A/N: Collapsed chapters together. This is chapter 18 according to the previous chapter count. For returning readers, since it's been a while since last update I highly recommend rereading the last chapter to fully appreciate this one.

The What (ft. Turks)

1. Request for backup

"So he wants a few senior Turks in Edge," Veld said, resting stubbly chin on knitted fingers. "For a—special assignment. No detail is given, though."

Balto tilted his head. "Need-to-know?"

"Perhaps."

He adjusted his glasses, considering the possibilities in his head—as well as the right people for them. "We certainly have a few to spare. But is it so hectic over there?"

"Tseng hasn't mentioned any such thing. And if this is any indication." The laptop was turned around and Balto leant in to read where Veld's metal finger tapped.

Do not send Javier.

Balto raised an eyebrow at the underlined sentence. That was strangely specific. He rubbed the scar on his cheek, wondering why the President didn't want the quote-unquote Legendary Turk for this important(assumption) mission.

Odd.

2. Stubbornness

The fog outside the windows left the room in dim morning light. Tseng stood at the side of his bed, fully dressed and ready for work, staring at the white mound the size of Elena on the bed.

"Elena," he called and the mound twitched, the girl inside curling in tighter as though fearing the shelter would be yanked from her.

"I understand your hesitations, but you'll be late."

"I'm not here," said the mound, and he was beginning to feel a little ridiculous. But Tseng of the Turks was nothing if not patient, his tolerance having been tempered by years of answering to an asinine board of executives.

With a measured breath, he tried again. "You can't hide in there forever."

Elena didn't even respond, content to demonstrate her professed absence inside her cocoon of blanket and pillows.

3. The alternative

He could leave her be. Give it a few days, let her work through whatever problem she had, and she would. And she would come in, no matter how unwilling. But what would happen before that might be Reno.

Tseng closed his eyes. Rude had already declined to be a part of this stupidity (imagine the outrage when the rest of them realized there was a hidden opt-out box they could have checked), and thus Reno would be the only one available to help Tseng with the transferees. And Tseng feared 'help' wasn't the word that described what Reno would bring to the table.

4. The lesser evil

"Hurry and get ready," he said. "We'll be late."

The ticking of the needle counted off the seconds. Just as the fourth tick sounded, Elena burst out of her cocoon, tripping over the blanket as well as her own limbs, and she would have planted her face on hardwood floor had he not caught her in time.

Unfazed, she pushed off him and continued haphazardly toward the bathroom. "I'll be ready in ten—no five!" Her eyes were glittering with enthusiasm. And the door slammed shut.

He shook his head and turned to the wardrobe to fetch her uniform, light smile on his mouth.

5. The backup

Edge, the offshoot of old Midgar, her hometown. From above, she could see how much it had matured since she'd last walked its pavements. But trouble never seemed to leave this cluttered city alone.

A special assignment, Balto had said.

Barely a word was exchanged during the entire four-hour flight and they finally arrived at their destination. As soon as they touched the helipad, Ruluf yanked off his headset, grabbed his backpack, and jumped out of the co-pilot seat the moment the door slid open.

Kalyi lifted the lapel of her suit and slipped her knife inside, and threw a deceptively carefree salute at their pilot as she exited the aircraft.

Not in any such haste, Emma returned the headsets to their hooks, took another moment to make sure again her tie wasn't crooked, her suit crisp, and thanked the pilot before catching up with her team.

6. As if this wasn't already hell

"Chin up, Elena. As stated in our codes, provide any assistance required to Turks on a mission." Tseng's gaze was cast toward the car caught in the busy flow of traffic, his citation militant and unresponsive.

Elena bit back a whimper and wiped her face free of inner turmoil. She realized that by now she was already too invested in the President's love game, and there was the beginnings of some form of strange personal stakes for her in this. With that ironed out, the second-hand embarrassment she had from merely anticipating the newcomers' reaction was particularly strong.

Worse yet – she thought as the car pulled up before them and she spotted a head of blond hair in the passenger seat window – her sister was here.

Elena really, really wanted to cry. Why, Balto?

7. Rule of elimination

A pair of hands slammed down before him on the table, and Balto looked up from his lunch to a scowling Freyra, her blond ponytail slipping from its band as she panted down at him. All eyes in the cafeteria were on them.

