"I want them *found*!" the voice roared, and was punctuated by the single echoing boom of a meaty fist brought crashing down upon the bare wood of a table with enough force to send cracks running across it's surface in every direction. Servants scattered in away from the source of the violence, knowing better than to approach their master when he was in this condition. They pitied the lone messenger who was forced to stand in the room with the man and who had brought the news that angered their lord so, but none of them quite enough so that they would lend a hand to the unfortunate soul.

The greeting room was usually a condensation point of merriment and nostalgia, of piping hot tea and ice cold sherberts. It was now reduced to a veritable compost pit of broken furniture and shattered porcelain, as the muscle packed but aged master of the house stormed around, upsetting anything that stood in his path. A serving cup, gifted from the greatest craftsman of Wutai's current age, formed of perfect crystal and gleaming jewels, was hurled into the wall like a common mug and nearly disintegrated upon contact, raining down as diamond dust onto the thick carpeting of the floor.

Yes, it was safe to say that Lord Godo was angry.

"I-I'm sorry, m'lord!" came the terrified reply, near tears, as the shaking slip of a man it issued forth from stumbled backwards to safer grounds. The messenger's name was Lucia, and though he had not asked for the job even he could not deny that it was a lucrative one, with high pay and very low actual risk, considering it was counted as a position in the army of Wutai. However, the temper of the Lord of the country seemed to have thrown the safety benefit out the window, all because- through no fault of his own- Lucia had been the one to tell him that no known assassins could be located within the country's borders.

"Do you not understand," Godo demanded, his chest heaving, his eyes wide with frustration and rage, "how important this is? Yuffie is not only my daughter and only living relative, she is the future of the nation we have dedicated our lives too! These... snakes... these animals... they are a threat to her life. I want them brought to justice, and I want it done *now*."

"S-sir," Lucia stumbled, struggling to keep his voice from breaking in panic, "is it true what the rumors are saying? That one of the men killed was a... a lord of the Pagoda?"

For a long moment, Godo simply held the messenger in his gaze, thinking over the question he had asked and wondering if it even deserved an answer. Finally, with a deep sigh that seemed to expel all the air in his mighty frame, the lord of Wutai sank into one of the few remaining chairs in the room, and gestured for Lucia to do the same. After the man had nervously did so, Godo nodded, just once, to affirm his words.

"But, sir!" Lucia nearly exploded, and then checked himself. "B-begging your pardon, sir, but how is that possible? A simple assassin, taking down a warrior of the pagoda? How is that possible?"

Godo glanced over at him, gazing between his thick fingers, his face pressed down into his hands. A messenger to the lord for many years, Lucia had always seen the man as a model of dignity and poise, never before seeing him so angry or so down trodden. "If you knew the answer to that question," Godo told him in a gravely voice still tainted with rage, "you would know the reason that, in the end, we lost the war."

"I'm sorry sir," Lucia said slowly, sadly, "but I don't understand."

"Technology over magic," Godo said simply, staring piercingly at nothing at all. "The new ways over the old ways. Steel... over soul. These assassins, they blend our world with the world of Midgar, but in the end they are more like a soldier than they ever could be a ninja. They have our stealth, and our agility... and their guns. A sword stroke will always land later than a bullet. And *that*... my young friend... is why we must find these people, and destroy them. Because they are very capable of destroying us."

Feeling suddenly very weak in his chair, Lucia stared across the room at his lord, at a loss for words. Godo, however, had enough left in him to close off their conversation.

"Take the order," he said slowly, resolutely, "to the middle of the town. Make it public. This will not be exclusive to police, or leaders, or even citizens. Issue a warrant on every man or woman who has ever been even rumored to have ties with an assassin group. I want them brought to me." Godo took a deep, weary, breath.

*"Now."*

***

She was lying on the only couch in her entire house when he found her, her legs kicked up and her arms folded neatly behind her head. Despite the relaxed post, her face told anything but a story of ease, her eyes wide and thoughtful, and appearing like they were about to start flowing freely with tears. But Yuffie Kisaragi was a warrior at heart, and always would be. She didn't cry where others could see her.

