few times and disliked him even more than he disliked Reno. The revelation was shocking, to say the least.

“As I said,” Tseng growled. “I was young and stupid. One of my more foolish mistakes. Gods, I can’t believe I even told you.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” said Rufus, crossing his finger over his chest. “But I am going to cherish that little nugget of information.”

“You’re horrible.”

Rufus flashed a grin at him. “You know what, Tseng? I think you don’t mind my company half as much as you pretend to hate it.”

“You’re a suitable conversationalist.”

“Such a typical Tseng response.”

They met each other’s gaze and for a moment there was a tangible tension in the air. Rufus scanned Tseng’s face, taking in every inch of it. He really was remarkably beautiful.

Tseng was the first to look away, his ears still tinged red and Rufus made a mental note to start pulling at that particular thread at the first available opportunity.

Chapter Text

More than a year had come and gone with no sign from the President that he intended to end Rufus’ house arrest. Tseng met with him regularly to provide updates, but all the President ever said on the matter was to continue to keep him posted. Tseng could hardly blame him for wanting to continue to keep Rufus under a watchful eye, but after so much time spent in close quarters with him, he felt he probably could have had his leash lengthened a bit on account of good behavior - he never voiced this to the President, however.

Tseng and Rufus had fallen into an odd sort of domestic routine living together in the apartment at headquarters. They continued their training, worked alongside each other, and in the evenings they would often make dinner together and enjoy their own hobbies in silent companionship. Occasionally, they would play cards or chess. Reno had even brought Rufus some mahjong tiles, though Tseng hated playing mahjong with Rufus because Reno had taught him all the tricks he learned from the old Wutaian women he played with in the Wall Market.

Presently, they were engaged in a chess match. Tseng sat observing the board while Rufus considered his next move.

“You know, you’re the only one who gives me a run for my money at this game,” Rufus said. “Rude isn’t bad. Reno still doesn’t understand the rules. Emma just moves impulsively without thinking through her moves.”

“Hm. That’s why Reno just insists on playing mahjong instead.”

“He’s a little sneak,” Rufus chuckled. “And when he and Rude are on babysitting duty together they’re unbearable.”

“Yes, I’ve noticed the way they behave,” said Tseng. “Emma describes it as ‘sickening’.”

“Not surprised she’s not much of a romantic. I wouldn’t mind it so much if my own love life wasn’t so lacking.” Rufus moved his knight and Tseng scanned the board to plan his next move. “You know, Reno thinks you’re a sexless robot,” Rufus added.

Tseng glanced up to meet Rufus’ gaze. The domesticity of their living arrangement had led to a very precarious situation in Tseng’s eyes. He had always found Rufus attractive, annoyingly so, but his personality had been so abhorrent that it had never been remotely worth considering. Now, after more than a year of spending most of his time with Rufus, he found that his personality was significantly more tolerable.

It didn’t help that Rufus was naturally flirtatious and loved to ask provocative questions. He was lonely and touch-starved and that was the only reason he was focusing so much attention on Tseng, attention that was growing increasingly harder for Tseng to ignore, though it was possibly the one area Rufus managed to be halfway subtle toward.

“Yes, Reno has expressed that sentiment before,” Tseng acknowledged. “I simply don’t feel discussing my sex life with my coworkers is appropriate.”

Rufus scoffed. “That only applies for people who aren’t killing and torturing for a living. Discussing who you fuck is probably the tamest discussion you all are having.”

“Did you have a question for me or did you want to spend the entire day beating around the bush?” Tseng asked. In a way, pinning Rufus like that felt a bit like flirting - he always responded as though he were positively delighted Tseng recognized what he was doing.

“Well, I know you fucked Legend at some point, so I don’t think you’re some pious monk abstaining from the finer things in life.”

“’Finer things’,” Tseng couldn’t help but laugh. To Rufus, good sex was probably comparable to an expensive bottle of wine. To Tseng, it was a base urge that occasionally needed sated.

“But I also know you’ve spent most of the last year locked up in this tower either watching over me or poring over reports in your office. So it doesn’t seem like you leave yourself much time for personal endeavors. But it explains a lot about why you’re so uptight.”

“I’m uptight whether I’ve had sex or not,” Tseng replied, allowing himself the faintest smirk.

Rufus let out a bark of laughter. “I wish your employees knew how funny you can be.”

“They’d never believe you.”

Rufus met his gaze and, as had happened so many times over the last year, a strange tension hung in the air. Tseng felt a pull at his navel and just as quickly looked down at the board to avoid thinking on it too long. He was not naive to what it meant, but he also knew there were few things stupider he could ever consider pursuing.

He felt fingers brushing lightly against the top of his hand and his skin jumped, his heartbeat suddenly pulsing rapidly in his ears. He stared as Rufus traced his fingers gently against his skin. It was as bold as Rufus had ever been with his intentions.

Tseng flexed his fingers, held his breath in his throat, acutely aware of every inch of Rufus’ skin that was making contact with his own. He should have pulled his hand away, but he remained frozen in place, watching as Rufus’ fingers inched along the muscles of his forearm.

“Tseng,” Rufus breathed.

Tseng looked away from their hands and found Rufus’ gaze almost too intense to hold. He was attempting to formulate a response when a loud chirp indicated the external doors unlocking. Tseng quickly withdrew his hand and stood up, shaking away the stupor Rufus’ touch had put him in. Rufus leaned back in his chair, annoyance flickering on his face for only a moment before he replaced it with a bored expression.

Reno was the first to enter the apartment, arguing loudly with Rude, who was just behind him.

“I just think it was let loose for a reason, it probably should have been killed.”

Rude was cradling a large bundle in his arms and when he turned Tseng was surprised to find what looked like a lab-bred Shinra guard hound swaddled in a ratty brown blanket. The dog was tiny, especially for a guard hound, still a puppy and shivering in Rude’s arms.

Tseng took a step back - he didn’t like dogs in any capacity, but he had an especially healthy fear of the dogs Hojo bred for the military in his lab.

“What is that doing in here?” he asked.

Rufus, meanwhile, had gotten to his feet and was now cooing and stroking the dog’s head. “Poor thing, where did you find it?”

Reno groaned and stood near Tseng. “We went down below the plate because there’d been complaints about monsters running loose in Sector Three. Well when we got there we found this runt terrorizing some kids - no monsters, just the dog. We figure someone was supposed to kill it because of how small it is and instead they got soft and let it loose. Idiots. Should probably root out who it was.”

“Reno,” Rude chided.

“What!?”

Rude shook his head. “The poor thing is just scared.”

“These dogs are remarkably intelligent,” Rufus said, scratching behind the dog’s ears. “But you’re right - Hojo culls the weak ones to keep them out of the gene pool. Wasteful in my opinion. Just because it’s small doesn’t mean it can’t be useful,” he looked to Rude and held his hands out. “May I?”

Reno snorted. “Wow, Tseng, you’ve got him trained good. Didn’t think I’d ever hear Rufus Shinra ask for something politely instead of just taking it.”

Rufus gave him a withering look and took the dog from Rude, pulling it out of the blanket and cradling it against his chest. It stopped shivering and gazed up at Rufus with wide eyes.

“See? She was just scared.”

Tseng sighed, he could see where this was heading and he didn’t like it.

“Why did you bring it here?” he asked Reno.

“I was just gonna brain it with my mag rod,” Reno shrugged.

“No you weren’t,” Rude said. “We thought…I thought it deserved a chance. You already have the cat-”

“I don’t like dogs,” Tseng interrupted.

“Tseng,” Rufus frowned, holding the dog up next to his face and pouting.

Reno and Rude exchanged a look that didn’t escape Tseng’s notice.

“It’s going to get a lot bigger,” Tseng continued. “And who’s going to take it out? Me, because you can’t leave this apartment.”

His ears were growing warm as Rude and Reno watched this situation play out. It was embarrassing to have an argument like this with someone who was meant to be his ward. A year ago, the answer would have been a hard and fast ‘no’. Now he had allowed himself to grow just fond enough of Rufus and his reasonably good behavior that he was considering a major concession on his part. To look so weak in front of his employees was bad enough, but he was certain Reno and Rude could see straight through to the cause of that weakness.

“If I don’t take her in, who will? Rude doesn’t have time to take care of a dog.”

“And I don’t want that thing in my-” Reno started, but fell silent at a look from Rude.

Tseng looked back and forth between Rufus and the dog. “We’ll trial it,” he sighed. “But I’m not promising anything. And if it hurts MaoMao-”

“She won’t. I’ll train her,” Rufus said, clutching the dog tightly against his chest.

“Wow,” Reno laughed, smacking Tseng on the shoulder. “You’re getting soft, chief.”

“Maybe just for the VP,” Rude muttered, and Reno snickered in agreement as they headed toward the door.

“Good luck with that,” said Reno, waving a hand dismissively on his way out.

As soon as they were gone, Rufus turned and headed down the hall, carrying the dog with him into the bathroom. With a sigh, Tseng followed him, leaning against the doorframe and watching as Rufus - who Tseng suspected had never so much as cleaned a dish himself before this house arrest - set the dog in the tub and ran a bath for it.

Without looking away from his work, Rufus said, “Thank you. I know this is a huge concession…one my father wouldn’t approve of.”

Tseng shrugged. “I know that you’re lonely. And your behavior has been tolerable.”

Rufus met Tseng’s gaze and again it was almost too intense to hold.

“Well,” said Rufus, turning away again, a sudden edge to his voice. “At least it’s been tolerable.”

“Rufus-“

“No, no. You’ve been passably tolerable yourself. Only just.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Tseng protested.

“Then what did you mean?”

Tseng bristled. “You know how I used to feel about you. Don’t act like you were a great fan of mine either. I think we can both admit the last year has changed that at least.”

Rufus laughed. “So you’re saying you don’t think I’m a cunt anymore?”

“Only sometimes,” Tseng chuckled.

Time passed, though it seemed impossible at first that it might. Rufus had thought there were few punishments worse than answering to Tseng for an unforeseeable future, but gradually he grew used to his company. He still hoped to mold him, bend him to his cause, but he found himself thinking of that less often as the weeks and months passed.

Allowing him to keep the abandoned runt had been a major concession and a turning point for Rufus. Tseng did nothing without calculation, but it seemed at least in that instance, he had simply recognized Rufus’ need for the companionship and acquiesced without a fight. That Tseng was uncomfortable around dogs spoke even further to just what a concession it was.

For Rufus, it was perhaps the first time in his adult life he had ever felt some sense of trust with another person.

Tseng was not so different from his cat - uncertain and reluctant around strangers, hesitant to come out of his shell. Rufus had always known there was a dry wit hiding under Tseng’s cool exterior, but the longer they spent living together in that apartment, the more he realized just what a complex personality had been locked tightly away behind his Turk persona.

It was no longer a priority for Rufus to bend Tseng to his will. They were well beyond such manipulation. Now he had a genuine desire to peel away his layers and find out who he truly was - before Veld had turned him into a killing machine.

So time passed. And the most miraculous part of it all was that Rufus and Tseng enjoyed each other’s company.

Reno sat in the armchair in Rufus’ house arrest apartment with his legs crossed eying the now fully-grown Shinra guard hound on the floor with nothing short of distrust. She was curled up beside the couch where Rufus lay reading a book and idly petting her head.

Tseng was on a rare field mission and Rude was assisting, which left Emma and Reno to draw straws on who had to babysit the vice president. Admittedly, he wasn’t nearly as much of an asshole as he used to be, which had to have been Tseng’s influence. That was another issue altogether. It sure as hell didn’t escape Reno’s notice the way Rufus and Tseng looked at each other, the weird tension that hung between them. Rude had commented on it too and even Emma had asked if the chief was going soft.

Tseng, the most steadfast of them all (there was a reason Veld picked him as his successor after all), had an enormous glaring weak spot for the vice president and he either didn’t realize it or refused to admit it.

Reno found it fucking hilarious personally. The two of them had nearly killed each other prior to his house arrest and now they were as thick as thieves. It was really fucking rich of Rufus to comment on how obvious and ‘sickening’ Reno and Rude could be together when he acted the way he did around Tseng. Reno was ready to pull his hair out if they didn’t just fuck and get it over with, but that was a laugh. Tseng might bend a lot of rules for Rufus, but he couldn’t imagine him going that far.

Of course, it didn’t stop him from placing a bet with Emma and Rude - it took a little convincing on Rude’s part, who thought they ought to leave it alone, but eventually they all threw money into a pool with bets on if and when Rufus Shinra might finally manage to break the unbreakable Turk.

“She’s very smart,” said Rufus without looking up from his book. “And if you don’t stop staring, she’s going to notice.”

Reno snapped his eyes away from the dog and stared at Rufus. “I know you trained her and everything, but…I still think we would have been better off just shoot-“

Rufus’ eyes flashed and he silenced Reno with a single look, something only Tseng had been able to do until then.

“She’s utterly harmless unless I tell her not to be.” Just as quickly as the fire lit in his eyes, it was extinguished and he returned to his book.

Several seconds of silence passed and Reno tried to look everywhere but at the dog. He pulled his phone from his pocket and texted Rude a string of lewd emoticons and waited for a response.

“Why the fuck did you name her Dark Nation anyway?” Reno asked.

The dog’s ears turned toward the sound of her name, but she didn’t open her eyes. Rufus waved a dismissive hand.

“Show naming convention. Like with racing chocobos.”

“Hm,” said Reno. He stared at the dog and her eyes snapped open, so he quickly looked away.

“When is Tseng supposed to be back?” Rufus sighed.

“Oh, sorry I’m such lousy company,” Reno growled.

Rufus gave him a withering look and didn’t dignify his comment with a response. Reno’s phone chimed and he opened it to find Rude had responded to his text with a circle finger emoticon and a pointer finger pointed toward the circle. He chuckled and responded with a heart emoticon before pocketing his phone again.

Maybe he could admit they were a little sickening. Years had passed since Reno nervously confessed his feelings and found, to his surprise, that they were wholly reciprocated, but he still felt just as lovesick most days. When he was younger, this kind of schmaltzy crap would have disgusted him, but now he couldn’t give a fuck. There wasn’t a single fucking day he didn’t feel like the luckiest idiot alive because Rude loved him back.

The exterior door to the apartment chimed and a moment later the interior door opened to reveal Tseng, his face and suit spattered with blood, a small but noticeable bit of hair missing from the side of his scalp, the palms of his gloves shredded.

Rufus sat up. “Tseng. What happened?”

Tseng didn’t look injured, just exhausted.

“The mission was a success, but it got messy.” He pulled his gloves off. “I need to rinse this blood off.” He stalked down the hall and disappeared into the bathroom.

“Pretty worried about the chief, huh?” Reno raised an eyebrow.

Rufus buried his nose behind his book and said nothing.

Chapter Text

Rufus was listless.

He wouldn’t admit as much aloud to Tseng, primarily because Tseng had allowed him so many concessions over his years of house arrest, but Tseng could see it. He paced and stared out the window down at the slums below, D trotting along behind him every time he moved.

He hadn’t left this apartment in years and while most days Tseng barely left headquarters, he could only imagine the sort of mental toll it was taking on a creature as social as Rufus.

Tseng was not naive to the way his employees discussed his relationship with Rufus, the whispers that he was getting soft, Reno and Emma quietly arguing over whether or not there was anything more between them. He wouldn’t dignify their gossip with any remarks one way or another, but he could at least internally acknowledge that he was in fact aware he was too lax with Rufus.

And yet he had no desire to alter his behavior. He had come to trust Rufus in a way he hadn’t expected, but it had been earned trust, built slowly over years of cohabitation. Lingering in the back of Tseng’s mind was the worry that his trust was misplaced, that Rufus only latched onto him in this way because he was his only consistent company in that apartment.

Many times, Rufus had tiptoed over acceptable boundaries and Tseng had let him: brushing their fingers together, moving his foot against Tseng’s leg under the table, exaggerated displays of his body whenever he had the opportunity.

Tseng dealt with the mounting frustration this caused by finding other outlets, ones he could pay for and walk away from. He had never left those encounters dissatisfied until Rufus. They weren’t scratching the itch that was plaguing him almost daily now.

He watched Rufus pace, his sleek figure silhouetted against the light from outside, and unsavory thoughts filled his head.

What would Veld say?

Maybe it was time for him to pass off responsibility of Rufus’ oversight to Emma, who stood no risk of being wooed by Rufus at all.

Instead of some sort of logical move like that, which would have benefited him, Tseng found words leaving his mouth seemingly of their own accord.

“Rufus, you’ve never been down to the under city have you?”

Rufus craned his neck to glance back at Tseng. “You know I haven’t.”

“What if we were to take an outing?”

Rufus turned around fully then, a mixture of curiosity and concern on his face. “Who are you and what have you done with Tseng?”

Tseng chuckled. “Consider it a reward for good behavior and time served. You won’t be armed, and you know that if you tried to run I would outstrip you. But I also trust you not to do that, especially not in the slums where you don’t know your way around.”

“If you’re fucking with me, I swear to Shiva-“

Tseng stood up. “I’m not. But you can’t go down there or past the cameras in the lobby looking like that.”

He moved down the hallway to his room and Rufus followed, leaning against the door frame while Tseng pulled a spare uniform from his closet. He held it up to Rufus.

“It might be a little big at the shoulders and waist, but it should fit you with a belt.”

Rufus smirked. “You want me to dress up like a Turk?”

“Yes. A matter of disguise.”

“Is this some sort of elaborate fantasy scenario of yours, Tseng? You can be honest with me.”

Tseng gave him a withering look. “If you want me to change my mind-“

“No, no.” Rufus held his hands up and took the suit from Tseng’s grasp. “I’ll try it on.”

He disappeared into his room, leaving the door noticeably open. Tseng returned to the living room rather than take the bait - he was already treading on remarkably thin ice by allowing Rufus another concession, and such a major one at that.

Rufus returned a moment later with Tseng’s suit fitting as poorly as Tseng suspected it might. It wasn’t horrible, but the jacket certainly hung too large at his shoulders and too short at his arms, the pants fastened tight with a belt, but slightly too short thanks to the inch or two of height Rufus had on Tseng.

“It’s not my best look,” said Rufus.

“You’ll have to wear a wig as well,” Tseng told him.

“Have you got a wig hiding in your closet too?” Rufus asked, quirking his eyebrow.

Tseng frowned. “We have a room full of items to use when out on missions.” He moved to the security door and unlocked it with his keycard. “Keep your head down and come with me.”

Rufus stayed close behind him, too close in Tseng’s opinion, but he would rather have Rufus where he could keep an eye on him once they were out of the security of the apartment. Most of the other Turks had gone home for the day, so Tseng and Rufus moved quietly down the hall to the supply room where a number of items used for disguises were cataloged according to type.

Tseng stood against the door to keep anyone from entering.

“Pick one you like and put it on, then we’ll head out.”

Rufus dug through the box of wigs like a child opening presents. “Just being out of that fucking apartment is doing wonders for me,” he said to Tseng. “Oh, what do you think of this?”

He turned around wearing a large mane of curly red hair and the most ridiculous expression Tseng had ever seen him make. Tseng was so surprised by it that a bark of laughter left his lips before he could even consider checking his response.

Rufus grinned. “You don’t like it?”

“I think it may have the opposite effect we’re hoping for,” said Tseng, holding back another chuckle.

“I’ll put it in the ‘maybe’ pile.” Rufus removed the wig and returned to digging through the box. Eventually, he settled on a plain shaggy brunette wig that did a good job of obscuring his true identity to anyone who wasn’t looking for it.

“That will do,” Tseng nodded. “Now let’s go. And keep your head down until we’re on the train.”

“We’re riding the train?” Rufus’ eyes lit up.

“Well I’m not taking a helicopter below the plate,” Tseng snorted. “That would draw more attention to us than we want.”

“I’ve never ridden the train before. I’ve never been allowed.”

Rufus truly had lived a life completely removed from the average person’s. Tseng used to despise him for it, but more often than not he just pitied him now. There was so much experience he had been deprived of because of his name and his status.

