"First things first. You need a weapon."

It was the second day Tseng had met with Rufus, the first real day of his tutelage. Tseng found his new assignment more of a challenge than he had first imagined. Rufus was living full up to his reputation as the stuck up son of a rich man. Several times in the course of the day, Tseng had to pause and make a physical effort to keep a rein on his temper. It wasn't that Rufus was unwilling to learn, it was just- he acted as if everything were so beneath him.

"What sort of weapon?" Like with all his other responses, Rufus' tone seemed bored and uninterested.

"Hmm..." Tseng carefully looked the young man up and down, taking his measure with a trained eye. "A gun. Nothing used for close combat, you simply don't have build for anything save the most basic of martial arts, nor the need. A knife, perhaps, but that will come later." He lapsed into thought, staring intently at the slim young man. Finaly, he nodded. "A shotgun."

Rufus blinked. "What?" That had been the last thing he had expected. A handgun, perhaps, a magnum or a berretta, but a shotgun?

"A shotgun." Tseng looked at him, exasperated. "You know, twin barrel, heavy shells-"

"I know what a shotgun is," Rufus snapped. "But, why- I mean, it's a- it's just that-"

"You don't think it's good enough for the son of the most powerful man in the world, hmm?" Tseng's eyes flashed as he spun around to face the young blond. "Let me tell you something right now, sir. I know weapons. And believe you me, if I recommend something for you, it is in your best interests to follow up on it."

"Oh come on," Rufus sneered, flipping his hair. "You can't be that good."

"I am a Turk, sir." Tseng smiled, but it never reached his eyes. "What's more, I am the leader of the Turks. That's all you need to know." This was where the real test started. Now Rufus would find out that the entire world was not at his beck and call, that he couldn't always get something without first earning it. Now Tseng would find out if he was going to keep his job.

Taking a deep breath, Rufus glared at Tseng, who returned his gaze impassively, neither aggression nor provocation showed in his brown eyes. After a moment, the younger man looked away.

"Fine," he said sullenly. "A shotgun."

"Good, sir." Tseng breathed a momentary sigh of relief. "I will see that one is brought to your room before this evening. We will start the lessons tomorrow afternoon."

* * *

True to his word, Tseng had the shotgun, a beautiful, well oiled 12 gauge piece, delivered an hour after their conversation. After lunch the next day, Rufus went down to the shooting range to meet with Tseng.

That first day, they did nothing but familiarize with the different parts of the gun, with Tseng drilling the future president until he knew every piece by heart. The next day was much the same, and by the time they parted, Rufus knew every piece of the weapon by name, what it's function was, where on the gun it went and when to put it there. Tseng nodded to himself in satisfaction; the boy was a quick learner when he put his mind to it.

On the fourth day of training, Rufus was surprised to see that Tseng was accompanied by another man.

"Rufus, sir," the Turk leader began. "This is Reno. He's a member of the Turks and will be assisting me from time to time with your lessons."

Rufus raked a hand through his blond hair as he studied the man warily. Taller than he himself, shorter than Tseng. Red hair, green eyes, rather pale skin. Not unattractive, either, not unattractive at all. The thing that caught the young man's attention the most, however, were the twin scars that ran across each cheekbone, almost directly under the eyes.

Curtly, he nodded, then turned back to Tseng. The Turk leader cast a quick glance at Reno, then began the lesson.

Letting Tseng and Rufus take a few steps in front of him, Reno watched the lesson from the background. Tseng had told him that the young man's training had begun smoothing out; Rufus was no longer the insolent little brat he had started out as, and Tseng had ceased to feel the need to slap him every second minute. From his present assessment of the two, his boss seemed to have been speaking the truth.

* * *

"So what did you think?"

Tseng and Reno both sat in the younger man's apartment, Reno with a glass of scotch and ice, Tseng with a shot of whiskey.

"You mean what do I think of his marksmanship, or what do I think of his highness himself?"

"Either. Both." Tseng took another sip of whiskey. "Gods, Reno, where did you get this stuff?" he asked, lifting the glass to the light.

Reno gazed for a moment as Tseng's Wutain features were cast with amber light and smiled. "It's over forty years old," he said. "Do you really want to know where I got it?"

Sighing in mock annoyance, Tseng shook his head. "Reno," he started, but the redhead cut him off.

"Hey, don't worry about it." Reno grinned impishly up at his boss. "I actually came by it honestly."

"Reno, you never acquire anything honestly unless you absolutely have to. And besides," Tseng paused to take another appreciative sip before continuing. "There's no way you would have been willing to part with the amount of money this would have cost."

"No, really, I'm telling the truth this time."

Tseng muttered something under his breath about shepherds and wolves, but Reno took no notice.

"Actually-" Reno looked sheepishly down at the floor. "It was a gift."

"A gift?" Tseng raised a single eloquent brow. "From who, if I may be so bold as to inquire."

