morning, a final fantasy vii fanfic

disclaimer: final fantasy vii and its characters are property of squaresoft, inc. no profit was made in the creation of this fic.

nb: for jennifer. happy belated… 16th and uh… 17th birthday. i'm sorry this took so ridiculously long. yes, i know i ought to be shot.

morning
by magnum opus

In retrospect, one cannot live on alcohol alone.

The back alley of Turtle's Paradise stank of piss and vomit. He stumbled in a drunken haze, holding his belly filled with the vile substance. A wrong step and he heaved, slapping his palms hard on sooty brick as the bile splattered on the cobblestone to mix with dirty street water. He leaned his forehead against the wall and stared blankly down at his soiled boots. They would need to be cleaned.

Fuck that. He hadn't cared when he had a job and he didn't care now. So he forced his lead-weighted feet to move, half-dragging himself away from the mess.

Quiet murmurings surrounded him as he tripped onto the main street. He supposed he looked like a freak show, with his gaunt skeletal body and bleach-pale skin. A pointing couple was staring at him in horrid fascination and he paused to glare at them, his lips curling into a sneer as they started back in recognition. They still feared him, the one with the dark blue suit, cheat thief murderer ruthless Turk

monster.

His name was still whispered in terror despite the fall of Shinra. His reputation preceded his appearance and nobody dared to prove otherwise. It pleased him to keep it that way; Turks did not die in the hands of mortal men.

The darkness was fading fast, fleeing as the sun god prepared to race his chariots across the sky. He was feeling particularly philosophical, like Rude had been, he thought as he squinted up into the twilight sky. The dulling stars twinkled in oblivion, one for each life that lingered on, little spheres of light that burned themselves out, unaware of their own demise. Much like him perhaps, although he looked forward to kingdom come. The fallen awaiting judgement day, he preferred to think of it that way.

Bring on hellfire and brimstone. That would be the perfect end to his days on this godforsaken planet, going down in a blaze of glory. He wondered what Rude would have said to that.

The flames raged in the sky. He passed out.

Daddy was an honourable man, who lived by strict rules and discipline. Mummy was a beautiful woman, who threw parties and chatted with girlfriends over high tea. Daddy had a stable job with Shinra, working directly under the Head of Accountancy with an income that ninety percent of the population would kill for. Mummy was a wide-eyed homemaker, spending her days flipping through glossy magazines for useless white elephants to furnish their upper-plate apartment with. Renoyld Sebastian Dwinelle was their pride and joy, and Daddy and Mummy wanted only the best for him.

So it did not sit well with them when Renoyld Sebastian, age thirteen, announced his decision to join SOLDIER. Mummy cried that it was dangerous, Daddy paled at the notion of sending him to war, but what Renoyld Sebastian wanted Renoyld Sebastian got, and six months later he found himself standing in Room 286 of the Shinra Research Facility awaiting the administration of SOLDIER Test 64: Mako Enhancement Reaction.

He never remembered much of that day, only told that he had reacted negatively to the tests, almost biting off his tongue amidst the convulsions that had wracked his body. The doctor had hummed and hawed, peering at him over black-rimmed glasses like he was a specimen in a Petri dish as he flipped through his records. He would never make SOLDIER with his allergic reaction, but his psychological tests were superb and his physical was astounding and President Shinra was looking for people like him to join his group of personal body guards and would he like to try out for that instead?

Renoyld Sebastian agreed without a second thought.

His roommate and mentor was called Rude, a dark-skinned bulky boy three years his senior who wore his sunglasses like a medal and spoke no more than five words at a time. He once asked Rude in a joking manner if his speech impediment was the reason for his name. Rude had taken off his glasses and stared through him with one dead brown eye.

He never asked again.

Training left him tired everyday, the activities rivalling those of SOLDIER. He wrote home to Mummy fortnightly, just to let her know he was alright. Daddy was having some trouble at work, but the money was still coming in, so Renoyld Sebastian didn't have to worry about them. Mummy missed him and Renoyld Sebastian missed her, and he promised that he'd go home the first chance he had so that she could make sure her poor baby was alright. Daddy and Mummy never knew what he was doing, always thinking he had not made it to SOLDIER and was a lowly patrol guard. He never bothered to correct them, wanting to surprise them when he became a full-fledged Turk.

