The TURKs of Shin-Ra fame… or perhaps infamy was a better word, had incredibly good timing. Frighteningly good timing, for regular home-grown human beings. That they could synchronize a pair of incendiary devices to detonate, not soon enough to endanger a former, would-be SOLDIER, but only to target a pair of rogue Avatars, all speeding at break-neck velocity, right on top of one another, down the same tunnel…? More than just a little impressive. Rude and Reno certainly seemed to have the right to be a bit cocky and self-confident.

But even the best timing on the part of an "organic" human couldn't quite catch the reflexes of Jenova's chosen entirely off-guard. The bombs hadn't quite reached the zero-mark in their brief and rapid count down when Yazoo noticed something off, and as the bright blossom of fire and fireworks began to flower out from its little seeds of steel, the long-haired youth was already pulling the motorcycle around in an attempt to make an escape.

He wouldn't have enough time though, the bloom of deadly heat and shrapnel would envelope them before he had the swift machine entirely turned about. The billowing flames were already evaporating the instant cold sweat that had broke out on his face when he'd realized they'd been set up for a trap. He caught the smell of burning hair as the first sparks caught the ends of his long mane, and cursed Shin-Ra again, for all the damned interference they'd posed the brothers.

Loz was a bit slower on the up-take than his compatriot, but what he lacked in initial reaction time he made up for when he finally reacted. He didn't notice the trap that had been set, but when Yazoo had suddenly pressed back into him, trying to turn around the bike, he'd taken the cue for the need to escape and made use of his unique celerity for a hastier retreat. Taking quick hold of Yazoo, he launched them back off the motorcycle, the hulking machine spinning out beneath them against the exploding asphalt, devoured in flames.

The entire stilted structure of the elevated roadway was folding like a house of cards beneath the explosion. Though steel and concrete shot in all directions, most of it was propelled downward into the ground-level portions of the city. A great deal fell into the wasteland that remained of Sector 7, but substantial chunks of road and tunnel pummeled the boundaries of Sector 6 in a meteor shower of debris as well.

Fire licked with hungry tongues at their hair and faces, heated leather armor which stubbornly refused to be quick to burn. Shouting to be heard over the roar of the explosion, Yazoo called out, "Down! Take us down!" and Loz complied, not needing reasons before he followed Yazoo's orders. Though it meant following the flames, the belching smoke would cover their escape into the underbelly of the city, hopefully deterring those blue-suited bastards from following and trying to find them.

Trying to navigate a clear path to the streets was difficult though, falling concrete and rebar hurtled past at body breaking speeds, and even at his fastest, Loz couldn't dodge it all. Shards of metal sliced the leather casing their bodies, drawing blood and letting fire in. Loz wasn't certain in those moments they two wouldn't perish in the TURKs' explosion after all.

As if in answer, something hard and heated struck against his temple with a speed and force that likely would have crushed a normal human being's skull. He didn't even have a breath to reflect on the irony of it, not even so far as to think, 'It figures,' before he had blacked out, still hurtling toward the flames. It didn't seem possible that a motley band like Shin-Ra's TURKs could have possibly taken on Jenova's Chosen and won, but…

"Loz…! Loz!" As he'd felt his brother's grip go limp on him, Yazoo realized again the immediate peril in which they found themselves. Taking his turn to grasp the other to himself, tightly, he searched among the hellish wreckage beneath them for a target point to aim for. Somewhere elevated, somewhere flat, where he could get himself and Loz out and away before more of the freeway fell down on top of them, before the fires burnt them to a crisp. It seemed damned near impossible, but Yazoo couldn't let Loz or himself down.

After all this… They'd nearly met their mother! Kadaj had her even now, and when they all gathered together once again…! Mother would take all the pain and emptiness away, erase all the meaninglessness Yazoo felt in his small life. If nothing else, Yazoo would know where he belonged. Loz wanted that much too, he knew this, and so he made the seemingly impossible happen, found purchase in the crumbling blaze, and shot out through it in directions unknown. Anywhere that might be safe, anywhere but this hell of fire and pavestones.

