A/N: An AU idea I've had for the longest time. Now that I've graduated college, I have more time to write. Let me know what you think! Updates are every Friday.

Edited 6/15/2017

It was the dead of night; slice of the moon scarcely peeking through an overcast sky. A setting she liked to call 'the perfect night for a crime.' Her fingers worked effortlessly against the lock, smiling under the darkness as the gears sung her favorite song. After a moment of force, it clicked and turned with her picks, drawing back the latch well enough to push the door forward. The petite figure pocketed her gear and slipped between the opening, pressing her back against the wood to soundlessly close it again. She was there for less than a minute and a small whisper her ears meant Tifa Lockhart, aka professional codename Shiva, wasn't holding her breath anymore. The girl couldn't help but roll her eyes and whisper back into her coms, a device fit perfectly in her ear activated with a light touch.

"You're going to pass out if you keep doing that." She heard the frown on the woman's face through the earpiece, adding to the confident smile still on her lips. "Everything about this routine, done a million times, you know that – it'll probably help more if you trust me, Boobs." Oh, and codename Boobs at home.

A sigh and grumble cut through a few seconds of silence. And then, her serious tone. "It's Shiva in the field, Leviathan."

That was all Leviathan needed to hear. The young woman moved through the foyer, glancing up the twin staircases that snaked up to the second floor. The room itself was breath-taking, lit by the tiniest amount of light cutting through the rolling clouds; it was enough to show the fine crystals of the colorful stained glass, a window that appeared to disappear into the ceiling. She couldn't help but take a moment, a fleeting dream dancing in her mind. She could have it all someday, it just took the right job.

Realty rocked her back to the present and she lowered herself for a moment. Since the few clicks of the lock and shutting door, she had yet to really make a noise. All hesitation faded with the light, hiding the moon beneath the deep clouds. In the darkness, aside from the faintest green glow in her night vision goggles, the young woman was invisible, blending perfectly into the shadows.

And as the plans ran through her mind again, Tifa mumbled something quietly. "Staircase to the west wing, last door in the hall." Of course, she was already up the stairs, but not quite on the right side. Without a sound and no need to hold back on theatrics, she vaulted herself back, twisting freely on her gloved hands as she slowly backflipped to the west, right across the jutted landing. Now with the foyer behind her, she stood surveying the new space, seeing a plainly laid out hallway in her path.

Just as the foyer and the rest of the house, the hall was silent and dark. If their contact was true to their word, the residents were on vacation until tomorrow, bright and early just in time for work Monday morning.

This was their last shot.

Despite the various doors lining the dark hallway, the young woman clearly knew her entrance. Tifa's words echoed in her mind, but an idiot would be able to pick out the right door here... as in the grand and large and obviously important door. Two doors, in fact, leading toward what she assumed was a bedroom or office of some sort. If this was a video game, a hobby she took too much pride in, this would clearly be a treasure room. Yet, when she approached the doors, she found no resistance from its knob, no massive lock waiting for a boss key. With a light twist, she entered quietly and a subtle click a moment later, she was in, scoping out the extravagant study with careful eyes.

And just as her green, night vision goggles showed her the way, they were recording everything for the rest of the crew to see with her, just in case. Shuffling in her ears, a small gasp and an audible whistle cut in her coms, probably from their resident chimney and tech-extraordinaire. She grinned and Tifa laughed – they still never got used to the lifestyles of the rich-and-famous.

Just as she assumed, it was a room of status, everything about the room breathed manly man (leather, cigar smoke, a hint of expensive liquor in the air). Mostly, it way bigger than her entire apartment and it easily made her have the biggest eyeroll of her life.

The massive desk, cluttered with papers, books, computers still humming, written thoughts and ideas, all scattered for curious eyes. A comfortable, more-expensive-than-her-entire-collection-of-"borrowed"-possessions kind of office chair sat behind it, turned toward a crystal clear, floor to ceiling window as an afterthought. The clouds had dispersed again, breathing light into the space to show her, and the team, everything.

The thief, on the other hand, was simply amused. Maybe he had all the time in the world to overlook his luxuries and gardens from that chair. He probably made very important decisions here, or was fairly welcoming with a mistress here when the missus was away… She shrugged; there was no time to peruse and pursue any incriminating details on the guy, despite wanting desperately to test the cushion of that chair. Instead, her eyes found their way toward a set of shelves lining the walls. Even more books and tokens of expense lined these shelves, rows of accomplishments and rewards of success. Statues of gods, crystal vases, old histories that would go for more than a pretty penny at any market across the world. But they were not her prize today. Besides, Cid Highwind, aka professional codename Odin, aka at home codename Smoke Stack, Chimney, and her personal Giant-Pain-In-The-Ass, would wring her neck if she came back with anything but the client's request. And luckily for them, their client's description was more than detailed enough – the request, a model of a very old and famous airship sat perfectly in her view, an arm's raise height for her to get her sticky hands on. The Sierra, adorned with the latest and greatest of its generation, lost to the past of war, ruin, and destruction. Very few had replicas of the airship existed today, and from what they found, only three or four are left in the world.