On the day of graduation, he received his debut mission from Rude. The boy had passed him the manila folder, pausing for a second to squeeze him hesitantly on his shoulder. He had ignored that consoling gesture and eagerly torn open the folder, eyes widening in realisation at the uniform characters printed on the officially marked paper.

That day, he shortened his name to Reno.

Two days later, the Dwinelles were gone.

He did not like mornings, much less when he had a pounding hangover. They gave him too much time to think of the days gone by and the people who had left him behind, although he tried to assure himself that he did not need them anymore. He supposed that one could call him impassive, as he shrewdly tabulated the score like his income tax returns, but he had gotten used to departures. Too many rolls with unnamed faces on creaking bedsprings tend to make one less emotional when it comes to goodbyes.

The feather futon he laid on right now, however, was too soft and clean for a fifty gil inn bed.

"Oi Turk, wakey wakey!"

The girlish voice startled him and he jolted up as a hand none too gently patted his cheek a couple of times. He blinked at the storm-grey eyes that pierced into his bleary ones. She seemed vaguely familiar, and he realised it was the kid they once rescued unintentionally from Don Corneo. Was it Yasmine, Yveline, Yvette?

"It's Yuffie, for Leviathan's sake."

He wasn't aware he had been thinking aloud. A damp towel was flung at his face rudely and he reached to press the terry cloth hard against his eyes. His tongue felt raw and dry, flopping numbly in his mouth like a dead trout. She slammed a glass of water on the floor next to him, its contents sloshing violently near the rim.

"You'd better appreciate this Turk. Not everyday that I haul some drunkard off the streets before he gets mugged."

He gave his head a hard shake and staggered to his feet, his fingers curling through grimy hair tangled with a ratty black string. He was only clad in his soiled shirt and pants and he looked around for his jacket. The air in the room was too warm and fresh. The girl made a disgusted noise as she indiscreetly pinched her nose with forefinger and thumb.

"Oh gawd… I thought it was just the alcohol but… when the hell did you last shower Turk?"

Little girls should mind their own business. Her eyes narrowed and he could see her jaw clench. She drew herself up to her full height of five-feet-two and lifted her chin to peer down her nose at him the best she could. He thought she looked every bit the prissy princess she was. If she were older, she'd make a good lay.

Apparently she did not agree. The girl's slap was violent in its anger, almost as strong as Elena's, but the numbing pain went half-unnoticed as he discovered his jacket draped over the chair near the exit. He slid it off the varnished wood and hooked his finger on the bronze circle hanging from the fragile frame of the paper door.

"Oi Turk! Don't just walk away like that! Aren't you even the least bit grateful for what I've done?"

Yeah sure whatever. He slung his jacket over his shoulder and slinked away, leaving the gibberish yelling behind.

His second kill had been just as messy, a ghastly affair involving an engineer whom Shinra thought was screwing his wife. A funny matter when he thought of it now, considering how the President did away with her himself a few weeks later, but Turks didn't question what they were told so he did his job like the good little boy he was. The assassination was completed with only one hitch: a blonde-haired six-year-old daughter with a quivering lip and a stuttering lisp to match her helpless pleas.

Section 2.2 of Article 4 of the Turk Code of Conduct states: In the event of discovery during the line of duty, whosoever in charge of the mission is to eliminate any possible source of implication to the President, Shinra Electric Company and/or the Turks, as an act of prevention that such evidence may be held against the President, Shinra Electric Company and/or the Turks.

So he shot her between her tearing bright blue eyes.

Rude found him screaming and strangling himself with his blankets that night. He made no comment, merely sitting on the bed and cradling the crying bundle like an abandoned child in the slums. He told Reno he had lost his eye to an enraged boy wielding a kitchen knife out for revenge against a now-missing Turk who had been too sloppy to pick up the pieces. Emotional people do not think rationally and they lash back at the whole world and not just the cause of their distress.

"Sometimes for the greater good, sacrifices have to be made," he had said as he tucked Reno into bed. He paused to smooth back short red fringe from tear-stained cheeks. "It may not seem that way, but our job saves more lives than you realise."

Rude did not like to talk and only spoke when he had a point to make. He said it was dangerous in their line of work to have a loose tongue. They were being watched at every point in time, invisible cameras screening their every move to pinpoint if someone was on the edge of turning. Shinra was a paranoid old man. That was why the first mission was always to eliminate all ties with the outside world. It did not mean that Reno was heartless; every Turk had done the same. They had no choice.

