A/N: Perhaps it would be prudent to explain that this is an AU - in all likelihood, it won't be set in the Midgar of the FFVII world itself. I wrote it with Rufus as a contemporary character, and the story revolves around Rufus - not the FFVII or AC plot (so to speak) or timeline, but Rufus as a universal character. It's rather upsetting for me, even, to consider writing out of context, because it's a wise saying that "if it ain't broke, don't fix it", but it's how it all started and it's how it'll continue. x.x I hope it doesn't chase anyone away. But things may change, who knows. NaNo time eats my brain and sanity.

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Rufus reached for the key card which he kept in his left pocket, sliding it through the electronic lock which barred him in and stepping out of the doors as they swished open. He heard the beep of the system as they closed behind him, and took small, vindictive joy in thinking that the coding was programmed to only show his exit in forty five minutes. It was forty five minutes of bought time, forty five minutes of stolen time, the same forty five minutes he had come to treasure and respect. He had once wanted to alter the card further, to allow himself an hour or perhaps two. But as he well knew, plenty could happen in three quarters of an hour, much less to say two. It was better to self censor, to protect himself instead of letting himself give in to silly childish urges for something so banal as freedom.

The halls were empty at that time of the day. A flick of his wrist and a glance at the face of his watch spoke of it being five fifteen in the morning. The residential block in which the family lived was silent, and Rufus imagined that the administrative block to which the building was connected was very much the same. He made his way over to the lift lobby, not sparing a look at the suite in which his father and mother occupied as he passed. A cleaner was there, changing the plastic lining of the dustbins and refreshing the newspapers at the tables. 'Morning Becka,' Rufus said, smiling for the matronly woman whom he had come to know just as he was rather well acquainted with the rest of the support staff.

'Ahye,' Becka said, looking up from her work and bestowing upon Rufus a wide and friendly grin. 'It's master young Shinra; good morning, good morning!'

'I thought I told you not to call me that,' Rufus complained in jest, the smile still on his face as he adjusted the strap of his book bag. He tapped the button for the elevator. Becka turned from where she had been folding and keeping the past day's papers, securing them onto the cart she normally pushed around. She wiped her hands on a cloth and shook her head, still grinning.

'Ain't wouldn't be right for me to call you anything else,' she said, taking a drink of water from a bottle she pulled from her cart. 'You'll be going down to see that scary security man, I'suppose?'

'His name is Tseng,' Rufus corrected her, torn between exasperation and light humour. He felt his mood lift. 'And yes, I am. Why else would I be up at five in the morning?'

'Awye, you never know,' Becka said conspiratorially, giving him a broad wink which would have made Rufus blanch had he not been accustomed to her teasing ways. 'Couldn't be that a pretty young thing's caught your eye, could it?'

'In this building?' Rufus shot back, giving her a bemused look. There was very little time for frivolity in a building with eyes around every corner and ears installed in each wall. Besides, female companionship was the last thing on Rufus' mind. Becka laughed heartily, giving him a knowing look as only woman of her kind could give.

'If you talk to me you could be talking to any one of the pretty young things the management likes to employ,' she suggested, almost ribbing him and eager to snitch any gossip which might fall from his lips.

'That,' Rufus said to her, eyebrows fully raised in a look of scepticism he had long perfected, 'would be as likely as the "scary security man" spray painting his room pink.' Which isn't a bad idea, now that I think of it, Rufus thought idly. Becka shuddered at the thought, returning to her cart and speaking over her shoulder.

'I ain't one to speak ill of your company as you like it and you know that, master young Shinra, but I tell you, no good can come of you mixing around with his lot over in the 'rative block,' she stated stiffly, reorganising her bottles of cleaning fluid for no real reason. 'You get rumours from that end, you do.'

'Do you?' Rufus asked, interest piqued. He allowed the elevator which had arrived to wait, much more inclined to listen to what the cleaning lady had to say.

'Ahye, ahye,' Becka reaffirmed adamantly, nodding to herself. 'You know the little girly we just got? Sweet little dear by the name of Vannessa? Well, even if you don't, young master, she's got herself attached to the 'rative block. Unlucky little thing, because you know how it is over there with all the high ups - yourself excluded as always - bustling about and demanding things and not giving half a hoot that some of us are trying to do work too.'

Rufus nodded empathically to show he was listening, curious for the rest of the story. Becka needed little further encouragement. Spinning about with eyes afire with the light of conspiracy, she leaned in.

'She goes about her duties goodly-like, Vannessa. By the book, she is, follows the roster we get like it's some sorta bible. And she one day gets the roster for the 'rative research dep, you know, and amongst us lot you don't go near that place other than to vacuum their floors and empty their trashcans quiet like. You don't go knocking on their doors unless them be open, you know? But the little girly - bless her heart - she goes and tries to get into your scary security man's office and then he's there and looming over her and demanding in a far ungent'lemanly fashion 'bout what she's doing and who she thinks she is. Scared her silly, I'll tell you; we swapped the slots a little so she don't have to go back there for a while.'

Concluding and finally satisfied, Becka drew back, dusting herself down as she did so. 'See now,' she said, looking very happy with her rendition of events, 'you better watch yourself, master young Shinra.'

Rufus hid the smile which was forming on his face. 'I'll be sure to,' he said in an attempt to placate her, calling for the waiting elevator as he did so and making a move to slip between the opening doors. 'You too, Becka.'

'Oh, don't you worry 'bout me,' the woman chuckled, ushering him on with her hands as she waved at him. 'Bye bye now.'

Rufus shook his head to himself as the elevator doors closed in front of him. The rumours and speculation that went on about the Turks never failed to bring a half-smile to his lips, especially considering how much he had partook of them when he had been younger. There was fear, certainly. No one in their right mind would have failed to regard those of the Administrative Research department with at least a modicum of respect and wariness. Easily identified by their signature suits if not by the air they kept about them, the Turks were intimidating on levels which they were well aware of. Talk of their work was hushed; the truth of the matter oft exaggerated when mundane and oft left unsaid when profane. It was a general consensus of the support staff, Rufus knew, to leave them alone until they asked not to be left alone. No one wanted to be caught uninvited in a Turk's office. Few ever wanted to be in a Turk's office at all, if they were wise.

Shaking himself out of his contemplation, Rufus hit the button for the basement level and waited in easy silence as the elevator plunged downwards. Exiting, he walked down the deserted corridor which linked the residential block with the administrative one, his feet guiding him more than he guided them. A different key card - coded to imitate the keys only the support staff were given - was removed at the glass doors which sealed the passage way, and entrance was granted after one quick swipe. Rufus slipped in and navigated through the twisting hallways which made up the lower levels of Shinra. Some time in the past he had once associated the dim corridors with a parody of a labyrinthine nightmare, but as days went by he began to draw secular comfort from them. It was the work of a short minute to reach Tseng's office. A swipe, and the doors swung open for him.