"Why wasn't I notified of the assignment?" she demanded through her teeth, still catching her breath.

Swallowing a mouthful of noodle, he grinned – "Welcome back, Freyra." – and wondered how she found out even though he'd specifically told everyone to keep it from her. (Then again, it was unapologetically Turk to be finding out about things that otherwise shouldn't have been found out about, colleagueship notwithstanding.)

She'd been amongst the last he would've chosen from. If the President didn't want Javier – the womanizing, laidback and unruly Javier – then it should be safest to send people on the other end of the spectrum. Emma, for example, had been his first pick.

8. Tension

Like the plunge of a pebble into calm water, their arrival caused a ripple of unrest to spread out across the company lobby. Whispers and curious eyes followed them, the flock of black uniforms that couldn't mean anything good.

Kalyi supposed it really wasn't anything good. Tseng was unreadable as always – perhaps too unreadable. As for Miss Rookie next to him, it was obvious from a glance something was wrong. Was sensitive information being leaked? A guileful coup brewing beneath the surface.

"No sense in beating yourself up." Reluctant brown eyes looked over, and Kalyi tried on an encouraging smile for Elena. "What's done is done. We'll just handle things as they come, hmm?" And she made a mental note to start working some (more?) delicacy into the things she said because the lass looked even more downcast now.

9. Compensation

It was almost a sense of wonder replacing the initial shock and terror as Balto watched the content of the second paella pot disappear into Freyra's mouth. She raised her hand to order a third, and he wiped his mouth to hold back a protest.

She caught his gaze and whatever she saw convinced her he deserved a pointed glare. "You kept the assignment from me."

"Hence our presence here," he countered, "Unless you intend to pay, stop being a broken record." She returned to her bowl with a huff, and he sighed, taking a sip of water to clear his throat. Tapping a finger on the rim of his cup, he contemplated against his palm. "You know."

Freyra made noise around a spoonful of rice, giving him her attention again. He pushed a cup before her and poured her some water.

"Just because it's quote-unquote a special assignment doesn't necessarily mean it's exciting."

She nodded, washed down her food with a hearty gulp and set the cup back down with a decisive clack. "No."

He dipped his head in tired resignation.

10. No excitement here

The office was smaller, more crowded by drawers and boxes compared to the one in Junon. "Have a seat and relax," said the President, waving a hand toward the sofa set to his left, and they obeyed, puzzlement carefully concealed behind empty masks as they watched Elena set down freshly brewed tea before them.

Ruluf adapted too quickly, getting a cup for himself. Kalyi, too, nursed her tea between white-gloved palms as she enjoyed(?) listening to the conversation on the other side of the room regarding the costs of refining crude oil. And Emma—Emma didn't understand.

The hurry she'd expected to read off of everyone's demeanour was nowhere to be seen. The President hadn't even acknowledged them in true save for the initial greeting. And relax, he'd said?

11. Context please

Rufus finally joined the three senior Turks at the cocktail table and sat down in one of the armchairs. Standing at the President's side together with Tseng, Elena saw a questioning look crossing the seniors' faces when they, likely expecting some form of dossiers, noted there was no such thing.

"You are hereby assigned to a committee for the purposes of this mission." Rufus cut straight to the meat of it all. "I require absolute confidence. No one outside of the committee is to be privy to the details on the mission."

Kalyi quirked a discreet eyebrow, Emma sat a little straighter, and Ruluf's eyes became a little more attentive. The atmosphere suddenly got ten-fold thicker, and Elena just wanted to drop her face into her hands.

12. You lose if you let things get to you

Ruluf wasn't proud of his blasé approach to life, but it got him by. Being on Don Corneo's payroll had been one of the lower points in life, and he'd understood for a while now masters were bound to give out peculiar orders.

"So we are to inform you on all plans made by Cloud Strife and Tifa Lockhart," Ruluf said.

"Yes," the President said and nothing more.

Stalking. Stripped of all fancy wordings, that was what this all amounted to. Ruluf drank his tea to swallow a bubbling chuckle. It was about time Rufus Shinra gave a peculiar order.

13. Sympathy

Kalyi sat back in amusement. Next to Ruluf, Emma seemed about bursting with questions. But they were going to have to get their answers elsewhere. Good thing was, Ruluf had an idea where.