They made their way up to the lobby, Rufus obediently keeping his head lowered until they were out of the building and reached the train station. The station was relatively empty at that hour: the day shift employees left hours ago and the night shift employees had already arrived, so there was plenty of room when the train arrived - enough for Tseng to find them an empty car which he hoped would remain empty until they made it below the plate.

Tseng sat down while Rufus paced up and down the length of the car, running his hands along the grip rails and marveling at the digital map next to the door displaying their position within the city.

“It’s filthy in here,” he noted.

“That’s public transportation,” Tseng shrugged.

In truth, he hadn’t taken the train in several months. Missions below the plate typically entailed use of a Shinra chopper, and even when he had been living in his apartment he typically just walked home from work.

Rufus stared out the window as the train moved into the tunnels leading down below the plate. “How many people could fit on a train car this size?”

“At rush hour there might be a hundred people packed into this space.”

“A hundred?” Rufus glanced around. “Nauseating.”

“How else are they supposed to get home? There’s no pedestrian path below the plate, and anyway it would take far too long.”

Rufus looked appropriately ashamed at his statement, but said nothing. After about twenty minutes, the train came to a stop at a station in the Sector Five slums, one Tseng was intimately familiar with, and they stepped out of the car together.

Tseng strode ahead and only stopped when he realized Rufus wasn’t behind him. For a heart-stopping second he worried he had been tricked, but when he turned around he found Rufus with his feet rooted firmly to the ground, staring up at the massive metal plate overhead.

“I never knew what it looked like from below like this,” he said. “It’s so…”

Oppressive was the word that came to Tseng’s mind, but Rufus never finished his thought. He tore his gaze away from the plate and looked around at the slum surrounding them with the same wide-eyed look of wonder. The ramshackle lean-to’s and decaying buildings mashed together into some semblance of living quarters were like nothing Rufus had ever experienced in his life, Tseng knew, but to him the slums were not a far cry from the cramped little home he had grown up in. There must have been families like his, three or four children to a room huddled together, children raising children while the parents worked tirelessly just to scrape by.

For a fleeting moment he thought of his sisters and wondered if they were still alive.

“Let’s go,” he said to Rufus. “I want to take you somewhere else.”

Rufus followed close behind him, his head swiveling this way and that to take in the view.

“Which sector is this?” he asked.

“Five.”

Tseng glanced in the direction of the Gainsborough residence and kept walking. He hadn’t seen Aerith in several months either, delegating the task to his subordinates. It was strange how much he missed her, and yet he felt the distance would only do him good - it might make it easier to take her in when the time came for it.

They continued on down a well-worn path through a section of collapsed expressway on the border of sectors five and six.

“This fell when the city was being built,” said Rufus. “I remember my father telling me about it. They never finished the plate over this part of the city because of it.”

“Director Tuesti is interested in pursuing completion of it one day,” Tseng told him. “But Don Corneo opposes it. He’s the only one in the slums with a view of the sky.”

“I’ve heard about him, but I’ll admit I don’t know much.”

“He’s scum,” said Tseng flatly. “But scum that provides valuable information to Shinra. A bug we aren’t yet allowed to squash.”

“Sounds like it’s a little personal for you, Tseng.”

“If Veld hadn’t allowed me to become a Turk-“ Rufus scoffed at this and Tseng continued, “I would have been killed by Don Corneo’s men for the crime of providing medical treatment to people who needed it in the slums. But my distaste for the Don doesn’t come close to Reno’s. He grew up under his thumb.”

“So then why are you taking me to the Wall Market?” Rufus asked. “I recognize it up ahead even if I’ve never been.”

“Because, the Wall Market is the most vibrant cultural experience you can have in the slums. And there’s a very good Wutaian restaurant on the east side of the market. Almost as good as my sisters’ cooking.”

Rufus was the only person in Midgar who even knew Tseng had siblings, and whatever little Tseng had told him was far more than any of his colleagues knew. Why did he find himself opening up without prompting around Rufus? It was a dangerous situation - he no longer knew if he was being played or offering the information of his own accord, and it didn’t seem to matter anyway.

“How many sisters do you have, Tseng?”

“We can talk when we reach the restaurant.”

They wound their way through the Wall Market, stopping several times as Rufus asked questions or asked about items for sale on the main strip. Whenever someone gave them an odd look, Tseng simply shrugged and explained it away as Rufus being a rookie, though most rookies weren’t nearing thirty. Most people weren’t interested in testing a Turk, so they didn’t question it further.

The east side of the market was more treacherous the further away they moved from the main strip. Tseng wasn’t worried for his own safety, but Rufus had no means of protecting himself if someone did recognize him or try to ambush them for some reason. Tseng had never been ambushed in the Wall Market primarily because the Don made sure Turks were safe because the Turks in turn protected him, but it didn’t mean it couldn’t happen and Tseng had learned to always remain on alert.

Rufus’ look of wonder slowly subsided to one of pity and concern the further they delved into the market. Children covered in dirt with rags hanging from their bodies ran through the streets chasing each other, beggars lay under awnings with signs asking for food or gil: this was the reality of the under city, one Rufus would never have been exposed to otherwise, but one Tseng had seen more than his fill of.

“This is horrible,” Rufus whispered.

Tseng was not naive enough to think this sort of exposure would change Rufus’ goals or ideals, but if he wanted to run Midgar one day, he had to understand just who he was lording over. His father understood, even if he didn’t manage the city the way he ought to.

“This is Midgar,” Tseng replied. “In all its glory.”

He led them to a Wutaian restaurant that Reno had recommended years ago, and while he would never admit to Reno that it had been a wonderful recommendation, he frequented the place whenever he was beneath the plate.

They stepped inside and the old woman who ran the til glanced up, greeting them in Wutaian before yelling back to the chefs, “That Turk’s back again. Better not fuck it up.”

One of the chefs yelled, “What? Reno and his boyfriend?”

“No not Reno and Baldy, you idiot! The Wutaian one with the lousy accent.” Then the old woman disappeared into the kitchen and a shouting match ensued.

Rufus chuckled as they took a seat. “She thinks you have a bad accent.”

“I do,” said Tseng. “I’ve been told as much by most Wutaians. Reno likes to say he has a better accent than me.” Tseng leaned forward and covered the side of his face with the menu. “Don’t tell him, but he’s right.”

Rufus burst into a fit of laughter. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

They ordered a pot of tea and some dumplings, which Rufus savored with a look of pure ecstasy. Tseng ate slowly and quietly, a strange tightness settling in his chest as he watched Rufus. He shook it away and ordered another dish for them to share when the waiter came by.

“So, you told me we could talk when we got here,” said Rufus. “So answer my question. How many sisters do you have?”

“Six,” Tseng answered. “Four older and two younger. I was the only boy.”

“Seven kids?” Rufus balked. “Gods, that’s a lot.”

Tseng nodded and sipped his tea. “I haven’t spoken to any of them in nearly fifteen years. The last I knew, my parents were being called to the front lines in Wutai to aid Shinra. They took my younger sisters with them.”

“Surely you could look them up,” Rufus offered. “You have all of Shinra’s intelligence at your fingertips.”

“It’s a stone better left unturned. We cut ties with our families for a reason. At least, most of us do. Emma still sees her father and I think she has a sister as well.”

“When I was younger I used to wish my parents would have more children.” Rufus stared down at his teacup and frowned. “I was so lonely as a child. And when my mother died-“

Tseng tensed and thought of the story Veld had told him in what felt like another lifetime.

“I know she hated my father…I think that’s why she did what she did, but…” To Tseng’s surprise, Rufus’ eyes were glistening. He wiped them before tears could form, hardening his mouth into a thin line. “It still hurt to be left alone with him like that.”

“Rufus, I…” Tseng clasped his hand over Rufus’. What the hell was he doing? Rufus looked up at him, a horrible pain in his eyes, and the words left his lips before he could think. “She didn’t leave you behind.”

“What?” Rufus spoke in barely more than a whisper.

It was too late to backtrack then. Tseng looked away, finding Rufus’ gaze too difficult to hold as he spoke. “Veld never told anyone but me. Your father ordered it. He-“

Rufus’ hand clenched into a fist beneath Tseng’s grip. “What?” He repeated, followed by, “Dammit, look at me, Tseng.”

Tseng met his gaze once more. “I’ll tell you if you truly want to know.”

“So tell me!”

“Veld killed your mother.” The words were like twisting a knife into Rufus’ heart and Tseng felt sick with the burden of it. “They were having an affair and your father found out. As punishment, he ordered Veld to kill her and make it look like a suicide.”

Rufus shook with rage. He bit his lip and looked away from Tseng, but didn’t pull away from his grip still tight against his hand.

“Thank you…for telling me.”

“Rufus-“

“No,” he shook his head and wiped his eyes once more. “I spent my whole life thinking she left me behind to suffer and now I know the truth. So my hatred for my father has always been justified.”

“I’m so sorry,” said Tseng honestly.

Rufus looked at him with a fire in his eyes. “You’re not Veld. You never will be. And that’s a good thing.”

He slid his hand out from under Tseng’s only to brush his thumb against Tseng’s before gripping his teacup. Then he cleared his throat and squared his shoulders.

“We were having a good time. Let’s not let this ruin our day.”

Tseng nodded. “Right.”

Rufus was exhausted by the time Tseng finished his tour of the slums - physically and emotionally. It had been literal years since he had been allowed outside the cramped confines of the apartment that acted as his prison cell and so much lost time made up for in a few short hours left him feeling overwhelmed. Added to that was the news that confirmed what Rufus had long suspected: his father was directly to blame for his mother’s death.

Tseng didn’t have to divulge a secret so important it wasn’t even logged in the company records, a secret so dark that Veld had only ever burdened Tseng with the truth of it. He also didn’t have to let Rufus out of that apartment, nor did he have to make every other concession he had allowed Rufus over the last several years.

The fact of the matter was, they had both changed. Rufus still wanted to run Shinra and rule Midgar and he wanted his father dead now more than ever, but he had also learned that loyalties within Shinra didn’t follow direct lines back to his father. The Turks were devoted to one another to a degree he had scarcely seen and certainly never experienced himself, all irrespective of their work for Shinra. It was loyalty built upon trust, one that couldn’t be overwritten by the generous paychecks Shinra provided them.

He was jealous of that loyalty in the same breath that he longed for it.

Rufus and Tseng had hated one another when his house arrest began - a justified hatred on Tseng’s part and a naive one on Rufus’. Now, though he could not bring himself to say the words aloud, Tseng was perhaps the first person in a decade or more that Rufus felt he could truly call a friend. He trusted not only Tseng’s judgment, but his willingness to put him in his place, which few people were brave enough to do.

It could be written off as the result of being held captive with Tseng for three and a half years, but Rufus felt it was a bit more complicated than that.

Tseng had touched him that day in a comforting gesture, something he’d never done before despite Rufus’ repeated attempts to find any excuse to touch Tseng. For years he had considered what it might be like to cross the line with Tseng, partially out of touch starvation and partially because he had always been attracted to Tseng and that attraction was only made worse by the fact that Rufus enjoyed his company now. He fucked himself with his toys and wished it were Tseng filling him up, never ever satisfying the need he had for a warm body pressed against his.

He was going to do something about it. The day’s events felt like a signal to force the issue.

They returned to headquarters discreetly, Rufus keeping his head down to avoid the cameras posted all over the building. They had been out for most of the night and the other Turks would be back in soon, so Rufus and Tseng hurried into the house arrest apartment and Tseng quickly locked up the doors behind them.

“Tseng,” said Rufus, pulling off the ridiculous wig he’d been wearing all day and running a hand through his hair.

Tseng had his back turned to him, hanging his jacket in the coat closet. “Hm?”

“Thank you for today. Genuinely.” Rufus shed Tseng’s poorly-fitting uniform jacket and offered it to him.

Tseng hung the second jacket up and faced him. “Don’t mention it to the others. They already think I’m getting soft.”

“I won’t. But Tseng…”

Tseng stared at him with an inscrutable expression and said nothing, so Rufus continued.

“You know what they say about us don’t you?” He took a step closer to Tseng. “They’ve got a bet going.”

“Nothing happens in my department that escapes my notice,” Tseng answered with his typical non-response bullshit. He didn’t back away from Rufus’ approach.

“And you don’t have anything to say about it?”

Again Tseng said nothing, but his eyes darted to Rufus’ lips before moving back up to hold his gaze.

“Look me straight in the eyes and tell me you’ve never thought about it,” Rufus breathed, moving until he was practically pressed against Tseng, curling Tseng’s tie around his hand. “Tell me the truth, you won’t hurt my feelings.”

Tseng’s breath was shaky against Rufus’ face. “No, never. You’re far too annoying,” he said.

Rufus smirked. Tseng had always been funnier than any of his colleagues gave him credit for, but Rufus had rarely experienced being toyed with in that way. Trying to flirt with Tseng often felt like talking to a brick wall, but in this instance, his sarcasm felt like an invitation.

Rufus traced his fingers against the side of Tseng’s face. It was the boldest he had ever been with his intentions, and he was certain he had never wanted anything more - if he had, he couldn’t be bothered to think of it in that moment.

There were a number of things Rufus considered saying next - lewd declarations of all the times he’d thought about Tseng while he was fucking himself - but he was tired of talking and he was tired of waiting. He tugged on Tseng’s tie and brought their lips together, tense with anticipation until Tseng gripped his waist and opened his mouth against Rufus’.

After nearly four years without that kind of touch, Rufus’ entire body was reacting. Tseng’s fingers dug into his skin, his tongue moving against Rufus’ as they stumbled back against the wall and Rufus ground his body as hard he could against Tseng’s. His skin felt like it was on fire, he wanted - no needed - to remove every scrap of fabric between them until their bodies were touching.

He broke away from Tseng to pepper kisses along his neck, sucking at the skin until it bruised. Tseng gulped in air and a strangled sound left his throat.

“Rufus…I….”

It was over as quickly as it had started. Tseng’s hands moved to Rufus’ shoulders and he put an arm’s length of distance between them.

“Don’t,” Rufus begged. He felt more desperate than he ever had in his life. He clutched at Tseng’s shirt collar. “Don’t think about it.”

Tseng turned his face away from Rufus. “I can’t do this. I can’t-“

“Why the fuck not, Tseng? Are you going to tell me you haven’t thought of it? You didn’t kiss me like someone who’d never considered it.”

“Rufus-“

Rufus took several steps back and stared at him, a realization suddenly dawning.

“Do you not trust me? Is that it?” he demanded.

If that were the case, he was furious. He had gone above and beyond, eschewing his tendency toward selfishness in order to earn Tseng’s trust and while he would admit at first it had been in hopes of bending Tseng to his viewpoint, they had been well past that for some time now.

Tseng looked apologetic, but he didn’t deny it. “Rufus, you don’t understand.”

“Don’t understand?” Rufus balked. “What is there to understand? I’ve lived with you for almost four fucking years Tseng. Do you think I’m faking it every waking moment? I could have run off at any point today and I didn’t.”

Tseng frowned. “I…” He gripped his forehead. “When I found out about what Veld did…that was the day Lazard fled Midgar.”

Rufus bristled, still fixing Tseng with a furious stare. “You said you and Lazard never-“

“We didn’t. He took advantage of my fondness for him. He kissed me in his office and then used powerful sleep materia to knock me out. When you kissed me…I started to think of that day.”

“I’m nothing like that bastard,” Rufus said.

“No. You’re not. But-“

“Do you want further proof of my loyalty, Tseng?” Rufus asked. He felt a pang of pity and disbelief that anyone could manage to take advantage of someone as stoic and steadfast as Tseng, let alone Lazard, but he was still angry at being treated like he didn’t deserve at least an ounce of Tseng’s trust.

When Tseng said nothing, Rufus stormed to his room and returned with his computer. Tseng remained against the wall looking morose and conflicted.

“Do you want to see something I can do?” Rufus asked, clicking through the programs on his computer. He used his software to hack into the door locks and deactivate them, each of them hissing with a release of air before sliding open. Tseng stared at the doors in disbelief. “I’ve been able to do that for the last three fucking years. So why am I still here? Why haven’t I left this apartment until you let me?”

He shut the doors once more and set his computer down on the kitchen counter before rounding on Tseng. “Don’t treat me like I’m someone I’m not. I’m sorry that Lazard did that to you, but I’m also not proposing marriage here, Tseng.” He gripped Tseng’s collar once more. “I want you to fuck me. I haven’t been fucked in almost four years and it’s all I think about.”

Tseng breathed heavily through his nose. Rufus slid his hand between Tseng’s legs and gripped him through the fabric of his pants.

“Will you fuck me or not, Tseng? Because I know you want it too.” He kissed Tseng’s neck and reached for the zipper on his pants. “Tell me you want it.” All of the blood was gone from Rufus’ brain, redirected between his legs. “Tell me you want to fuck me, Tseng.”

“Ah,” Tseng breathed.

“Say it.”

“I do,” he gasped.

“You what?” Rufus whispered against his ear.

Tseng answered by pulling Rufus against him and kissing him, digging his fingers into Rufus’ ass and lifting him easily, stumbling over to the couch and falling against it on top of Rufus. The solid weight of Tseng’s body against Rufus’ was a feeling Rufus had longed for for some time, their bodies grinding against each other, both of them hard and aching.

Rufus arched his back, gripped Tseng’s hips with his legs, thrust against him as they kissed and writhed against each other. Tseng moaned and tugged at Rufus’ shirt until the buttons came undone, a few of them snapping off. In turn, Rufus did the same to Tseng until their chests were flush against each other: skin against skin.

Tseng’s lips moved to Rufus’ neck, across his throat to his collarbone and shoulders. Rufus clutched Tseng’s back with one hand, gripping some of his hair with the other. Tseng’s erection pressed against his hip and he could just imagine it inside of him until they were both as close as they could possibly be.

A loud ringtone sounded from the pockets of Tseng’s pants. Tseng paused, his face pressed into the crook of Rufus’ neck, and Rufus shook his head.

“Don’t answer it,” he gasped. “Don’t even look at it. Turn it off. Forget it.”

But Tseng was already propping himself up to reach for it. “I can’t ignore it,” he sounded apologetic. “We both know that.”

“Tseng,” Rufus whined, a horrible desperate sound. He tugged Tseng back against him. “Please. Gods, don’t do this. I haven’t had sex in years. I’m so hard…please.”

Tseng frowned and sat up completely, glancing at his phone. “It’s Heidegger.”

Rufus scoffed and fell bodily against the couch, resigned to his fate.

“This is Tseng.”

He watched as Tseng nodded, his look of annoyance turning quickly to one of concern, his brow knitting as his face dropped. “Right. Of course, sir. I’ll have my people on it immediately.”

He was already on his feet as he hung up and Rufus sat up quickly.

“What happened?”

Tseng, who rarely showed emotion beyond the occasional chuckle, looked utterly stricken. “I never told you about what happened in Nibelheim, did I?”

Rufus shook his head. He had long been curious about the events that led to Sephiroth’s death, but only the President and the Turks were privy to the details.

“I left a friend to rot in Hojo’s hands,” he moved to the door. “That was five years ago. And now he’s managed to escape with his life.” His eyes flashed as he unlocked the security doors. “I won’t make the same mistake twice.”

Chapter Text

Reno awoke before his alarm, something that used to piss him off to the point of subsequently sleeping past his alarm out of spite, but these days he didn’t mind having an extra half hour or so curled up against Rude watching him sleep.

Rude had a softness few outside of the Turks were aware of, but no one had seen that side of him quite like Reno had. Rude could fuck him to within an inch of his life only to gently caress him afterward, cleaning him up and cooing in his ear.

Reno was head over fucking heels.

He was about to wake Rude for a little pre-work tumble when both of their phones buzzed loudly with the tell-tale tone of a text from Tseng. Rude groaned and Reno rolled over to grab his phone.