Down beneath the Plate, in Sector 6 all the festivities of a never ending nightlife (which had only become sketchier and more dangerous in this time of poverty and lawlessness) found themselves unusually interrupted by the explosions from above. Those familiar with the history of Sector 7 immediately feared the worst for themselves, taking cover in the deepest portion of whatever building they were near or in, if they were close enough to hear and comprehend the sounds, or outside beneath the sunless metal sky where they might see the flashy fire-works explosion.

In any case, the streets were quickly emptied in the flash-flood panic, spread by Chicken-Little doom-sayers who in their attempts to flee cried out that the sky was coming down. Yazoo found it no difficult thing to navigate his way rapidly through the streets, propelled solely by adrenaline, the instinct just to live. He bore the weight of his unconscious companion as though the other wasn't there, the both of them mere black shadows, covered head to toe in soot, racing through the streets between the panicked mortals as though thinner than the air.

At last, Yazoo's body hit the breaking point. Even sheer survival instincts couldn't push him forward any further, and he collapsed, pitching forward suddenly and unexpectedly under the returned weight of his burden and the sudden absence of his strength. Pain now flared in every part of him, in every cut and bruise, in the burns that seared him here and there, and he envied Loz his unconscious state, free from all this agony.

Rolling out from beneath the fallen rag-doll that was his friend, Yazoo reached up to claw open the high collar of his armor, trying to escape the still-hot leather, and draw a proper breath of air. Acrid smoke had scorched his throat and lungs; the forceful coughing only heaped on further pain. Yazoo swore a foul worded oath inside his mind, the next time he laid eyes on that red-head punk, to pay him back in spades. Given his condition, and the murderous revenge fantasies that were trying to block out the effects of that condition, Yazoo did not even take a moment to appreciate the soft bed of clean earth and cushion of white and yellow flowers that had broken his sudden fall.

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The widow Gainsborough heard the distant explosion only a little muffled by the distance of the sector which fell between her small cottage and the collapsing highway. Reverberations of the blast shook the supports of the mostly empty two story house, rattling pictures against the walls and delicate tea cups in their curio cases. It wasn't the first of explosions she had heard coming from above, but it was definitely the closest, having apparently come beneath the plate while the others seemed to have stayed above.

She waited, seated at her kitchen table, hands wrapped around a warm mug of hot, relaxing tea, to see if the sounds of destruction would return again, if this was at last the trumpet call for the end for their vast and tragic city… Even as the world fell quiet, an ominous feeling of dread continued to grip her tired bones. Those sounds had been nothing but soft warning thunder, and this, the calm before the storm…

VIIVIIVIIVIIVIIVIIVII

"Y-…Yazoo?" Loz was starting to come around again. Blood ran from his temple in a vibrant sheet of red, matting his soot-streaked silver hair, covering his cheek, neck and chin in a wet-looking slick. He lay sprawled face forward in the flower bed, nostrils too seared by the chemical scents of the explosion to notice their powerful fragrance wafting all around. He was so disoriented, so unaware of himself and his limbs, he couldn't have gotten his arms or feet up under himself to stand, even if he'd had the notion to try.

Yazoo had managed to push up onto one sharp elbow though, torso freed from the confines of his armor now, left with just the black ribbed tank he'd been wearing underneath. He turned his head to look at his companion, neither one of them in any sort of enviable state, but thanked silently the forces unknown to him that they were at least still alive, and both now conscious too. "I'm here, Loz. Just lay still."

The larger man didn't appear to have any intentions of doing anything otherwise but stay laid flat upon the ground. When he opened his eyes, they were completely dilated and unfocused, searching for his friend. "Kadaj…"

"I don't know, Loz. We lost him on the streets…" Yazoo shook his head softly and coughed again, throat raw and aching. He could hear the damage done to it in his voice, and decided if he could, he would do his best to avoid much talking. It seemed Loz had made a similar decision, as for the moment neither of them spoke, but finally collecting enough breath for it, Loz spoke up again.