They were paired for most missions after that, and became known as the most efficient duo in Turk history. Reno rose through the ranks rapidly and the whispers started about his bloodlust and kamikaze spurts. It was alarming to some how he had gotten over the beginner's squick and seemed to hanker after missions like a drug. Others thought it just meant he possessed the qualities to become the next leader of the Turks. Only Rude knew how true those rumours were.

Some nights Reno would lie in bed staring at the whitewashed ceiling, thinking of nothing but the comforting warmth in the bed next to him. Rude always knew what to say to make him feel better, always watched his back when the need arose, and always sat there like a solid rock for his sanity. He came to the conclusion that Rude was one of those perfect people who would live forever and have dozens of kids with blonde-haired blue-eyed bombshells.

But standing in the wreck of Midgar all those years later, Reno realised that perfect people didn't exist.

Something furry brushed his nose and he lifted one hand to bat it away. There was a quiet mew, and he became aware of a shifting weight on his chest, even as something soft and wet started lapping at the fingers he had clenched around the bed cover. For a second, he had the wildest notion that it was Dark Nation.

"Shiro, get off him this instant!" someone whispered sternly, scooping the cat off him and depositing it on the floor in one swift movement. He opened his eyes to see the same girl from yesterday (was it yesterday?) peering thoughtfully at him. She started back, eyes narrowing immediately when she saw that he was awake. He pushed himself up by his elbows, his vision swimming at the movement.

"Geez…" The girl hesitated, before helping him sit up completely. "You're going to drink yourself to death one of these days."

Tseng used to say the same and he would usually just laugh it off. Instead, he wrenched his arm from her grasp and stood up, his stomach protesting almost immediately. She tried to steady him, but he shook her arm off as he swayed on his feet. The door seemed further away today.

"You're in no state to go out by yourself, you know." She chewed on her lower lip, before venturing to ask. "Isn't there anyone I can call? Tell them to come pick you up?"

No, there was no one left. His stomach plummeted further and he felt more sober than ever. He wanted her to leave him alone. There was no reason why she should be so nice to him anyway. If she had paid his tab at the bar, she wasn't getting her money back. He never asked for her help anyway.

"Gawd, what's it with you!" She stomped to the door and shoved it open forcefully. "Want to leave, fine! It doesn't pay to be kind to people like you after all! See if I haul your drunken ass back here again!"

That was precisely what he had intended the last time. The girl threw up her arms in frustration and stamped out of the room, slamming the door behind her. He followed her slowly, his bare feet shuffling along the surface of the tatami mat, trying to concentrate on the vertical line-pattern that the straw made on the floor. It wasn't as soft as carpet and his feet looked strange to him. He needed to find his shoes.

The door slid open violently again and the girl reappeared, throwing a fluffy towel at his chest. He caught it in disinterested reflex, staring at the foreign object as if it would bite him. She snorted in disgust.

"It's called a towel, Turk." She gestured down the corridor. "At least take a stupid shower. I don't want people to say that I don't take care of my guests."

The door shut with a bang once again. He looked around once more and found his spotless shoes arranged neatly by the exit. He gazed back at the towel again before dropping it to the floor.

He slipped on his shoes and left.

The first time he met Rufus Shinra the boy was thirteen. He had an instant dislike for him the moment he saw those haughty blue eyes sweep over the ballroom floor, dismissing the lavishly decorated birthday cake without so much as a second glance. He whispered to Rude that he thought the boy needed someone to take that stick out of his ass, President's son or not, but Rude just gave him a long look before reminding him that they were on duty that night. It was their turn to watch the prince.

An hour later, he found himself desperately trying to drag the deadweight back in through the 65th storey window of the Shinra building. The boy had apparently decided to learn how to fly.

He remembered the boy's apartment being cold and empty, despite the bulky expensive furniture that occupied the room in a sprawling show of extravagance. Rufus had stared at the white carpet blankly as Rude swept his bedroom for dangerous articles that the boy could harm himself with. When he was given the go-ahead to enter his room, he paused with his back to Reno.

"Next time, just let go."