“Urgent mission from the President. Meeting in twenty.”

“Rude,” Reno smacked his chest. “We gotta go.”

Rude buried his face against Reno’s shoulder and groaned. “How much time do we have?” his muffled voice sounded.

“From a scale of quickie to Tseng will murder us? I’d guess the second option,” Reno sighed.

Another loud groan issued from Rude before he finally peeled himself off of the bed and stumbled toward the bathroom.

Rude was meticulous about his morning routine: a shower, several lotions for his face, careful attention to trimming his beard, ironing his suit. Reno, by contrast, mostly just rolled out of bed and shoved some gel in his hair and called it a day. Rude had been a positive influence on him to some extent: he at least washed his hair more than he used to.

Reno was dressed and ready while Rude stood before the mirror in nothing but a towel trimming his beard. It was a true test of Reno’s will power not to walk over, rip the towel from Rude’s waist, and pull him onto the bed. Only Tseng’s ire was enough to keep Reno from showing up late to the meeting.

Once Rude was ready they made the short walk into headquarters where roughly half of their fellow Turks were already gathered around the conference table. Reno slid into a chair next to Emma and glanced at Tseng while Rude took a seat on his other side.

Reno had never seen Tseng look so tired, though he was convinced Tseng ran on maybe three hours of sleep a night. There were dark circles under his eyes, but what drew Reno’s attention more than anything was a dark purple bruise on his neck just below his jawline.

Most days Reno was still convinced Tseng was a sexless robot, though he had verbally claimed otherwise. Admittedly, he didn’t feel quite as strongly about it since he had been forced to sit through the unbearable tension between Tseng and Rufus, but he still never would have imagined someone as meticulous and closed-off as Tseng showing up with a hickey to a department-wide meeting.

“Is it just me,” Reno whispered to Emma and Rude, “or does Tseng have a massive hickey on his neck?”

Emma snorted and looked pointedly at her phone. “I noticed it.”

“You think he was fucking someone before he called the meeting?” Reno asked.

“No, he was on babysitting duty toni-“ Emma stopped short and all three of them looked back up at Tseng, his eyelids heavy, the hickey shining like a beacon on his neck. Emma opened and closed her mouth several times and slowly turned to meet Reno’s gaze.

Reno was positively fucking giddy.

“You saying he was with the VP all night?”

“Well, I…” Emma’s brow furrowed. “He was supposed to be.”

Rude sighed. “Maybe we shouldn’t speculate-“

“Oh please.” Reno waved his hand dismissively. “Have you been in a room with the two of them? It’s unbearable. It’s like, Shiva’s tits just fuck already. They’re both so fucking repressed. They’re constantly eye fucking and they think it’s subtle-“

“Well, I mean, it’s obvious the VP has a thing for the chief,” said Emma. “But I didn’t think the chief…he’s way too much of a stickler for the rules. He’d never-“

Reno raised his eyebrows. “Yeah? Like he’d never let the VP have expensive liquor stocked in the apartment bar? Or let the VP have a dog?”

Emma’s mouth fell open, but she said nothing.

“Uh-huh,” Reno chuckled. “Well I hope they finally fucked. Maybe it will be halfway tolerable to be around them now.”

Emma kept glancing up at Tseng and then back again to avoid being noticed.

Tseng didn’t seem to notice their conversation. In addition to looking dead tired, he was visibly stressed. Maybe the reason he’d shown up to the meeting with a giant bruise on his neck was because he was too distracted. Whatever the meeting was about must have been pretty fucking serious to have Tseng off his game.

When the last of their colleagues had trickled in and sat down, Tseng sighed and rubbed his brow.

“Thank you all for coming on such short notice. We have an urgent situation and I need all available agents to assist. Roughly two hours ago, two research subjects escaped Professor Hojo’s lab at the former Shinra Manor in Nibelheim.”

Reno inhaled sharply and he felt Rude and Emma tense next to him. They were the only ones besides Tseng and Veld who had been there…who had seen what Zack and his friend looked like when they were dragged away to be experimented on.

They were still alive after all these years?

The thought made his stomach turn.

“Sir, what sort of…subjects?” Cissnei asked.

Tseng closed his eyes and if Reno didn’t know better he would have thought he was holding back tears. After a moment of silence, he answered.

“Former first class SOLDIER Zack Fair and a security officer named Cloud Strife.”

A ripple of whispers sounded around the table. Emma gripped the arms of her chair until her knuckles were white. Reno was barely aware of his pulse pounding loudly in his ears and he was grateful for the sudden warmth of Rude’s hand over the top of his.

“I have no idea what state they might be in,” said Tseng. “We’ve been tasked with finding them as soon as possible. It should be stated…” He closed his eyes once more and then looked down at the table. “It should be stated that this is a breach on par with Genesis Rhapsodos’ defection. These two men are privy to too many Shinra secrets…”

Reno saw red. His ears rang and for a second, if only that, he thought about launching himself across the table and closing his fingers around Tseng’s throat. After all they had seen in Nibelheim…after abdicating their duties to Veld…was Tseng seriously going to just lick the president’s boots and hand them back to Hojo?

“I want you to pair off into groups of two and take helicopters to search for them. We have no clue which way they went, so our search radius by the time you make it to the Western Continent will be quite large. If you find them, I want you to tell me immediately. Do not report the finding to anyone else. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Take them into custody and await further orders from me. Now go. Time is of the essence here.”

The group of them rose to their feet, but Tseng held up his hand. “Emma, Reno, Rude, please stay here.”

They sat back down while the others filed out. As soon as they were alone, Reno exploded.

“Are you seriously going to fucking turn Zack back in to Shinra, Tseng? You know what Hojo does to people! Can you imagine the hell that poor kid has been living in since we found him half dead in that reactor? You-“

Tseng sighed. “That’s enough, Reno.”

Reno sat back in his chair and glowered at Tseng.

“I’m with Reno,” Emma added, folding her arms tightly across her chest. “I won’t be a party to this.”

“Let me make something perfectly clear,” said Tseng. “Not a day has gone by since we left Nibelheim that I haven’t thought about Zack and what sort of heinous treatment he’s been subjected to at Hojo’s hands. What I’m about to say doesn’t leave this room. As soon as one of our people finds them, I’m going to get them medical treatment and put them in hiding. Somewhere Shinra will never find them.”

Reno, Emma, and Rude were silent. Of course Reno wanted to believe that Tseng wouldn’t be like Veld in that regard…that there would be some line he would draw. It felt selfish wanting Zack to be saved when Reno had so much innocent blood on his hands…but Zack had been their friend.

“If you’re unwilling to help me with this, I understand. I’m giving you the choice to walk out of this room and forget what I told you. If Heidegger or the President ever found out about it, it would mean our lives. I know that you know that.”

Now Reno understood why Tseng looked so profoundly exhausted. It had nothing to do with the VP (though he was still convinced the hickey was Rufus’ doing).

“You fucking kidding me?” Reno scoffed. “Fuck them. I’ll help you chief.”

Emma nodded resolutely. “It feels like a chance to undo a little of the damage we’ve done.”

“Wouldn’t feel right leaving them to die again,” Rude agreed.

Tseng smiled weakly and nodded as well. “Thank you.”

That Tseng was directly violating the President’s orders was a small consolation to Rufus. More than a full day had passed since Tseng left and while Rufus considered digging into the Turks’ records via his computer to try and glean some more information about the situation, he decided it would be best to wait for Tseng to fill him in - he had spent too long building some semblance of trust with Tseng to ruin it now.

And besides, he hoped that when all was said and done they might pick up where they had left off.

So he waited.

And waited.

He fed D and Maomao, considered sneaking out with his disguise on to take D for a stroll around Sector 1, but thought better of it when he realized he had no access to weapons to protect himself. D paced restlessly, occasionally lying down near the door and watching it as if awaiting Tseng’s return.

Eventually, Rufus could stand it no longer. He overrode the door locks and peered up and down the hallway for any sign of the other Turks before moving swiftly and quietly down to Tseng’s office at the end of the hall. The door was slightly ajar, so he let himself in and shut it softly behind him.

Inside he found Tseng asleep on the couch with his arm draped over his eyes. He felt bad waking him, so he sat down beside the couch and observed him sleeping for a moment - it was difficult to imagine someone like Tseng could ever look peaceful, but he did in that moment.

Of course, Tseng was trained to be on constant alert, and his eyes snapped open at the movement as Rufus settled down on the floor next to the couch. He glanced sideways at Rufus, dark circles under his eyes.

“I broke the rules,” Rufus confessed. “I was worried about you.”

Tseng scoffed and sat up, stretching his joints until they popped.

“You look like shit,” Rufus added.

“Thank you,” Tseng answered dryly.

“I was trying not to wake you. Have you been sleeping in here the last two nights?”

“This is the first time I’ve slept since I left.”

“Tseng.”

Tseng rubbed his eyes. “I’ve been waiting for word from my operatives.”

Rufus frowned at him. “Can you not wait for word from them in your bed? It’s just down the hall. Not sleeping isn’t going to get you answers any faster.”

“It’s extremely rich being lectured about impatience by Rufus Shinra,” said Tseng, yawning.

Rufus laughed. “Well, I’ve always been a hypocrite.”

“I am tired,” Tseng admitted, slumping forward slightly.

They sat next to each other in silence for a moment. Rufus looked around at the tidy office where Tseng spent all of his time when he wasn’t inside the apartment.

Rufus was never good at tolerating silence for too long.

“Do you regret what we did?” he asked. In truth, it had been gnawing at him since Tseng left. That he might come back with his senses intact and decide it wasn’t a line worth crossing.

“No,” Tseng answered quickly and curtly. He lay back down on the couch, draping his legs over Rufus’ when Rufus didn’t move. It felt oddly intimate. “I’m afraid I’ve been past the point of no return with you for longer than I care to admit.” He closed his eyes and sighed. “But work still has to come first.”

This put Rufus’ mind at ease. “We’ll pick up our conversation again later then.”

“Hm,” said Tseng with a yawn. “I didn’t plan on doing much talking.”

Rufus chuckled. “I hope that’s a promise.”

The faintest smirk played across Tseng’s face. “You had better keep quiet about it. I have a reputation.”

Rufus made himself comfortable then, shifting to lay alongside Tseng, who opened one eye to frown at him before closing it. Rufus traced his finger along the bruise he had left behind on Tseng’s neck, grinning as Tseng’s skin jumped.

“You do realize your employees have probably figured out where this came from, don’t you?”

Tseng’s eyes snapped open again. “Where what came from?” He pulled his phone from his pocket and observed his neck with his camera, his frown deepening. “Rufus!”

Rufus sniggered. “I’m sorry,” he lied.

Tseng pocketed his phone and rolled onto his side, turning his back to Rufus. He closed his eyes once more and Rufus, feeling suddenly desperate for touch now that he he had felt it again for the first time in years, decided to test Tseng’s limits by curling against his back and burying his face against the nape of Tseng’s neck.

“What are you doing?” asked Tseng, though there was no edge to his voice.

“Spooning you, obviously.” Rufus answered, hiking a leg over Tseng’s hip to press more firmly against him.

Tseng made an annoyed noise, but made no attempt to put space between them.

Spurred by his success, Rufus continued. He brushed Tseng’s ponytail out of the way and pressed his lips to the skin behind Tseng’s ear. Tseng let out a slow breath.

“You’re pushing it.”

“What are you going to do about it?” Rufus whispered, nibbling on his ear.

It was remarkable to consider they hadn’t yet kissed until a little more than a day ago and now he was letting Rufus get away with this. Rufus would have never thought it possible that anyone could have Tseng wrapped around their finger, let alone someone he had hated for so long.

The worst part of it all was that Rufus didn’t even feel like abusing that power for his own good. He just wanted to be close to Tseng.

It would have been disgusting if he wasn’t so fucking horny with nearly four years of pent-up frustration to be unleashed.

Rufus slid his hand down Tseng’s chest while he kissed his neck, inching further down, reaching the edge of his pants and unbuttoning them to move his hand beneath the fabric, pausing for a moment in anticipation of Tseng pushing him away.

But Tseng didn’t. He craned his neck to expose the side of it to Rufus and Rufus took the bait. He rubbed his fingers against Tseng’s cock through the fabric of his underwear and a soft sound left Tseng’s throat. His eyes were still shut, but his mouth fell open as Rufus hand groped against him.

“Your cock feels pretty big,” Rufus whispered.

Tseng grew hard against Rufus’ touch, so Rufus slipped his hand under the band of Tseng’s underwear and took hold of him fully, drawing a gasp out of Tseng and causing his hips to jerk toward the touch. This wasn’t quite they way Rufus had intended things to go, but he wasn’t upset about the progression of events either.

“Rufus,” Tseng breathed. His voice was husky, almost needy, and it redirected all the bloodflow in Rufus’ body between his legs.

Rufus slid his thumb against the bead of precum on the head of Tseng’s cock and pumped his hand up and down the length of it. Tseng’s breath came heavy. He curled his fingers around Rufus’ wrist and held it while Rufus stroked him.

“Does it feel good?” Rufus asked, kissing his neck again.

Tseng let out a wordless moan. He thrust into Rufus’ grip and his nails dug into Rufus’ skin where he gripped his wrist.

Rufus was achingly hard by that point. He released Tseng and withdrew his hand, pleased with the huff of irritation from Tseng. But Tseng was not the begging type. He breathed heavily and remained totally still, his erection protruding from his open pants.

“Your door is unlocked,” Rufus noted. “Anyone could just walk in.”

Tseng took several deep breaths. “Yes.”

“Do you want me to finish what I started?”

Tseng glanced sideways at him. “You’re irritating.”

Rufus laughed loudly. “So you’ve told me. Many times. Turn around.”

“I’m not in the business of taking orders from my ward,” Tseng replied, his voice laced with thinly veiled annoyance.

“Oh come now, Tseng,” Rufus cooed. He was taking absolute delight in tormenting Tseng in a way he had never anticipated, because until now he hadn’t thought it possible. “I’m the one who’s supposed to be stubborn.”

“You’re really toeing the line, Rufus.”

“I think,” said Rufus, brushing his nose against Tseng’s neck, “that I crossed that line when I wrapped my hand around your cock.”

Tseng rolled onto his other side to face Rufus, frowning at him with the sort of exaggerated pout Rufus tended to use when he was feeling especially petulant. He had never seen Tseng like that - almost playful in his frustration.

“Don’t you ever get teased?” Rufus asked, toying with kissing Tseng while Tseng continued to stare at him with his brow furrowed.

“No.” He said firmly. “To be completely frank, I usually just pay an escort.”

This didn’t surprise Rufus at all. Tseng was a busy man, and sex was probably just an urge to be sated - nothing more. Rufus brushed his nose against Tseng’s and brought their lips together.

“Well I like a bit of teasing as foreplay,” he said.

He unzipped his pants and freed his erection. Tseng glanced down between them with a heavy-lidded gaze and then, to Rufus’ surprise, he brought their lips back together, opening his mouth against Rufus and gripping his hips. Rufus gripped both of their cocks and thrust into his own grip, holding their erections together and pumping slowly and purposefully, the heads of their cocks gliding against each other.

Tseng gasped against Rufus’ mouth and jerked his hips. His breaths came in short, staccato bursts.

“Haven’t you ever done this before, Tseng?” Rufus asked. Their noses brushed together. Tseng moaned and his eyelids fluttered and Rufus was certain he had never seen anything more beautiful or alluring than Tseng utterly undone like that.

“It’s…” Tseng gasped. He buried his face in the crook of Rufus’ shoulder and thrust into his hand.

“Are you close?” Rufus whispered.

He was. The tension was rapidly building inside of him, a static pinch at his groin as the pleasure crescendoed. Tseng gripped tightly at the fabric of Rufus’ shirt and moaned into his skin.

“Are you going to cum?” Rufus gasped. “I want to see your face when you do. Come on, Tseng. Cum with me.”

Tseng craned his neck back and his mouth fell open as his cock throbbed in Rufus’ hand, coating his hand and both of their cocks with his orgasm. Rufus pumped harder and faster until a white hot pleasure coursed through him and still his hand kept moving to the point of near pain until their cum was smeared together against his hand and across their cocks. Then he released his grip and leaned his head against Tseng’s shoulder, suddenly overwhelmingly fatigued.

Both of them lay there for several seconds, their breath shallow. When Rufus peeled away he realized Tseng had fallen asleep. He could scarcely blame him. He hadn’t slept properly in days. The orgasm had probably been just what he needed to finally succumb.

Rufus thought about waking him so he could move back to the apartment to sleep in his own bed, but thought better. With some difficulty he reached over Tseng to the table in front of the couch and gathered up a handful of tissue, cleaning himself off to the best of his ability. He tucked Tseng back inside his pants before zipping himself up. Tseng was either so bone tired he wasn’t disturbed by this, or comfortable enough in Rufus’ presence to finally relax, but either way he didn’t budge, and his breath came soft and slow as he slept.

Rufus knew he probably ought to leave in case someone walked in on them like this, but he didn’t want to, so instead he settled down against Tseng’s side and closed his eyes.

Tseng awoke to his phone buzzing on the table and Rufus Shinra curled against his side sleeping soundly. Was the line crossed with Rufus a monumental mistake? Of course it was, but after years of dancing around the tension he didn’t particularly care. One way or another Shinra’s future inevitably lay with Rufus. Tseng wasn’t concerned about repercussions, though he was concerned about the stability of the new dynamic and how that might impact his and the Turks standing with Shinra’s leaders in the longrun.

It was just like him to worry about so distant a problem after such a harmless sexual exchange.

Worried with waking Rufus, who looked as though he could use the sleep as much as Tseng had needed it, he reached carefully for his phone and picked up without speaking.

“Chief, it’s Cissnei.”

Tseng immediately sat up, jostling Rufus, who groaned and rubbed his face into the couch.

“Do you have news?”

“We spotted Fair and Strife south of Nibelheim entering the woods. We gave chase, but-“

“But?” Tseng’s heart dropped into his stomach.

“We lost them in the woods. We scoured the area, but they managed to escape.”

“What state were they in?” Tseng asked.

“Fair appeared to be in decent form considering,” Cissnei’s voice cracked and she cleared her throat. Tseng would not admit that he felt similarly affected. “Strife appeared comatose.”

Tseng settled back against the couch, at once relieved. If Zack had managed to outmaneuver his top operatives, he would not be found by other Shinra agents. No SOLDIER could outperform a Turk in a pursuit. They were at least alive and safe for now.

Should he tell Aerith? It had been months since he last saw her, barely managing a trip down to check on her twice a year these days. Why give her false hope if Zack might never make it back to her?

Rufus sat up draped himself against Tseng’s back wordlessly.

“Abandon pursuit,” Tseng said into the phone.

“Sir?”

“They’re alive and out of range of Hojo’s scientists. I’ll report to the president that they were lost in the field.”

Cissnei was quiet for a moment before responding resolutely, “Yes, sir.”

Tseng hung up the phone and leaned forward, burying his face in his hands for a moment until he felt the gentle pressure of Rufus’ fingers kneading into his tight shoulder muscles.

“Shiva’s tits, you’re tense, Tseng.”

“Rufus.”

“What? Is your friend all right?”

Tseng shrugged Rufus’ hands away and stood up. “He will be.”

Rufus seemed unperturbed, draping himself against the couch and watching as Tseng paced. “Good.”

“Where does this leave the Turks?” Tseng demanded suddenly. Rufus cocked his head and said nothing. “Sex with you is foolish and idiotic, but unavoidable.”

“Well if you think fucking me is some chore-“ Rufus began.

“Rufus, be serious.”

“About what, Tseng? We both want it. What else is there to discuss?” He scoffed, a bit of that haughtiness never quite gone despite how the years of confinment had humbled him. “You hardly strike me as the kind of man to sit and ponder the greater meaning of two men fucking each other.”

“Neither of us is so stupid, Rufus, don’t condescend to me by acting like you don’t understand the political implications.”

