Word Count: 2,499
A/N: It was the last day of this semester, and I had two classes. Thankfully, my history professor just had us hand in our final papers and so I headed towards the building my next class was held in and sat down in the hallway, read over my past chapter for this fic, and then wrote—for three hours straight—the update you now find here.
I would also like to thank ViviMouse, my sole reviewer. It has taken me a little over a month to sort out a bit further where this tale will go, but knowing I had one person that listened to my request made writing this all the easier. So to you, ViviMouse, go my unbridled thanks. I really appreciated the review.
Edited as of 8.12.09 – After further review, I decided I didn't like at all how Reno spoke. Typically, I'm very street-ignorant, so my language reverts to my way of speaking for all my characters. As this was also my very first time attempting to write as Reno, I ask all my readers to forgive me if I make a blunder here and there. I hope I will improve over time. Thank you all for your patience with me.
- - - - - - -
Your heart is like an ice pick.
- - - - - - -
"Don't know why the hell we stayed with ya after ya turned on us like that."
"You need me more than I do you."
The simplicity with which he said it only served to tick the redhead off additionally. Only more so because, bite back as he may, it was very much the truth. Tseng had left them, and upon his return, it was suddenly inexorably clear his captivity had endured so long only because he had willingly gone along with it. They knew, each of them, somewhere deep down in the murky waters of their thoughts. While every single one of them had endured one tragedy after another, that Tseng had deserted them in the time of his absence… completely.
Thoughts of, 'But he came back,' were squelched brutally by the bitter acknowledgement that he had returned only to finish them off, effectively topping off their miserable struggles by taking advantage of Rufus Shinra at his weakest.
"Miserable bastard," Reno breathed sullenly under his breath, turning blazing aquamarine eyes on his leader. The man, whether he heard or not, remained impassive, gaze as enigmatic as his countenance was cold—the picture of disinterested a predator, its thoughts ones of looming kills that would have to be made with blistering efficiency, every card thrown into the game—an effort to make an impact, procure the desired change, and master, yet again, what had at last eluded his grasps when the option was unexpectedly, painfully thrust as blade into chest. The wounded, more so than perhaps any other, knew the implements of the words dealt in fatal a parrying.
"A man cannot serve two masters, Tseng."
Bitterness still resonated, meant to injure, to prove that they were not fools, these that inexplicably still followed, those ever so capable of spiraling away, breaking from the pack, becoming such as they may—ensured a chance of survival? Ha! But that was laughable a concept. Perhaps it was nothing more than that they each innately knew. Knew their only means of survival—optimal existence after tragedy, their downfall—was with this man. The very same who had left them to perish as only the cruelest of men do. Deserting his pups, the pack leader that befriends their enemies, verily sits and watches their ravaging, their slaughter, and when such are near at last to death—crushes lights of hope, gratitude, of love, at his return—and sets teeth to their throats, and just as effectively rips them out.
Silver turned upon aquamarine, face as stoic as irrefutable was his will. No light of challenge, however, emblazoned the Wutian face, and the redhead bit back his comment too late, teeth sinking deep into his lower lip, anger and frustration at not getting a rise out of Tseng quelling his assaults only for a moment. The ebon haired Turk need not do much as of late to fuel the sulking, wounded flare of dissent in the redhead.
"I should think it obvious by now, Reno, that I am serving only myself."
There it gleamed, elusive at first, then surging to overwhelm stormy gray irises, the light of command, of authority, daring Reno to question it, to test the lengths the man was willing to go to prove a point, win this battle, subdue and force his subordinates into submission. They had sought him, those unbearable eyes reminded, relentlessly cruel, brutal in their unvoiced insinuation. Clear, also, to them was the fact that, should they bitch and complain, Tseng, this hardened, purposed man before them now, would dispose of them within a moment.
What he sought to do he would accomplish regardless who did, or more correctly, did not aid him. He made it perfectly obvious. He had already said it in so many ways. He did not need any of them. Their involvement, their very presence, was completely voluntary.
Reno grimaced, his breath hissing between his teeth, the sign of relenting given, the coldness in silver eyes subsequently dimming, irises once more returning to concealing gray. "It wasn't hard followin' him at first, even with the delayed start we had. He's moved around a lot, as though driftin' from one place to another. Lookin' for something, I guess. Shinra family estates on this continent an' the next are all on the list as bein' checked out, but though we've got anywhere we can imagine bugged, the bastard slipped away again while we were slackin' off."