He glanced up to Tseng and Elena from behind his bangs, and Tseng closed his eyes. Elena wasn't even looking, line of sight pinned somewhere near her own two feet.

Those two'd had it rough, huh.

14. It's still a mission

"Tseng, Elena, and Reno are also in the committee and will be available as your support should the need arise."

Emma saw her sister's shoulders droop further down, if that was still possible. The silly girl writing all her emotions on her face. It also didn't escape Emma that Rude had been casually excluded – yet another question clattering onto an ever-growing, messy pile.

"You are thinking this is an incredibly simple mission." A smile started on the President's lips, but his eyes held no such mirth. Her colleagues felt quieter at her side, and there was the prickle of imaginary ice on her skin.

"I do not expect failure," said softly, easily. Emma reminded herself to breathe.

15. In a nutshell

"Guy's a kid throwing pencils and erasers at his crush to get attention."

Ruluf's words ignited a wide range of reaction in Tseng's office. Elena personally found the mental image hysterical, but, seeing as Tseng didn't seem too happy with it, she made sure to bite her lips.

"We are not pencils and erasers." Emma crossed her arms on the couch. "This is an absolute waste of time."

"Unfortunately, that isn't up for us to judge." Tseng was clearly still chewing over the conversation with Rufus from yesterday.

"I've no problem with it." Ruluf shrugged from over at the bookshelves, skimming over the titles on the thick spines. "Treat it like a paid vacation," he said, and Elena grimaced. That she now had a negative reaction to such a coveted concept was a more than unfortunate consequence of being a part of this unusual love conquest. Emma did not treat the suggestion too kindly either, scowling with all her might from her seat.

"A mission should never be a vacation," Emma said. "And this is no mission. Not one of a Turk, let alone three."

16. Would you have preferred otherwise?

The hush fell over them so suddenly Emma could feel it pressing down on her shoulders. She looked at Kalyi, who'd asked the question. White-gloved hands clasped over her uniform, Kalyi regarded everyone for an answer before dark eyes came to match Emma's.

No one said anything, but they'd all heard the resounding 'no.'

17. A mission's a mission

Because Tseng had some matters to attend to, he left it to Elena to help the three seniors Turks prepare for their undercover mission. She told them about Edge, about Seventh Heaven, its barkeep, the tenants and the customers; about what worked, what didn't work.

Emma was concerned about their likeness getting recognized, and Kalyi hummed and said it could be worked around with, and Ruluf asked if Seventh Heaven made a good greyhound.

"What?" Ruluf said in the face of Emma's disapproving look.

"Don't even dignify that with an answer." And just because Emma said it, Elena snuck him one when Emma had her back turned.

18. Sisters

"And be careful of Vincent Valentine," Elena said. "Even if he's no longer in our ranks, there's no doubt he'll recognize you. Thankfully, he's not around that often."

Emma thought for a moment and said, "You got caught by him, didn't you?"

"No, I didn't." The lie was near-automatic, but, looking at the seniors' faces, clearly no one was fooled.

Emma rolled her eyes. "Typical."

"Sh-shut up!"

.

By the second day of the 'mission,' Elena was already going crazy.

It had been decided that Emma was to be benched while the other two rotated staking out in Seventh Heaven. Of course, Emma had to go and make herself 'useful' by scrutinizing all of Elena's work and pointing out all the flaws in her approach.

Those 'flaws' were a calculated endeavour to spend more time with Tseng!

.

She watched in muted horror as Emma flitted about her apartment, 'cleaning' and 'organizing' and just short of changing its entire interior to Emma's liking. Despite having been given a unit of her own, Emma kept coming over, severely limiting Elena's rendezvouses with Tseng. She'd never hear the end of it from Emma if her sister ever found out she was sleeping with their leader.

"Elena." Emma's voice echoed from another room. "You have two toothbrushes. Can I throw out one or do you have something to tell me?"

Fudge!

Elena poked her head in the bathroom. "Well, it's pretty lonely living here, y'know, alone, so I put an extra to pretend I have a roommate."

Emma didn't even pause. "They're both used."

"Because I use both. To upkeep the illusion."

Elena met her sister's incredulous gaze with a silly grin, tinged with resignation that Emma was in no way fooled. Emma let it go with disinterest, but Elena was forlorn, knowing too well the cat was just that much closer to coming out of the bag. Emma being here was just the absolute worst thing ever!

