By Vera Priscaleth

Rating: PG-13 [cursing, some sexual content]

Disclaimer: Squaresoft owns the characters, the place, the small proportion of the events.

Author's Notes/Summary: I thought I'd give the Turks one more angsty go. Since I finished 'Brothers and Sisters', I didn't really think I'd write any more angsty Turk-fics, because there's so many good one's out there and mine was alright, maybe even my best work, but I just didn't think I'd do it anymore. Tonight I was bored, though, and here's the result. This takes place after you meet the Turks for the last time. Naturally I'll assume they go out and get drunk. Like most of my Turks-fiction, this one has a definite RenoxElena-flavour in it. I'm sorry! I didn't even mean to plant it there, it just happened.
And if my Turks seem careless that they're dying, let's just say they're Turks. They've seen some serious shit. If death comes, they'll let it come. With the Meteor, it's unstoppable (unless you're bloody Cloud Strife). Review, if you wish. Feedback is always appreciated, greatly.

~

After you've had so much alcohol, you could die, aren't you glad you only drank, because you knew you were dying anyway? Sad, how your only friend seems to be made from glass. A friend, who won't choke, when you grab his neck. A friend, whose lips are cold, but whose blood is warming. Adding blood to your own veins. No more Turks. Turks don't exist anymore.

~

Reno knew they were all dying and going straight to hell. He poured himself another glass, filled to the rim with glittering whiskey, spilling over his long, thin fingers as he held the glass and lifted it to his lips. Elena was silently sipping her martini next to him, glaring at him, as he sluggishly leaned backward and threw his left arm around her. Elena wasn't too comfortable with the idea that her last shag in this lifetime might be with this ex-colleague, whose hair was greasy from sweat and who was at the worst state he'd ever been before tonight. Reno ditched the subtle approach and tried to force his mouth on hers. He stunk of old alcohol, cigarettes and dirt. She pushed him away.

"Aww, come on," he grumbled.

"You look like shit, Reno," she replied sharply and stood up. Reno tried to grab her arm, sleeve, uniform, anything, but she walked away from the couch they'd been sitting on. She let her eyes move around the room and the word vapor came to her. Shinra employees from the most pathetic office rats to the fat, smug bosses were getting wasted. This invisible Doom-spell hung heavily in the air above them and the whole room was filled with smoke and Mako-glow. Music was played in the background. The beats in the hypnotic acid-jazz didn't match the beat of her heart and it made her feel concerned. The party was different from all the other office parties. It was different, because no one had to suck up to each other, give a shit or wear suits. It was casual Friday gone junkie's Sunday. It made her sick to watch it.

"Smoke?" a deep voice said behind her. She turned, delighted by the company. Rude didn't smile. Rude never smiled.

"Well, why not," she grinned and they went outside, to the balcony. She walked to the edge, almost and turned around to face him. The gigantic Meteor shone behind her. To her, it didn't exist right now.

They smoked in silence. Inhale. Blow out the smoke. Drop the ashes. Stub out. Great. Seven days of your life gone down the drain once again, with just one poisonous roll of tar and carbon monoxide. Elena felt more relaxed. Seven days was nothing. They'd all be dead in a week anyhow.

"Go back inside?" she asked Rude. The expressionless face nodded back at her and they left the balcony and the frightening sight of the Meteor. Elena talked to him, even though she always felt like she was talking to herself. She said:

"Reno's in really bad condition."

She saw the scrawny redhead lying on the couch, half-asleep, half-drunk. She felt nothing but pity. At the same time, she felt incredibly stupid for feeling pity. Reno, the badass, the stereotype of a 'my-parents-never-loved-me'-boy, an anarchist joining the system, a criminal working for the police, a reject, an alcoholic, a killer, a murderer, a fuck up first class, but really just a lost soul on an evil path. Bullshit, she wanted to say. Bullshit. Every now and then, she imagined herself, back in her Turk uniform and high heels, her hair neatly combed, marching over to Reno and grabbing his collar.

Quit this stupid act you're putting on, Reno, she'd yell at him.

I know every one of your silly little tricks and I see right through you. You big wussy, you couldn't kill a man the way I could. You're all show. You're all talk, no action, just games that you play with yourself, with me. I hate you, Reno. I want you to hear it loud and clear. We might've once worked together, but I hate you. Don't you dare think I don't.

And she imagined her little neat hands clenched into fists, pounding on his chest, his face, his stomach. Reno falling on the floor, his body numb from all the pain. She liked to imagine she'd smile after that. A cruel, wicked smile. That she'd feel nothing for Reno's pain.

It wasn't true and she knew it. Rude knew it as well and when she caught him staring at her as she thought those thoughts, she felt stupid. She was the Turk who cared. Who looked out for the other Turks. She didn't want to be that, but she was, because someone had to.