He pushed out a sigh, rolling his eyes and leaning away from the raven-haired Turk, hands firmly hooked on pants' pockets, using the excuse of tired exasperation to break eye contact with his former boss. There was never any point in lying to Tseng. The man knew. Inescapably, he knew. And when they did let slip a lie or two, if they were not called out on the spot, it only meant it did not matter or did nothing to either benefit, or likewise inhibit, Tseng's knowledge. That did not mean, however, that Reno, or verily anyone he knew besides a select few, could hold that gaze when it so clearly knew, accepted and laid flatly back upon their consciousnesses their faults.
He was reasonable and even merciful, accepting where others would have no qualms in dealing inebriating judgment. But now, even now, Reno found it difficult to bear up under the quiet intensity the burden of Tseng's disappointment placed on them. Worse than yelling ever had been, was the silent, calm manner in which Tseng usually delivered his guilt trips upon those unfortunate enough to upset the man.
Even now. Even now it cut the redhead painfully, not even having to see those eyes to feel the upset in his gaze. After all they had been put through, still he could not find it within himself to reject the believed deserved disappointment in him, in his abilities.
They had all been honed to perfection, or as near it as anyone could damn near well get, under the strict, relentless, empathetic tutelage of Tseng. Even before he had become the leader of the Turks, it had been Tseng that had proved himself the undeniable inspiration and driving force for many of them. He drove them to their physical, psychological and emotional limits, and then on past them, never letting them become complacent. He guarded them, taught them, cared for and over a number of them, had hand-picked and trained every one of them. He had protected them. Above all, he had unabashedly loved them. More so than anyone, anyone had ever been, whether it be the undeniable and controversial role of Rufus Shinra in their lives, to Veld, the man that had paved the way to make the Turks into what they had by long become and flourished as under Tseng's guidance…
A family.
"We expanded th' search to any other 'known places' he's familiar with. But with the impossible amount of places on that list, not ta mention us not exactly havin' a job t'pay for all these expenses anymore, looks t'me like we'll be fast outta luck."
"Impossible is unacceptable," Tseng stated simply, cutting off any further complaints before they could start by delving directly to their source and deftly uprooting them.
Knowing he would regret asking, Reno nevertheless spoke up, scowling and firmly crossing his arms, a sign that he did not at all agree with where this was going. "How then, d'ya 'xactly plan to have us fulfill these 'very, very difficult' requests 'a yers? It's kinda hard t'get around anywhere in this world without money, bo— Tseng."
As the former leader of the Turks studied the redhead before him, Reno silently cursed and mentally kicked himself for letting the familiar term slip. Even worse was that he went ahead and had refused to finish the word. He was putting up walls, because, even with the man back now before him, he was different. He had changed in the time that he had been gone. And Reno was still not sure it was for the better. The man still had the same emotions, same look, same tones and expectations. But what exactly had gone on while he had been dead to the world in Nibelheim for months on end none knew.
Oh, some knew so much of this and that, and the man that had 'captured' Tseng and put him up for so long in some desolate location hidden in the Nibel Mountains certainly knew a good part of it. But for some reason, Reno had his doubts that Tseng had or ever would share the full story with any of them.
"Prove the rumors true," Tseng cut into his thoughts. His face was impassive, no hesitation or doubt written on any of his features or hidden in his body language. As Reno remained silent, narrowing his eyes, the ebon-haired Turk continued, not even so much as twitching at his own words. "Steal, blackmail, torture, kill, bribe. Whatever you need to do. Just get it done."
In the silence that followed, the words sank into Reno's understanding and his eyes slowly darkened. "You have changed," he admitted skeptically, tones dark, tinged with disbelief.
"It's what we do."
"It's what we used ta do! You, you changed that! You, yourself, when ya saw what they did to Veld! To his daughter! To us!"
"And it's what I'm going to do again if it means getting him back," Tseng pressed, eyes flashing dangerously. Silence reigned between them, until finally a scoff broke the stillness, Reno shifting where he stood, anger and revulsion written across his features as he took a step back, away from Tseng.
"Ya sound jus' like he used ta be."
"Exactly," responded Tseng, and the word was so low that Reno actually gave pause in his disgust and avid study of his former commander and leader, the unconcealed attempts to discover just what was the source behind this drastic change in the man sitting before him. Aquamarine eyes leveled intently upon silver, but the Wutian man remained impregnable, gaze lowered in what could only be presumed as thought. Brows furrowed as Reno turned his head sidelong towards his once leader, trying to pick up any sign otherwise of the quizzical intentions behind his actions. Nothing, not even a crumb, was dropped to hint at a path the redhead might follow down.