“Political implications? There were political implications for you no matter which way this went.” Rufus sat up. “I’ve been your ward for almost four years and one day I’ll be your boss. I don’t see any scenario in which the power dynamic between us isn’t muddled to hell. Factoring in sex hardly makes a difference.” He fixed Tseng with a hard stare and frowned. “There will always be a bit of you that doesn’t trust me, won’t there?”

Tseng bristled, but he couldn’t bring himself to deny the accusation. He had spent too much of his career distrustful of everyone’s intentions, but most especially Rufus’.

He expected Rufus to get angry, but Rufus only shrugged. “Well I can hardly blame you. I have the same goals and motivations I had before my father put me under house arrest, but you’ve taught me a thing or two about the value of loyalty gained over loyalty bought. Do you want some promise the Turks will have a place at the table when my time comes? That I won’t discard you once I’ve gotten what I want?”

“A promise is easily broken,” Tseng answered. “I’m not sure what I want. I just feel anxious about the future.”

Rufus stood up and closed the distance between them in a few long strides. “I’m happy to discard the other executives if they outlive their usefulness. Especially Heidegger. The Turks are more valuable to me as allies than enemies.”

Tseng sighed. A part of him would always be worried Rufus was pulling the wool over his eyes, playing another trick, even though he had proved his intentions once before.

Did it even matter now? Tseng couldn’t exactly envision a scenario in which he resisted the urges welling inside him, urges he had tamped down tirelessly for the last few years only for them to explode out of him the moment he kissed Rufus.

Rufus brushed his nose against Tseng’s. “Stop thinking so fucking much, Tseng.”

Tseng breathed against him. “I’m afraid I can’t.”

Rufus was about to kiss him when a loud chirp issued from his pocket. He sighed and stepped back, pulling his phone from within and examining it, his face slowly changing from irritation to concern.

“What is it now?” Tseng asked.

“I set up a system to monitor Shinra drone feeds for any sign of Veld.” He held his phone out to Tseng. “This is what it found.”

On the screen was a blurry image of what appeared to be Veld and Elfe moving through the sewers beneath the plate. The video was live.

Chapter Text

Reno paced back and forth in Tseng’s office, tapping his stun rod against his shoulder and chewing on a toothpick - a habit he’d picked up to appease his oral fixation when he couldn’t get a cigarette fix. Rude sat, stoic as ever, in front of Tseng’s desk. Next to him, Emma tapped her foot impatiently. Behind the desk, Tseng watched a security feed with a furrowed brow, the vice president hovering behind him watching the feed over his shoulder.

“He’s definitely in Midgar,” Tseng sighed. He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his forehead.

Rufus continued to watch the feed with an inscrutable expression.

“And why isn’t everyone else here exactly?” Emma asked. “This should be a team meeting.”

“Why, so my father can have you all killed for co-conspiracy?” Rufus snapped.

“Why are you even here, Mr. Vice President? I thought you weren’t privy to company secrets while you’re under house arrest?”

“Special treatment for fucking the chief,” Reno muttered.

“Reno,” Tseng said with such an air of authority that Reno immediately shrank down into a seat and fell still.

Emma snorted. “Is he serious? Are you serious, Tseng?”

“The vice president is here because he assisted me in finding Veld in the first place. And he’s right. The more Turks that know about this, the more of them whose lives are in danger. The president can and will try every single one of us if he finds out about this. Our colleagues deserve plausible deniability.”

“They deserve to make the decision themselves,” Emma protested. “I know you’re the chief, but Veld means a lot to all of us and Turks stick together no matter what. You don’t get to ice half of us out over some paternalistic bullshit.”

“Emma, I am still your superior,” Tseng growled.

“Tseng,” said Rufus, placing his hand on Tseng’s shoulder.

Reno and Emma exchanged a pointed look. For months, if not years, the tension between Rufus and Tseng had been driving Reno insane, but something had changed palpably. Maybe they finally fucked - it was still hard for Reno to believe Tseng ever would - but what really worried Reno was that Rufus had the otherwise unwavering chief wound tightly around his finger.

“What?” Tseng snapped, followed quickly by a much more subdued, “What…sir?”

“I have an idea that may benefit everyone.”

“I’d love to hear it,” Reno leaned forward. “But I think I’d especially like to know what you stand to gain from it.”

It was true, Reno had grown to tolerate, even sometimes like, Rufus over the last few years, but it didn’t mean he trusted him any farther than he could throw him. He and Rude were in agreement about that, but Tseng seemed to have let his guard down; it was unfathomable to Reno.

Rufus fixed him with a frown. “I’ll discuss my plan with the chief. No one else.”

“Oh so now it’s some big secret between you two that we’re not privy to, huh?”

“Reno, just-” Rude tried to intervene.

“No, no, it’s fine. Tseng’s only turning his back on the entire team because he’s crawled too far up the vice president’s ass to see straight.”

“RENO.” Tseng stood up abruptly. “Do I need to suspend you from your duties?”

“Leave it, Reno,” Emma interrupted before Reno could snap back with a line he knew would most certainly lead Tseng to follow through on his threat. “Let’s go.”

Reno gaped at her, but when she raised her eyebrows at him, he understood.

“Yeah, fine. Discuss your little plan. We’ll be waiting in the conference room. You coming, Rude?”

Rude grunted affirmatively and the three of them stepped out of the office to allow Tseng and Rufus whatever privacy they apparently needed.

“So?” Reno demanded as soon as the door was shut.

“You two stick with Tseng. I’m worried about the vice president’s influence on him. I never thought I’d see the day someone as ice cold as Tseng let anyone worm their way under his skin, let alone Rufus Shinra.”

“I don’t know if he’s up to something or if he’s genuinely-” Rude started.

“A Shinra? Genuine about anything?” Emma scoffed. “Just stick with him and make sure he doesn’t do something truly idiotic. I’m going to alert the others and tell them to fan out. Shinra isn’t getting their hands on Veld. I’ll die before I let it happen.”

“So?” Tseng asked once the doors were shut. “What exactly is your plan?”

“You have to shoot Veld.” Before Tseng could protest, Rufus held his hands up. “I’d love it if you killed him, but I know you want him alive. Look, it’s only a matter of time before my father figures out Veld is in the city. You aren’t the only ones scanning security feeds and we both know it. Heidegger and Scarlet will be on his tail any minute and they’ll make sure he’s dead. It’s not a matter of ‘if’ my father finds out you were hiding this from him, it’s a matter of ‘when’.”

Tseng knew he was right, but he had always known that it would likely come down to his life in order to save Veld’s.

“And how does shooting him resolve that problem?”

“We’re going to kill several birds with one stone. Follow me on this, Tseng. You take Reno and Rude and Emma and get to Veld before Scarlet or Heidegger can. They’ll still catch up to you, we both know it, but you’ll get there first. While you’re gone, I’ll escape and tell my father all about your plan.”

Tseng frowned at him. “So you’ll be free to sell out the Turks?”

“Don’t be stupid, it doesn’t suit you at all. No. I’ll convince my father to test your loyalty. He knows what a valuable asset the Turks are and none of your subordinates come close to your skill or knowledge. He needs you, but he needs a reason to trust you once he catches you with Veld. So when my father gives you the order, shoot Veld. Shoot to make it seem like he’s dead. I’ll get him out of the city and into hiding once you’ve done your part. You have my word.”

Tseng looked into Rufus’ eyes, into that penetrating stare of his, and sighed. “I’ll do my best.”

“Don’t tell the others what you’re planning. They might try to intervene.”

Was this the final wedge Rufus meant to drive between Tseng’s loyalty to the Turks and his loyalty to Shinra?

Tseng was at a crossroads. He either had to finally give in to trusting Rufus wholly and completely, or he had to turn his back on him entirely. There was no in between.

He would just have to trust Rufus.

Elena was winding down the end of a long and frankly grueling shift when the door to the bar flew open and in walked more black suits than she could shake a stick at, Emma leading the troupe.

“What the fuck are they doing here?” Elena groaned, glowering at them as they piled inside.

Her coworker shrugged. “Good business at least.”

“Whatever,” Elena pulled her apron off and threw it in a pile of soiled cloth. “I’m out of here. See you tomorrow.”

She attempted to slip out from behind the bar to the door without being noticed, but one of the other Turks pointed her out.

“Isn’t that your kid sister, Emma?”

Emma turned on her heel and Elena froze in front of the door. “Elena. Go home.”

“Excuse me?” Elena bristled. “Since when do I take orders from you?”

In fact, Elena had been planning on returning home, but now that her sister had demanded it of her, she stubbornly refused.

“I’m not ordering as your sister,” said Emma, taking a step closer to her. “I’m ordering you as a Turk.” She put a hand on her pistol as a showy display of power and Elena could only roll her eyes.

“Or what? You’ll shoot me? I’d like to see you explain that to dad.”

In fact, she knew their father would side with Emma as he always did. Emma could kill Elena in cold blood and their father would likely say ‘well, she’s a Turk, you ought to have listened to her.’

Emma scoffed and turned her back to Elena. “I don’t have time for this.”

“Exactly,” one of the Turks agreed. “You brought us here for a reason. Now what is it?”

Elena wasn’t remotely curious what the Turks had to say to each other. She hated them on principle and she sure as hell didn’t care what they were holding a ‘secret’ meeting about in a very public bar. It was probably just a public gripe session about their boss.

She slipped out of the bar and onto the streets, weaving her way down familiar alleys toward the home she shared with her father - and Emma, on the rare occasions she came home at all. About halfway through her trek home, she heard a commotion in the center square of sector four and stopped to listen, peering around the corner at what was happening.

“Get on the ground! Get on the ground!”

Several people in tan camoflauge bodysuits with what looked to be Shinra-issue weapons were firing into the crowd. A group of citizens failed to heed their warning and fell to a barrage of bullets, blood leaching into the dry earth beneath them. Elena pressed her back flat against the wall, her heart suddenly pounding in her ears.

“Leave them,” a commanding voice crackled over the soldiers’ radios. “We have a higher priority target.”

The group of armed soldiers looked up to the plate and the central pillar and marched on diligently.

Tseng, Reno, and Rude found themselves wading through the sewers beneath Midgar, the stench of so much enclosed filth threatening to make Tseng wretch, though he wouldn’t let it show.

“This the most direct route?” Reno frowned.

“The most direct route with the least security, yes,” Tseng sighed. “The fewer cameras that pick up our location, the better. We still stand a shot of getting to Veld before Heidegger and Scarlet have a chance. Besides, we saw Veld and Elfe traveling this way.”

“And then what, huh? You won’t tell us what the VP said. You’ve never left us in the dark like this.”

“It’s for the best,” Tseng replied.

In truth, his nerves were shot. He’d barely slept in the last two days after Zack’s escape and their subsequent failure to find him, and Rufus’ command was weighing heavily on his mind. Even after all they had been through in the last years of confined living, there was a part of Tseng that didn’t fully trust Rufus.

Shoot Veld? Was he insane? Was he really going to do it because the president ordered him to?

He still hadn’t fully decided.

He had to trust Rufus, didn’t he? Or would he betray the Turks as every Shinra before him had at one point or another?

“This reeks,” Reno griped. “How much further?”

“Reno,” Rude sighed.

“Just keep moving. We’re almost there.”

For the first time in four years, Rufus left the basement of Shinra tower completely free of any Turk guard or any disguise. With D at his heels, he strode past as though he had never been gone, pleased with the looks of shock and the whispers that rippled through the employees as he passed.

“I heard he was in rehab.”

“They said he was away on business.”

“He almost died is what I heard.”

He passed them by, stepped into the elevator and, to his great surprise, found his ID card still allowed him access all the way up to the President’s office. So that’s where he headed.

When the doors slid open on the top floor he found his father in his usual stance, staring out the window at his city, puffing on a cigar and frowning. Heidegger’s gruff voice sounded through the intercom on the desk.

“In the sewers. The Turks’ are on his tail.”

“And what do you suppose they’ll do with him?” The president asked. He had either not yet noticed Rufus, or was intentionally ignoring him.

“If they planned to bring him in, they would have told you.”

“Take care of it then.”

Rufus cleared his throat and crossed the room to stand directly behind his father, who glanced at him in the reflection of the window, but didn’t turn around to face him. There was only a faint look of surprise on his face.

“What are you doing out of your cage, Rufus?”

“The Turks have defected.”

“Heidegger already told me that.”

“And you think killing them is your best plan of action?” Rufus folded his arms and did his best to tamp down the petulance threatening to bubble forth to the surface. He needed to be calm and self-assured - his father would accept nothing less.

This, at least, was cause for his father to finally turn around and face him.

“You have a better idea?”

“I’ve spent the last four years with the Turks. I know them. And I can tell you they’re worth more to you alive than dead.”

His father raised an eyebrow. “I’m listening.”

“You simply need to test their allegiance. Scarlet and Heidegger will reach them before they can flee with Veld. So test them. Give them the order to shoot Veld. If they obey, then you know where their loyalty lies.”

“And what of the other defectors? It seems the entire department is missing in action.”

Rufus waved a dismissive hand. “You know who your most important players are. And you are president after all, sir.” It pained him to call his father ‘sir’, but he had a game to play. “You make the call, of course. But if you lose the most valuable Turks, you lose security. And after all the breaches Shinra has had, can you really afford to lose that?”

His logic was clearly working. His father tipped some ashes from his cigar into an ashtray at his desk and turned toward the intercom.

“Heidegger, did you get all that?”

An irritated huff followed. “Yes, sir.”

“When you corner them, let me know. I’ll give the order.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I suppose this means my house arrest is over?” Rufus asked, making himself comfortable now. He draped himself on the couch near the window.

“I suppose so,” his father answered gruffly.

He said nothing about the massive dog at Rufus’ side, instead looking Rufus up and down. “Go get yourself cleaned up. And cut that hair. We’ll need you to start making press appearances again before the entire world thinks I had you killed.”

Rufus smirked. “As you say, sir.”

Elena burst into the bar, her hair disheveled, to find dozens of eyes trained on her.

“Didn’t I tell you to go home?” Emma sighed.

“There’s men in sector four,” Elena huffed. “They’re moving on the central pillar. They were mowing people down in the streets.”

The Turks exchanged concerned looks and Emma rose to her feet. “What did they look like?”

Elena was not stupid. Right before she fled to avoid being shot or trampled beneath the marching militia, she’d snapped a grainy picture with her phone. She offered the image to Emma while several of her colleagues peered over her shoulder.

“Avalanche?”

Emma’s face went white. “Looks like Fuhito carried on without his leader.”

“Do you think that’s why the chief…why Veld…?” One of the Turks asked.

“He was coming to warn us,” Emma nodded. “Why else would he risk his life coming back here? And what is Tseng doing about it? Well if he won’t act, we have to. Right?”

There was a resounding chorus of agreement.

“And what about me?” Elena demanded.

Emma turned to her with a frown. “What about you? Get home and stay out of trouble. These guys are eco terrorists, Elena. They’re nothing to mess with.”

“I’m a better fighter than you and a better shot. Why shouldn’t I help?”

“Dad is never going to write you a recommendation to SOLDIER if he finds out you were out acting like a vigilante.”

Elena bristled. Emma was always finding ways to treat her like she was still a child. Why shouldn’t she help fight this threat? Midgar had been her home for her entire life and now it was under threat from a group who might topple the plates, or go directly for the Shinra building. She had a right to fight as a civilian whether her Turk sister told her otherwise.

“Forget it,” Elena snapped. She turned and ran back into the streets before Emma could say a word or go after her.

What was her plan of action? She needed to get up to Shinra tower and warn someone. Surely this Avalanche had been spotted on cameras by now, but if they were planning on planting explosives anywhere along the central pillar, there wouldn’t be time.

So she made for the central pillar with a half-formulated plan, her gun tucked at her side, ready to fight for her life and the lives of everyone else in the city.

The sewers opened up into more filth and stench: the Midgar landfill at the edge of the sector three slums. By this point, Tseng, Reno, and Rude had trekked several miles through the waters below, their trousers soiled up to their shins, and the hope of fresh air was quickly killed as they emerged.

But it was here they found Veld and Elfe almost immediately. They were huddled behind a towering pile of refuse, but Veld seemed both unsurprised and relieved to see the Turks appear before him.

“I was hoping you’d find us first.”

“Sir,” said Tseng instinctively. “What are you doing back here in Midgar? The president will-“

“Forget that.” Veld waved his hand. “The entire city is in danger. We felt it was well worth risking our lives to let you know. Avalanche is rushing the city as we speak and they plan to bomb the central pillar. They want to bring down the entire plate and destroy the city.”

“What?” Reno balked.

Tseng stared. “We’ve had no intel on Avalanche since you defected. We assumed they dissolved given Elfe’s-“

“Felicia,” Elfe corrected.

“Given that you left,” Tseng addressed her.

She shook her head. “Fuhito carried on in our stead. Shears has been keeping tabs on them. When we found out they were moving to collapse the pillar, we knew we had to reach you. The President should know-“

“What is it the president should know?”

Tseng’s heart dropped at the sound of Scarlet’s voice behind them, followed by the cocking of several guns. Slowly, they all turned to face her. She stood flanked by three security officers. A helicopter in the distance signaled the imminent arrival of more officers.

“Scarlet,” Tseng said softly. “The President is in danger.”

“In danger of being betrayed by his top men, you mean?” She laughed. “Never would have thought you capable of such a display of bravado, Tseng. I always mistook you as weak.”

“Many have made that mistake and regretted it,” said Tseng, bristling.

“Steady on, chief,” Rude whispered.

Tseng nodded. “Do what you will with us, Scarlet. The president needs to know Avalanche is back and planning an attack-“

Scarlet held a hand up to silence him and placed her other hand to her ear, a look of irritation playing plainly across her face. “Yes? What? We have the upper hand, they’re-“ An irritated huff left her lungs, “Fine.”

She turned her attention back to Tseng. “You let Heidegger’s men worry about the supposed threat. Right now you have two options. Either you show the president your loyalty or my officers show you their bullets.”

Tseng’s heartbeat pulsed loudly in his ears and he felt suddenly ill irrespective of the stench clogging his nostrils. Reno and Rude shifted nervously behind him, but Veld seemed resigned.

“And how would you have me prove my loyalty?” Tseng asked.

Scarlet pointed to Veld and Felicia as though she were bored by the entire affair. “Shoot them. The president’s orders. Prove your loyalty lies with Shinra and not this traitor.”

Tseng stared at her. For a moment, the world seemed to spin around him as he teetered on the precipice of his future. Shoot Veld and betray the only family he’d ever known? Or let Scarlet kill him and his men, in which case Veld would surely die anyway.

If he trusted Rufus in this, it would be his complete undoing.

Then again, perhaps he’d already been undone by Rufus for longer than he cared to admit.

He pulled his gun from its holster at his him and cocked it. Scarlet watched him, eagle-eyed and smirking.

“You’re not fucking serious, Tseng,” Reno protested. “Don’t do this. Turks are loyal to each other, to-“

Rude, perhaps sensing Tseng’s resolve, shook his head and held Reno back.

“Let him do what he feels he has to do, Reno.”

“Rude!”

“Restrain them,” Scarlet sighed.

Her men moved forward, tussling with Reno while Rude simply allowed them to cuff his hands. Tseng looked at Reno and Rude, trying with his limited capabilities to express the truth to them in just a glance. But how could he? He had never been one to wear his emotions on his sleeve and regardless, Reno was in such a state of agitation that all he would see was betrayal.

Veld stood in front of his daughter, head held high.

“Do your duty, Tseng. As I trained you.”

Tseng swallowed hard, his gun arm unsteady for the first time in nearly fifteen years. He lined up his shot. Shoot to injure, not to kill. Just above the heart, so close that anyone else would have risked certain death. But not Tseng. He would not let himself falter in this.

He squeezed the trigger and the shot rang out through the air, a soft groan issuing from Veld as he slumped to the ground. Felicia fell to her knees next to him, cradling him in her arms, a sob issuing from deep within her chest.