Reno had crossed his fingers and prayed hard to the powers that be that there wouldn't be a next time. It was difficult enough working with a royal pain in the ass, let alone a suicidal one whose father would probably not hesitate to have him executed. Whichever deity had listened, however, was apparently quite an equivocator, because he was startled awake during his shift at three in the morning by the sound of breaking glass. This time, the boy had decided to slit his wrists with a picture of his mother.

He had cursed and lurched forward at the flailing arms of the crying child as he frantically tried to keep the sliver of glass out of Reno's reach. The boy was surprisingly strong for his age, but Reno was four years older and stronger. They grappled; someone's hand slipped. The shard rose and fell in a graceful arc, the boy choking on uncontrollable sobs as he finally dropped it on the floor. It was only then that the stinging pain on his left cheek and the spots of blood on the white sheets registered in Reno's mind.

He got his first scar that day.

Rufus had been scared out of his wits by what he had done, but after all he was still a child. Reno spent the rest of the night awkwardly comforting him as he babbled incoherently, sometimes gripping Reno's arm like a lifeline. When Rude turned up for his shift, the boy had just fallen asleep curled up in a foetal position by Reno's side. He could only answer Rude's questioning gaze with a shrug of his own.

Somehow, it came to be that he was made a permanent fixture in Rufus' schedule. He never asked about it, but occasionally during long quiet rides in the limousine he would notice the boy's eyes straying back to his cheek. It was the guilt, he supposed, that made the boy cling to him like a long-lost brother. Rude was silently disapproving regarding the turn of events, Tseng more so, but whatever Rufus demanded had to be done. President Shinra did not like it when people said he did not care for his son.

To Reno, it didn't matter either way. It was his job.

It finally happened during Rufus' seventeenth birthday that the boy drank too much champagne. Tseng thought it would be wise for the young master to retire and Reno tried to carry out his orders, but Rufus had his own plans. In the middle of ballroom amidst the gaping stares of the crowd, Rufus bowed goodnight to his father, grabbed Reno, and kissed him full on the lips to a collective gasp.

He got his second scar that day, courtesy of President Shinra's wedding ring. Rufus was sent to Junon under Tseng's watch.

He never saw the boy again.

The walls were pale yellow. The ceiling too. He hated yellow. The colour reminded him of Mummy's favourite lamp that he had broken in a fit of childish fury all those years ago. Mummy had cried and Daddy had shouted and Renoyld Sebastian had stamped his foot and demanded that they took him to the circus. But Renoyld Sebastian was dead now. Things like that didn't affect him anymore.

There was some yelling outside.

"… a Turk! My own daughter, harbouring a Turk!" The voice was male, loud, and carried a tinge of worry.

"Gawd! I'm not harbouring him Dad!" This one was female, high-pitched and exasperated. It was that girl again.

"Do you think the townspeople know that? You are Lady of Wutai now, Yuffie! What will the townspeople say?"

"He passed out, Dad! Was I supposed to just leave him outside for others to find? You know how hospitable the townspeople would be to him. Do you want him to die?"

"Better that than you coming to harm!"

There was a long pause. The girl --Yuffie -- spoke again, but this time her voice was softer. "He's not a bad person, Dad. I just know it."

"Have you lost your mind? This is a Turk you're talking about! Hasn't all that time with AVALANCHE taught you that those people can't be trusted?"

"It's precisely because we've fought them before, so I know he's not a bad person. Everyone has a grudge against the Turks, so they can't see past that fact. But I could tell, Dad, it's not what he wanted."

"He's part of Shinra --"

"I hated Shinra too, for what they did to Wutai, Dad. But it's all over now. Shinra's dead."

"But --" The man cut himself off and sighed. "I see that nothing will convince you. I just hope you know what you're doing."

"I do, Dad."

The floorboards creaked as someone took a few steps away from the room. "You've matured, Yuffie."

"I have?"

"You remind me so much of your mother now." A shift of weight before the man spoke again. "I… I don't want to lose you too."

"You won't, Dad."

The footsteps resumed their path. The door slid open noiselessly and he closed his eyes as the girl entered. She continued to hover at the threshold for a while, before whispering something indecipherable into the air and shutting the door. He felt her approach and crouch next to his head, and a cool hand brushed back his fringe, lingering for a moment over his cheek.

"Stupid Turk."