"Ah- Trina." Reno looked up and caught Tseng's eye guiltily. "She- ah- well, she- I guess she's had her eye on me for a while, and yesterday evening, after I got off work... we went to dinner and then-" Reno trailed off.

"Well well." Tseng grinned at his co-worker. Trina was one of Shinra's many secretaries, a small, brown haired girl, quite pretty, actually.

"Yeah, she gave this to me this morning," Reno continued. "Said she wanted to meet me again tomorrow night."

"Are you?"

The question hung in the air for a few minutes, then Reno shrugged.

"I guess so, yeah." He grinned sheepishly. "She's a nice girl."

"Ha!" Tseng smiled. "Nice? That doesn't seem like you at all, Reno."

The redheaded Turk looked down at his drink, his usually pale face quite red. "Ahh-" he stammered, not looking up.

"It's all right, Reno." Tseng grinned at him. "Whatever makes you happy, man."

"Thanks," Reno said, looking at Tseng. The blush hadn't completely disappeared from his face, but he didn't look so sheepish anymore.

"Thanks for what?"

"I don't know. I guess I'm still looking for your approval."

Tseng reached out and took the younger Turk's hand in his own. "You never needed my approval for anything, Reno, even when we were still together. I may be your superior, but I'm not your mother."

"Yeah, I know," Reno said bitterly. "You're still around."

Tseng froze for a moment, staring at the young man. Reno shook his head and covered his face with his hand. "I don't why I just said that," he sighed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean- aw, shit." He stood and turned towards the kitchen.

"Reno," Tseng stopped him. "Reno, it's okay. I understand."

"Eleven years." Reno stared at his shaking hands. "Eleven goddamn years and I still can't get over it."

"Reno-" Tseng reached out for the younger man.

"Shit, man," Reno clenched his free hand into a fist and gulped the rest of his drink. He closed his eyes as it burned it's way down his throat, filling him with dead heat. "It's gone. It's dead and buried, I've moved on and there's no turning back." He turned away from Tseng, who stood now, moving into the kitchen. "I need another drink."

Tseng watched Reno retreat into the kitchen, then sat back down. Closing his eyes, he sat unmoving, listening to the clink of ice against glass coming from the direction of the kitchen. When he opened his eyes again, Reno stood in front of him, exhibiting no signs of bitterness and, yes, fear, that had shown so clearly in his face just moments before.

"So anyway," he said, throwing himself bonelessly onto his couch, "that's how I got it. And I'm probably going to meet with Trina tomorrow, too."

"Good." Tseng watched the younger man's face intently. He wanted nothing more than to pursue the subject, but he knew not to push Reno if he didn't want to talk. "Now," he said as he settled himself more comfortably in his chair. "Back to my original question, what do you think?"

Reno snorted and gazed at the ceiling. "Let's start with the easier part of that question. His shooting- Tseng, I'm not exactly sure how I should put this-"

"How about bluntly?" Tseng said with raw mirth.

"Okay, then. Well, Tseng," Reno sighed, looking at his superior, "you've really got your work cut out for you this time. He's sixteen, right?" Tseng nodded. "Huh. Only five years younger than I am, and he shoots like that?" He shook his head ruefully. "Maybe it's cuz I've held a gun in my hand since I was ten, but my God, that boy is the worst shot I have ever seen." He shrugged. "What can I say?"

"Well, that's it, then," Tseng said contritely. "I was hoping that I had been mistaken, but since you agree with me, I guess it's true. You know more about long rage weapons than I do, Reno: is his problem going to be easy to fix? Can it be fixed at all?"

"I think so," the young Turk said, nodding slowly. He drained his drink and poured himself another while he thought. "In fact, I'm almost sure of it. From what I've seen, it's mostly just lack of experience. He's got some bad habits that you're probably going to have to change, but nothing major. If his aim doesn't improve in about two weeks, I'll take a closer look myself."

"Thanks, Reno."

"Hey, no problem." The redhead's eyes narrowed. "But as to the kid himself... well...that's a little more complicated."

"You're telling me." Tseng sipped his drink reflectively. "To hell with his shooting, is there hope for him?"

"I don't know," Reno told him frankly. "I really don't. Sometimes I swear he's nothing but a rich brat, then I'm convinced he only acts like that because no one has ever told him how else to be. His father is certainly no example, pretentious little fu-"

"Thank you, Reno," Tseng interrupted. "I'm quite sure I know your take on our dear President."

"It's not like you don't feel the same way, Tseng," Reno shot back.

"Be that as it may, Reno." Tseng said nothing more, but Reno got the picture.

"So anyway, that's what I've gathered. He's gotten off to a pretty bad start, it seems, but there's still hope."

"There had better be," Tseng agreed. "He's the President's son, after all. Going to be President himself one day."

"To the future President," Reno said, lifting his glass in mock salute.

"To the future President."