Tseng fired his second shot and she slumped down atop her father noiselessly.

Behind him, Scarlet laughed and began slowly clapping. “Who would have thought a hound could turn on its master so easily?” The helicopter in the distance had landed and more Shinra officers were filing toward them. She nodded to the bodies, blood leeching into the ground beneath them.

“Take those to headquarters. The president wants to ensure their deaths.”

“And the Turks?” one of the officers asked.

“Take them to cells at headquarters until the president is ready for them.” She squeezed Tseng’s shoulder, her claw-like nails digging into him as she leaned close to whisper, “Let’s hope your little display was enough for him or you’ll still die, but now you’ll die a traitor.”

Tseng stared at Veld and Felicia’s still forms devoid of any feeling, removed from his body. And when the officers came to cart him to the helicopter and return him to headquarters, he let them, unable to even look Reno and Rude in the eyes the entire flight back.

Not even the Gods would save him if Rufus didn’t keep his word.

“The Turks have completely fled the premises,” Heidegger announced, standing before the president with his arms behind his back and his chest puffed out.

He had always hated the Turks, so it came as no surprise to Rufus that he seemed to take such delight in their downfall.

“Shoot them on sight,” the President shrugged. “We don’t tolerate defectors.”

“Sir,” Rufus spoke up from his side. “Scarlet’s report-“

The President glanced sidelong at Rufus who, in the last hour, had trimmed back his unruly locks, grown long during house arrest, and fitted himself with one of his finest suits.

“Tseng and the others that were with Veld will be given a chance to defend themselves. The rest will be brought to heel. I won’t tolerate less.”

Rufus breathed a sigh of relief, but he knew it was far from over.

“I’ll give my men the order,” said Heidegger. “The bodies are being brought back to headquarters for inspection as we speak. Shall I sign off for you, sir?”

“Rufus can do it. It was his suggestion.” The president laughed and blew out a large cloud of smoke. “Unless the sight of a dead body is too grim for you, boy.”

Rufus maintained a neutral face even as his father played right into his hand. “I’d be happy to sign off on the bodies. Veld sent enough people to the incinerator, it’s only fitting that he end up there next.”

“Go,” the president waved his hand dismissively. “Meet Scarlet’s men on the helipad.”

Rufus didn’t wait to be told twice. He hurried from the room, out and up to where the helipad sat adjacent to the President’s office. After years stuck in the basement with only a view of the slums, the sight of Midgar…of his city in all its glory was enough to bring a tear to his eye. His plans may not have gone perfectly, but it was for the best that they hadn’t. Having the Turks in his pocket was never something he had planned for, but it would go farther than any other tool in securing his throne when all was said and done.

Tseng was willing to kill for him.

In turn, Rufus would be willing to spare a life for Tseng; a life utterly undeserving of being spared.

The expected chopper arrived a few minutes later, the noise it generated deafening Rufus as it landed. The side door slid open and the three rogue Turks were shoved out, stumbling forward, their arms bound behind them. Tseng locked eyes with Rufus and the worry on his face seemed to ebb, if only just. Behind him, however, Reno raged against his captors to no avail and Rude frowned - about as much emotion as Rufus had ever seen from him.

“I need these two,” Rufus said, gesturing to Reno and Rude. “They’re going to help me dispose of the bodies. Consider it a punishment for their defection.”

If Scarlet’s men were surprised to be greeted by the long-absent vice president, they didn’t let on, nor did they deny him his request. They simply tugged Tseng away toward the President’s office and the cell that awaited him two floors below.

Rufus took the key to Rude and Reno’s cuffs and stepped forward, grabbing Reno’s arms and holding them tightly as Reno writhed against his grip.

“If you want Veld to live, stiffen up and stop fighting me,” Rufus hissed in his ear.

“What?” Reno balked.

Rufus kicked the back of his leg. “Play along, Red.”

Reno put on a ridiculous pout, but fell still while Rufus uncuffed him, rubbing his wrists, which were raw from his exertion. Rude allowed Rufus to uncuff him as well, looking between Reno and Rufus with his head cocked, though he said nothing and was smart enough to follow Rufus’ lead.

Rufus stood by the helicopter door, peering in at the two limp bodies lying against each other, their clothes stained with blood where Tseng had shot them. He waited until the last of Scarlet’s men had filed into headquarters before turning to Reno and Rude.

“This is what’s going to happen. My father thinks I’m confirming their deaths and seeing them to the incinerator with you. Each of you take one of the bodies and carry it down to the underground garages. We’re going to load them into one of the military vehicles and get them out of Midgar. The rest is up to them.”

Rude stared at Rufus with his mouth agape. “What?”

“I promised Tseng I would make sure Veld got out safely. I intend to keep that promise, but it won’t happen if you don’t play along.”

“Holy shit,” Reno laughed. “Hol-ee shit.” His laughter grew louder until he nearly doubled over trying to contain it. “This whole goddamn time I thought you had the chief wrapped around your finger. Turns out it was the other way around.”

Rufus glowered at him. “Get moving before I change my mind, Reno.”

Reno was irritating, but he was also a Turk. It only took that final order to whip him into gear. He and Rude lifted Veld and Felicia from the chopper and together they made their way down to the garages for the final leg of Rufus’ plan.

What had begun as chaos was quickly unfolding into catastrophe.

On her path to headquarters, Elena had run into more of the Avalanche troops, more than she thought possible given their status as an ostensible defunct organization. She’d shot down a few herself, not willing to give them the benefit of the doubt if the central pillar was truly their target, but she couldn’t possibly manage them all on her own.

The Turks were out in force as well, as were Shinra’s officers and even a smattering of what must have been lower ranking SOLDIERs. But it wasn’t hard to tell something was amiss. As if a full scale terrorist invasion of Midgar wasn’t enough for Shinra, they seemed to be waging a civil war as well.

Elena came across a body on the ground in Sector 1 above the plate, the black suit he wore unmistakable even from afar. She didn’t know this particular Turk, though he looked familiar: undoubtedly he had visited the bar before.

As she drew closer, she realized she was still breathing and, against her better judgment, stopped to assist him with her cure materia, though she knew it wouldn’t go far with the extent of his injuries.

“What happened?” she asked, readying her materia.

“Emma…?” the Turk gargled, blood dribbling from his lips.

“Her sister,” Elena snapped.

“You have to warn Emma. Shinra are…firing on us. The President gave the order…defection…”

“What?” Elena bristled.

“They think the Turks are…aiding Avalanche…”

“But I came here to warn Shinra about Avalanche, I…you’re saying a Shinra officer did this to you?”

The Turk coughed and blood splattered across his hand. “I’m already dead. Your materia isn’t going to do…do shit for me. Go warn your sister…before she gets a bullet in the brain…”

Elena’s head spun. She rose to her feet and looked around at the chaos unfolding everywhere. People fled screaming amidst gunfire and the sound of news monitors around the district telling citizens to stay inside their homes. Where would Emma be by now? Elena may have hated her sister, but she didn’t want her to die.

Would she even listen to her if she found her? Or would she do what she always did and trample all over Elena before she could explain herself?

“Where would Emma be?” She asked the dying Turk.

But he was already gone.

Lost for direction, she decided to put her city first. Emma wasn’t stupid and Elena doubted the Turk in front of her was the first to have exchanged fire with Shinra’s officers. She might already know they were being hunted alongside Avalanche.

What Elena needed to do was make sure whatever charges Avalanche was attempting to lay at the central pillar remained undetonated.

So she ran for the walls in the plating between sectors where she knew access points to the pillars lay, praying she wasn’t too late.

The road out of Midgar was not well maintained. Rufus sat in the covered rear bed of a Shinra-issue military vehicle working restorative materia on the wounds in Veld and Elfe’s chests, jostling to and fro as the vehicle hit bumps along the road. A partition hid him from Reno and Rude where they sat up front, silent and trusting for the time being, though Reno would occasionally inquire as to the status of his former leader.

The wounds on both bodies began to close up and then Veld’s eyes fluttered.

Rufus took his shotgun from where he held it across his lap and pressed the muzzle into Veld’s neck just as his eyes opened.

The fear in Veld’s eyes would be a sight Rufus wouldn’t soon forget.

“Quiet now,” said Rufus before Veld could speak a word. “I get to say my piece first. Don’t worry, I won’t kill you. I promised Tseng that much. But I didn’t promise him anything more than that.”

“Rufus,” Veld croaked.

Rufus smacked the side of his head with the muzzle of his gun. “Having a hard time following orders, are we?” He relished, perhaps too much, the trickle of blood that subsequently stemmed from Veld’s head. “What I want from you, Veld, is a verbal admission.”

Veld smartly said nothing, staring at Rufus with his eyes wide and his breath ragged.

“Do you remember the day of my mother’s funeral?” Rufus asked. “You stood behind me while I sobbed and when my father turned away from me you had the nerve to squeeze my shoulder in comfort. As if you knew what pain I felt. You let me live my life thinking my mother had left me behind. That she had chosen to leave without me.” He pressed his gun harder against Veld’s throat. “Tell me what really happened, Veld. I already know, but I’d like to hear it from your mouth.”

Veld swallowed hard against the muzzle of the shotgun. “I killed her,” he said.

Rufus leaned forward, cupping a hand to his ear. “I didn’t catch that.”

“I killed her!” Veld yelled. “I threw her from the side of Shinra Tower and made it look like a suicide. And I live with the pain of that choice every single day of my-“

Rufus shoved the muzzle of the gun into Veld’s mouth. “I don’t give a shit about your pain.”

Elfe stirred beside Veld, but didn’t rouse.

Setting his gun aside, Rufus moved on Veld, pressing his knee into Veld’s chest, grabbing his hair and yanking his head. Rufus pressed his face as close to Veld’s as he could without touching, baring his teeth.

“Let me make myself perfectly clear. You get to live because Tseng wills it and I trust him with my life. I wouldn’t betray that trust even for the pleasure of watching you die a slow and painful death for what you did to my mother. So you get to live. But if I ever see your face in Midgar again I won’t be so forgiving. Even for Tseng’s sake. Do we have an understanding?”

To see the hardened Turk who had wielded such incredible power during his tenure at Shinra cower beneath Rufus’ gaze was almost as satisfying as killing him. Veld nodded.

“I understand.”

“Good.”

Rufus released him and rose to his feet. “We’re dumping you in the eastern plains. What you do after that is up to you. You’re a Turk, so you must be resourceful. I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”

He picked up his shotgun and moved past the partition to the front of the vehicle without another word.

Reno and Rude, who must have heard the entire conversation, said nothing as Rufus joined them.

“Your former chief is alive,” he said. “My end of the bargain is done.”

Reno and Rude exchanged a look. Rude kept driving east into the darkening sky.

Elena’s fears were confirmed when she reached the central pillar access platform to find a slew of Avalanche soldiers engaged in a gunfight with Turks on one side and Shinra officers on the other, though the Shinra officers were firing as readily into the Turks as the terrorists.

She fired off a few cover shots as she made for the north side of the platform where a group of black suits were using a control panel for cover, narrowly dodging a shot from an Avalanche trooper before she flung herself alongside the Turks.

She found Emma amongst her comrades, gun close to her chest, occasionally peeking over the cover to fire off a shot. When Emma noticed her, for the first time in Elena’s memory, she didn’t scold her.

“No talking you out of anything, is there?” She growled. “You could have been killed, but whatever. If you want to help then I’ll take whatever help I can get.”

It was as close to kindness as either sister could muster toward the other, so Elena accepted it.

“I ran into a Turk on the plate in Sector 1,” she told Emma. “But I guess you already know Shinra’s got it out for you. Why do they think you defected?”

“Because Tseng sold us out,” Emma hissed, darting up to land a shot in an Avalanche troop’s shoulder before ducking back below cover.

“I still don’t believe that,” said a Turk beside her: a redheaded girl who looked too young to be wielding a gun. Then again, how young had Elena been when she took up training?

“Believe what you want,” said Emma. “But Tseng’s let the vice president get to his head and this is the end result. You get that we can’t go back, right Cissnei? They’ll be waiting for us with a firing squad. We help quash this rebellion so this pillar doesn’t come down and then we hightail it out of here and hope maybe Veld managed to get out before Tseng…” she shook her head. “I’ll die a Turk before I let Shinra use me to kill our former family.”

“I understand we can’t go back,” Cissnei said. “I still don’t think Tseng had anything to do with it.”

“Who cares?” Elena yelled. “I don’t know what the hell happened with you all, but can you worry about it after we take care of these terrorists.”

“I hate to say it, but my sister’s right.” Emma fired another shot. “We need to get closer. Fuhito is with them. He’s the one who laid all this groundwork. He’s willing to die for his cause because his cause is fucking insane. Did you hear the chatter on the radio? He wants everyone to die because he thinks people are the problem.”

“What?” Elena balked.

“This is just the start. He’d obliterate the whole planet if he could, wipe every human off its surface until only the plants and animals remained. He’s ‘cleansing’ the planet of its impurities. We should have kept better tabs on this.” She shook her head. “We thought Elfe was the ringleader and that things would dissolve with her gone. We got sloppy. And now look where it got us.”

“Which one is Fuhito?” Elena asked.

Emma peered over the edge of cover. “The scrawny one with the glasses and the greasy hair. He’s laying charges down as we speak. If we wait behind cover too long, this whole city is going down.”

“I can get over there,” Elena said.

“No,” Emma snapped.

“I’m not asking for your permission. I’m fast and I’m a great shot. I can get close. If I can lob the charges over the edge of the platform, they won’t detonate, right? They need fire materia?”

“Theoretically.” Emma chewed her lip.

“Then I’m going in.”

“Elena, don’t be stupid.”

“I never have been,” Elena bit back. She looked her sister in the eyes, really met her gaze for the first time in ages, “Don’t die up here, Emma. And if you really do have to flee…I’ll let dad know you went out fighting for Midgar.”

“Don’t do me any favors,” Emma bristled, but then she sighed and clasped Elena’s shoulder. “Sis…”

Elena’s eyes darted from her sister to Fuhito where he worked rapidly at laying his charges amidst the gunfire. “We don’t have all day, Emma.”

Emma shook her head. Whatever she was going to say died in her throat and instead she said, “When you shoot that bastard, make it hurt.”

Elena didn’t waste another second. She jumped out of cover, firing off a shot at the Shinra officers to force them behind cover before turning her gunfire on the Avalanche troops. She only needed to get within short range of them and then they didn’t stand a change.

Two of her bullets found their marks in the foreheads of Avalanche troops, one of whom slumped over the side of the platform railing to plummet far below to the ground. When she reached her quarry, she fired off two more shots before launching herself feet first at Fuhito, her foot making contact with his jaw and sending both of them sprawling toward the edge of the platform.

Elena caught herself at the last minute, scrambling to her feet and narrowly avoiding Fuhito’s grasp as he too righted himself. The interruption had allowed both the Turks and the Shinra officers to charge on the Avalanche troops, leaving Elena and Fuhito in a standoff, the explosives between them.

“This is no place for little slum rats to make heroes of themselves,” Fuhito said, wiping blood from his mouth, the bruise from Elena’s kick already welling on the surface of his skin.

“I’m not letting you destroy this city,” Elena hissed. Her hair was disheveled, sweat beading on her face. “This is my home. I’m sick of people trampling on it.”

Fuhito took a step toward the explosives and Elena launched herself at him. He ducked to the side at the last second and she found herself flying through the empty air. Her body slammed into the railing with a sickening crunch and she slid perilously close to the edge, falling in a heap and clutching her middle. Her vision went black at the edges from the searing pain coursing through what could only be her now fractured ribs. She struggled to move herself away from the edge of the platform, reaching toward the explosive charges to try and grab one only for Fuhito’s boot to stomp down on her hand, crushing her fingers.

She let out a howl of pain and he ground his boot harder down on her hand, smirking at her as she struggled.

“Little girl wants to pretend she’s Midgar’s savior,” he chuckled. “For what? What has this city ever done for you, slumdweller? Or are you too naive to even spit on the boot as it crushes your throat? This city…these people…their leeches on this planet.”

Elena coughed and her ribs ached. “I’m the one pretending to be a savior? You’re standing there like the gods themselves appointed you protector of the planet.” She bit down on a scream as Fuhito stamped his boot against her hand again. “Fuck you, you piece of shit,” she spat.

He lifted his foot and slammed into into her side, finishing what the collision with the railing started. She saw stars, slid closer to the edge of the platform, grasping out with one good hand toward anything that would keep her from tumbling over the edge to her death.

“LEAVE MY SISTER ALONE, YOU BASTARD!”

Elena’s vision cleared in time to see Emma charging at Fuhito, who barely turned around in time to see her coming. She slammed into him, grasping him tight in her arms, tucking and rolling until both of them collided with the railing and flipped over it.

Elena let out a weak shout, reaching out a hand, but it was too late.

Emma and Fuhito went spinning over the edge of the platform, linked together in a death spiral, accelerating toward the ground and out of sight.

Elena was in a state of too much shock and pain to move. For a moment she lay there, face pressed against the grating of the platform, blinking back tears as the reality of the situation hit her. Emma, the sister with whom she had always only had a contentious relationship at best, had sacrificed herself to save Elena.

To save the Turks.

To save Midgar.

She would not die in vain.

Forcing herself to her feet, clutching her crushed hand against her side, Elena moved to the explosive charges laid out by Fuhito and began tossing them over the side of the platform one by one. Around her lay the bodies of Avalanche troops, Turks, and Shinra officers.

Perhaps realizing their leader was gone, the Avalanche troops who still stood began a retreat down the spiraling staircase around the pillar, chased by the Turks who didn’t want to see them escape, but knew they couldn’t linger around the Shinra officers.

One of the officers approached Elena with his gun raised and she lifted her gun to meet his, blood trickling from her lips, her entire body coursing with pain.

“Steady, girl,” said the officer. “I’m not going to hurt you. You threw the explosives out of range?”

Elena wiped some of the blood from her mouth on her sleeve, nodding to the edge of the platform. “They’ll be on the ground in pieces now.”

“Good. Good. You did good, kid. Let me get you some help. Denton, head down the pillar and make sure the explosives aren’t still intact.”

“What about the Turks?” One of the other officers asked.

“Who gives a shit about the Turks? We kept the city from getting blown up. The President can bite my ass if he expects more.”

This earned him a nervous chuckle and was sufficient for Elena to relax. She fell to her knees, gazing down over the platform to the ground below, so far away that people were only pinpricks against the dirt. Somewhere down there Emma’s body lay tangled with Fuhito’s.

“Take care, sis,” Elena breathed.

Then she slumped against the grating and fell unconscious.

Chapter Text

It was too easy to lose track of time languishing in a cell with no view of the sky outside, only the buzz of the fluorescent light overhead to provide distraction from the thoughts whirring about in Tseng’s mind. He had been brought to the cells on the 68th floor alone, thrust into them with his arms still bound, with only the look he exchanged with Rufus on the helipad to quell his nerves.

Rufus would not betray him. Tseng, who never trusted his heart in any matter, trusted it now.

Whatever they were to each other - a thought Tseng preferred not to dwell on - there was a trust that had been forged during Rufus’ captivity and Tseng could not allow himself to backslide in believing in it.

So he sat on the cot in the cell and waited and wondered how much time had passed. Hours, at least. He had no clue if the President was even dealing with the impending Avalanche invasion: the very reason Veld had risked his life to return to Midgar in the first place. No clue if Veld had survived the shot to the chest Tseng delivered.

No clue what his own fate would be.

With nothing to do but wait, the sleep he sought for the last few days finally overtook him, his eyes falling shut as his head slumped against the wall.

He was jarred awake some time later by the forceful grip of a Shinra security officer yanking him from the cot and shoving him toward the cell door.

“Judgment time, Turk. The President wants to see you.”

Tseng let the officer drag him along the corridor to the elevator, up to the President’s office on the 70th floor where the President waited behind his desk puffing on a cigar. Heidegger stood to his right, Scarlet to his left, both of them smiling viciously as Tseng was forced to his knees in front of the President’s desk.