"He has Mother though… Go to them. Go meet Mother." He didn't have the strength for anything beyond that, and seemed to relax against the ground, as if giving that permission had been all he'd needed to fight for. Yazoo eyes went wide; he was enraged!

"And leave you he-!" Yazoo's voice broke as he forgot his previous decision, as quickly as he'd made it, trying to yell at Loz. He pushed himself back over, pulling his knees up under himself and took a hold of Loz, grasping one shoulder tightly, turning him roughly to look up into Yazoo's face. He tried to convey with the ferocity of his darkly circled eyes what he could no longer say: He could not leave Loz here to go meet Mother alone. They were nearly the same age, and they'd been through more than just today's Hell fire together, all to meet Mother, to find where they belonged. No matter how much he longed to go to her, no matter how tempting that prospect was, it simply wasn't something he could d, if it meant abandoning Loz.

Tears rolled, large and hot from the corners of Loz's hazy jadeite eyes. Yazoo cradled Loz's wounded head in the smooth palms of his now naked hands, his fingers lacing through dirty pewter hair, the left becoming smeared with blood. Leaning down, he pressed his forehead softly up against the others, feeling the knit of Loz's eyebrows against his skin as he willed strength into his dearest friend. Voice ruined, he could only whisper, "Nakimushi…" But it was alright, it was only meant for them.

A soft gasp from near by distracted both men suddenly, two pairs of feral greenish eyes turned upon the small, middle aged woman who was the source. She took a slight step back when she saw the heat in their gaze, but calmed as it fled quickly. These boys could tell she meant no threat to them. A strange sort of whim had drawn her out from the relative safety of her home, amid all the seeming chaos, but looking down at these soot-stained and scorched young men, she could almost hear her daughter's voice. "Kaa-san, onegai?" It was a feeling she often had among these flowers, the reason that she stayed.

"You two came through Sector 6, didn't you? I think it might still be dangerous out here. Would you like to come inside?" She gestured back to her little home just down the gently sloping hill. For a moment Yazoo was thoughtful, taciturn, but then glancing around to be certain no other eyes were watching, he nodded once and turned back to whisper to Loz.

"She's just a civilian, she doesn't know us. We'll stay out of the sight of Shin-Ra until we can go to meet Mother and Kadaj. Put your arm around me, I'll help you up." Eyes still streaming great childish tears, Loz regarded his companion for a moment with grave uncertainty, but knew he couldn't have refused. Loz was a good fighter, and the oldest of the three, technically, but he'd always been a follower; it wasn't difficult for Yazoo and Kadaj to push him around.

Not that he wasn't perfectly happy to do as his brothers wished, their objectives being primarily the same, but in the end he really did have a problem asserting himself. Luckily Yazoo wasn't the type to take advantage of that for any reasons save those with Loz's best interests in mind. He cajoled his partner into taking hold of him, and summoning his strength again, pushed the both of them up. The slight, auburn haired widow rushed forward on tiny little steps to help steady the man, easily more than twice her weight, and once they were standing, lead the way through the garden to her home.

To be honest, Yazoo and Loz had never seen the inside of a civilian home like this. Neither one had paid any attention to the interior of the Strife shop-cum-residence from whence they'd taken all the orphans, and all else they knew were barren little cubicles and the strange shell-homes of their hideout in the Ancients' city. The warmth of this place was striking, like a sweet breath against the face, and both young men gazed about in wonder, failing to take further steps in as the woman rushed forward to clear off the knitting from her couch. This is how people might live…?

Gathering up her knitting basket and the wound up balls of yarn left out upon the cushions, the home-maker looked up to see the two still standing at the threshold and dumped her burden upon a footstool to bustle back over and usher them inside. "Come in, come in, don't worry about dirtying anything, it all washes if it stains. Come, bring your friend over to the couch, let him lie down and I'll bring a damp towel. My name is Elmyra by the way. You can just call me that."