Their client paid more than enough to show how badly they wanted a piece of that history. So, the young woman approached as such, knowing the signs of trip wires and traps to scare away sticky fingers, but no thoughtfulness was in place … no pressure plate, no Midgar Jones booby traps… maybe no one else in the world but her, the crew, and the client knew this guy even had it. Did he even know what he had? She pulled down her goggles to around her neck for a less hindered peek, peering a careful grey eye at the exposed ship.

It was impressive, maybe the size of her forearm at wings' length and adored with bronze and silver dials, piping, and other intricate details. A cockpit here, a few propellers there… yeah, it was an airship, whoop-dee-doo. To her, it didn't even look that special, but… They all had to make a living somehow, right?

"Target in sight, securing the objective –" she said quietly, carefully, and after hearing affirmation in her ear from her partner, she slowly reached out with gloved hands.

She froze, swift footsteps, immediately behind her, and a click, something too close to her ears and too close for comfort. She spun, eyes wide, nothing to prepare her for the possibility of intruders, only to find the barrel of a suppressor centimeters away from her hairline and a pair of crimson eyes crystallizing in the moonlight. Eyes almost like hers, on a face stone cold and surrounded in the shadows of black tendrils.

Neither of the two moved, and she barely made a noise except for a panicked, low gasp from her clenched teeth. Far away, she could hear Tifa's worry buzzing in her ear, very distant, but she couldn't focus on that and her pounding heartbeat in her ears. She couldn't speak; hell, she could barely even breathe. Both were frozen in time… And then, the world moved again as she flinched backwards, as if her body was finally registering the situation. Her movements were her downfall; her backpack must have extended out just enough to knock into the Sierra model. It shifted between her and the wall, popping it conveniently forward to crash to the floorboards beside her. Despite her imminent death, her rather short life flashing before her eyes, she ripped her eyes from the attacker to the floor.

Ruins laid at her scuffed black boots, pieces impossible to put back together without artist direction. Everything rushed then. And if she wasn't breathing before, she really wasn't breathing now.

She finally heard Tifa. "Yuffie? Yuffie, what's going on?"

However, once again, Tifa's concern was ignored, but now with sudden anger. Burning anger. No one ever sneaks up on her like that. Yuffie Kisaragi, aka professional codename Leviathan, aka at home codename Brat or Kid or as Cid's personal Giant-Pain-In-The-Ass, snarled with a rush of new wind, ripping her eyes off the pieces back at… nothing. No one. He was gone. Not a peep from the door nor down the hall. That son of bitch had booked it, quietly and fast. This only made her blood boil more. She snarled again, kicking at the broken model once before running both her hands through her hair. Now it was really unrecognizable. "It's nothing, Teef. Nothing at all." She said finally, red in the face, mouth dry. After a deep breath, she sighed. "Mission failed, I'm coming out."

Behind Tifa, a deep, smoke filled grumble cut through rather loudly. "The hell you say," his voice hit three octaves higher, mimicking the girl "mission failed – Just what the hell did you do, girl?"

When she had turned, goggles downward, they should have seen it. Cid's next few explicits were enough to tell her that. But, she ignored Cid, scanning the room again to make sure the silent intruder was really gone. It was not the comforting voice she needed when mistakes are made. It was more frantic and malice fueled, enough to get Tifa to raise her voice back at the man.

Yuffie, on the other hand, pondered.

Just how could this guy get the jump on you?

She didn't even hear the guy enter, let alone leave… How did he do that? Grey eyes on the ceiling, back toward the door, then to… her eyes froze on the office chair, the world growing rather quiet despite Cid's yelling and Tifa's scolding in her ear. In fact, she pulled the communicator from her ear, finding the eerie silence more comforting in this kind of situation.

Her heart skipped a beat, just when she realized the chair was turned back to the desk, tucked back against the wood as it should be.

The group took no delay in meeting that night, regardless of the hour. They decided to meet up at Yuffie's two-bedroom apartment, more than enough space for a single resident if she didn't need the space for ten – wait – eleven cats bouncing around the place. But for someone who stole for a living, it wasn't anything more than what she and her cats needed.