“Tseng,” said the president, perhaps the first time he had remembered Tseng’s name. “You’ve looked better.”

“Sir.”

The President’s lips curled into a grin around his cigar. “Obedient as ever, aren’t you? Veld may not have done much right, but he chose you, didn’t he? Turned you into the robot I have before me. How does it feel to have killed your mentor in cold blood?”

Tseng stared at the floor and bit back the rage burning in his throat, calming himself before he spoke. “I am loyal to Shinra above all else, sir. He met the end he deserved.”

“Such a loyal lapdog,” Heidegger chuckled. “Useful to keep around. Doesn’t even bite the hand that strikes him.”

The President puffed on his cigar and stared at Tseng thoughtfully. “It was the vice president who vouched for you, you know. You should be kissing the ground he walks on for saving your worthless life.”

Tseng said nothing, continuing to hang his head and stare at the floor.

“Would we say worthless?”

Rufus’ voice sounded from the doorway and Tseng glanced backwards, though he would not allow himself to show even the faintest glimmer of hope at Rufus’ arrival. His boots sounded against the hard floor as he strode across the room, two sets of feet following him.

He came to a halt in front of Tseng, standing between him and his father.

“Worthless outside of this building,” said the President in response. “Worthless to everyone and everything but his master.”

Rufus looked down at Tseng, a flash of his icy blue eyes confirming everything for Tseng, who tried not to sag at the relief of it. He gripped Tseng’s chin in his hand and forced him to look up.

“Does it pain you, Tseng, to know the same man you lorded over as a captor is responsible for saving your life?”

Tseng stared up at him. “No,” he said. “I’m doing my duty as a Turk. And I thank you, sir, for your generosity in sparing my life.”

Rufus smirked and released him, turning back to his father. “What of the other Turks?”

“The three before you are what’s left. The only ones with no spine it seems. The rest fled in the chaos,” Heidegger reported.

“Never mind that,” the president said, tipping some ashes from his cigar into the ashtray on his desk. “The whole thing has been quashed and Midgar can breathe easy for another day. So now we know which Turks are truly loyal. You’ve made your point, Rufus, and earned your stay. Consider your house arrest officially over.”

Rufus bowed lightly. “Thank you, sir.”

A pair of warm hands gripped Tseng’s arms to unchain his handcuffs. “Sorry we doubted you, chief,” Reno whispered in his ear.

Tseng rubbed his raw wrists and rose to his feet.

“Unless you have further words for me,” he said to the president, “I would return to my work. I have a mess to clean up and numbers to replenish.”

“Yes, fine,” said the president, already bored with the conversation. “And let this be a lesson you don’t soon forget, Turks. Never bite the hand that feeds.”

“Of course, sir.”

Tseng turned his back to the President to find Reno and Rude behind him. Rufus swept ahead of them out the door and they followed obediently, the four of them standing in silence in the elevator, taking it all the way down to the lobby and following Rufus out into the balmy night air.

Evidence of whatever had occurred with Avalanche was gone, but Tseng was relieved to know it had been dealt with, even as he cursed himself for not bringing the other Turks into the fold. What could he have done? Would they have listened to him or trusted in Rufus’ plan for a second anyway? He only hoped they made it out of the city: he had no appetite for hunting them down.

“Fuck me,” Reno huffed once they were sufficiently far from Shinra Tower. “Today lasted a lifetime.”

“What are we going to do without the rest of our crew?” Rude asked.

Tseng rubbed his brow. “It will take time to sort everything out. For now, be thankful we’re still alive.” He looked between Reno and Rude. At least they hadn’t been separated. He could only imagine how difficult that would have been, not only on them, but on him as a casualty.

“Reno,” he said. “You’re second in command now that Emma’s gone.”

“Me?” Reno balked. Rude looked temporarily surprised as well.

“Should I change my mind?” Tseng asked.

“No, no.” Reno held his hands up. “I’ll take it. You hear that Rude? I’m in charge of you now.”

Rude chuckled. “Sure, Reno.”

“Go home and get some rest. That’s an order,” Tseng told them.

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” Reno hurried off in the direction of the company apartments in Sector 2 and Rude was quick to follow.

Once they were out of earshot, Tseng turned to Rufus, who thus far had stood watching the conversation unfold with muted interest.

“Rufus.” He didn’t know what to say. How could he thank him for what he’d done? The risks he’d taken?

“Veld is alive. And as safe as he can be. I kept my promise,” Rufus said.

Tseng was not easily brought to tears, but he felt that prick of emotion in his chest, the threat of tears that never came. “I can never repay you for what you’ve done.”

“Tseng,” Rufus sighed, squeezing his arm. “Our relationship is well past being transactional. Go home and get some rest. We’ll talk about this…about everything later. We have time. I’m going to my apartment…the old one. I haven’t been home in a long time.”

Tseng couldn’t deny his need to sleep and his desire to get out of his two-day old clothes and shower. He held Rufus’ gaze for a moment longer before he nodded and made his way back into headquarters to clean up and change in the apartment on B3 that had been his home for the last four years.

Mao-mao greeted him at the door when he arrived, purring and rubbing against his legs. She had grown equally attached to Rufus, perhaps she would miss his constant presence in the place. All the socialization had drawn her out of her shell in the last few years.

“Just us again, Mao mao,” he said, scratching her ears before making his way to the bathroom.

Once the water was hot enough, he stripped down and stood beneath it, letting it scald his skin red. Every time he closed his eyes he saw Veld’s face as he shot him, the resignation in his eyes.

But he hadn’t died: Rufus had seen to that. Tseng needn’t tear himself apart over it. Considering all that had been done and undone in the last two days, it was as good as an outcome as he could hope for. He still had Reno and Rude, in whom he knew he could place his trust. And now Rufus was in their corner as well.

Once he had showered, he lay down on the couch for a moment, Mao mao curling up on his chest. He only meant to rest his eyes, but sleep took him faster than it had in years and he finally, mercifully had a dreamless and peaceful slumber.

Tseng awoke to a loud clap of thunder that sent Mao mao scrambling off his chest to hide beneath the couch. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been asleep, but it was still night outside, a storm beginning to rage, rain pelting against the window.

He stood and stretched, pacing the empty apartment at an utter loss.

How had he not said more to Rufus? What did he even mean to say in the first place?

He thought back to the moment shared between them in his office, the look on Rufus’ face as he came. It stirred something in him.

What use was there in holding back anymore? Lines once crossed could not be uncrossed and he was not the same boy Veld had plucked from the slums fifteen years prior.

Without really thinking about what he was doing, Tseng fled the apartment, fled headquarters entirely, walking through the torrential downpour without an umbrella, his feet moving of their own accord until he found himself in the lobby of Rufus’ apartment building in Sector 1.

Security asked no questions of him. They knew him for what he was.

He brushed past them to the elevator, up to the top floor until he was face to face with Rufus’ door. Drenched to the bone, he raised his hand and knocked once, twice…the door swung open before he could knock a third time to reveal Rufus standing in the foyer of his apartment in his underwear.

“Tseng,” he breathed.

“Rufus, I…” Now that he was there, Tseng wasn’t entirely sure what to say. Rufus unnerved him in a way few men ever had. A Shinra trait, he supposed.

“You’re soaking wet,” Rufus noted, taking his arm and pulling him into the apartment before shutting the door behind him.

“I should have said more to you. I know how you feel about Veld. That you saved him anyway is…”

“It’s done,” said Rufus, cupping Tseng’s cheek. “Don’t dwell on it.”

“You and I,” Tseng sighed and closed his eyes, leaning into Rufus’ touch. “Have such a complicated history.”

Rufus’ thumb brushed lightly against Tseng’s cheek as he held him. “I don’t want to talk, Tseng.” He said, bringing his nose against Tseng’s, ghosting his lips over Tseng’s as he spoke. “Not until we finish what we started.”

Tseng breathed in the sigh that left Rufus’ lips, opening his eyes to find Rufus’ hungry gaze upon him.

“Yes.” Was all Tseng could say.

Rufus released him and turned away, crossing the room and stopping to lean against the doorway to his bedroom.

“Take off those wet clothes and get in here.”

Tseng’s heart pounded against his ribcage. His fingers moved quickly, almost clumsily, down the buttons of his soaking shirt, shedding it from his shoulders, stepping out of his trousers and leaving the clothes behind on the floor as he followed Rufus into his bedroom.

He stopped in the doorway at the sight of Rufus lying naked on the bed, his hand around his cock as he stroked himself hard. Tseng had never seen his entire body on display like that…and for him. The implication alone was enough to redirect his blood flow.

“Tseng,” Rufus purred. “I want you to fuck me so hard I can’t walk straight. Fuck me like you mean it.”

Tseng moved to the edge of the bed as if drawn by an invisible cord Rufus wielded. He climbed next to Rufus, gripping his hips to pull him closer, his erection pressing against Tseng’s chest as they brought their lips together.

Rufus kissed him like a man starved. And in a way, Tseng supposed he was. Barely had their lips touched before Rufus’ tongue moved to meet Tseng’s, their noses brushing, Tseng’s fingers digging into Rufus’ bare skin as he willed their bodies closer, closer, as close as they could be.

Rufus slid a hand along Tseng’s side, running it beneath the hem of Tseng’s underwear to shove the fabric over the curve of his ass and down his legs. Tseng was half hard already, grinding against Rufus, kicking his legs to rid himself of the final scrap of fabric that separated them.

He pressed Rufus into the mattress and kissed a path down his neck to his collarbone. Rufus’ hands moved along Tseng’s back and shoulders as he craned his neck to expose it to Tseng.

“Yes,” he breathed.

Tseng moved his kisses further down Rufus’ chest, lavishing a nipple with his tongue before nipping at it lightly, delighting in the growl it drew from Rufus’ throat. He was delirious with arousal, desperate to touch every inch of Rufus he could. He could not recall ever feeling so heady and lost in the moment with someone in his life.

Further down Rufus’ body he moved, kissing a path, letting his tongue dart out to taste Rufus as he did. Rufus groaned and arched against him, clutched at his damp hair as he moved between his legs and gripped the base of his cock.

It would only be fitting that Rufus Shinra, perhaps the most beautiful man Tseng had ever laid eyes on, would have a cock as beautiful as the rest of him. He pressed his lips delicately against the head of Rufus’ cock, watched as it twitched and Rufus moaned.

Tseng very rarely felt the desire or need to give in such a fashion, especially considering most of his conquests were bought and paid for, but there was a burning desire deep inside of him to give Rufus this pleasure. So with little fanfare, he opened his mouth and took Rufus’ cock inside it, as deep as he could manage without gagging. With each bob of his head, he curled his tongue against the head of Rufus’ cock and drew another soft moan from his throat.

“Tseng,” Rufus gasped, clutching at Tseng’s damp hair. It was the sweetest sound Tseng had ever heard.

But he would not see the night finish so quickly now that they had come this far. He released Rufus with a slick pop of his lips and looked down at him, taking in every inch of his perfect body before kissing his way back up to Rufus’ lips, their tongues tangling once more.

“Lube,” he breathed against Rufus’ face.

Rufus, seemingly unwilling to let go of Tseng, as though he might run at any moment, clutched at Tseng with one arm while he reached into his nightstand drawer with the other, gripping a small bottle and placing it in Tseng’s hand.

Tseng slicked his fingers with the lube and held Rufus against him, reaching around to slide a single digit inside of Rufus’ ass. Rufus groaned and buried his head against Tseng’s shoulder, sucking and biting at the skin while Tseng worked his finger in and out of him.

After a moment, he slid another finger to joint he first, curling inside of Rufus against his prostate and drawing the most delicious sound from the depths of his lungs.

“Enough,” Rufus gasped. “I need you.” He planted sloppy kisses along Tseng’s neck. “I need your cock.”

He released Tseng and rolled away from him, kneeling before him on the bed, the silhouette of his ass illuminated against the dim light from the city outside. Tseng sat up and moved behind Rufus. His cock throbbed almost painfully between his legs as he stroked it to slick it with lube before guiding himself inside of Rufus slowly.

Rufus, ever impatient, jerked his hips to slide back fully onto Tseng’s cock, slamming his ass against Tseng’s pelvis as he did so. A groan of pure pleasure left Rufus’ lips and he buried his face against one of his pillows as he rocked his hips.

Tseng let him lead for a moment, holding Rufus’ hips, relishing the tight heat the gripped at his cock. He had wanted this for far longer than he cared to admit to himself and now that it was happening, it felt surreal.

This man, this beautiful, wicked creature who had once been his worst enemy was now the one person he trusted more than any other. How had they come to this?

He didn’t care. They were here now. Just the two of them.

He dug his fingers into Rufus’ waist and took control, slamming into him with mounting speed, knocking the air from Rufus’ lungs with each thrust, chasing both his own pleasure as well as Rufus’.

The noises issuing from Rufus were nothing short of unsavory. He balled his fists around the bedsheets and moaned into his pillow, reaching between his legs to stroke himself only for Tseng to bat his hand away. Tseng took Rufus’ cock in his hand and stroked him in time with his thrusts, stilling at the head of his cock, trailing his thumb over the bead of precum along the slit.

“Tseng…” Rufus cried out, “Fuck…gods…fuck…yes…you feel so good…harder…uhn…”

The sound of it undid Tseng. His muscles tensed at the oncoming orgasm, his nails digging into Rufus’ flesh as he tightened his grip, his pace growing unsteady. It hit him in a wave, his cock throbbing inside of Rufus as a white hot pleasure exploded behind his eyes, overwhelming his senses.

Almost in unison, Rufus let out a series of staccato moans, spilling himself against Tseng’s hand as it stroked him, coating Tseng’s fingers in his seed.

Rufus fell against the bed, boneless and Tseng fell against him, sliding out of him and leaving a mess in his wake.

For a moment the two of them lay tangled together, sweat-soaked and delirious, both of them gasping for breath.

“Fuuuuck,” Rufus groaned. “I needed that.”

Tseng breathed heavy against his back, unwilling to peel himself away from Rufus’ warmth just yet. He had needed it too, had not found true release like that in ages. It had been too long since he left sex fully satisfied.

Rufus eventually moved out from under Tseng, walking across the room with a glow about him just to return with a towel to help rid them of their mess. Tseng rolled onto his back and stared at Rufus while he gently cleaned his seed from Tseng’s hands.

“I can’t stay,” he said.

“Can’t or won’t?” Asked Rufus, seemingly unbothered either way.

Both. Tseng had shared his body with plenty of men, but he had never shared his bed with one. That act felt far more intimate than anything else he and Rufus had done together.

“It won’t kill you to stay,” Rufus protested. “It’s still storming out. Your clothes need to dry.”

Tseng found it difficult to mount an argument now that his fatigue was hitting him. He still hadn’t managed a full night’s sleep and the post-coital euphoria was doing a good job of making his eyes heavy.

“I have so much work to do,” he mumbled.

“It will be there in the morning,” Rufus whispered against his ear.

“Hm…” Tseng’s eyes fluttered shut. “What a terrible influence you are, Mr. Vice President.”

He felt Rufus curl against him, but couldn’t even open his mouth to protest at the raw intimacy of that feeling. He was so tired. And Rufus’ bed was so very comfortable.

The last thing he was aware of was Rufus’ fingers threading through his hair as he drifted once more into a peaceful slumber, satisfied at last, not even cognizant of the buzzing of his phone still wedged in the back pocket of his trousers where they lay on the floor in Rufus’ living room.

Work would wait. For once.

Chapter Text

For the first time in longer than Tseng cared to admit, he slept soundly. No interruptions from his subordinates, no calls from Heidegger. He slept a dreamless, relaxing sleep.

But calm could not last, not for a Turk, not least of all because as soon as Tseng awoke to Rufus’ body curled against his, his heart hammered against his chest in panic. There was sex and then there was this: a raw intimacy the likes of which he had never experienced. And perhaps the worst part of it was that, with the rain pelting against the windows and Rufus’ soft breaths against his neck, he didn’t want to leave.

Rufus had successfully done what no other man could do: he had disarmed Tseng.

Tseng might have spiraled over the meaning of it all, and what logically happened next, but if the last few weeks had taught him anything, it was that he could allow himself to live in the moment for half a second, if only that. So he gave himself a moment, observing the way Rufus’ eyelashes brushed against his cheek, the gentle rise and fall of his chest, his fingers brushing lightly against Tseng’s chest. Even in sleep he was the most gorgeous creature Tseng had ever laid eyes on.

His senses returned to him, little by little. What hour was it? It was difficult to tell from the grey sky outside. Where was his phone? Gods, how many calls had he missed while he and Rufus finally snapped the tension between them?

Careful not to wake Rufus, Tseng slid out from underneath him and padded out into the living room. His clothes lay in a heap on the floor where he left them, still damp as he bent down to pick them up. He retrieved his phone from the pocket of his trousers and bit back an annoyed groan.

Fifteen missed calls. Most from Heidegger.

He dialed Heidegger immediately.

“You almost get fired and have the nerve to ignore me all morning?” Heidegger barked down the line before Tseng could speak. 

“I apologize, sir,” Tseng responded. He would not provide further excuses because Heidegger wouldn’t hear them anyway. “What can my team do for you?”

“You can clean up a mess. My men are already handling the issue.”

Tseng held back a sigh. The one time he eschewed his responsibilities and this is what it earned him. “What issue, sir?”

“Those lab rats of Hojos finally resurfaced. As if this company doesn’t have enough shit to deal with. What are we paying you for if you don’t even have eyes on this shit?”

Laboratory breaches happened more often than Tseng cared for, though more often than not he suspected Hojo was responsible for the breach, to see what might happen when his experiments were let loose on the general populace. As if it were a reminder of this, a cold snout pressed against Tseng’s hand as D stepped out of the bedroom. She licked his hand and he frowned at her.

“What sort of cleanup am I looking at?” Tseng asked.

“I’ve sent a small squadron of my men to the eastern wastes to head them off,” said Heidegger. “Fair and the other one. The grunt. Maybe they’ll give us some information about those bastard defectors.

Maybe not. Doesn’t matter. I’ve given the kill order. I just need you to pick up the pieces that are left behind.”

Tseng’s blood ran cold. 

Publically, he had assigned Cissnei to track down Zack and the infantryman, Cloud, after they first escaped Nibelheim. Cissnei was negligent in her duties, but Tseng took her lies as fact because he had no interest in hunting Zack down. Zack was chipper, young, naive, but he would know well enough to steer clear of Shinra after escaping. Let him live.
Why was he in the eastern wastes? Why was he apparently returning to Midgar?

Of course, Tseng knew the answer. It was the same reason he had a stack of letters locked away in his desk at headquarters.

Love.

It would be Zack’s end.

He willed his limbs to move, scarcely aware of whatever response he gave Heidegger before he hung up and rushed to dress, his clothes damp and wrinkled. He didn’t care. Nor did he care to wake Rufus and explain what was happening. Every second mattered and if he hadn’t been stupid enough to stay with Rufus that night…if he had just gone back to headquarters instead of falling asleep in Rufus’ arms, he would have been awake to answer Heidegger’s call and Zack would stand half a chance of escaping this ordeal unscathed.

But there was still a chance, however slim. Heidegger’s men had the head start, but Tseng and his men were fast.

He called Reno as he rushed out of the apartment.

“How’s it hangin’, chief?”

“Reno. It’s Zack. Meet me at headquarters immediately. Prepare a helicopter.”

He hung up without another word.

He didn’t remember the trip to headquarters, only that his legs willed him there and up to the helipad where Reno and Rude were mercifully awaiting him with the helicopter he requested.

“To the eastern wastes. Now,” he said by way of greeting.

Rude guided the chopper into the air. Reno turned in his seat, wearing a frown. “Mind filling us in on what the hell is going on?”

“Heidegger’s men have Zack and the trooper in their sights. He’s given the kill order.”

