Disclaimer: I don't own Final Fantasy VII. It belongs to SquareEnix. I, however, do own my original characters and plots.

Author's Note: Hola, readers! Thanks for coming to read my fanfic. I dearly appreciate it. I would also dearly appreciate reviews. I like to hear your opinions. Plus, it's good motivation to go on. I also like constructive criticism. Oh, and one important thing: this story starts before the events of the game begin. Specifically, about a month before AVALANCHE blow up the first reactor. Well, enough idle banter. Enjoy!

The Ancient Turk
A Final Fantasy VII fanfiction
By Ducky in Spandex

Chapter 1: Catch that thief!

"Hey, you! Curly-top! Get back here!"

A young woman darted through crowd-infested Wall Market, a ragged bag bulging with apples and bread in her arms. Quickly, she had to get away! Stealing was not a light offense, even if she pilfered only foodstuffs like fruit and bread.

She couldn't slow down. She couldn't stop. The girl knew deep inside that stealing was wrong, but she was on the verge of starvation and off the edge of despair. Theft was a regular habit among the poor in Midgar's dingy slums. But that didn't confirm the 'O.K.'

Nevertheless, even if the young woman was able to escape from the ShinRa's interference, the ones hovering on her level were likely to punish her.

Keep on running, she thought. Don't stop.

The young woman clutched the bag ever closer to her chest, and she bumped and shoved people aside in her wild escape attempt. Don't look back…

Eyes lingered on her, from all sides…rapid footsteps pursuing her… She had to get away.

Without thinking, the girl glanced behind her to find the man who owned the little produce-shop chasing after her. Oh, Holy! If he caught up to her, she would face the consequences...

She gritted her teeth, and still she ran with all the energy she had. She swerved and twisted through the confused crowd, and finally outran her pursuer. She dove into a lone alley without a second thought.

The young woman, paranoid and fearing that her victim still chased her, continued to run down the alley. The colors of the horribly graffitied alley wall rushed by her like a whirling rainbow. The voices still boomed in her head:

"What's that crazy girl doing, Mommy?"

"Hey, catch that thief!"

"Shame on her. Now even the ladies are stealing."

The voices echoed incessantly in her head. And she still ran, blind to her surroundings, until she bumped into something.

Or, rather, someone.

"Hey, watch it, woman! Can't ya see I'm trying to smoke?" said an irritated, yet smooth voice.

The girl blinked. As she collided, her bag flew out of her arms, and its contents spilled onto the concrete ground. "Oh!" She gasped, her hands covering her mouth. "I'm sorry!" She flushed and looked up.

A tall man stood before her, with fierce turquoise eyes and fiery-red hair. The cigarette that once dangled from his mouth now lay on the ground, a smoky companion to the apples and loaves of bread. He wore a deep-blue suit and a white shirt carelessly hanging over his waist, with the blazer unbuttoned. Dark glasses were perked up in his messy bangs. Two strange red scars distorted—or to the girl—adorned his pleasing visage.

The man, who looked little older than her, scowled at the young woman. "A perfectly good cigarette totally wasted. Gee, thanks."

The girl's pale, freckled cheeks colored in embarrassment. Quickly she bent down to scoop up her spilled foodstuffs. "I'm sorry, I…" She didn't dare look up at him.

The young woman crawled about on the ground, grabbing the apples and loaves of bread. The man she had bumped into stared down at her a moment before bending down as well. He took some apples and dropped them into the ragged bag, kneeling on the ground.

"Really, I'm very sorry. I didn't mean—"

"Just hush. First you shove me and my cigarette, then you incline me to help pick up your…things," growled the man nastily.

The girl looked up, almost accidentally, to meet his eyes. They gazed into each other's eyes for a long moment. She was somewhat entranced, but she couldn't understand why. His eyes seemed to glow with energy. Tearing her gaze away, she then glanced at his blue suit.

Wait, a blue suit?

"You're a Turk!" breathed the girl, her eyes widening in shock.

Her reaction seemed to surprise the young man; why would she find the fact that he was a Turk so exciting, anyway? She should've been afraid. In any case, he cleared his expression of surprise and smirked smugly. Standing, he shoved a final apple into the bag. "Reno of the Turks. Don't you forget that name, pretty-eyes."

She blushed and stood, taking the bag graciously from the young Turk and lowering her eyes. "Thank you," she mumbled.

"For what?" inquired Reno. "For helping to pick up your stuff, or for the compliment?" He kept the smirk.

"Both," replied the girl. She kept her eyes lowered, feeling somewhat uncomfortable.

"No kiddin'," said the Turk, and he crossed his lithe arms. Leaning on the graffiti-infested wall of the alley, he looked the slum-girl up and down. His gaze fell upon her own again, and he seemed to stare almost curiously, as if her eyes seemed familiar to him. "Well, I don't see gray-green eyes like yours too often, but you'd better not bump into me again when I'm smokin'. I'll get my fellow Turks to gang up on you, curly-sue. You're not a very good thief, either, for running so frantically."

The young woman felt her face grow rather red and hot in embarrassment, especially when she came under his scrutiny as he observed her eyes again. Why did he stare so? He seemed strangely curious. She turned her face away in attempt to break the stare, brushing a curl from her face. "Um, okay..." So, he had known about her acting the thief? "Wait, how did you know I stole those?"