The girl sighed and stood, softly padding away towards the back of the room. He risked opening his right eye just a crack to see her sitting down on a beanbag by the window, chewing diligently at a pencil as she flipped through the pages of a notebook. In the blurry shadow cast by the light shining in, she reminded him of someone he could have known.

He would leave again when she was gone.

The problem with Tseng was that he was a greater master at schooling his expression than Rude could ever hope to be. As a result, when Tseng was angry, it never ever showed on his face. Failing to realise this was a grave mistake that all new recruits made.

Reno was not a new recruit, so he kept his mouth shut as Tseng sat on the backless plastic stool staring blankly at the pack of intravenous fluid hanging by his bedside.

The man was an enigma. Tseng's lips were more tightly sealed than Hojo's lab containers when it came to himself. There were rumours on the Shinra grapevine of course, but then again, this was the same source that had informed him that the spirit of one Vincent Valentine, ex-Turk wrongfully murdered, still haunted the basement of the old Shinra mansion in Nibelheim, waiting for revenge.

Reno highly doubted that. He didn't believe in ghosts.

The story went that Tseng had stumbled into Midgar towards the end of the Shinra-Wutai war, with only a double-bladed staff and a black mark seared into his forehead branding him as traitor. Supposedly he had failed to kill a Shinra SOLDIER, who later ended up killing the Lady of Wutai. Tseng's original intentions had been to assassinate President Shinra in a last-ditch attempt to redeem himself, but it seemed that President Shinra made him an offer he couldn't resist.

Reno thought it more likely that Tseng had been the one to make the offer. He thought Tseng was more shrewd and calculating than most people made him out to be.

"I wish you would stop doing things like that. It was dumb and you know it."

He had raised his eyebrow at Tseng's quiet comment, as the man passed his hand over his face with a sigh. He had expected a reprimand, a demand for a report once he got out of the cast to explain the need for the latest hospital expenditure he had chalked up. But Tseng had only leaned forward to rest his forehead in the palm of his hand, looking years older than his thirty.

"I really don't know what to do with you sometimes," Tseng mumbled softly, the words directed at the floor. "I'm not going to be around to look out for you forever, Reno."

He had not liked this Tseng, the one who seemed too real, too much like a father, so he told him so. Tseng had stared at him and given a short bark of laughter that made him sound like a man whose days were numbered. It made Reno angry, maybe because they were and they both knew it. Tseng was not supposed to die; they were Turks, and Turks were immortal.

"Perhaps. But remember that ghosts are immortal too."

He had hated this Tseng, who tried to teach him about life and spoke too much about things that Reno did not care to think about. He preferred the one who taught him how to point a gun at a person without trembling, how to pull the trigger without hesitating, how to clean the bloodstains off a white shirt. He wanted the one who gave him his nightstick, taught him how to take care of it, which vital points to look out for when using it. He liked the Tseng that he looked up to as a Turk. That one was easier to understand.

"I see. Well then, it's time for me to leave for the Ancient Temple." The Turk had risen from his seat in a graceful fluid movement that betrayed his background, his shoes tapping sharply on the linoleum floor as he made his way out of the room, pausing for a moment at the door. "Please take care of yourself, Reno."

If only Tseng had taught him how to.

"Keitarou's not letting you into the bar anymore," the girl murmured softly as she dabbed his temple with a damp towel. She made a soothing noise when he winced from the towel's contact with a particularly deep cut. "You completely thrashed it last night. He's probably going to have to close for the next week or so just to get the place together again."

He made to get up, but the blinding pain that flashed behind his eyes and the small but firm hand on his shoulder forced him to lie back down again. The memory of a chair hitting him on the base of his skull resurfaced, and he realised that his right arm was neatly wrapped in white bandage. It was just like the good old days again. He hated feeling like an invalid.

"I don't understand you." She chewed on her lower lip as she continued to move the towel over the cuts and bruises on his face. "I mean, I never liked you guys much, but I always thought… well…"

If she had anything to say, she should spit it out. He didn't like it when people hemmed and hawed, it made them look indecisive and condescending. He didn't have to take this kind of attitude from a spoiled brat, even if he was currently lying in her bed.

"Gawd, why do you have to be such a jerk?" She chucked the towel angrily in a small metal basin beside her, causing some of the water to splash on the floor. "Look, I admired you guys okay? Are you happy now? Me. Lady of Wutai. Admired. The. Stupid. Turks!"