19. In the end, sisters

"Here." A bowl of tomato bisque was placed before Elena on the kitchen table, rich fragrance wrapping around the messy kitchen like a warm blanket. There was even a tiny mound of fried onion flakes in the middle of the creamy surface just like how mom used to make it. She looked up at Emma, who sat down across from her to begin eating.

"What?"

"I love you, Emma."

"Just eat your food."

20. Staking out at Seventh Heaven

Ruluf had passed by Reno just outside the bar, and though neither of them exerted recognition of the other, he did note that the second-in-command looked particularly downtrodden. Since it was none of his business, he delved no further into the observation.

There was a good crowd inside the bar, and he switched to a more flamboyant persona to fit in with the rowdiness, slapping shoulders and making some quick acquaintances with a casually constructed backstory. All was swell until—

"We don't have monsters here," the little girl told him from behind the counter without a single shade of irony in piercing mako eyes, then blankly added "Sir" like an afterthought. The comment was so out of the left field that his mind ran a mile and a half, wondering if he'd been found out and if that was a cleverly veiled warning, until he saw the innocent blink.

His smile was friendly and one-hundred percent fake as he explained it wasn't a monster he wanted and watched the child (he knew about her; still a child if this was any indication) went off to find the bar mistress.

Left at the counter, Ruluf slumped fully against it, letting go of a breath in relief.

21. Staking out at the Seventh Heaven (2)

Cloud Strife had approached Tifa Lockhart at the counter and was saying something to her that Kalyi couldn't hear over the almost festive mood inside the bar. With the holidays fast approaching, everyone was in the mood for celebration. But apparently not Tifa Lockhart.

Kalyi could read enough off of lips and body language, but her intuition niggled at her to come closer. Seated across from Cloud Strife, it turned out to be perfect timing as she now had a front row seat to another one of his attempts to invite the bartender out. Watching the situation unfold, she hummed to herself, cup of buttered rum in her lap and puzzle pieces moving around in her mind.

And she discreetly inched further away when Cloud Strife began machine-gun sneezing.

22. Emma's debut

"I can't believe we're actually doing this," Emma said as she pulled a grey hoodie on. The rain rapping on the roof of the van was the round of drumroll she never asked for. She looked at her team. "I can't believe I'm actually doing this."

Kalyi laughed and adjusted the hoodie to make sure Emma's face wasn't visible. "The President is quite the creative mind."

Creative wouldn't be the first descriptor Emma thought of.

Ruluf passed her the dummy package, and off she went, pushing open the backdoor and landing onto the wet pavement outside. She adjusted her grip on the bulky box, which weighed a good few pounds, and broke into a run down the near-empty street, leaving the unmarked black van in the alley.

23. The boss' creativity

KX-300, aka the Silent Cannon – the first perfected prototype of a firearm-type EMP generator that had been long in development by Shin·Ra's weapon research department, capable of shutting down any electronic circuit while leaving no trace of sabotage. Estimated duration of effectiveness: 16 hours (per single fire).

"…Seriously?"

"Make too much damage and it'll affect their livelihood plus raise suspicions. Make too little and he'll just fix it."

"Hmm, it's been collecting dust anyway."

And an infiltration had never been easier. The streets in the poorer sections of Edge were as dark as it was dirty, and Emma and Ruluf slipped out of Seventh Heaven unnoticed sharp at the six minute mark, KX-300 carefully tucked inside the bag slung across her body.

As they hurried to meet up with Kalyi at the van parked several blocks away, Emma was still trying to come to terms with how the very first use they had for a cutting-edge assassination tool, worth millions of gils, was frying the engine of a delivery boy's motorcycle.

.

"All of them, sir?" Ruluf asked with a slice of uncharacteristic dismay in his tone, scanning the list of restaurants they had to fill with non-existent patrons without arousing suspicions (not that by itself a phenomenon that unnatural wasn't already plenty suspicious) or getting this traced back to Shin·Ra.

"It'd be more efficient to pay them all to close down for a day, sir." Emma ventured. Since either way was plenty suspicious.

The President smiled. "I concur. But it has come to my attention that some of you are finding your assignment too idle a task."

Emma could only screw her eyes shut as the needle-like glares of her fellow Turks fell upon her.

.