Reno scowled. “What the hell is Zack thinking turning up anywhere near Midgar?”

“He’s not thinking,” Tseng corrected. “I suspect he hopes to see Aerith. I had hoped when he escaped he would stay hidden. Instead he’s walking right into a trap.”

“Poor Zack,” Reno exhaled loudly. He smacked Rude’s arm, drawing a startled grunt from Rude. “Can’t you make this thing go any faster?”

“I’m doing what I can, partner.”

All Tseng could think about was that this was his fault. He should have tracked down Zack, but he had been busy with Rufus. He should have answered the phone the first time Heidegger called, taken the mission before Heidegger could send out his men, but he had been with Rufus. This was what lowering his guard got him. This was what caring got him. He cared about Zack and so he was risking his neck trying to ensure Zack lived, even though he was already on thin ice with the directors. He cared about Rufus and so it had ruined his chances at ensuring the one man Shinra hadn’t thoroughly stamped beneath its heel might live.

He clutched his head and took a calming breath.

He was the chief now. He had been for years. And yet in times like this he still found himself wishing he had Veld to guide him. 

“What exactly is our plan if we find him?” Reno asked. “Heidegger’s men are gonna have questions if we show up and tell them not to shoot.”

“Information extraction,” Tseng answered quickly, instinctively. “Heidegger himself said they might have information on the defectors.”

“Load of bullshit,” Reno laughed. “But they won’t know that. Zack hardly knew what was going on in his own head most days.”

“Are you calling him simple, Reno?” Tseng found himself smiling.

“I’ve never met a SOLDIER who wasn’t,” Reno replied. “’Cept maybe Sephiroth, but look where brains got him. Look it’s no slight. I love Zack. Not a day goes by it doesn’t eat at me what we left him to in that lab. But a smart man wouldn’t escape Shinra’s clutches and run right back into them. Still, information is as good an excuse as any. And we’re good at covering our tracks.”

Rude grunted his agreement.

Tseng was not prone to sentiment, so he wouldn’t voice what he felt in that moment: he was grateful for the other two Turks, grateful he hadn’t been left alone to run the department himself. Even if Reno could still grate on his nerves like no other, he and Rude had been through so much with him that even the other Turks had not.

Save Emma.

Another person Tseng regretted to say he missed. What had become of any of his colleagues? They were adept at covering their tracks and he had no interest in obtaining knowledge that might be used against them.

So it came down to this: Tseng, Reno, and Rude.

And Rufus, who had earned their trust.

“Keep your eyes peeled,” Rude said as they passed the outskirts of Midgar into the eastern wastes. 

For miles and miles outside of Midgar, the land had been bled dry. A city the size of Midgar required massive amounts of mako, and that much energy being sucked out of the planet left it inhospitable. It was naught but a barren wasteland. Tseng stared out the window, scouring the ground below for any sign of Zack and Cloud, hoping to find them alone.

But the skies were empty. It didn’t bode well for their timing. Heidegger would have sent out a rehlnika full of troops to head them off, so if it wasn’t still in the sky, that left-

“There!” Reno cried.

Tseng shifted to the other side of the helicopter and inhaled sharply. A rehlnika was parked on the dry earth below, a dozen or more troops surrounding a rocky outcropping. Tseng couldn’t see what their guns were trained on, obscured by the landscape, but he knew.

“Bring us down. Now,” he ordered Rude.

Rude was already working on it, bringing the chopper down beside the rehlnika. Reno slid out of his seat and neither he nor Tseng waited for the helicopter to fully touch down before they leaped out onto the ground, the impact and the gust from the chopper blades sending up dust all around them.

The officers turned their attention from the outcropping to the arriving Turks, and parted as Tseng made his way through their ranks, exuding an air of authority that felt feigned in that moment. His heart pounded in his ears as each troop moved out of his way, terrified of what he would see on the other side of the parting crowd.

He steadied himself as Zack’s body came into view, sprawled across the ground, his sword dug into the earth, acting as a shield for the bullets, though it had not been enough.

“The targets have been eliminated, sir,” the officer at the front of the line said, saluting Tseng.

Tseng kept walking. He came to a halt in front of Zack’s body and stared down at it, his ears ringing, drowning out whatever else it was the officer said. Zack was riddled with bullet holes, far more than was necessary to kill him, though Tseng knew better than most that it took a great deal to bring down a SOLDIER.

Beside Zack, Cloud lay unconscious but curiously unscathed. Not a single bullet wound on him. 

He thought back to that day in Modeoheim, when his leg had been broken and the boys had carried him down the mountain. That’s all they were. Boys. It’s all they still seemed to him: barely more than twenty. It was all he had been too, when Veld crafted him into a weapon.

It didn’t matter to Shinra, and Tseng had long ago come to terms with that, but it didn’t make staring at Zack’s corpse any easier.

How would Tseng tell Aerith? She hadn’t believed him, when he lied and told her Zack was dead after the incident in Nibelheim. She knew all along he wasn’t dead. And even when Tseng himself assumed Hojo had sucked every last bit of life out of Zack, Aerith insisted he was still alive.

She would know the truth now. He would be the one to tell her.

“Chief? Tseng.”

Rude’s voice drew Tseng from his thoughts, but he still couldn’t tear his eyes away from Zack. He looked…peaceful in death, his eyes closed as if he were sleeping. Not many died so beautifully. Most, Tseng knew well, died ugly deaths.

“Yes?” Tseng managed to answer.

“What are our orders?”

Tseng finally looked up and realized Reno and Rude stood beside him, the troops still standing at the ready behind them.

“Heidegger’s men are done here. We’ll handle the cleanup.” It was the least Tseng could do for Zack, having been too late to save him.

That poor country boy from the jungles of Gongaga. Shinra had chewed him up and spit him out just like it did everyone who sought glory with the company. Just as it would Tseng one day, or perhaps already had.

The troops wasted no time in filing back into the rehlnika. Tseng waited until they were airborne and Midgar-bound before he moved an inch. Beside him, Reno and Rude stared at Zack’s body as well. Tseng didn’t miss the way Reno turned and coughed to hide a sob. So many years as a Turk and Reno still struggled to hold back his emotions at times.

There was a quiet rage building inside of Tseng, but it had been many years since he cried. He held the tears at bay: he had orders to give.

“Reno,” he said. “Do you have earth materia on you?”

“Sure.”

“Dig a grave. The least we can do is see to it that he gets a proper burial.” Few SOLDIERS were allowed as much. Hojo preferred to poke and prod, even after they were dead. He wouldn’t allow Zack’s body to be desecrated like that.

“What if…Hojo…?” Reno trailed off.

Tseng turned sharply toward him. “I will bear Hojo’s ire. Dig the grave.”

Reno nodded and set to work with his earth materia. Tseng knelt in the dirt next to Zack, reaching past him to place his fingers against Cloud’s neck. A part of him was unsurprised to find a pulse, weak but steady. Zack had died so that his friend might live. He could think of no other SOLDIER who might have done as much.

“This one is still alive,” he spoke softly.

Rude looked down his sunglasses at Tseng. “What?”

“He’s breathing. Barely.”

The three Turks exchanged a weighted stare.

“He’s dead,” said Reno, nodding to Cloud. “Right? We checked his pulse. He was dead. We threw him in a grave with Zack. Right?”

He stared at Tseng expectantly. To let Cloud go, however slim his chances may be, was another gross breach of protocol, another offense that could put his head on the chopping block. He should have stamped out every bit of warmth inside of him, every bit of kindness, every piece of that boy who helped heal people in the slums fifteen years prior. But a piece persisted despite himself. And it was that part of him that nodded in agreement with Reno.

“Right.”

Reno exhaled a sigh. “Let’s be real. The fiends will probably get him anyway. Better blood on their hands than ours for once.”

When Reno was finished digging the grave, Rude and Tseng lifted Zack’s body and carried it over. The three of them stared down at Zack in his final resting place and Tseng felt a cold hand wrap around his heart and squeeze, a pain he hadn’t felt in some time, wasn’t even sure he was capable of feeling anymore. Grief. Zack had been…not quite a friend, but almost like a brother he’d never had. He had been something important to Tseng, amidst all the backstabbing and chaos that constantly ensued at Shinra headquarters.

“We should have done right by him,” Rude said. “We should have pushed back against the chief.”

Tseng shook his head. “It would have just been us inside that lab alongside him. We all know better. Accept your place. It’s our fault. All of it. But there isn’t an alternative.”

He knelt and grabbed a fistful of dirt from the dead earth, sprinkling it over Zack’s body. Then he said a prayer he hadn’t uttered in over fifteen years, one his father taught him, invoking Leviathan’s spirit. Because it was the only prayer he knew. And he didn’t know what else to say.

His phone rang and, not wanting to ignore Heidegger again, he withdrew the phone from his breast pocket. But it wasn’t Heidegger calling, it was Rufus.

He answered the phone to his superior, not his lover from the night before.

“Sir.”

Rufus scoffed on the other end of the line. “Can’t talk privately right now?”

“No, sir.”

“I suppose work called you away before I could even wake up?”

“Yes, sir.”

There was an edge to his voice. “I’d like to chat, when you’re not busy.”

“Yes, sir.”

Another scoff. “Fine.” The line went dead.

Reno’s slight smirk suggested a quip was coming, but it died before it reached his lips. The air was too somber for that. A knot settled in Tseng’s stomach. He had no desire to have a conversation with Rufus about anything not pertaining to work. It was terrible enough to feel this grief, so all-encompassing it might consume him. To have to talk about whatever it was that sat between them was too much on top of that.

“Do you two want to say anything before we cover the grave?” Tseng asked.

Rude stared down at Zack’s lifeless form. “He was a good kid. Deserved better.”

“I hate sappy shit,” Reno huffed. “What Rude said. And fuck Hojo.”

With that, Reno used his earth materia to shift the dirt back into the grave. Rude walked away without a word only to return with a large rock that he hefted atop the grave. He drew a utility knife from his pocket and carved a crude Z into the rock.

“Oughta have something to mark it,” he said.

Reno nodded.

Tseng took one last look back at Cloud where he lay motionless behind Zack’s sword.

“Think we should take that old buster sword?” Reno asked. “Belonged to two SOLDIERS.”

“Leave it,” said Tseng with some finality. “If he doesn’t succumb to the elements, he can have it.”

The three of them climbed back into the helicopter to return to headquarters, the grief in Tseng’s chest so powerful it hurt.

It was small comfort to know that Zack was somewhere Shinra could never touch him again.

When the helicopter arrived back at headquarters, Tseng asked Reno and Rude to begin preliminary scouting for new recruits. They had not been given any official approval by the president to replenish their numbers, but they could not operate at the same capacity without more members. They would do well to at least put out feelers, that way if Tseng got approval, they would have a head start.

While Reno and Rude set to work, a task Tseng hoped might keep their minds off of Zack, Tseng returned to the apartment at headquarters where he immediately stripped out of his wrinkled, earth-soiled clothes and made for the shower. He let the water run until it was practically scalding and then he stepped inside, letting it pelt against his back until his skin was raw. All the while his grief coiled around him until he could scarcely breathe. 

The thought of crying was unfathomable. He wasn’t certain he was even capable anymore. He had never been tearful, even as a child, the inevitable side effect of his father’s upbringing. But he longed for a catharsis: something, anything, to dispel this terrible feeling wracking his body. His chest rose and fell rapidly, each breath more staccato than the next, willing forth tears that couldn’t come. Still, the grief, the anger, it was consuming him in its own way. Why should one SOLDIER, who was never really cut out for this life, impact him so dramatically? He couldn’t explain it. Nor could he explain when his body slid to the floor of the shower, his breath coming so fast that black began to eat the edges of his vision.

He gripped his head and tried to still himself, to calm his racing heart, but it wouldn’t cease.

So in lieu of tears, he screamed: a guttural wail that strained his vocal cords. He screamed and screamed and clutched at his head until the pain ebbed, just a little, and he was able to breathe properly again.

He sat on the floor of the shower with his knees bunched up to his chest and stared at the wall and let the water rain down on him until it went cold. Then he stood, toweled himself dry, and stared at himself in the mirror.

Still the same face staring back at him. And in his eyes…a flicker of that boy from Mideel.

It was enough emotion for one day, enough for a lifetime as far as he was concerned, and he didn’t care to dwell on what had driven him to such insane behavior, but it had loosened the grip his grief had on his heart. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he stepped out into the hallway and stopped short at the sight of Rufus leaning against the wall.

“Should I be worried?” Rufus asked, quirking an eyebrow. “I heard the most curious screaming.”

“Rufus.” Tseng stepped past him to his bedroom.

“Not ‘sir’ now?” 

“I was working,” Tseng replied tersely.

Maomao lay curled up on his bed and she poked her head up at the sight of both him and Rufus. Rufus followed Tseng into the room, sitting on the edge of the bed and scratching Maomao’s head, to which she trilled affectionately.

“I wasn’t exactly expecting breakfast in bed, but I did hope you might still be there when I woke up,” Rufus said. He spoke casually, but Tseng could sense a tension coiled up inside him.

Tseng paused in front of his dresser with his back to Rufus. “What do you want me to say? I’m a Turk. I had work to do. I shouldn’t have stayed at all.”

Rufus scoffed. “Let’s not act like last night was some simple exchange of body heat.”

Tseng couldn’t look him in the eyes. It was too much after what he’d just dealt with. And frankly it was a conversation he never wanted to have. Because Rufus was right. With their history, after all they had been through together, good and bad, this was a far cry from the sex workers and one-night stands that made up the sum total of Tseng’s sexual experience.

He had been a fool to cross the line with Rufus, but it wasn’t a regret. He simply couldn’t discuss the deeper meaning of it. Even on a good day he would have rather crawled inside himself and died, but today?

“Rufus. I can’t have this conversation right now.”

Rufus let a beat of silence fall before he said, “Then do you care to tell me why you were screaming at the top of your lungs in the shower?”

There were few embarrassments greater than having such an emotional outburst perceived. If it had been anyone but Rufus…

He still couldn’t look Rufus in the face.

“The friend I left to rot in Hojo’s lab,” Tseng spoke softly. “He resurfaced. Heidegger’s men found him first.”

What he couldn’t voice was that he blamed himself. In allowing himself a moment of peace with Rufus, an indulgence he had never taken before, he had missed the calls that might have saved Zack’s life.

There was a shuffle of fabric and then Rufus’ hand gripped at Tseng’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry.” It was sincere. When Tseng made no move to push him away, said nothing at all, he continued. “You aren’t made of stone, Tseng. It’s okay to feel. Someone important to you died. Just because Veld would see you turned into a finely-honed killing machine doesn’t mean you are one…even if Reno still thinks you’re a robot.”

A chuckle left Tseng’s throat despite himself. He squeezed his hand against Rufus’ where it rested on his shoulder. 

“Thank you.”

“We’ll take a raincheck on that conversation,” said Rufus, releasing him. Tseng finally turned away from the dresser to face him. “But it is happening. If you want me to leave you alone, I will. If you want me to stay…” He looked almost demure for a moment, which was never a word Tseng would have used for Rufus.

The fact of the matter was, after four years living alongside Rufus, Tseng was no longer accustomed to being alone as he had been for so long. He found he wanted the company, even if they simply sat together in silence. He didn’t need to be alone with his thoughts.

“Stay,” Tseng said. “I’ll make us something to eat.”

Rufus smirked. “Don’t want me to cook?”

Tseng returned his expression. “Would you kick a man when he’s down?”

At this, Rufus let out a bark of laughter and waved his hand dismissively. “Fine. Get dressed. I’ll be waiting in the living room.”

And the grief in Tseng’s heart eased just a little more.

Chapter Text

Reno stared at his computer screen and clicked through a list of potential recruits that was at least a few months old. Tseng had entrusted them with the task of finding bodies to fill the dozens of vacant positions left behind when their colleagues were forced to defect, but he was still in the process of getting approval from the president. In fact, he was in a meeting with the directors at that very moment.

Beside him, Rude also browsed the files.

A dark gloom had been hanging over them. Whenever Reno closed his eyes he couldn’t help but see Zack’s body riddled with bullet holes and feel a sense of such enormous guilt it could have killed him.

If anybody deserved to get out from under Shinra’s heel it was Zack. He sure as fuck hadn’t deserved the ending he got.

He also wondered what might have happened to Cloud if Veld had still been in charge, but he knew the answer. Veld preached loyalty to the Turks above all else, but he would have done what the President asked and filled both boys full of bullets.

As stoic and stone-hearted as Tseng could seem, he had at least done right by Cloud.

At night, in the quiet of their apartment, Reno and Rude would discuss it. Reno hated talking about his feelings and Rude was the farthest thing from loquacious there could be, but it felt good to get out some of that emotion. Reno had done plenty of unsavory shit in the name of Shinra, but Zack was different. He’d been a friend. And too good for Shinra to boot.

Tseng didn’t bring it up again after that day, but they could tell it affected him more than he let on.

In the mean time, the vice president seemed to have a permanent presence in Tseng’s office. Reno still wondered over their relationship, but he trusted Rufus after what he’d done for Veld. As to whether or not the two of them would ever fuck and get it over with, Reno cared far more than Rude did and every time he tried to gossip about it, Rude shut him down like the fuddy duddy he was.

“This sucks,” Reno groaned. “I’ve already eliminated ten files because they’re either dead or they joined the military.”

Rude grunted in agreement. “We don’t even know how many spots we’ll have to fill.”

“It won’t feel right. There’s not enough of us to even run the academy. We’ll just be throwing whatever poor saps we find into the deep end without a life jacket.”

“Still, we can’t do it all,” said Rude. “We need more bodies.”

Reno bristled at the phrase. Zack’s death had been a poignant reminder that that’s all they were to Shinra: bodies.

“Guess we do,” he sighed. “Tseng’s drowning in paperwork, so it’s not like he has time to run missions. Plus we’ve still got Aerith to look after. Gods, I’m glad Tseng offered to be the one to tell her about…”

“Yeah,” Rude agreed.

Reno clicked through more files. It was the worst possible way to go about recruiting a new Turk, but they needed people quickly and it was faster than doing field work to find a good fit. Still, the pickings were slim. Some of these files had been put together years ago by Veld. 

Hopefully Tseng would be successful in getting approval for more positions, but after the President nearly had him executed, Reno wasn’t holding his breath.

Shinra took Emma’s body and the bodies of all of the people who had perished at the pillar and that was that. Elena and her father wouldn’t be allowed a funeral, wouldn’t be allowed a burial, wouldn’t be allowed to properly grieve. But she supposed that was what happened when you crossed Shinra.

Elena still didn’t understand what the Turks had done to upset Shinra, and all her father could glean on the details was that only three Turks now remained in the aftermath of the schism.

It was strange how conflicted Elena felt about Emma now that she was gone. She had sacrificed herself to save Elena’s life, and in the process saved the entire city from certain destruction. Her death had quelled the rage of that eternal flame that burned inside Elena against her sister and left her uncertain how to proceed for perhaps the first time in her life.

She had told her father the news as soon as she was able to and he received the information with the emotionless distance she expected of him. But Emma had been the world to their father, and Elena knew he was grieving in his own way.

A few days after Emma’s death, Elena was surprised to find a sealed envelope sitting on her nightstand with a letter atop it when she awoke. She sat up and unfolded the letter and slowly read the note from her father.

“Elena. You displayed an enormous amount of courage and quick-thinking in the face of the threat that led to your sister’s death. We will never know the truth of her betrayal to Shinra, but I discount any notion of treason when she laid down her life to save our city. That you were willing to risk yours as well is a testament to the fact that you have finally proved your responsibility. In this envelope you will find my letter of commendation. Take it to SOLDIER and make your family proud.”

Elena was so shocked that she reread the letter twice, but the words were there in her father’s tidy script with a signature that was undeniably his.