He never knew that silence could be deafening. He wanted to make a remark to break it but found that he couldn't. She looked like she was about to cry, but instead she sopped up the water on the ground with the towel and settled cross-legged beside the futon and rested her chin on her interweaved hands.

"It's just… you Turks are the worse things to ever happen to anyone. I have no idea why you people even decided to become Turks, but I've heard enough from Cid and Barret to know what you guys do in the name of so-called justice for Shinra and I think it's all plain stupidity on your part."

He propped himself up on his good elbow and glared at her. He didn't understand what she was telling him all this for and he honestly didn't care--

"Lie down, shut up, and listen."

He lay back down and closed his eyes, not because he was following her orders, he reassured himself, but because of the headache that was slowly building. Maybe if he pretended to be asleep, she would give up and go away so that he could leave. It used to work with Tseng.

"But sometimes… I'd envy you guys. Especially those days, before Cloud and the others forgave me for that stunt I pulled. I used to want to go home so much, because I missed my stupid dad and the stupid town. But I couldn't because I hadn't done what I set out to do."

The girl was starting to ramble and he opened his mouth to say so, but she continued anyway.

"… And then I'd remember how you and that other guy went to rescue the girl and I think, you guys were all like family looking out for each other, so you can't be that bad deep down, you know?"

He couldn't help it. She didn't know what the hell she was talking about. He stared at her incredulously and started to laugh. The girl merely gazed down at him sadly before sighing.

"Yeah, maybe I don't." She got to her feet, balancing the basin carefully and slowly made her way to the door. "You should stay the night. There's no bar for you tonight anyway, so you might as well rest up."

The door shut behind her with a click and the laughter died from his lips.

He never got used to Elena's presence in their team. She was too chirpy, too happy, and she talked too much. But Rude seemed to like her, and so did Tseng, so he could never say anything bad about her. So he watched silently as she broke a little, day by day, with each mission and each kill.

Rude told him once that Elena had been an orphan from the slums, which meant that ithad been either this or Honeybee Inn for her. Tseng had pulled some strings to get her out of the place, which explained her infatuation with him. Some knight in shining armour thing he presumed, just like in some silly girl's fairytale.

It was no wonder that she shattered completely when Tseng died.

After the funeral, he came across her clearing out Tseng's locker. In a fit of childish jealousy he had remarked that Tseng hadn't left a will so there was no point in being so enthusiastic about it. Her eyes had narrowed in anger, and he saw her lose her temper for the first time.

"You are such an asshole, Reno! Didn't he mean anything to you at all?" Her nails had been as sharp as her tone as she poked her finger into his chest. "Stop thinking that the world revolves around you and everybody owes you just because you're some poor little rich boy who made the wrong decision!"

He had slammed her up against the lockers, pushing his left forearm against her throat as his right hand brought his gun up to point at her temple, threatening to blow out her brains if she dared to say that once again. She just gave a strangled laugh and choked out her response.

"Maybe he was right to tell me to look out for you."

They avoided each other if possible ever since. Rude tried once or twice to be a mediator, but he soon gave up and just attempted to make things less awkward whenever the two were in the same room together. It was probably the only time he had ever seen Rude so helpless.

A week before Meteor, she finally approached him cautiously while they were helping Reeve to evacuate the citizens, and asked him to follow her for a bit. She had brought him to a small little stone marker on the outskirts of Kalm, and squatted next to it, clearing off some old flowers and placing fresh ones in their place. He had fidgeted on the spot until she reached for his wrist and pulled him down to sit next to her.

"You know, I always thought it was my fault that Tseng died. If I hadn't gone like he had told me to, I would have been there when Sephiroth came, and maybe I would have been the one to die instead." She had gazed wistfully at the mock tombstone, before glancing at him. "But sometimes I think, Tseng knew, and that's why he told me to go. Silly, isn't it?"

He had snorted at her romantic inclinations again, and she had shaken her head with a touch of what seemed like affection.

"Never mind. I know you don't like me to talk so much so I'll make this short." She took a deep breath before leaning over and giving him a hug that left him confused. "Thank you so much for being a prick. I don't think you know how much I needed to just scream at someone, and it helped that you weren't always babying me like Rude or Tseng. I don't think you even meant to do it," she laughed, her elbow poking him in the guts. "But thanks anyway."

