Less than an hour later, the key rattled in the lock. He rearranged his posture in the corner, splayed his legs and leaned against the wall. Better to give off an unthreatening impression if he wanted to be taken to Yuffie. Though if these people really knew anything about him, "unthreatening" was not a good descriptor.

The door opened, and a woman entered. Silver streaked her long dark hair, and her black eyes were shrewd. She closed the door behind her. No guards followed. Either she was very confident in her abilities to fight him, or she was confident in his complacency.

To his shock, she dipped into a low bow upon reaching the center of the room. When she rose, she beheld his face for a moment in silence. Finally, she said in a low, melodic voice, "Good evening, Emperor. I must say, I'm surprised you're alive."

His lips quirked. "You'll find I'm often surprising." He wondered if this woman knew that his wife was even more surprising. He recalled the feeling of being ripped away from the white edge of oblivion and suppressed a shudder.

"What is your aim in coming here alone, Emperor?" She stood at the middle of the room like a work of art, each word and movement deliberate, calculated, as if stoked into being by a master painter.

Tseng said, "I want to see my wife."

She tilted her head. "That's all? I thought the Empress's dog would have a better strategy than walking into our open arms."

Twice now he'd heard that phrase. The Empress's dog. He wasn't sure how he felt about his transformation from dog of the Shinra to Yuffie's canine companion. "Who are you?"

"How rude of me," she said, and she seemed to be genuinely dismayed. "I was so caught up in the novelty of meeting you I forgot to introduce myself. I am Lin. Come, stand. If you wish to see your wife, we'll take you to her. Maybe your presence will help her come to a decision."

She gestured for Tseng to stand, long sleeves trailing. He did so slowly, so as not to startle or alarm her. Lin turned, opened the door, and spoke to the guards posted there. She ushered him into the hall, and he walked in front of her down the hallway, trying very consciously to relax. He couldn't understand the point in deceiving him—to break his morale?

"I hope you understand we can't let you see her directly. The two of you as a pair might cause some trouble I hadn't foreseen," Lin said as she procured a set of keys from her robes and unlocked a door that looked like any other in this hall. "Try the adjoining door."

Tseng glanced at Lin once before entering the dark room. The door slammed shut behind him, and he groped for a switch and blinked as his surroundings were flooded with light.

"I already told you where you can stick your demands, lady."

"Let's not be hasty, your highness. I think you'll find something that might change your mind in the next room."

Tseng's arms went slack, his hand falling from the doorknob. "Yuffie," he breathed. She was alive. He tried the handle, but the lock held.

"Nothing you say—"

"Yuffie," Tseng said with more urgency, lifting a fist to pound against the wood. The voices stopped.

Lin's said into the silence, "In light of recent developments, your highness, you have until noon tomorrow to decide."

Yuffie said so quietly he had strained to hear, "This is a trick. I won't fall for it."

Lin laughed softly. "I'll admit, I'm surprised as well. I thought I had killed him."

Tseng made the connection the moment Yuffie said, "You shot him. I'll kill you."

"There's no time for that now, your highness," Lin interjected. "Noon tomorrow."

Tseng heard the distinct sound of a door opening and closing. He threw himself forward, wrenching the knob, but this was solid oak rattling in its frame. He heard footsteps, and then Yuffie collided with the other side.

"Is it you? Are you alive? Are you okay? I thought—" The knob shook, but her efforts were unsuccessful.

"I'm fine. Are you all right?"

Tseng heard scrabbling and looked down to the space between the bottom of the door and the floor. The tips of her fingers showed through, wiggling. He dropped to his knees and took her hand in his as best he could. Tseng was not a religious man, but for the first time in many years, he sent a silent prayer of thanks to the gods. Yuffie was alive. She was safe.

"Oh, thank you Leviathan, thank you Da Chao," Yuffie babbled, hooking her fingers to his. There was barely room for both their hands to be touching in any satisfying way, but still they tried.

"Are you crying?" he asked, dumbfounded.

"Of course I'm crying!" she shouted. Her fingers spasmed in his, and he winced at the way they scraped the rough wood on the bottom of the door. "I was so sure you were dead."

"Shh," he said, at a loss. Comforting people, much less soothing crying women, had never been his specialty. He wasn't used to having people care about him in general. "I'm here now." I'll get you out of this.