Settled in the living room, Tifa had caught a ginger tabby in her lap, coaxing it to settle with scratches under his chin while she sat on the couch. Next to her was Cid, who did not find any sort of affection for the fur balls. He batted away the curious kittens of the clowder, each interested in the stick in his mouth with a brave pat of their paws. He found blowing puffs of smoke their way worked until Yuffie glared and threatened to punch him. By the window, a young woman, blonde hair cropped short and neat and chocolate brown eyes, continued to furiously type away at her laptop, every few minutes needing to push away an inquiring cat that wanted to walk right across her keyboard. It settled to rubbing its chin on the plastic corner, something Elena Harper, aka Tech-Savvy-Extraordinare, could deal with for the time being.

The woman in resident, Yuffie, had two cats on each of her sides and a black and white cat stretched across her legs, lounging back in the recliner despite the other cats making it their personal scratching post. Aside from that poor chair, the place was pretty immaculate, not even a trace of cat hair in their paths. Yuffie somehow managed the constant mess and spills that come with a clowder of cats.

When the door opened and closed in the tiny foyer behind them for the final time, Tifa looked up, smiling bright. Entered Cloud Strife, aka Doom-and-Gloom by Yuffie, and sometimes, Elena. She still didn't see what Tifa saw in the guy, but that was none of her business if her best friend was happy. As he settled between Cid and Tifa, quickly swamped by a calico finding ownership across his black jeans, Tifa turned to Yuffie.

"Tell Cloud what happened, Yuffie."

And that's what she did, retold the story of her epic break in and how smoothly everything was going up until she was cornered between a rock and a hard place. Not quite that, but something similar. "I don't think I was his target… whoever it was," she said absently with a light shrug, curling her finger under the content cat's chin. While he was at peace, her mind still felt jumbled. "But, he was there before I got there. You all saw how the chair was turned at the window … I just wish it wasn't as dark as it was, or I could have gotten a better look at the guy that made me break that stupid thing." The pieces of her team's millions were still burned in her mind.

From her computer, Elena sighed, moving her eyes from the screen but not pausing her rapid-fire typing. "All we saw was the floor, thanks to you pushing down those goggles I gave you." Yuffie, in response, rolled her eyes, but Elena continued. "And your butt is in luck, so Cid can stop giving you the cold shoulder – the model was a fake." At that, Yuffie did breathe easy, but sent a glare in Cid's direction. He shook his head; that man would find any reason to be annoyed with her. "From that piece you brought back as keepsake, I ran it past a couple of photos and files, but nothing came up as a match. For now, we're in the clear, until we can find another model for the client." Said piece sat on the coffee table in front of them, a large pod with a plastic fisheye lens and a tiny control room within. Yuffie always brought back something from every job, pass or fail.

Cloud crossed his arms over his chest as seriousness washed over him. "So, we're pretty much tied up here, then."

Elena, quiet for a moment, turned back to her computer. "I'm afraid so… The client expects results by the end of the week." The room was silent then, aside from Elena typing away and the purr of careless cats.

A sigh broke the silence and Cloud turned his attention Yuffie, still thoughtlessly scratching away at the cats around her. "Let's get a briefing on this guy's description, anything you can remember and see if Elena can dig something up. Figure out why he was there. Until then, we'll find another model, and pray this one is nearby and real enough to get paid and off the hook. Agreed?" A collective agreement murmured among them, and Yuffie quickly remembered Cloud was aka Bossy Pants, as well.

Yuffie was never the best at descriptions. Aside from rare, enhanced crimson eyes and black as night hair ("Well, it was really dark…" she mumbled. The other woman heavily rolled her eyes and closed her laptop.), Elena did not have enough to run a decent search. At least, not something worthwhile in this amount of time. With the growing trend of enhancements and augmentations sweeping the country now, it was entirely possible this guy would not be wearing the same face he had the night before. Too many crime organizations had the spare cash for that kind of stuff. And assuming he was part of such, this would be a viable option.

Rather dwell on a subject with no leads, the group took their leave in turn, the last being Cloud and Tifa… though, it was more of Cloud waiting outside and Tifa saying good bye alone. The older woman smiled warmly at her best friend, wrapping those comforting, strong arms around her tiny shoulders.

"We'll figure out who snuck up on you eventually." She said, mumbling as her chin sat perfectly on the top of Yuffie's head. She gave a tight squeeze and pulled away. "But don't worry too much about it, okay?" The woman paused, turning that warm smile into something somewhat stern. The way Tifa's eyebrows knitted together reminded her too much of her mom. "Don't lose sleep over it or even think of looking for this guy on your own, alright?"

