Chapter 5

Merdan had spent the last three months of his life as a mercenary, Reno reflected. He'd been around sporadically, and when he wasn't on a job he'd hang around the apartment with Reno and laugh like it was old times. Maybe that was why Reno missed the kid the most. Blue danced in the bright sky over head and the still-pale sunshine began to heat everything up, causing the concrete to shimmer all around, but Reno was somewhere far away in his own head. His arm throbbed but he ignored it.

The boy had traveled quite a bit in his brief career, he knew, and he'd always have stories of the places he'd been for Reno. Merdan had always stopped by to see Elena and Rude whenever he passed their way, and always brought brief messages or informal hellos and well wishes from his friends. Reno had never been sure whether to be happy or sad when he heard that they were getting on just fine without him. He generally assumed none of it meant anything and told himself he didn't care.

He'd come to terms with the fact that he had to get on with his life. Stop being a Turk. Stop being a Turk? The idea was almost ludicrous. He'd been a Turk for a good part of his life, and everything about it was ingrained into him. The other Turks weren't just partners, they were friends and more then friends.

People said that the ones who love you unconditionally were your family. Were the Turks Reno's family? The idea was too strange. Reno had never had a family, so the whole thing struck him as largely laughable. All those things people talked about; the only things that were real in Reno's world were the fight and a loyalty he was unwilling – maybe unable to let go of.

In a strange sense, Reno's life had ended when he ceased to be a Turk. He was only 26; seven years of being a Turk. A life much too short.

Reno had heard all the platitudes. There'd be happy reunions, fun filled afternoons, more glory days. Although he didn't doubt such things existed he never expected to see them himself. He'd never believe it himself, but Reno was a young man who had lived through ten times more than his share of the horrors of life.

The real Reno, left for dead somewhere long ago, had been a snarky and carefree guy who joked freely with everyone and anyone. Sometimes, Reno forgot that such a person had ever existed. He hadn't known him long at all, and maybe that's why he was the way he was today. Happiness? That had been before he'd been forced to eke out a miserable life in the slums, with only his wits and his nimble fingers, for himself and the stupid people who had thought they could depend on him.

When he'd been recruited to the Turks he'd walled off that part of himself, or all that remained of it, completely. The day he'd accepted his blue suit from Tseng's predecessor, a woman named Amarine, he'd told her he didn't care and he really hadn't. Things had happened down there that changed everything; he was so different from what he'd been when he first shook that carefully manicured hand that sometimes he didn't even recognize that person. It was just the way things were, and even if he could have gone back he wouldn't bother.

Some of the rougher jobs had been horrors at first, but he had gotten to the point where he no longer cared, or could at least block out all the feeling. The blissful numbness had made Reno what he was today. A bloody, street-wise criminal who didn't know how to break out of the prison he'd locked himself in.

No, life had put him there.

Lady Luck had never been on Reno's side growing up, but when he'd become a Turk he had found himself trusting in her more and more. Was it a good idea? Probably not, but then again, he was still alive to talk about it.

In most eyes, including his own, the cold, hard truth was that Reno was a murderer without a drop of compassion. Whether this was actual truth or just what he wanted believed was always debatable, but the facts remained unchanged. When told to kill someone, he'd point, aim, shoot and then walk away without ever looking back. It didn't matter who or why, that was besides the point. It was his job. It was also true that he'd walked into it knowingly and had never honestly looked back. That was part of the problem with trying to shift the blame.

He wondered vaguely what it would be like to live a life as a painter, or a politician. Anything but this. Reno had never had the choice, however, and he had done what he had to to get by. He had no regrets and wasn't about to start trying to change his life around to conform to what some bigger tough even than him happened to be saying was right today.

As a kid, Reno had lived through some pretty spectacular street fights; mostly gang rivalries or other such shit. Down in the hell of the slums a mugging was often reason enough to start a blood bath. Reno's last fight like that had been when he was seventeen; it had almost been the last thing he'd ever done. By some intervention of fate, the man named Tseng had been watching it all, and had been around to pull him out of the carnage and offer him a job he couldn't turn down.