The clearing of a throat interrupted the intense reverie they shared, albeit uncomfortably, and Reno whirled around—unnecessarily, one might note—to find Rude had softly intruded upon them.
"I doubt I need to update you as to your orders?" The query which Tseng had slipped out to the bald man was, too, unnecessary. The idle movement of pieces left to gather dust for far too long a time now. Years verily had passed, old routines lay thickened by underbrush so overgrown one would hardly be able to recognize their manners, except in some distant, frightful tale uttered to keep children in their place should they misbehave. Nightmares, they had become the substance of. Nothing more.
"No…." came the uniform, pensive response, thick queries buried very near the surface of the once-upon-a-time monotone, sure voice of the tall ex-Turk.
"He doesn't wanna be found, bossman!" The words were thrown out finally, redhead stepping forward again, cutting brusquely into the casual formalities of an age passed and deceased. Not angry, but festering with frustration at the coldness with which the situation was being handled were his words. Tseng might have a tone that bit like iced steel, but the aloofness with which he now handed them over to their past indiscretions was too much! Somehow, somewhere along the way, Reno mused bitterly, something had happened that had sent them all spiraling out of control into this very moment and place.
It wasn't even a home, this location appropriated for their benefit—the keepers silenced, bought, convinced in some manner or another. Their comings and goings were as shadows, whether sun or moon plied the sky with their adverse benignity. It had nothing to offer them that was even remotely close to what 'Headquarters' had been in earlier years. Even after its destruction, there was still a homeliness to the places selected specifically to garner aid towards the President's health and chosen in keeping with the continuity of what remained of Shin-Ra on a whole. Within Healin Lodge there was even opportunity to operate as a ghost of the figures they had once been, obtrusively emblazoned upon the world as their tenders and source of liveliness alone. None else would, could supply such as did the Shin-Ra for them, and they, every child to their grateful parents, knew such to have been the standalone truth.
This, this however, was a joke.
Silver darted to aquamarine, the oceanic blue filling his vision for but a split-second before eyes narrowed, darted to th—Aquamarine widened, body lunging, thrown into the bald Turk, winding the bigger man from the impact.
Doors shattered apart, vicious splinters whistling with the intensity of their speed—the dark-haired leader of the Turks sliding from chair to floor rapidly, almost effortlessly. Out of the line of the barrage then, a leg shot out with enough force to send the heavy desk flying against the wrecked doorframe, what was left of the doors themselves dangling to the edges, pieces haphazardly clinging by their hinges to the sides of the entrance. If the desk had not properly stunted the oncoming assault further, the flash of electricity of a particularly pissed Bolt 3 shot from the right-hand corner of the room through the considerably larger opening was a perfect rejoinder.
No outcry of pain was heard from the other end, mild flames licking the doorway from the force of Reno's assault, the redhead already on his feet, covering Rude as he picked himself up with relative ease, if not as swift on his feet as the others. The silence did not mean that the enemy had been feigned—both the ebon-haired and red-maned former Turks had heard the leveling of weapons from behind the closed door. This, however, did not give at least both of the readied men pause as they saw the attire of one figure in particular.
Little time was afforded them to take it in as the tall figure in the hallway beyond the shattered doorway turned and thrust outstretched fingers and hand towards the former leader of the Turks, mouth moving in a single word. Not a threat, Tseng realized in cold shock, hands sweeping past where his gun was holstered, hidden, and leveling the weapon at the head of the man before squeezing off a shot, his own voice rushed to finish the imperative counter before his enemy could his.
"Death Force!" he hissed as the frigid wave of darkness consumed the room around him, phantasmagorical scythe of the enemy's Death spell subsequently sweeping diagonally through his body.
- - - - - - -
Author's Note: I am actually quite surprised to have found the inspiration to write for this again. As last time, I'm leaving you with a cliffhanger. This time, one far more drastic.
I'm not sure how much attention this story will get, but I started it for myself, and I'm going to continue it for myself. However, like before, if you would like to see more of this story, a review would be much appreciated, for encouragement purposes as well as inspirational ones.
This story has and always will be, however, written based on my emotions. Because of this, I can't guarantee when the next updates will be. I will do my best, as far as I can. Thank you very much to everyone that reads, and twenty times that to those that review.
