((This story was written for Miss Toad.))

Shooting Stars

Palmer lay on the grass outside of Rocket town, staring at the stars above him, reminiscing of the days long past when he dreamed he could one day be close enough to those stars to reach out and touch them. He reached out a pudgy hand, stretching it in front and above him, closing his hand on a constellation, imagining himself to be holding Shiva's stars between his fingers.

The Turk assigned to watch over him and guard him on this mission to Rocket Town shifted on his feet, scratching his head with a vexed sigh and after pacing a few times dropped down to sit on the hard and spiky grass of the hill that Palmer lay on. The head of Shinra's space exploration and research department spared the bodyguard a suspicious glance.

The Turk – Reno – always gave Palmer the chills. There was something about the unkempt man that spoke of danger and quickened Palmer's heart to an unnatural rhythm. With the adrenaline rush that accompanied the feeling, Palmer tended to think that being around this Turk was like a constant heart-attack, although the feeling was not all unpleasant and there was no pain to go with it. He found himself glancing away hurriedly when the Turk fixed an empty gaze on him. Those soulless green eyes always seemed to curdle his stomach like lard that had been left out too long.

"So, what're you grabbing at?"

Palmer blinked, glancing again at the Turk and keeping his expression carefully guarded. He never expected the Turk to actually speak to him; the Turks were professionals and he was here on duty. But then, Palmer had been star-gazing for about an hour already, and the other man was surely restless and bored. He looked back up to the heavens, realized his arm was still raised and let it drop to the ground beside him. "Shiva," he responded, carefully. "I fell in love with her when I was just a child and have wanted to meet her in person ever since." It sounded lame, he knew, and he was somewhat disappointed that the basis his whole life's goals and dreams could be summed up with such an unimpressive statement.

Reno made no movement beside him, though Palmer imagined that he was laughing to himself, holding it back because of Palmer's rank. However, the Turk spoke. "Shiva, huh?" he asked. Without warning, he flopped back onto his back next to Palmer, staring at the constellation in question. At least, he was probably looking at the Shiva constellation; it was hard to tell which stars he was actually looking at. "She's pretty," he said awkwardly.

Long moments in silence passed. Reno was so quiet and still that Palmer could not hear a sound from the Turk. He heard only his own breathing. It was awkward, Reno lying there beside him, but at the same time it was almost comforting. At the very least, Reno's close proximity was better than his previous fidgeting and pacing. Palmer lost himself in daydreams again. He prayed that one day he'd receive the funding he needed to try another launch. True, he would never reach space, but perhaps mankind could.

He started when Reno spoke again.

"Look, there's shooting stars."

Palmer blinked, unable to see what the Turk was referring to, but when he glanced over quizzically, he laughed with understanding. "Those are fireflies, Reno."

"Oh," Reno said, snorting. "Close enough."

Palmer hesitated, wondering. "Are they really?" he finally asked.

"Sure," Reno replied, a surprising chirp in his normally flat voice. "They're little bright lights at night. They're hard to catch, but with enough effort you can do it."

Palmer snorted, looking back at the stars. A little effort was all it took to catch a star? That was impossible. He blinked as he felt thin hands against his arm, strong bony fingers forcing open his hand and closing it gently around something. A bug, he realized with a grimace as the captive insect writhed madly on his palm.

"See?" Reno asked.

Palmer brought his hand to his face, opening it. The firefly that had been trapped flew in a disoriented circle, flaring once before disappearing into the inky darkness of night. Palmer looked quizzically at Reno, but the Turk had already stood up and he found himself looking at pant legs instead.

Reno spoke again, almost off-handedly, staring into the distance blankly, at some point away from Palmer. "Well, I can't hand you a star, so it was the closest thing."

Palmer imagined the Turk scowling and could not help but laugh a little. The grass crunched under black shoes as Reno walked away to patrol the area again, and Palmer found himself watching the fireflies instead of the stars. He watched a firefly flick once, twice, then stay lit. He reached out to grab it, finding it was out of reach, and realized he was watching the gentle bob of Reno's lit cigarette rather than another firefly.

The abrupt failure, the understanding that he was striving for the wrong thing actually jarred him. What was he reaching for, really, all of his life? And like a firefly, just out of reach, was it something he could eventually catch with enough effort? Was the chase worth the reward?

Questions filled him as he struggled to his feet. "Let's get back to the inn," he said slowly, watching Reno for a few moments before turning and heading back to town. Perhaps the stars were like fireflies after all. But he had to make sure that the stars were really stars and he was not confusing his goal with something else. Or perhaps his goal was the something else, and he had confused himself into thinking he needed to touch the heavens to be happy all along.