Reno laughed to himself quietly, the sound not breaking the stillness but stirring it gently. He was a killer. He was your best friend until someone paid for you to be otherwise. He was a hundred different people hiding behind a single face. Who was Reno? Did it even matter anymore?

The sun was well up by the time Vincent Valentine returned from surveying the area around this dead-end section of the crumbling old highway. His demeanour was cool and collected as ever, but underneath a seething disturbance gnawed at him. His golden arm glinted in the morning sunlight, sharp and amazingly accurate as he swung himself effortlessly downwards to where Reno waited. When he hit the pavement once again, the redheaded Turk looked up expectantly from where he was leaning against a concrete panel staring moodily into space.

"Well? Did you find anything?"

Vincent watched the much younger Turk, observing and making notes as he did so. All traces of his previous anger seemed to have vanished, leaving only a weary determination in its place. Vincent did not understand how one person could change so suddenly and so radically in so short a time, but it was of no account to him. He merely returned the stare he received for his silence.

"No, there was nothing."

He turned away from the Turk, letting his back speak for him. He had more important things to deal with. Bending quickly, Vincent smoothly knelt down to better examine the boy that lay on the pavement. After the unexpected entry, Reno had checked him over quickly while Vincent had made a peripheral sweep of the area to find out where the child had come from. He was deeply unconscious, and it had been immediately obvious that he had to have been pushed from the wall far above.

Vincent studied his features, trying to make sense of them. There was nothing familiar about him, and yet Vincent had the odd feeling he'd met him before somewhere, long ago. It was impossible, of course, but still…

The boy had regular features, with prominent cheekbones and highly tanned skin. He had a soft look about him that might have made a more casual observer place him at about ten or eleven, but Vincent suspected he was probably several years older. He had a very slight build, and the most remarkable thing about him was easily his hair. It was white. Not silver like Sephiroth's or grey, but a stark white like fresh, new, crisp snow. It fell just above his shoulders, as much a studied contrast with the rest of him as Reno's hair was to his own eyes.

Vincent turned to regard the Turk impassively. He had approached silently from where he had been standing, and now stood just behind Vincent's left shoulder. He appeared to understand about as much of this as Vincent did, and although Vincent did not doubt that as a Turk the man could be a spectacular liar, he was inclined to believe him. Reno just nodded to the child again.

"He doesn't seem to have a bump on him. He's just… out of it. It's like he's sleeping, but I can't seem to get him to wake up."

Vincent nodded, feeling words were unnecessary. He just remained crouched where he was, staring and wondering.

Reno himself felt more than a little out of place. He probably, if asked, would have described himself as being 'confused as fuck'. Everything about everything here was strange. In the space of one night he'd fought Vincent Valentine, former Turk and member of AVALANCHE and survived to find this odd kid literally tossed into them. It was just… too weird.

In truth, the fact that the kid was here at all, though certainly passing strange, was amplified by… what were they? Not just memories - more like reminders - of Merdan. That's where it had started and it all seemed to lead back to him. Just another kid, a friend who had happened to be in the wrong place at very much the wrong time. No, the boy on the ground in front of him was nothing like the one he'd known, way too young for one thing, but it had given him kind of a shock. When the kid had fallen, just for a second he'd thought…

But no, he wasn't, and it wouldn't do any good to dwell on it. He felt kind of odd, though. After seeing Merdan die in his chair, and now this boy… he felt almost… almost like he should care. Why? It wasn't his responsibility. In fact, with all the weird shit that had been going on, it was practically his responsibility to eliminate the boy as a possible threat. But at the same time he knew beyond certainty that he would do no such thing. Not yet, at any rate.

Reno knew he didn't actually care about what happened to the boy, not really. He'd blow him away in a second if that was what became necessary; Reno had seen too many things in his life to believe that someone was harmless just because they looked it. But for now, just for the moment, he was content to allow the projecting of the friend he hadn't been able to save onto this kid, in all its selfish glory. It was all the same to him. Just because all that psychobabble shit he'd been taught in the Turks was annoying didn't mean it wasn't true. His mood darkened somewhat as his thoughts continued along the same line.