And yet…she didn’t feel the sense of satisfaction she’d always hoped for. Her whole life all she wanted was to be a SOLDIER and prove herself superior to Emma. But now that Emma was gone, her certainty in that decision wavered. There had been no SOLDIERS laying down their lives on the pillar, no SOLDIERS rushing to protect the city from terrorists. It had been Turks on the ground fighting alongside military troopers. It had been a Turk who saved the city.

And the Turks had several vacant positions to fill.

Elena pocketed the envelope and left the house, headed for the train station and Sector 0. 

She knew what her decision would be.

The sun had set and the meeting Tseng was stuck in would not end. His part of the agenda was over as quickly as it had begun, with both the president and Heidegger laughing in his face at the suggestion that he should so quickly replenish the Turks’ ranks after their betrayal. In fact, it was only a word from Rufus that convinced the president to allot enough funding for one opening, as a trial. Tseng would take what he could get. He knew without Rufus it would have been less than nothing.

He and Rufus had not found time to continue the conversation he’d asked for a raincheck on and a part of him was dreading it, mostly because he had never in his life had to discuss the particulars of a relationship. Why couldn’t it be as simple as sex? They had both wanted it longer than he cared to admit and now they had crossed the line. That was simply that.

Rufus kept catching his eye across the table and he was reminded of all those meetings they’d attended together over the years, how Rufus had looked as though he wanted to eat him alive. His gaze was hungry in a different fashion now and it stirred something in Tseng that he would have preferred remain dormant while he was stuck in a meeting with his superiors. As if he was aware of the effect his gaze had on Tseng, Rufus had the nerve to smirk.

Just when Tseng was certain the meeting would never end, the president called it to a close and the directors shuffled out of the room. Tseng took a spot at Rufus’ side as they headed for the elevator.

“Thank you,” Tseng spoke softly. “One position is hardly enough, but it’s more than we would have gotten if you hadn’t spoken up.”

“I know how to play my father’s games,” said Rufus. “Give me time. I’ll find more funding for you.”

Tseng was grateful that the elevator was too full for them to join the other executives. They waited for the second elevator and stepped in together, alone.

“And where will you head now?” Rufus asked. “Back to your office to work yourself to death?”

Tseng was frankly exhausted. All he’d done in the last two days was file reports and scour files for new recruits. All he’d done before that for the last week or so was worry over Zack, then the incident with Avalanche, then Zack again. The only reprieve had been the night with Rufus. His ears flushed just thinking about it.

“I don’t know,” Tseng answered honestly. “There’s plenty of work to be done and not enough people to do it.”

Rufus’ eyes raked up and down his body, wearing that same smirk, but Tseng noted he was exceedingly careful to keep distance between them with the security cameras present in the elevators.

“Why not take a break?” Rufus asked. “Now that I’m free of my metaphorical chains, I’ve had a chance to send out requests for items you never let me have.”

Tseng frowned. “I conceded to plenty of your requests.”

Rufus laughed. “True. Still. I have a couple bottles of a Junon vintage I’ve been wanting to open. And I can’t just sit and drink alone.”

Another night with Rufus was an inevitability to Tseng. A line once crossed could not be uncrossed and he knew he was and had been past the point of no return with Rufus for far too long. So what harm could come from enjoying a luxurious vintage wine with him and taking a little pleasure in each other’s bodies? If it avoided the conversation he didn’t want to have, even better.

But the mentality that ‘work could wait’ had led to Zack’s death and so he stood on the precipice of indecision.

Rufus stepped a little closer, still keeping a healthy distance between them. “You can’t work all day and all night, Tseng. You aren’t a robot. Take a break.”

Tseng sighed and resigned himself to his fate. “I could use a break,” he conceded.

Rufus grinned. “Perfect.”

Despite the many lavish apartments that he’d been deprived of visiting during his house arrest, the apartment in B3 had become Rufus’ true home base and it was here he had stored the expensive wine he’d had shipped in from Junon the day earlier. He was positively delighted that Tseng had agreed to eschew his responsibilities for one evening.

A conversation still remained to be broached between them, but Rufus wasn’t overly concerned about the details as much as getting Tseng to admit that whatever the hell it was going on between them straddled a line that went beyond friends with benefits. But he wasn’t keen to put a name on it and it didn’t truly matter: not now that he was free and could start making moves against his father, this time with the Turks in his pocket.

Or was he in theirs? He had accepted it was a relationship built on mutual trust, that there would be no pulling the wool over any of the Turks’ eyes, least of all Tseng’s. But they stood to gain from Rufus’ plans as much as he did. 

Trust. He was still not accustomed to how such a relationship felt after thirty years of playing politics.

He poured two glasses of the wine and joined Tseng on the couch and tried to control the desire he felt simply watching Tseng: the fluid motion of his body even in an act as simple as taking a sip of the wine. Now that Rufus had had a taste of what he’d craved for so long, he wanted more.

Tseng had never had so much as a sip of alcohol during Rufus’ house arrest, though Reno had sneaked in Wutaian sake from the Wall Market and Tseng had allowed Rufus to have whiskey brought in on occasion. He half expected Tseng was some sort of teetotaler, given his constant need for total control over any given situation. But Tseng drank the wine without comment or protest, except to note that he enjoyed the bouquet. 

“Are you a wine man, Tseng?” Rufus asked, shifting closer to him now that they were alone. For all he had managed to pry out of Tseng in the last four years, there was still a great deal he didn’t know. What were Tseng’s desires, for starters?

Tseng swirled the wine in his glass and stared at it as it spun around. “I like wine. I prefer bourbon.”

“A man after my own heart,” Rufus purred.

Tseng gave him a withering look and Rufus couldn’t help but laugh. That was a part of Tseng that Rufus was certain only he was privy to: this dry, disdainful wit that he let show on rare occasion.

“Do you want my birth chart next?” Tseng asked.

“If you’re willing,” Rufus grinned.

An eyeroll from Tseng as he took another sip of his wine. 

“You only pretend to find me annoying,” Rufus said, inching closer and closer. “I know that for a fact. You’ve long since passed finding me just ‘tolerable’.”

Tseng glanced sideways at him. “I don’t deny that.”

“But you still pretend.”

This time it was Tseng who leaned closer, encroaching into Rufus’ space in a way Rufus found positively titillating.

“I am capable of being playful,” he whispered. 

Heat flooded Rufus’ body, irrespective of their proximity. He stared at Tseng’s lips and took a sip of his own wine to cool himself off.

“Who would have thought?”

The corners of Tseng’s lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smirk. “Veld made sure it was part of my programming.”

Rufus couldn’t contain the bark of laughter this elicited, devolving into a fit of unexpected giggles. He shoved Tseng away, shaking his head as his laughter tapered off. “I’m recording you one of these days. Reno doesn’t believe me that you have a sense of humor.”

Tseng’s face slipped into an expression of carefully crafted neutrality. “And he never will.”

They slipped into conversation as they drank their wine, Tseng constantly brandishing this unexpected playful wit that left Rufus desperate for anything to say to draw out more of it. One glass turned into two and soon they were onto their second bottle and Rufus was feeling tipsier than he had in ages. He had long ago dropped his habit of drinking himself stupid, not long after poor Rude’s indoctrination into the Turks, but this - drinking until he was flushed and giddy with a lover - that was something else entirely.

Tseng would most certainly have objected to the use of the term, but it was what he was at the end of the day. It was surely what he had been when he fucked the life out of Rufus a few days prior.

Rufus stumbled up after his fifth glass of wine, sparked with a sudden idea.

“Have you ever been to the museum on the sixtieth floor?” He asked.

Tseng was getting drunk too, though he was trying to hide it. He wavered slightly as he set his empty glass down. His cheeks were positively flushed.

“I’ve never had any reason to.”

Rufus grabbed his arm and tugged him up. “Come with me.” He dragged him toward the door and then stumbled to a halt before running down the hall to grab his computer. “Let me just…fiddle with the security cameras.”

Tseng frowned at him. “Just what exactly are you planning to do in the museum?” He quirked an eyebrow.

Rufus tapped at his computer and glanced at Tseng, smirking. “I haven’t decided yet. But I’d rather not have any prying eyes catch the vice president and the director of the Turks stumbling around like two drunk idiots.”

“I’m not drunk,” Tseng protested, but the way he swayed as he stood by the door suggested otherwise.

“Have you ever even been drunk, Tseng?” Rufus chuckled.

“Yes. It leads me to terrible indiscretions.”

Finished with his work, Rufus closed his laptop and bridged the distance between them, brushing his nose against Tseng’s. “That’s what I was hoping for.”

He was more than pleased with the way Tseng leaned forward expectantly and with the subsequent sigh that left his lips when Rufus stepped back and headed for the door.

Rufus led them to the elevator and hit the button for the sixtieth floor, leaning against the wall, a pleasant warmth spreading through his body as he stared across the elevator and watched Tseng returning his gaze. Rufus drank in every inch of him, still in a state of disbelief that he had seen the stoic, ever-professional Tseng completely naked. A part of him thought Tseng would never cross that line with him, even though he had wanted it for so long, had reached a point of desire he didn’t think possible. But Tseng hadn’t hesitated.

The line had already been crossed, and Tseng was a man who worked in absolutes.

Just thinking about the night they shared flooded Rufus’ body with heat. The thought could wait. The elevator chirped and the doors slid open on the sixtieth floor and Rufus stumbled out, making his way languidly toward the museum entrance, his limbs unwilling or unable to move any faster in his inebriated state.

Immediately inside the doorways of the museum they were greeted to a gaudy gold statue of his father’s likeness. Rufus stood before it, staring up at it with a growing frown. For four years he’d been stewing over how best to approach the problem that was his father once his house arrest was over. The old man was getting more and more rash in his decision making, eager to stamp out any whose loyalty to him wavered. And in doing so, Rufus realized, he was falling into the very trap Rufus would have been victim to had Tseng and the Turks not taught him the value of loyalty once earned.

Look at how quickly he had been prepared to discard his senior-most Turk, all of the Turks, losing with it the most effective intelligence agents Shinra had and all their accumulated knowledge. 

Tseng stood next to Rufus staring up at the statue as well and Rufus turned his gaze to Tseng. He knew that even though he had learned more about Tseng than possibly anyone else in Midgar, that he had barely scratched the surface. What lay beneath that dark, immovable exterior?

He looked back at the statue of his father and decided to shelve any grand notions of a coup for when he wasn’t wine drunk. Instead, he stumbled around the statue into the next room and Tseng followed him wordlessly.

For much of the past eleven years, Tseng had been Rufus’ shadow, whether he willed it or not, but this was different. Tseng didn’t watch him like a bodyguard or a distrusting supervisor. He watched him with a hunger in his eyes that didn’t escape Rufus’ notice.

He thought back to a few days earlier when he’d walked in on Tseng screaming at the top of his lungs in the shower. It was such a sharp shift from Tseng’s usually tightly controlled hold on his emotions and probably the closest he would ever come to crying in the face of a death he struggled to admit was important to him. But it was also a side of Tseng only Rufus had been privy to.

Just as this side of Tseng, the ravenous gaze, the lazy grin, the gentle loosening of his usually strictly contained inhibitions. No, Rufus was certain no other lover of Tseng’s had ever been on the receiving end of such a look. The thought gave him a head rush.

He wound his way through the museum, leaning against walls, gliding around corners, pausing from time to time to share a heated look with Tseng, who remained silent, always following and watching.

Eventually they came upon the planetarium and Rufus fell against the floor dramatically, draping an arm across his eyes and releasing a sigh as his head spun.

Tseng hovered over him and stared down at him. “What are you doing?”

“My legs gave out.”

“Hm,” said Tseng. “You’ve been slacking on your squats.”

“Well I don’t have you forcing me up at four thirty every morning anymore,” Rufus replied, spreading his fingers apart to look through them at Tseng.

Tseng sat down next to Rufus, but remained upright.

“I used to sneak in here when I was younger,” Rufus found himself talking without prompting. “As a teenager. Before we met. I’d bring whatever cute little thing I was interested in at the time in here for some passionate necking.”

“Up to your old tricks?” Tseng asked, and there was an unmistakable note of laughter to his voice. “Am I a ‘cute little thing’? Not a term anyone’s ever used for me.”

Rufus let his hand drop to his side to fully look up at Tseng. “You caught me!”

“All the money in the world and you snuck into your father’s museum?” Tseng chuckled. “Who knew Rufus Shinra was such a cheap date?”

“You’re mistaken,” said Rufus, grinning. “These weren’t dates. There were…an exchange.”

Tseng leaned over Rufus, his long hair falling in a silken curtain around him. The way he looked at Rufus was positively filthy.

“And what did you want to exchange today, Mr. Shinra?”

Rufus was too giddy and drunk to contain himself, besides that he wanted to take full advantage of this playful mood Tseng was in. He considered that he could tell Reno and Rude he’d gone to the moon and they would sooner believe that than that Tseng had ever behaved this way.

He gripped Tseng’s tie, curling it around his hand and pulling him closer. Tseng settled between his legs, the bodies flush, their noses brushing. The firmness of Tseng’s body against his was redirecting his blood flow and making him feel even drunker than he was.

It was Tseng who brought their lips together, opening his mouth against Rufus’ to let their tongues tangle, grinding his body against Rufus’ in slow, steady movements. There was a time when Rufus, too, thought Tseng was a monolith of control who never gave in to baser urges. But in that moment, Tseng was just a man giving in to desire. That he would relinquish that tightly-held control over himself for Rufus was arousing in itself.

Rufus willed him closer, digging his fingers into Tseng’s back, gripping his hips with his legs. He let his hand slide down Tseng’s back to the curve of his ass, squeezing and guiding his movement as his hips rolled to meet Rufus’ arousal.

It was a testament to Rufus’ willpower to be able to break away, a thin strand of saliva still connecting their lips. If it were up to him, he would have remained there entangled with Tseng on the floor until he wasted away, but he wanted more and they lacked a crucial component to proceed.

But now that they had kissed, snapping that tension between them once more, he didn’t want to stop. He brought his lips back to Tseng’s, awkwardly moving him to stumble up, gripping the lapels on Tseng’s suit jacket to force him to follow, their lips never parting as they rose and staggered into the wall. It was a disjointed dance, pressed against the wall, moving leg over leg back toward the elevator, unwilling to let go of each other for even a second.

All the bloodflow in Rufus’ body was being redirected between his legs until he was achingly hard, desperate to remove the clothes separating their bodies. Rufus managed to hit the elevator button and only when they stepped into the elevator were they forced to part long enough for Tseng to scan his ID to allow them access back to B3.

As soon as he had done so, he was back against Rufus, pinning him to the wall of the elevator, trailing his mouth along Rufus’ throat. Rufus craned his neck to expose more of it to Tseng, a little shiver running down his spine as Tseng tugged at his tie to loosen it, deftly undoing the top buttons on Rufus’ shirt, sliding his hand under the shirt to glide along his chest.

“Tseng,” Rufus breathed, clutching at the back of his head.

The doors opened back on B3 and they stumbled down the hallway to the apartment in the east wing, hurrying inside to make their way for Rufus’ former bedroom at the back of the apartment. Halfway down the hall to the room, Tseng’s foot caught on the rug and the two of them went tumbling forward, Tseng landing hard on his back, Rufus landing on top of him.

Tseng let out a groan as Rufus fell atop him, but it scarcely stopped them. Their lips were together again in seconds and it was another arduous process getting back up off the floor and into the bedroom when the thought of separating from Tseng for even a second was unfathomable to Rufus in that moment.

He shoved Tseng’s jacket from his shoulders and went to work unbuttoning his shirt, pressing his lips softly against Tseng’s chest as he pushed away the fabric of his shirt, gliding his tongue over Tseng’s nipple and getting a thrill from the uninhibited moan it drew from him.

Rufus kissed his way down Tseng’s torso, dipping his tongue against his navel and drawing another unholy sound from Tseng’s throat. 

He reached the line of Tseng’s trousers and hurried to unbutton them, shoving them down around his ankles with his underwear and releasing Tseng to kneel in front of him.

Tseng looked down at Rufus with nothing but desire in his eyes. It was the kind of look Rufus never imagined Tseng capable of, much less directed at him, and it made his cock throb.

He pushed Tseng backward and he stumbled to a seat on the bed while Rufus settled between his legs, kissing up the inside of one thigh while his hand ran along the inside of the other. Tseng looked as hard and aching as Rufus felt and Rufus found his patience rapidly dwindling. He gripped the base of Tseng’s cock and dragged his tongue up the length of it, swirling it around the head before he took him into his mouth.

Tseng released a sigh and carded his fingers through Rufus’ hair, gripping at the base of his skull and guiding his head as he bobbed it up and down, filling his mouth with Tseng’s cock until his eyes watered, moaning against him as he moved. Tseng’s hips thrust lightly to meet the movement as a low moan left the back of his throat, his breath hitching.

Rufus’ cock strained against his pants to the point of pain. His finely honed patience shattered. He released Tseng and stood, wavering in his drunkenness, fumbling with the zipper on his trousers as he worked at getting his clothes off. Tseng sat, swaying slightly, the corners of his mouth twitching into a grin as he watched Rufus.

“Lie down,” Rufus commanded.

Tseng fell bodily against the bed. “Was that an order, Mr. Vice President?”

This sent a shiver running down Rufus’ spine. He had never seen this side of Tseng. He made a mental note to drink with him more often.

“Yes,” Rufus managed to say, climbing clumsily over him to the nightstand and procuring a bottle of lube. He sat on Tseng’s thighs and gripped his cock, stroking it with the lube while Tseng leaned his head back and gasped. It was a beautiful sight to behold.

Satisfied with his work, Rufus straddled Tseng and sank down onto his cock, letting it fill him until he couldn’t contain the sigh that left his mouth. Tseng’s hands moved readily to Rufus’ hips, guiding him as he rocked against Tseng. Maybe it was the four long years without sex coupled with his ever-growing desire for Tseng, but Rufus was sure no one had ever felt better stretching him open like that. His cock brushed against Rufus’ prostate and Rufus cried out at the sensation, rolling his hips to find that pleasure again and again.

Tseng’s fingers dug into Rufus’ flesh so tightly it was certain to leave a bruise. He began thrusting his hips to meet Rufus’ movement, low moans issuing from deep within his chest. Rufus braced his hands against Tseng’s chest and rocked harder, faster, chasing his release. 

His body beaded with sweat and he leaned forward, pressing himself flat against Tseng, bringing their lips together once more. Tseng moaned into his mouth. They broke apart again and Rufus buried his face in the crook of Tseng’s neck, clutching at any bit of Tseng’s skin he could gain purchase on, the pleasure mounting to a crescendo between his legs.

“Rufus,” Tseng gasped.

The sound of his name on Tseng’s lips was too much. A wave of pleasure washed over Rufus as his cock throbbed, pressed tightly between them, spilling himself across Tseng’s stomach. Tseng still held Rufus’ hips and he thrust up into him with such speed and force that it knocked the breath out of him until he too came with a series of moans and whimpers, breathing against Rufus’ ear as he finished.

They lay still for several seconds, gasping for breath, sweaty and euphoric. Rufus, drunk and riding the high of his orgasm, could have fallen asleep then and there, but there was a mess to deal with. He pushed himself up, dragging himself off of Tseng and sighing at the emptiness. Tseng lay back, head rolling to the side to follow Rufus’ movement as he grabbed a towel with which to clean up.

“I don’t think I can move,” Tseng breathed.

Rufus chuckled and leaned over him, gently wiping the cum from his belly. Tseng watched him behind heavy-lidded eyes.

He made a stunning figure, his hair fanned out beneath him, his long eyelashes brushing his cheek as his eyelids fluttered shut. Rufus, too, was spent, so he draped himself alongside Tseng, curling against his warmth and delighting far too much at the way Tseng’s arm moved so readily against him.

For the first time in a very long time Rufus found himself feeling content. 

What was he doing here with Tseng? And did it even matter when such bigger plans were at play? He reminded himself that those were questions to dwell on when he was sober, so he closed his eyes and fell asleep to the gentle sound of Tseng’s breathing.