Tseng sat back in his chair and resisted the urge to sigh away ten years' worth of fortune as he listened to Elena's verbal report about how their grand accomplishment for the day was the evacuation of a poorly managed cinema - a feat any random child might have achieved with enough parental neglect and curiosity for the fire alarm pull station.

.

Kalyi's eyes snapped open just as the 4:29 on her clock blinked into 4:30. The alarm went off. She reached out from under her blanket and killed the ringing, returning her room to silence. But it wasn't silence. The windows rattled and the solemn sky outside grumbled and thundered, demanding to be let it.

Then her PHS started vibrating on the nightstand.

"Abort?" Ruluf said.

"Abort."

"I'll call off on the durians."

She smiled at the palpable glee in his monotone. "I'll tell Emma."

Just as she flipped shut the phone, Kalyi heard Emma mumbling from next to her, 'Shame, I actually liked the operation this time,' and chuckled. Cold air eating through her clothes, she stared out at the heavy curtain of rain outside, thinking how even the heavens weren't on Cloud Strife's side these days.

24. Intervention

"You know Elena's getting burnt out."

Emma looked back at Kalyi over the plastic edge of her cup before lowering her gaze coolly. As Ruluf was on stake-out duty today, it was just her and Emma in the Turk's lounge, and she thought it a good time to bring up the topic.

"Elena's a drama queen."

"I think she wants some space." And that might be an understatement. Kalyi had found the younger sibling holed up inside one of the bathroom stalls to avoid her sister the other day.

"Well, she told me she was lonely."

Kalyi observed Emma's expression and tilted her head. "Emma." She waited until Emma looked at her again. "Why aren't you staying in your own unit?"

Emma averted her gaze.

25. (Un)Settling into Edge

The manager was an older woman with a head of curly brown hair a light smile that did a poor job at curving the corners of her lips. It probably meant to be friendly, but Emma thought the smile only served to emphasize the pair of blank, sunken eyes.

"So yeah. If you have any concern, I'm in the office. If you see a ghost though, just ignore it."

Emma stopped the inspection of her key card to look at the manager, who shook her head. "See that spot over there on the couch?" The woman pointed at the couch right behind Emma. "That's his spot. See how that light just blinked? That's him."

"There's another one at the stairs actually. I think it's a she. Always walking up and down those steps. But they never do anything, so don't mind them."

And then the manager was gone, leaving Emma in the middle of the quiet apartment, alone, with the sun descending outside the window. She looked around, scrutinized the walls and corners, and found herself criticizing the shadows that didn't seem to shift quite right.

She stared again at the incriminated couch—and flinched when the lights flickered again.

26. Confidant

Kalyi slowly blinked. "Was that why you stayed over the other night?"

"Do not laugh." There was a light dusting on Emma's cheeks as she ground out each warning word, fingers tightening around the foam cup at her lap. "Do not tell Elena."

She didn't. And she wouldn't. How like Emma to put up that strong front. But also how unlike Emma to confess to something she evidently found mortifying. Kalyi rested her chin on the back of her hand and smiled as she watched Emma struggle to look everywhere but at her.

"Emma."

Blue eyes fluttered down in a gesture of defeat. "I know, I know. I'll leave Elena alone."

Kalyi grinned a little wider. "That's great. But I was going to say that you're welcomed to crash with me anytime."

27. Just another day (at spying)

It was 4 PM sharp that Ruluf made it back to the HQ. He stopped here and there, spoke about this and that and finally got excused to the lounge. Closing the door behind him, he found and joined his accomplices at the coffee table.

"Welcome back. You're early today," Kalyi said, glint of inquisitiveness in her eyes that he shrugged away. He pulled off his muffler and brushed a few specks of snow off his jacket.

"Bar's closed."

"And you just left?" Emma's eyebrows began to draw together and he could see the lecture swirling into existence behind that frown. As if he was some errant child.

28. You lose if you let things get to you (2)

"Strife got himself sick." Ruluf plopped down next to Emma, meeting her stern gaze. "Lockhart is heading here. Odds of those two forming any arrangement today are slim to none."

He reached for the coffee boiler only to find it weightless. He then looked to Emma's hands where a piping hot cup resided and asked if she would share. When no answer came, he plucked the cup out of her grasp for a sip, relishing as the heat spread inside him. It wasn't the shot of whiskey he was intending to grab at Seventh Heaven, but it would have to do.