"How do we fix this? If I don't give her the throne by noon tomorrow, I think she's going to kill us."

"I know," he said. "I've been in communication with the Turks. They're not much better off."

"What about Rufus?"

"They have him too. Rude barely escaped with his life, and Reno's protecting him. Elena is with the President."

"I'm so sorry."

For the first time in a long time, Tseng didn't give a flying fuck about Rufus. He was concerned for the well-being of the president on a world-related scale, but on a personal level, the only thing he wanted to protect was on the other side of the door. He scooted closer, arranging himself into a comfortable pile of limbs and managing to keep his fingers on Yuffie's as he did so.

"Are you all right?" he asked. "Did they hurt you?"

"No, that's the weirdest part. They've got me all set up in this swanky room and they've been treating me like, well, an Empress. Besides Lin playing with my head, it's been almost like a surprise vacation."

Tseng realized he didn't know what his room looked like. He had been so absorbed in hearing Yuffie's voice for the first time in three days, he hadn't acknowledged his surroundings at all. Scolding himself for a lack of attention, he looked around. This setting was better than the last one, with a handpicked bedspread and wall decorations.

Yuffie was still speaking. "There's something about Lin. I can't put it together yet, but when I do I have a feeling it'll be big."

"Yuffie," Tseng said abruptly. His eyes slipped closed. "I have something to tell you."

"What? What is it? Are you hurt?"

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"The file," he said. "Your forgiveness would be much more than I deserve."

"Gods, you're thick sometimes."

Tseng blinked. He hoped this type of surprise wasn't going to become a regular occurrence for him. He didn't like how it unsettled him. "What?"

"I've already forgiven you."

"But—"

"Tseng, I'm so glad you're alive, I don't care about that anymore. I've kept my secrets from you, too."

"It doesn't matter," he protested.

"It does matter," she replied firmly. "So listen up, because this is the only time I'm going to explain it, and I'm not sure I even get it myself."

He felt that old familiar curiosity pique, despite himself.

"Each ruling dynasty of Wutai has some sort of connection to the gods," she began, tentative but quickly gaining momentum. "Three hundred years ago, the dynasty before us had a thing for Shiva—or so I've heard. In times of trouble and need, the seated ruler may consult and converse with the god which has chosen them. The Kisaragis were chosen by Leviathan."

"In all that I've read of Wutai, I've never come across this," Tseng murmured, fascinated by this revelation. "It's the best-kept secret of Wutai, concealed even from Shinra in the takeover. The last strong connection to a god was my Great Aunt Wu, but she couldn't harness his powers. I don't know who the last vessel was."

"You can access his powers, though," he said, somewhat in awe.

He'd had quite a few theories as to the identity of Yuffie's mysterious powers, but never had he imagined she'd actually been chosen as a vessel of the gods. If it were anyone else, he might be inclined to disbelieve them, but Tseng had lived a long life of miraculous events. He recalled the rapid healing of his gunshot wound, the feeling of teetering toward the gaping maw of death and the sensation of being wrenched back. He recalled the ethereal light in her eyes the night the Jade Dragon burned to the ground and the curious tax it had imposed on her body.

"I'm not very good at tapping into him," she admitted. "Something's blocking me. Actually, Chekhov seems to think it has something to do with you."

"Me?" Tseng didn't often feel this out of his depth.

"She says," and here Yuffie sounded a bit put out, actually, "that I have to be right with you to really access Leviathan."

He almost laughed but figured it wouldn't go over very well. "With me?" He couldn't imagine why he would have any bearing on the process.

"She says I need to be in harmony with all elements of my life," Yuffie muttered. "I just wish I could unleash the dragon rage on people whenever I feel like it. I didn't think I'd have to jump through all these hoops."

"And if your family has always had this power, why didn't they use it before now?" he asked, trying to keep the accusation from his voice. He really wouldn't have believed her story if he hadn't witnessed it firsthand more than once.

"They just weren't very good at it. I suppose my dad could've used Leviathan's help with the whole Shinra conflict, but Chekhov says she's never seen as deep a connection as mine before."

