Title: Soccer match

Author: Enide Dear

Rating: Turks, yo

Pairing: None – well, maybe ZackxCissney (wtf, het?!)

Summary: I figure there would be some tension between Lazard and Rufus

Oh, and one front row ticket reserved for :icons-i-l-k:!

Tseng was often silent, but this was the first time he could recall being so out of pure speechlessness. Staring down at the paper in front of him, and then up at his boss, there was hesitation in his eyes – a scary sight on a man who murdered without a second thought.

"Sir…" he cleared his throat. "Is this really necessary?"

"I'm afraid so, Tseng." The young vice President on the other side of the desk sighed. "Trust me, I don't like it either. But my *dear* half-brother convinced our father that it would be good for ShinRa publicity. It will be open to the public, and the benefit will all go to charity. Knife-less Tonberries or something similarly inane." Rufus scowled darkly. "Of course it's just another way of vying for my position by publicly humiliating me. And the worst part is, it might succeed. Which means you *must* not lose this, Tseng!"

"We are Turks, sir, not…"

"I know what you are. I have faith in your ability to succeed. The ShinRa budget is only so large after all, and if father decides to spend more money on Lazard's pet Soldiers…well, I'm sure I don't have to draw you a picture."

Tseng sat down, staring at the paper.

"A soccer game."

"Yes."

"Against the First Class Soldiers."

"Yes."

"And we must *win*?!"

"No." Rufus steeped his fingers. "But you must not lose."

"You have to be fucking kidding us?" Reno said agape. "I don't do sports! Unless shooting golf balls out over Midgard from the roof counts."

Rude and Cissney looked equally appalled.

"This is some sort of joke, right? We're supposed to beat Soldiers? First Class Soldiers? Just like that, out in the open for everyone to see? No bombs or guns or poison or anything?" Cissney groaned.

"I assure you, Cissney, I have no sense of humor that I am aware of. This is serious." Tseng sighed. "I don't like it any more than you do."

"Look, sir…" Rude adjusted his glasses. "They are First Class Soldiers. They could shoot that football straight through not only the net, but the goalie."

Tseng's lips curled.

"Yes, but they *are* Soldiers. The most unstable bundle of psychoses ever to escape Hojo's lab…well, except Zackary, perhaps. He at the other hand is almost as much of a hornball as Reno."

"Hey!"

"I said almost, Reno, you still have that dubious honor."

"Damn right I do!"

"Anyway, the Soldiers will play by the rules because that's all they know how to do. And no, we are not allowed to break the rules either."

"Meaning we can't get caught doin' it." Reno smirked. "I think I know what you are getting at, yo."

"Exactly. After all, *we* are the First Class Turks. Now, the other team will only be the three First Class Soldiers and their pet, so our team is just the four of us. You'll each handle one client…I mean Soldier. What are your requisitions?"

"I'll handle Zack." Cissney shrugged. "I'll need a cubic foot of fast-drying cement and 500 gils to go to a lingerie shop."

"Angeal." Rude smiled. "Access to the bomb lab should do it. I will be a very small bomb," he added as he saw Tseng's look, "I'm almost certain he won't get harmed."

"If I handle Sephiroth," Reno said slowly, his eyes sparkling, "I want two weeks paid vacation on Costa del Sol."

Tseng leaned back, studying his second in command.

"Are you sure?" He hesitated. "I was thinking of handling that myself."

"Hey, go ahead. But I swear, I can make sure the silver head won't be a problem all through the game. "

"And what do you need?"

"The night off and being allowed to send the bill from 7:th heaven to ShinRa."

"Reno…."

"Awww, don't ya trust me, sir?"

"Of course I don't. Fine, but I'm counting on you, Reno. Don't mess up too badly." Tseng waved his hand. "I'll take care of Genesis then. Dismissed." As they walked out, Tseng reached into a drawer and took up a book. He had some reading to do."