And Reno, standing in the doorway of the room, leaning against the frame with his head pressed idly to the structure, had a pretty good view of things. He wasn't sure if Yuffie could see him, but for some reason he didn't feel the need to announce his presence on the off chance that she could not. For the moment, anyway, he was fully content to stand there watching her watch nothing at all, the graceful curves of the sulking princess a welcome break from trying to track down his former co-workers.

"Did you know my father wanted me to move back into his house?"

So apparently she *could* see him. Fair enough. With a shrug, Reno slid from the doorway and strode easily over to the couch, hooking his legs over the opposite arm from Yuffie and sitting back on it. "I guess that's a big no-no," he responded, remembering her former rant against the her childhood home.

"You guess correctly," she said in an oddly detached voice, "your prize is the bullet I would have had to use on myself if I'd actually agreed."

"So your old man thinks you might be a target, too?" Reno asked, finding himself strangely attentive as Yuffie uncrossed her legs, and then crossed them again the other way.

"It isn't exactly rocket science," she said, "even an eight year old can work out the process of elimination. He's too well protected to even be touched, so I'm the only one who's left."

"Well," Reno mused, "if someone makes a move against you, that will at least clear the names of the three new guys you and your dad elect to fill out the Pagoda."

"Actually," Yuffie replied, "no. We aren't replacing Shake, Gorki, or Chekov until we get this figured out. Godo can't stand the thought of putting a murderer in charge of one of the floors, and neither can I."

"Noble," Reno reasoned, "but not that bright. I mean, if we're right about this whole forced ascension deal, your leaving yourself open as a target."

Yuffie didn't rise to the bait, and it was only then that Reno realized how heavily this whole deal was lying upon her, if she was down enough not to snap back after a crack at her homeland. He dropped down off the arm of the sofa onto the cushions, watching appreciatively as she bounced with the impact. Appreciation or not, however, his temporarily homeless hand ended up on the relatively safe location of her lower leg, and he gave it a reassuring squeeze.

"What'd you tell him?" he asked, "You didn't need the help of his fancy protection, because of the ruggedly good looking fugitive you have taking care of things back at your place?"

"I'm sure that would go over well," Yuffie said with a small laugh, which wasn't much but it was something. "Especially because he would have you hauled off to jail before I finished the sentence, even though there was no Turk card left at Chekov's place. I guess we got there before they could leave one."

"What *did* you tell him?" Reno asked, slowly walking his fingers up to his companions knee.

"That I was hunting," Yuffie replied simply. "I think he respected that."

"And here I thought I was the one doing that," Reno remarked.

"You thought wrong," Yuffie said, her voice breaking strangely, and suddenly there was a hand on his collar and lips pressed to his. He didn't delude himself for a second as the thief pushed him backwards with a vicious kiss and slid her legs around so she was straddling him, he knew he was nothing more than a temporary distraction from her pain. He distracted real well, though, and he intended to prove it as he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her down to him.

It's just one more notch, he found himself saying in his mind as she slid his shirt up and over his pale shoulders, tossing it down to the floor to land on the spot that hers already lie, on a non-existent belt. When the remainder of their apparel joined it, he found himself repeating that phrase over and over again, even when he found himself actually kissing her neck as opposed to pulling her hair, even when he realized it was fingers pressed against his back and not nails.

He repeated it when he grabbed her by the waist and spun her around, pinning her beneath him to absolutely no protest, and she buried her face in the crook of his neck. He repeated it when she finally let the tears flow, streaming silently down her cheeks and dropping onto his chest, letting her other urges make the noises in its place. He repeated it when he actually slowed to match her movements, when the act became a callaboration and not a race.

Just one more notch, just one more notch, just one more notch...

So why, when she leaned back to cry aloud her approval, couldn't he bring himself to look her in her watery eyes?

A/N: Real quick one. This segment is short because I feel it has more impact that way, though Lord knows this isn't an area I'm proficient in writing. Review, and let me know one way or another what you think about how it went.