Meteor hit on a Saturday. Perhaps it had been irony that Elena had asked him to meet her at the grave, because she never showed. He never knew if she had ever meant to.

His father had been right in the tales he had been told during his childhood. In the early morning, Da Chao looked like it was ablaze with the flames it was famous for. He sat down by the ledge, watching as the rays started to hit the trees below, brightening everything with a warm glow. It was painful to be sober at this time of the day.

"It's pretty, huh?"

He looked back to see the girl stretching behind him, a towel slung over her shoulder. She shuffled her feet a little, before nodding to herself and striding forward to sink down next to him. She dug into the pocket of her track pants and retrieved what looked like a piece of paper.

"I've got something to show you."

A yellowish photo was shoved unceremoniously in front of his nose and he reached out to grasp it before he went cross-eyed. In it, a little girl wearing a traditional kimono was cheerfully hugging a young man with shoulder length black hair and a helpless grin on his face. He flipped to the back and the words 'Yuffie and Tsengy' in a child's scrawl jumped up at him.

"He was my cousin. I never realised that." She started swinging her feet to and fro, seemingly oblivious to the fact that her legs were dangling over the edge of a cliff. "I happened to look up the family records and found his name there. He'd been struck off sometime during the war. Guess I was just too young then to remember him."

He traced his fingers over the image, trying to imagine himself as a boy holding onto his father. Those days seemed so far away, tucked away in a part of his memory that he couldn't access.

"I don't know why he left, or what he did to be expelled. Sometimes I look at that picture and I wonder if he ever regretted it." She gently plucked the photo out of his loose grip and gazed at it. "That's why I like to think that you guys were his new family. Then his life wouldn't have seemed so sad and lonely."

There was some truth in what she said, perhaps, he thought. Tseng had never complained, never seemed to look back at his past. And Rude and Elena had been much of the same. But he still didn't know what to think of himself.

"I have something to say." The girl scooted backwards to a more secure position on the ledge. "Don't try to push me over when I say it because I'll just drag you along with me."

He didn't feel like saying anything today, so he continued to gaze down at the town at the bottom of the valley. It seemed so small and insignificant from this angle. It was difficult to imagine that a war had once been fought for ten years over it.

"Look, I know what happened to the others, and I'm sorry." She was chewing on her lip again, and he realised that this was a nervous habit when she was trying to put something in the right words. "But don't you think you should move on? I'm not--" she snapped, cutting off his words before he had a chance to articulate them, "I'm not saying that you should forget, but I think, there's something else you can do other than mope around like a sick drunkard."

He felt his lips quirk upwards at her brash manner. It reminded him of Elena, and a little of himself. He picked up the photo that had been left on the ground between them and stared once more at young Tseng. It was vaguely familiar, and he suddenly remembered seeing one of those smiles during a Turk party when a tipsy Elena had dragged Tseng onto the dance floor for a tango. Rude and he had laughed their heads off when she ended up throwing up all over his jacket.

"It's not going to be easy," Yuffie was saying, as she peered at him warily. "But I think, maybe you should at least try becoming someone worth them calling family, don't you think?"

He flopped backwards and gazed up at the now blue sky. "Yeah. Maybe."

It was warm in the bar as Reno contemplated the cool mug of beer in front of him. Elena was sulking in her seat, no doubt angry at him for embarrassing her in front of AVALANCHE. Rude was expressionless as usual, but the corner of his mouth seemed to be twitching upwards. The moment was pleasant, the three of them sitting around the same table peacefully without any responsibilities. On a sudden impulse, he raised his mug in a salute.

"Drink Rude! How long have we been a team…?" He snuck a peek at Elena, who was now fingering the condensation on her own mug. "There have been hard times being a Turk, but all in all, I'm glad I did it. I even got to meet a bunch of wing nuts like you."

Elena looked at him in puzzlement, as though considering his words. He winked at her and she gave a small smile, lifting her mug in response. Rude just nodded in that enigmatic way of his, raising his mug as well.

"To the Turks… To Reno… cheers!"

Three mugs met in a clang that resounded in the tiny bar, and he smiled. To Reno, indeed.

( end, 20122004 )

author's notes:
two years, this thing took. two years! which kind of explains the inconsistencies in style and mood and degeneration into utter fluff. hopefully it wasn't too terrible a reading experience. -slinks back into her corner-