The sun was high overhead, the day of the tournament crisp and clear, if by no means as crisp and clear as the three First Class Soldiers that marched into the arena to the overwhelming cheer of thousands of Midgard's people, all come to witness the epic match. Lazard had managed to talk them into matching uniforms, red and black with the word SOLDIER printed on their backs, as if there were any possibility that someone shouldn't recognize the four most famous men on Gaia. Zack was a blur of bouncing eagerness, waving and grinning at the spectators, and Genesis was preening with the attention. Angeal took it all with stoic calm whiles Sephiroth seemed oblivious to the attention.

The cheers died out to be replaced with a few frightened 'boo' as the next team ambled on to the plane in no particular order, crouching a bit as if unused and nervous to be so exposed out in the open. They had not bothered with uniforms and although Rude and Cissney wore something that could perhaps be called sport clothes, Tseng was still in his normal uniform – down to and including his tie. Reno came last, in the heavy boots, worn out jeans and dirty t-shirt that qualified as his casual wear; to top that he was green faced and stumbling, more or less leaning on Rude who dragged him along none too gently. The red-head looked like something dead and warmed over and it was quite obvious that he had the mother of all hangovers.

Tseng did not look pleased.

The team took their places, Zack in the Soldiers' goal and Rude in the Turks.

Reeve Tuetsi had been elected referee and he was waving the forwards to come up and flip coin over the start. Showing himself not to be quite as naïve as he sometimes seemed, Reeve checked his coin twice as Tseng shoveled Reno forward. Sephiroth stepped up from the other side.

"I don't feel so good," Reno whined, but was shown no mercy as Tseng pushed him towards the middle of the field. The red-head, green faced and extremely hung over, stumbled forward, grabbed Sephiroth and promptly threw up all over him.

As one, the stadium fell silent. The whistle fell out of Reeve's mouth.

Sephiroth's face got pale. Then it got red. Then, with an extreme show of will power, he pushed away Reno who stumbled and fell on his ass in an untidy pile and Sephiroth strode out of the stadium, keeping his hands well away from his soiled hair and clothes.

"Bet he won't smell like fucking roses and vanilla *now*," Reno mumbled and grinned even as Tseng helped him up.

"Well done. I'm signing your vacation papers today." Tseng glanced after Sephiroth. "No one will be able to get him out of the shower for hours."

"That has got to be against the rules!" Lazard came running out the field, his serenely smiling half-brother one step behind.

"I'm sorry sir, um." Reeve scratched his head. "Sephiroth did leave the match on his own will. I'm afraid there's nothing I can do about it."

"So sorry, dear brother." Rufus' smile was utterly insincere. "But *my* team can't be held responsible if *your* team is delicate."

Lazard turned, red faced, but there really were nothing he could say. Fuming, he returned to his seat, Rufus strolling after with a wave and a wink to Tseng.

Angeal stepped up to take Sephiroth's place and the hung over and still wobbly Reno really had no chance to stop him from taking the ball as the whistle blew. Passing the ball to Genesis, Angeal sprinted forward. Genesis took the ball, dribbled neatly around Elena and ran for the Turk's goal. The crowd's cheers lifted towards the sky.

"'Eternal in mystery is the gift of the Goddess…" Tseng made no move as Genesis sprinted past him, but Genesis stopped, a small muscle on his face twitching.

"'Infinite'," he corrected annoyed. "'Infinite' in mystery is the gift of the Goddess."

"I'm pretty sure it's 'eternal'," Tseng said calmly. "I read it last night."

"Last night! I've been reading it for twenty years!"

"Not paying much attention when you did so, it seems."

"Why you little…" Genesis hissed, his eyes flaring.

"Genesis!" Angeal shouted desperately, but it was too late. Cissney had already snatched the ball and was making a rather clumsy way with it towards the goal.

Zack wasn't much worried about Cissney's approach; he didn't want to humiliate her, but he knew she wouldn't stand a chance at getting the ball past him. Angeal hasn't even bothered to leave his place by the Turk's goal and Genesis was still hissing at Tseng – it was obvious they didn't see her as a threat. But to save her honour a bit, he could always make a show out of catching it. She came as close as she could and kicked the ball towards the net in a decent aim. Zack jumped, caught the ball and at that exact moment Cissney pulled up her t-shirt. She had nothing underneath it. Zack's eyes got huge and for a second he forgot to focus. He threw himself headfirst towards the pole with the low key *boom* of a head meeting concrete.

