Tseng did not say goodbyes. He had not said a goodbye to his mother when he left Wutai, and he was not going to start now.

Neither was he going to commit to see you again. Honestly, if all went well, he would never see his colleagues again. Such was the life they lived. They would either defeat Zirconaide and move on, or they would die.

As for him…

"Prove your loyalty," President Shinra had said. "I will drop the charges against the Turks if you carry out the order I had given you to begin with: execute Veld."

Tseng had stared back at him, stone faced, and accepted.

And now he stared - not through a rifle scope, distant and impersonal - but along the sight of a standard issue pistol, at the man who had gone from his jailer to his mentor. He had saved him when he hadn't wanted to be saved, forced him into a life he just barely chose over death, yet had still become… important. More important than he really should think about now.

But Veld no doubt had similar thoughts from his small, bittersweet smile. He made no attempt to fight. No attempt to run. Tseng wasn't the only one armed, it was a formality to make him do it, really. A mind game.

Rufus was somewhere behind him. Reno and Rude as well, the only ones not tied up dealing with Fuhito and Zirconiade.

The only ones left to stand at his side, assuming they didn't attempt to leave for this.

He did not apologize to any of them for what he had to do.

Veld would respect that.

"You've grown, Tseng," Veld said, quiet, just enough to carry to him. "You're ready for this. You're the leader the Turks need now."

What Turks? He didn't ask, but he wondered. Their survival was not guaranteed. This was just an attempt to buy them time.

He inclined his head slightly, and took aim. Elfé first, a rather cathartic blow and not one he minded taking, if he was being honest.

Then Veld, dark eyes understanding. Waiting.

Tseng pulled the trigger, and watched him fall.

Rufus had saved the Turks. Not, he was quick to assure them, for their sake, but his own. The company needed Turks, and it would be a pointless loss to let go of the ones they had. Bad enough they'd lost so many others, but that was the price of his father's senseless decision. How much better it would have been if they'd just taken him up on assassinating him, all those years ago. Or even looked the other way and let AVALANCHE do it for them - Rufus had given them ample opportunity they simply refused to take.

Whose fault the fallout after that was, was hard to say, but then, nothing in ShinRa was black and white. Anyone who believed it was deluding themselves. (Of whom there were many, admittedly.)

He suspected Reno blamed him. He was an easy target, easier than Tseng, who had pulled the trigger on Veld but had also in the same shot given the three of them another chance.

Reno understood about doing things you didn't want to for survival. About making those hard choices, duty over emotion. Emotions were not a luxury the Turks had.

And if somehow he hadn't known, well. The Plate drop would have been quite enlightening, wouldn't it?

So much mess his father managed to make of things in his last days. He didn't think he imagined relief in Tseng's eyes when they first saw each other after his… demise.

"Mr. President," Tseng said, without hesitation.

Rufus glanced at him with a smile. "That's right."

Tseng was not one for goodbyes, Rufus had noticed. He was not, overall, one for sentiment to begin with - or if he was, he kept it buried deep, and had never shared it with Rufus. Even when they were kids -

- no, perhaps it was better not to go there. Rufus had a reputation of his own to keep, and it was in danger as it was.

It was supposed to be so simple. Reeve's little creation had obtained the keystone, and Tseng was dispatched to the Temple of the Ancients.

Sephiroth was not supposed to be there. Sephiroth was most certainly not supposed to interact with Tseng.

Tseng was not supposed to nearly die, saved by apparent 'enhanced healing' and Reeve being over prepared.

Well. 'Saved' - they didn't really know, even now. It was assumed that since he'd survived the trip he was likely to survive entirely but they couldn't promise him that. It was entirely possible that Tseng was going to die, and Rufus was far more bothered than he cared to admit.

"You will pull through, you stubborn bastard," Rufus whispered, standing at the observation window. He'd never seen Tseng look weak before, and could have lived the rest of his life happily without that revelation. Don't you dare die on me. I did not give you permission to leave.

He could picture Tseng's smile now, slight in the way it was when he got tired, but with that amused little twinkle in his eyes. He'd have something dry and witty to say, he was sure. No apologies, not from Tseng, not for this. Maybe some sort of I told you so, he hadn't liked the sound of the mission to begin with. But he'd done his duty.

How very often that was the case, now. Perhaps a little 'polite disagreement' but even Reeve put up more of a fight than Tseng.

When had that happened? He didn't believe for one second that Tseng agreed with his every decision. When had he started playing it off like he did?

What was he doing behind his back in the meantime?

…and when had Rufus gotten to the point that that thought crept in, while the man was clinging to life in an intensive care unit?

Unbidden, words heard long ago came back, words he'd shrugged off at the time.

"We don't trust you."

…and why should they?

Tseng was recovering in Junon. Reno, Rude and Elena were still away on their mission. The board was scattered throughout the building - perhaps even throughout the city, if they'd gone to the Sister Ray.

Rufus was alone in his office, watching the WEAPON lumbering nearer. It was an enormous, hideous thing, made only for destruction. Presumably the destruction of the Planet's enemies… and well, didn't ShinRa count? If AVALANCHE was even remotely right about the origins of mako, even if only that it wasn't a sustainable resource…

Well. It didn't really matter, did it? The WEAPON was here now, and if the Sister Ray couldn't take it out, it was going to plow through his city like a child trampling a sand castle. Rufus grit his teeth, standing up at his desk, palms flat as he glared at it. "Come on you stupid monster. Come into range…"

It couldn't have possibly heard him, for all his power his voice was meaningless, and far too far away to be heard. But it turned all the same, and a brilliant spot of light appeared, twinkling across all that distance.

It got bigger, and Rufus' stomach dropped. No.

He was still staring, unable to look away, as the attack was released, and barely had the presence of mind to crawl under his desk when the explosion took him clear off his feet, blinking blearily at the after images.

Debris had fallen around the office, he was fairly sure his windows had been blown out from the sudden breeze, and he had the brief, distinct thought of how pathetic it all was. He was going to die, huddled under his desk. After everything, this was how he met his end.

He wasn't sure if he was grateful or not that he was alone. He wished… he wished, pointlessly, uselessly, that he thought someone was coming for him. The building would be evacuated first, he was sure Reeve would make sure of it if he hadn't already. Hell, with Meteor looming he was already planning on evacuating Midgar. He'd wanted to start already… maybe he should have let him.

Well. Nothing stood in his way now, and Reeve was as much an opportunist as the rest of them, if less bloodthirsty about it.

His senses were returning, and he blinked up at the underside of the desk, shifting awkwardly beneath it, and found his eyes fixed on a little button, with an engraved L. For the life of him, he couldn't imagine what it was, and for the longest time he sat there, staring at it in confusion.

Then memory dawned, and all Rufus could do was laugh. "Oh, well played, old man. Well played."

Maybe he wasn't going to die here today after all.

Rufus clicked the button, and yelped as the escape route dropped him.