"We might wanna go help him get home or something", Elena told Rude. He nodded in the stern manner he usually did, and they walked over to the third, sleeping Turk. Elena shook him.

"Reno!"

No response, just a slight sound of snoring escaping his lips.

"RENO!"

He half-opened his eyes and stared coldly at Elena.

"Fuck off, bitch."

She sighed. Rude came closer, looked at his friend for a while and then punched his arm. Reno's thin arm flung on his lap, as he yelped and jumped a little. Now he was fully awake.

"Bastards…" he muttered as he rubbed the spot Rude had bruised. Elena smiled a little and sat next to him. Rude made a gesture at the empty glasses on the coffee table and left their company to obtain some more. Reno coughed.

"Sorry."

"Sorry for what?"

"Sorry for the earlier. I shouldn't have," Reno said bluntly. Mistake was written all over his face. Elena saw it. Elena was his mistake.

"Turks don't say sorry," Elena pointed out, very confused by Reno's gesture.

"Aw, fuck that Turks-do-this-and-don't-do-that-crap. Fuck all that 'This-is-our-job'-philosophy. There are no Turks, no Shinra, no Midgar. The only thing that's truly real is that Meteor. And the fact we'll die." He laughed. "I've seen so many men die. But always by my hand, you know? There lies the difference. This is something we can't control. We can't decide who'll die."

"Well, life's a bitch like that," Elena replied sarcastically. He was right, though. This was it. The end. Farewell, so long, good riddance, see you in what lies beyond.

Rude was back with the drinks. Dry Martini, two black olives. Elena had a peculiar taste in her Martini olives. Always had to be black. Always. Scotch for Reno. Always Scotch for Reno. Rude drank beer. He couldn't say why. Sixty-eight percent of the choices we make daily, we can't say why we make them. Why we choose, what we choose. Apple or orange. Blue or black trousers. It's like we were already following a script. Elena just wanted to get plastered. Really plastered. She laughed.

"So is this it, guys?"

And the men looked at her. Ditzy blond girl had joined the Turks, how long had it been? Rude knew it was before Tseng's death. Nowadays he counted time as if Tseng's death had been the beginning of time itself. Time before Tseng's death was just time. And yes, he had actually cared for that bastard, ironic isn't it? Tseng had taught him everything he really needed to know in life and one of them was just not to care. If you're on a job and your partner gets killed, you don't go off to revenge his death and you don't mourn his death and you don't take the night off to get drunk. You do your job. You go home. If you're off-duty, why waste time caring? And when you're on duty, it's against the rules to care. Care. Verb Rude resented and still the verb he found himself repeatedly thinking about. Yes, he cared for Reno. And Elena.

The silly, little girl. How could you not care for her, the big maroon eyes and bright blond hair? She'd look at you and you felt your knees sank a little. Like when you watch your little sister play. And that's how you care. There was another side to her, of course. All tough, feeding on the adrenaline of when you hurt someone.

Reno, he might never say it, but he cared for her as well. That silly boy, just a mean rascal. Reno with his flaming hair, shooting down birds and stoning them to death, because that was his idea of fun. Sick little child. Another side of him, so lost, so sad. Reno's the boy who doesn't know the way home, so he just runs and runs.

Both just children in Rude's eyes.

If the end was drawing closer, so were the two.

Elena moved closer to him, so close they touched each other. Her body against his. He didn't as much as dare look at her.

Rude observed the situation from afar. Too long had it been going on. Too long had they circled around what was, twisting the words and cursing the myth. Now here it was, the magnificent turning point, the romantic end to a crooked fairy tale. He'd pictured it for so long, he didn't believe it was happening. Sometimes it'd go…

Reno, I love to hate you.

Elena, I hate to love you.

Rude often laughed at all the pitiful clichés his brain was able to think up. The facts remained. They'd kissed. Stolen, drunken kisses, acts of anger and frustration. Shutupbitch. Makeme. YoubetterbelievemeI'llmakeyou. They'd stepped on each other and abused each other, they'd comforted each other and cried in each other's arms. And then they both just hid. Cupid calls.

ring ring

Now they were all over each other. Clashing lips and trembling hands, rib against rib they hung onto each other, desperately wanting more, everything.

Rude left to have a smoke on the balcony. He didn't know what it was about. He didn't understand… What do you call it? Love? Romance? Partnership? Passion? He could just bet they'd be humphumphumphumping all night.

It didn't matter. There were no Turks. There was no tomorrow. He could go find a girl and kiss her just to remind himself on what it was like. All those emotions gone to waste. All those feelings kept inside. Sad, so sad.

He took off his sunglasses. The Mako-glow hurt his eyes. He put them back on and took his gun out of the holster. He fired at the Meteor.

And the bullet would stop in midair and land in the basket of a beggar sleeping in the slums somewhere. Have a nice life. The sky will fall on us tomorrow.

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