"That' has got to be a violation of the rules!" Lazard screamed. A confused and slightly embarrassed Reeve was flipping through the pages of the rule book.

"I'm sorry sir, but at the contrary it appears to be some sort of tradition for players to remove their shirts when they've scored a goal…"

"Male players! Male players! Not female!"

"Now, don't be such a bigot, brother." Rufus snickered. "Unlike Soldiers, the Turks are an institution that believes in equal opportunities."

"They're carrying out Zackary on a stretcher! That can't be in accordance to the rules!"

"Well…you are of course free to put in another player if you got one ready." Reeve closed his book. "Otherwise I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to step of the plane, sir."

"That is 500 gils I'm withdrawing from your salary, Cissney." Tseng shook his head.

"What? Why!" She protested.

"Because you never did show that bra…"

The game resumed, now with two players less. Genesis was still throwing evil glares at Tseng, but was visibly holding himself together. That lasted until Tseng started speaking again:

""My soul, corrupted by vengeance, hath endured pain, to find the end of the journey, in my own salvation and your eternal sleep." Tseng cleared his throat. "I..

"Torment! Slumber!'" Genesis screamed. "Learn the right words, you miserable Turks! You are destroying a master piece with your inadequate knowledge!"

"Well, I'm sure you must be mistaken…"

"Mistaken? Me? Mistaken!" Genesis fists open and closed even as he yelled at the stoic Turk, but Angeal had had enough. Taking the ball he hurled towards the goal with the speed of a hurricane, neatly sidestepping Reno's and Cissney's feeble attempts to stop him. The crowds cheer turned into a litany of repeated 'Ang-e-al, Ang-e-al, Ang-e-al.' filling the stadium as he closed up on Rude.

Annoyed and not so daft as to be oblivious to the fact that he and his fellow Soldiers were being tricked, Angeal put all his force behind the kick.

The football exploded. The sturdy leather was unable to handle the full force of a First Class Soldier's kick and sad parts of ripped leather sailed down over Rude.

Staring at the mess of the destroyed ball, Angeal's face turned white. He turned and started to walk off the field.

"No, what are you doing?" Lazard ran over to him. "You have to finish! We can still win, it was only a soccer ball…"

"No." Angeal sat down heavily on the bench, burying his face in his hands. "That was…I destroyed it. The only honorable thing to do is to quit. I'm sorry."

"My, my, your player sure are dropping out fast." Rufus mused as he patted his half brother's arm.

Lazard seethed helplessly.

Possibly only Tseng saw Rude put the trigger device down his pocket again.

Genesis didn't even seem to notice that he was now the only Soldier still left on the field. His hands were twitching with rage as he stomped up to Tseng who was still reciting from memory:

"The wind sails over the sea's surface, quietly, but safely," the Turk mumbled as if to himself.

"Water's surface, you bastard!" The punch came from nowhere in a flurry or red and hit Tseng straight in the face. The Turk reeled back and fell over even as Reeve blew the whistle, waving a red card at Genesis.

"But…he provoked me!" Genesis protested, but Reeve didn't back down.

"There's no rule against reciting poetry on a soccer plane. Not even reciting it wrongly. I'm sorry Genesis, but you have to leave."

"But….that means…" Lazrad stared agape at the field where the Turks were helping their fallen director to his feet. Tseng neatly brushed off his suit, and holding a handkerchief to his nose, started to walk slowly up to the now empty Soldier's goal, pushing the ball before him. The other three Turks closed up behind him, waving at the crowd that had gone absolutely silent.

The silence didn't break as Tseng kicked the ball into the net. Absolute quiet ruled the field.

Then as clapping sounded. Walking out to the field in his immaculate white suit, Rufus ShinRa smiled, clapping his hands together as he approached the Turks.

"Very good, Tseng!" He smiled, talking loud enough to be heard to the stunned crowd. "I see that my trust in you were not misplaced. There really is no stopping the Turks. Come, I have a celebration party prepared. We'll get there in my limo."

"I'm pretty sure," Reeve said to himself as he watched the young vice president lead his Turks out of the stadium, "that ShinRa is in awful, awful hands in the future."