Reno smirked. "I can tell by the way you ran; by your clothes. By the state of your hair," he joked with a mildly serious face. The girl scrunched up her face at this, running a hand through her thick and dirty elbow-length curls. "No kiddin' that you're a mess," he continued, grinning at her reaction, "but you're not so bad. You don't look like you have much money, either. Slum girls like you gotta be tough, whether you like it or not."

She observed him silently with raised eyes for a few long moments, her head slightly tilted. It was interesting to hear Reno's input on young women of her socioeconomic status. "Well, you seem to know a lot about slum-dwellers," said the girl, intrigued. Her embarrassment and shyness began to slowly ebb away. "Slum girls. Sure you weren't one yourself?" She grinned almost shyly.

"Slum-boy, maybe," retorted Reno, smirking down at her. "I learned to live the hard way. I guess those tough-guy skills were my ticket into the Turks," he said smugly, winking at the girl. "Didn't catch your name."

She adjusted the bag to her right hand, and cleared her throat. Looking up at Reno, she extended her pale, almost bony left hand hesitantly. "Aphrodite Sorrows."

"Aphrodite, eh?" said Reno with a sly grin. Noticing how she reached out her left hand instead of her right, he raised his dark crimson eyebrows. "A leftie, huh? Nice." He shook the slum-girl's hand. "Pleasure, indeed."

Reno's hand was oddly cool to the touch, but rough with a Turk's years of dirty work. Aphrodite, somewhat suspicious of the Turk's expression, arched an eyebrow. "As am I," she said, and hid her suspicion with a mildly charming smile. Hmm. She had to be careful with a Turk. But she couldn't fear him... She didn't fear him... Right?

Reno held Aphrodite's hand long after they shook, but the slum-girl slowly pulled her hand out of his. The young Turk looked slightly put out, but then flipped the unruly bangs of his red hair, closing his eyes. "Aphrodite…" he trailed off wonderingly. "Ain't she…" he opened his eyes, and stared at the girl. "The Goddess of Love?"

Aphrodite raised her eyebrows. "I'm anything but a goddess," she said, confused. "What are you talking about?"

Reno slapped his forehead. "Aphrodite is the Goddess of Love," he explained. "You were probably named after her."

"Oh," Aphrodite smiled meekly. "I didn't know that." Goddess of Love? How extravagant. Too extravagant for her tastes. She would have been content with a generic name like Ann, but no, her parents just had to christen her with a name that was bound to receive teasing from others as a child. "My parents liked exotic names…but they never told me what mine meant. I suppose they thought it was a funny joke to name their children after gods!"

Reno narrowed his eyes at her, as if thinking deeply. He ran a hand through his bangs. "Now that I think about it, you don't sound like you're from around here. You have an accent different from the slum folks here."

Aphrodite began to chew on her lower lip. She lowered her eyes, and turned to look away. An accent, did he say? Oh, no... He noticed! She had always hoped her slight foreign accent would go unnoticed by anyone she might meet. Every time someone commented on her accent, horrid memories rushed back to her. And such was the way of classical conditioning, associating such a comment with unpleasant memories: memories of Nibelheim.

"Aphrodite?" Reno's bewildered voice interrupted the slum-girl's brooding. "Uh, you okay?"

Aphrodite blinked, and looked up at Reno. "Yes. I'm…fine." She sighed. "Why?"

"You look troubled," he said, raising an eyebrow. "Somethin' bothering you?"

She shook her head quickly. "I…should go." Quickly she swiveled around to stride out of the alley, but a rough hand grasped her arm.

"Not so fast, now!" said Reno, and his turquoise eyes lingered on her back. The young woman turned only her head, curious at what he had to say.

"What do you want, Reno?" she asked. She hardly recognized her voice: it sounded lost and distant. Now Reno must have known... He was a Turk; he probably had undertaken missions in Nibelheim in the past, whose residents' accents were similar to her own. But Aphrodite didn't want him to know. She didn't want anyone to know, for that matter... She still had a hard time getting over the tragedy sometimes, for it had left scars and marks, both literally and figuratively.

"You didn't even say 'goodbye,'" said Reno. "You pay your respects to a Turk. You don't just go and leave without a word or even thanking me."

"But I did thank you," said Aphrodite, sighing in exasperation. She turned again and began to tread away. "'Kay then, goodbye."

"Wait!" called the redhead, striding after her. "Where do you live?"

He sounded almost like a stalker. She always imagined the Turks as persistent, probing people for some reason... Could she trust Reno? Aphrodite gave an inward shrug, shaking her head and deciding to tell him. What harm would it do, anyway? She had nothing that anyone from Shin-Ra could possibly want. She was a lowly slum-rat, and that was all.

"Sector 5," the young woman called over her shoulder. "In a little wooden cottage. Goodbye, now!"

As Aphrodite turned the corner into the now less crowded street, she heard that same, suave voice call, "Au revoir, fille mignonne!"

She hadn't the foggiest what language Reno spoke, nor did she have a clue of what he said. Oh, well. She'd leave that exploration for another day.