With a satisfied sigh, he slipped the cup back between Emma's fingers and sat back to find his team still staring at him.

"What?"

29. Mission failure?

"And you just left?" Emma's voice was much softer, much more louring at the same time.

Ruluf was simply nonplussed. "I already told the boss. What else is there to do?"

When Emma's mouth opened but no word came, Kalyi had a small fear that her brain was teetering close to short-circuiting. Her fingers were curling dangerously around the foam cup, and Ruluf had the foresight to lift it away from her again before she crushed the flimsy container and burnt herself.

30. Show's over

Emma took a composing breath, rubbing her temple with a finger. But then an unexpected bright side occurred to her. With one last sigh, she pushed away from the annoying notion of failure and faced her team with steel-cool professionalism.

"Well, we did predict it wasn't going to be long before one of the targets caught on, considering the frequency at which Cloud Strife was making plans. I supposed I'll start packing."

She sat back in her seat, taking in the curious gazes of her team.

"What? The President got her attention like he wanted didn't he?" Pencils and erasers and all. "The mission is over."

There was a brief silence, then Kalyi spoke first. "Well, setting aside that can of worms…" (There had been debates – the lengthy, friendship-breaking and faction-forming kind – and the Turks on the committee were now split evenly into two regarding the intentions of their President.)

"That was quick." Ruluf interjected from her left, and Emma levied a questioning frown on him. "You getting over this." He clarified. "You usually brood for at least a day." Before she could give an explanation or even be properly offended, Kalyi spoke again from across the table, chin in her palm and teasing in her tone.

"Yeah, Emma, what's the hurry to leave?"

Kalyi looked too amused to be bothered by the embarrassed glare Emma sent her way.

31. Reno's lament

The street in front of the company was crowded as usual, polluted by exhaust, noise, and people. That was how you tell business was good, he supposed.

"So, before I head out to my own grave—" Reno held up the folder containing the health inspection report for Chewnon for emphasis. "—can somebody explain to me how we got here?"

From his cute junior to the three transferees, no one responded. Though in Two Guns' case it was more likely due to lack of interest rather an answer.

Pres had it out for him, he was sure of it–calling him over all the way from Healen for this. He never should have boasted about how close he was—or had been, to Lockhart.

"Just go already." Elena shooed at him like he was flies, sticking close to her sister. Knife smiled impersonally and bid him a, he quoted, safe journey, and Two Guns, the blank-faced bastard, actually had the gall to wave him goodbye.

Reno knew he hadn't helped out much in this mission, but this was just cold of them. He wanted to be back in Healen.

32. Duty-bound

"It's in your job description," Rufus had said, entirely serious, from behind his regal oak desk.

With a silent grumble, Reno flicked away the sweat-matted strands of hair sticking to his face before resuming the vigorous mopping, teeth gritted in unusual contempt for a stubborn black blotch on the diner floor.

Two Guns was in charge of the booths, the sisters were huddled up behind the counter disinfecting, and Knife was in the kitchen (this last one Reno thought was decidedly apt). Tseng, on the other hand, had blown them off with an excuse of emergency in Junon. Fucking Tseng.

Reno shoved his crumpled shirt sleeves further up his arms and went to dunk the mop in the murky water inside the bucket, casting a glance over the dingy little space in non-admiration of their collective effort. It didn't look like they were anywhere near done.

His head dropped onto his arms perching atop the mop, and his shoulders slumped in despondence.

Being 'cleaners' had always been one of the many sub-clauses in their contracts, but it really shouldn't cover this kind of cleaning.

33. The dinner date

Tifa didn't know the proclaimed new manager-slash-chef of Chewnon, but the woman had Elena's face, and Reno was blatantly working the cash register, explaining with a grin that he was doing a friend a solid. She stepped away from the counter after paying to let Shinra order his food.

Their effort to maintain the theatre went beyond her comprehension, but she had decided that the less she tried to understand this, the better off she would be after it was over.

She settled into a booth and watched, chafed yet also mildly amused, as Shinra attempted to hand over his credit card, only to be told the establishment only accepted cash. The swift frown flitting past his demeanour told her that particular setting wasn't in the script.

34. The silent treatment

"I hope the food is to your taste."