Tseng didn't say anything, mulling this over. He was married to the human outlet of the god of the seas. She could probably snap him like a twig if she ever got a grip on her abilities. Strangely, he was not bothered by the thought as much as he thought he would be.

After a while, she spoke again.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you before."

He sighed, his eyes slipping closed. "I didn't deserve to know. I can't say I wouldn't have used the information for my own purposes."

"And now?"

"Now," he said, coming consciously to the decision for the first time, "I live to serve you."

"You don't have to serve me, y'know. I'd just like to be able to trust you."

"If you feel you're able, I am yours in every capacity."

"What about Rufus?"

He didn't know. Uncertainty plagued him. He felt his old loyalties tugging at him, but more and more, the woman on the other side of the door drowned out those thoughts. For decades, he had been beholden to no one but the President and bureaucracy, to work. He had regarded this marriage as just that: another part of his job.

But now he wasn't so sure. Now, he had the overwhelming urge to break down the door before him and spirit her away from here, protect her from any new disaster the world decided to toss her way. She really was a magnet for trouble.

Before he could give her a lukewarm response, Yuffie interrupted his thoughts. "You don't have to answer that now. If we get out of this, we'll talk about it then."

She spoke as if they had some sort of future. Did he want that, with her?

The answer was yes. Where his feelings on the Turks and Rufus and his job were a confusing muddle, his feelings on a future with Yuffie were a resounding yes.

Tseng had known many women in his life, but never had he wanted them like Yuffie. He understood now, the unsettling feeling at her fingertips in his was desire. He wanted to break down the door again, for an entirely different reason. He wanted to wake up to her in the mornings without the burden of silence and secretss. He wanted to hold her in the night. He wanted to know her.

He wanted to slowly peel the clothes from her body and touch her by the light from their bedroom windows.

Tseng stroked her fingers and said, "When we get out of here."

Had it started with seeing her at the charity auction, looking like she owned the place? Or even earlier, seeing her trade words with Rufus in that conference room? He had been impressed, then, but her appeal had been a clinical note in his mental filing system, something to be studied and observed and manipulated rather than admired.

He couldn't deny his attraction to her now, though; the gangly teenager gawping at him as he bled out in the Temple was long gone, her awkward laughter morphing into a sharp wit and self-deprecating sense of humor. As to her looks, she would never be a voluptuous beauty like Tifa, but there was something to be said for her miles of legs and the sly tilt of her eyes.

And watching her fight, he understood now, was a big part of it. She moved like quicksilver. Though she

It went beyond looks, though. Something about her drew him. He'd been angry at her keeping secrets from him not just in the interests of reporting to Rufus but also because he wanted to know everything about her. He understood now that she would've just told him if he'd asked, but at the time, assembling the file had been a matter of curious obsession for him. Seeing the tragedy of her childhood, the loss of her mother, her country, Aeris, then seeing her normal sense of humor and carefree attitude in the face of all that—his bored duty had shifted into real feeling.

Then, her discovery of the file. Even then she had surprised him, managed to injure him despite his belief that he knew everything he could about her. She had schooled him and surprised him once more when she didn't come running back for his forgiveness. Instead, she'd been beautiful, and powerful in the face of his scorn.

Before she had ever contacted Rufus about marrying him, Tseng had regarded her as a non-element to Strife's group. He'd thought she was the teenager tagging along on the missions, but Yuffie herself had taught him differently.

Yuffie Kisaragi had his respect.

Now he just had to find a way to save her life, win her country back, and rescue her friends. If he could do all that, then maybe he could convey half the admiration he had for her.

"Lin's told me a few things you might find interesting."

"I'm listening."

"She was a child prostitute. Her and her twin sister, and apparently, the way she escaped was by murdering a guy and running away to a convent. She says she's been studying for years to take over Wutai's throne."

Tseng's eyes narrowed. "Some careful planning has gone into taking you, Yuffie. There's much more at play here than we know." Tseng told her about the Diamond Dust, the weapons in the main warehouse.

"Sounds like we found the source of our Dust deals."

"The question, though, is why," Tseng mused. "There must be some purpose."

"There's something else," Yuffie said. "I think Lin has a tattoo. If I could get a better look at it, we might be able to put some things together."

"I'd like to speak with her." So far, he found her mannerisms baffling. She was the sort of polite he found disarming.