Vincent slowly stood up, letting his cape fall about his shoulders and eddy in the morning breeze. He turned to face Reno, no particular expression on his face or in his eyes. Reno, although trained from day one to ignore and suppress fear, was somewhat taken aback by the icy lack of anything resembling feeling in those eyes. The day you saw something else in them, he reflected, was the day you should be truly afraid. He shook his head and returned Valentine's gaze. And he'd thought he was cold.

Vincent let the quiet stretch on another few moments before deciding to speak.

"…We must take him somewhere."

Reno was surprised. He'd expected… something else. Vincent Valentine had always been eminently practical, and his obvious disregard for the possible danger of taking the boy seemed out of place. Somewhat chillingly, it wasn't hard to believe that Valentine had already read him and knew his thoughts exactly, or maybe he simply had an alternative motive he chose to say nothing of. Although the implications weren't good, Reno hoped like hell it was the latter.

Finally, Reno nodded, sparing only a glance for the kid.

"Yeah. It might be dangerous, but if he knows anything…" He let himself smile a little, though it was far from friendly. Better to keep a monopoly on information. To believe Valentine was an 'ally' now would be as good as suicide. "If it'll make things easier, I'll take him to my pl-"

"No."

Reno blinked.

"…Huh?"

"He will come with me. My house is much less centralized than yours. I will take him there until he recovers consciousness."

Reno covered his frustration well, widening his smile just a little to compensate for the irritation he felt at knowing he could not protest.

"I suppose it's for the best." He gave his reply a flippant tone in an attempt to bait the gunner. "I don't feel like changing diapers. But you might want to give me a phone number or something, 'cause you might not like it if I have to break into your house every time I want to reach you."

Vincent did not look away for an instant.

"It is unnecessary. When it is needed, I will contact you."

"There's too much riding on the line here for you to just disappear!" Reno cursed himself as the anger slipped out, but it was too late to stop it. "I have no reason to trust you, or you me for that matter. But it only makes sense for us to stay in contact. If we want to go our separate ways when we know what the fuck just happened, it's a-okay with me, but until then I can't let you just walk away without some kind of proof that I'll ever hear from you again!"

Slowly, he exhaled, letting it go. Confrontation with Valentine, again, was not high on his list of things to do today, but he would do whatever was needed. He had been sincere when he'd said too much depended on this.

Vincent turned away for a moment, and Reno could almost have sworn he saw a tiny smile on the gunman's face. Later, he dismissed it as his imagination. Vincent dropped slowly to the ground again, using his normal arm to reach under the boy's back and prop him up. He slid the metallic arm under his legs next before lifting him effortlessly. Finally, he turned back to Reno.

"…I am glad." Once again, his face was blank, but Reno wondered if there wasn't a trace of humour in his voice. "I would not cooperate with an idiot. Very well. I give you my word."

"Your word. Really." Reno let his scepticism roll off his tongue but then nodded, wondering why in hell he was trusting this man. No choice, perhaps, or maybe instinct. Regardless, he would have to just believe that the gunner would come through on his promise. It occurred to him that perhaps Vincent also had something to be gained from this brief collaboration, though he could not imagine what, and it made him feel a little better.

Before Vincent could leave, however, Reno's notice trailed down to the rip in the gunman's leg. Though barely noticeable thanks to the dark clothing, Reno's practiced eye picked it out with some curiosity.

"Hey, Valentine."

Vincent turned towards him a last time.

"How did you get that scratch anyway?"

Vincent glanced down before catching Reno's eyes again.

"A ricochet; just after the tunnel."

Reno raised an eyebrow, amusement and surprise registering at once.

"And I never knew." He laughed shortly.

Vincent's eyes turned to Reno's arm, sleeve largely destroyed and the remains of it a dark red. Scraped and torn up by his slide on the pavement as well as punctured earlier by a bullet, it looked more than a little worse for the wear. Vincent noted the fact that the Turk had not once even shown a sign of discomfort. Deciding to try to leave this with a little peace, he turned his back on Reno before taking his leave.

"…I… am sorry for shooting you."

There was a moment's silence before Reno answered.

"Yeah, me too. …Just a little."

He grinned somewhat evilly, an answer to Vincent's own unseen smile.