Tifa swirled her pair of disposable chopsticks into the noodles soaked in spicy sauce and pulled up a hearty portion to her lips. It was good—great actually, but she was in no hurry to share her thought or even acknowledge his comment.

"How is Cloud doing now?" As if he didn't already have her household on 24/7 surveillance. Tifa only chewed slowly, committed to silence, and turned to look out the window into the barren parking lot. Not a lot of excitement, but she could count the number of people who stopped to do a double-take at the piano-polished black car outside.

"You seem to be in poor humour today, Miss Lockhart."

As persistent as she remembered. His interest in her was in spite – or maybe even because – of her briary attitude, she knew and had thought of reigning it in a little more, but she also had a feeling there was little she could do to reverse the metaphorical clock, especially now. Just gotta hunker down and wait for the storm to pass, Teef, Yuffie had offered helpfully, or unhelpfully.

"Should we cancel and reschedule for another day?"

Her gaze snapped to him despite herself, and, meeting the smile in his eyes, her own narrowed.

35. Making small talks

She said nothing still, and his smile widened by a fraction of an inch but without any real mirth behind the action. He thought about it and said, "I told you my Turks can be quite the cooks, didn't I?"

Her chewing paused and red eyes studied him with an intelligent glint in their hard pits. "Trying to get a rise out of me, Shinra?"

"Nothing so dramatic." He chuckled. "Merely to start a conversation, and might I say it's working?"

She stared at him some more, then, due to some leap of logic he hadn't quite caught up to yet, a smirk, almost teasing (but that couldn't be), bled onto her expression. Her shoulders squared a little less as she gave a little shake of her head and leaned forward. "Desperate, are we?"

"Please." He mimicked her motion with a smirk of his own. "Call it a concession. On my part."

36. Concession

Tifa took another bite of her drunken noodles, half contemplating asking for the recipe. Now that he'd admitted in no certain words to the diner staff, specifically the chef, being under his payroll, she wondered if that made it easier or harder to do so.

"Why?"

He glanced up at her beneath pale lashes, busy fiddling with the cap of his take-away bowl, black leather gloves discarded to the side.

"Elaborate," he said. He'd successfully popped the cap open without spraying sauce on his precious vest and appeared extremely pleased by that (even more so that just now when he'd successfully gotten her to break her vow of silence).

"I thought you were enjoying your little play here."

"What can I say? Prolonging an already played out joke is just poor taste." Tifa tried not to roll her eyes and contend his idea of what a joke was. He observed her for a length, his expression steadfast, before he continued. "And I only wish for you to enjoy tonight."

Her surprise at the strangely earnest words was quickly stamped down (because that couldn't be), and she replaced it with a careless scoff.

"Tall ask, Shinra."

But a part of her was tired. A part of her just wanted to be civil, very ready for this to be over, for them to go back to that peaceful unmindfulness of each other from just a mere few months ago. But that wasn't possible now, was it?

"Perish the thought." He leaned in ever closer, charismatic smirk above his knuckles. "It's not up to you to entertain yourself in my presence."

So long as that mischievous glint was still in his eyes.

.

.

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37. Down with our ship

He could smell the food from outside. Tseng came through the backdoor of Chewnon and gave the small kitchen a quick scan. The interior was the same yet still looked nothing like when he was here to buy the place off of the last owner.

The committee was gathered at a table, in hushed discussion over dinner. He caught Elena's gaze and then her smile and felt the weariness plaguing his body subside.

She got up and came up to him. "Tseng, Emma cooked. Will you have some?" He didn't see why not, even if he didn't feel particularly hungry, and accepted the plate of noodles when she came back from the stove. "Do we know who was responsible for the missing containers?"

"We have several names. Balto has it covered." He poured himself a cup of water and lifted it to his mouth for a sip, glancing through the door leading into the diner area and spotting the President and the folded arms of Tifa Lockhart behind the glass of the counter.

"I think it's going well." He looked back to Elena gazing at the same scene as he had, pleased grin on her lips. It eluded him still why she would be so invested in the notion of another's romantic affairs. "Things will begin to look up from here. Don't you think so, Tseng?"

Tseng looked into her brown eyes, glittering under the artificial lighting, and saw that light dim with confusion when he shook his head. "They won't get together. I don't think he's even trying, Elena."

And he really wanted to confront Elena on why she was looking at him as if he'd just kicked a helpless puppy.