"You might have better luck than me. You're the expert interrogator."

Unfortunately, Tseng did not have the sort of tools at his disposal that he did when he was the one asking the questions. If he were to try to wring information from Lin, he would have to be very, very careful.

"Tseng," Yuffie said, and her voice was somewhat hesitant, "did you ever know your mother?"

He was startled at the question. "Never. I grew up in the sector two slums until I was recruited for the Turks. Why do you ask now?"

"Because Lin… no, it's silly. Forget I asked."

His eyes narrowed. "Tell me."

"Well, it's just… you and Lin look a lot alike. And she would be the right age. It seems farfetched, but maybe…"

Tseng made the connection she was groping for. If Lin were his mother, how did he end up in the slums in Midgar? No, he was certain any biological family he might have had were long dead. And if they weren't, they had abandoned him. They were as good as dead in his mind.

"I have no family," he said firmly, wanting to dispel the notion from her head. She meant well, he knew, but he needed no complications in this already tangled situation.

"Okay," she conceded. "It's just… she looks so familiar to me."

"Don't discount your instincts," he said. "It's possible there's some reason you recognize her. Keep trying to remember."

"I never knew you lived in sector two," she said.

He threaded a hand through the hair at his right temple. "You don't know a lot of things about me."

"Yeah, well, you know everything about me," she said with a great cheer that somehow still shamed him.

"You're free to ask me whatever you like." This did not feel like enough, but it was all he could offer her for the time being.

"Who took care of you? How'd the Turks find you? What happened to your dog? Is your favorite color really red or did you only say that to get under my skin?"

He thought for a moment, struggling to catch up with her rapid-fire delivery. "An elderly woman took care of me and several other displaced children until she died when I was nine years old. After that, I found my own way. Veld—the leader of the Turks back then—found me stealing food from roadside stands—"

"Wait a minute," she said, sounding almost amused, "that's it? You didn't murder an entire gang of jerkbags or something? You're saying he just saw you stealing some snacks and said, 'oh, hey, kid, you think you'd like to join a band of elite, trained bodyguards and sometimes-assassins? We cover dental!'"

He smiled. "Apparently, he saw something in me worth pursuing. Only Veld understood his choices."

"That's so incredibly disappointing. I want to hear how someone murdered that old lady in the middle of the night while you were all defenseless, so you took Fritz and got revenge on the assholes who did it and Veld found you crawling bloody and triumphant from the shame of their defeat."

"Your imagination is…impressive," he said, biting back a laugh.

"My mental landscape is a rich and inspiring one," she said in haughty tones. "You didn't answer my other questions!"

"You interrupted me before I could."

"Well, get on with it then!"

He couldn't help his grin. He couldn't recall the last friend he'd had who made him smile like Yuffie did. "Fritz died defending me from other poor children who wanted what I had."

"What you had?" she echoed faintly.

"My shoes. Some children tried to steal my shoes, and Fritz attacked. I hadn't been able to steal enough to feed both of us for a while, and he was too weak to make much of a difference. One of them stabbed my dog, and the other took my shoes."

He said it all as if it hadn't even happened to him but to someone else, far away, who he didn't care about at all. In a way, that part of his life seemed staticky, a signal he could grasp but not quite make out clearly.

A sniffle sounded through the wood. He looked at the swirling pattern of the grain, puzzled. He realized she was crying for him again. "It was a long time ago," he said, hoping he sounded comforting.

"What the fuck does it matter how long ago it was? Your dog still died." She sounded angry, but he thought maybe she was just upset at his story.

"I'm sorry," he said. He didn't know what he would do even if the door weren't between them, but he hoped it would be better than this.

"What're you sorry for?" she snapped. "The assholes who killed Fritz should be sorry."

"He was a good dog."

"I'm sure he was," she said quietly, her tears seeming to have subsided.

"He would've liked you."

"Of course he would have," she shot back. "I'm awesome."

A quiet, content moment passed, and then a devilish thought intruded on him. So he cleared his throat and said, "I wasn't lying when I said red was my favorite color."

"Well, that's cool, I guess," she said. Was that a hint of disappointment in her voice?

"Red is my favorite color because it suits you best."

"Why, Tseng," she cooed, "I'd say that was downright cheesy of you."