At that, Yuffie, of course, rolled her eyes. "Yes, mooom," she drawled. She looked annoyed for a moment, but couldn't help but grin. "Don't worry. I'm fine."

The two shared parting words and as the clock struck 11, Yuffie was alone with her cats. The apartment was always too quiet when her friends left, something she sort of hated about living on her own. But every time she remembered the state of Elena's wire jungle house, the clouds of smoke literally hanging the air of Cid's loft, or the love nest of Tifa and Cloud, she hugged her cats just a bit closer and appreciated the silence.

Sleep did not come to the girl, at least, not right away. Something continued to gnaw at her, something with red eyes and a metal hand, someone she would really love to forget. But, after several hours of no results, she slipped from the cat prison (despite protesting meows) and blankets and crept into the other bedroom, a sort of makeshift office, art room, and junk space kind of room.

The room illuminated with a light, orange glow from the desk lamp, revealing a mess of things in every corner. Cluttered boxes of unpacking that would never get finished, a collection of house plants hidden away from the fury of claws and bored kittens, and a desk, cluttered with sketchbooks, easels, paints, pencils, oils – an artist's dream, if she could be called anything as such. For her, it was an escape, just a moment to get away from problems and worried thoughts. Tonight would be no different; insomnia hit her at the worst times… Visions of the man with the gun pointed directly at her face did not help, either.

But where words had failed her before, this was a moment to collect herself, breathe, and think. She mounted a small easel and sketchbook, picked up a piece of charcoal and just sketched, sketched until she got his jawline right, the curve of his brows, the striking stare of his eyes… His hair was tied back, wasn't it? She sketched until sleep overtook her and she ended up drooling over the confusion of scrap papers all over the desk, leaving a near-perfect rendition of the man who may haunt her dreams forever.

Several hours earlier, a rather tall man, dressed in a classic black suit, white dress shirt pressed and tucked perfectly under a crisp black tie, exited the manor, out into the darkness as the clouds rolled over the moon once more. He had already stashed away his pistol, unhinged from the suppressor and pocketed in his jacket. What happened back there was not part of any briefing, any plan he would expect, rather, it was the wrong place at the wrong time. Either him or the girl. Someone screwed up immensely, but his criticism would come after debriefing. The man, descending the long, brick driveway hidden between a path of pines, pulled out a flip phone from his pocket, dialing a single digit and waiting with it pressed to his ear.

It rang once, then connected. A cheerful voice on the other end, polite, dignified even. Someone was excited to get a phone call this late at night. "How'd it go, Vincent?"

"The mark was not here." He said simply, quietly, casting a careful crimson eye back at the shrinking manor behind him.

The cheeriness dropped as seriousness grew. Noisily, papers were shifted, then a bit of silence before annoyance. "That's not possible – we had clear info 'the mark' would be back tonight."

"He was not, Reeve. But," he paused for a moment, choosing words carefully. Should he mention his brief interaction with the girl? This could compromise everything he and the group worked for, especially ruining any form of anonymity the job required. But, as he spotted his vehicle parked inconspicuously on the street a block down, he noted the darkness, the shadows and clouds cloaking any sort of light to identify him. There was no way she saw his face with his back to the window. Her glance, large, hurricane grey eyes staring back at him, the way her dark hair and swept bangs framed her youthful face; he would remember her face, thanks to that fading light. And it made his stomach clench uncomfortably, unfamiliarly. She looked shocked, scared. It was not a fond memory to have of someone he did not know. But at the same time, why should he care? He would probably never cross paths with this woman again. With that, his mind was made up.

"But…?" Reeve said, breaking the silence and turbulent thoughts.

He was always quick to come up with something, "the client will not be pleased knowing we failed." He climbed into a sleek black car, windows completely tinted and reflective. The engine roared to life in the softest way possible and as he pulled the car out into the street, the call was switched over to hands-off. "I suggest we reorganize, evaluate the specifics, and stop allowing Reno Sinclair run our consultations." He said, rather coldly. Despite the time of night and lack of drivers, he still drove careful and to the law, something that annoyed his colleagues when they joined for a ride. It was even more reason to work alone, something he took great pride in. He flourished on his own.

Through the car stereo, Reeve sighed. "You're right, Vincent, per usual… Take the night off and we'll regroup tomorrow evening." When Vincent didn't say anything, Reeve quickly continued. "And, I'll personally be present this time, with Reno not anywhere near the files. Okay?"

All the man did was murmured affirmation and ended the call, ignored his clenched stomach and praying his dreams would be plagued with the usual nightmares and not the girl's face.