Yazoo gave her a tiny distracted nod, complying with her gentle orders, taking Loz over to the sofa to seat him. The woman called Elmyra moved immediately into the connecting kitchen, putting on her kettle once again, rummaging through drawers for clean cloths for the boys to use. She wasn't certain how badly either of them was really hurt; it seemed they'd been through quite a lot, but there was no use trying to get to a hospital. Elmyra didn't have a car, and all emergency vehicles would be at the sight of the explosion by now. Once they were both settled though, if it looked like they needed a doctor's attention, she'd see about asking a favor of her neighbors.

She brought the kettle of hot water in with the towels, handing one to Yazoo. "Here, start cleaning up, hm? I'll get the first aid kit from the medicine cabinet up stairs." Yazoo watched her go, floored by her eagerness to help them, at her friendly countenance. Never had he met some one with such a gentle nature…

Shaking it off, he did as bade, helping Loz out of his leather body armor as carefully as possible, then dipping the cloth into the steaming water and gently wiping at Loz's face. While his companion's gaze flicked about the comforting, but entirely alien little room, he washed the caking blood away from his cheek and neck, cleaning gently around the wound itself, trying not to open it back up. It appeared mostly to just be a nasty gash in Loz's skin, but there might be some slight fracturing to the bone as well, Yazoo couldn't tell. Anyway, even if the woman offered, Yazoo wouldn't let them be taken to a hospital. Not only was it too high-profile, a good place to get caught, but the idea alone, of doctors and nurses, poking and prodding, unfamiliar with the special physiology of the brothers, was simply too unsettling to even be considered.

No, this could be wrapped. All their wounds could be cleaned and salved and covered in simple bandages, left to their own devices to heal. "Remember to try and stay awake, okay? This has got to be one hell of a concussion…" Loz purred his wordless agreement, a big-cat sound that made Yazoo smile. Loz's voice wasn't shot like his, but with the resonance his deeper tones created, he imagined that mustn't be too gentle on a wounded skull.

The woman appeared again, cradling in her arms this time disinfectants, medicines and bandages. Yazoo nodded his thanks to her, though declined her offer to help with Loz so that he could tend himself. Unneeded she simply seated herself in the armchair near by, trying not to stare at the two while Yazoo played medic, but finding them too fascinating not to steal a glance all the same.

With as tenderly as he worked, she suspected they were either lovers or brothers. The glint of similar silver hair, though, pointed more towards the second. His ability to handle the cuts and burns was impressive as well, and Elmyra found herself wondering who these people were… She recalled clearly only a little more than two years before when similar strangely clothed and capable men had found need of the hospitality of her home, putting in motion a chain of events that would change their world, and take her daughter away from her.

As he tended to his own wounds, washing down his neck and arms with fresh towels, binding cuts and burns in gauze, the longer haired youth kept up a constant whispered and one-sided conversation with his friend, too soft for Elmyra to hope to catch, though she wondered fiercely what it was.

At last the boy took a moment and stood up, pealing the entirety of his own black leather ensemble away, leaving only the close fitting tank top and thigh-length leggings both he and his companion wore beneath. It was there, along his gently sculpted calves, that Elmyra first took real notice of the splotchy grayish marks which, now that she looked, were prevalent all across his body. She'd assumed it all to be stubborn ash at first, but this was clinging to otherwise clean ivory skin.

"Geostigma…?" Both men turned to look at her when she'd made the quiet exclamation, a sort of self-conscious uncertainty stealing across their faces. Yazoo turned and pulled the brightly coloured afghan from the back of the couch and draped it over Loz, quickly hiding the other's obviously affected skin. Elmyra immediately realized the impropriety of having spoken so and covered her mouth ashamedly, but Yazoo, who had no way to hide his own affliction now, simply shrugged it off.

"I'm sorry… I've never seen anyone your age who's still surviving with it. The two of you must be very strong." The boy returned her apology and compliment with a soft smile, full of a sadness so deep it nearly broke Elmyra's heart. It was a familiar smile, all too familiar to her, from one who knows they are different from the whole rest of the world. Suddenly needing to escape that look, Elmyra stood from her chair to go back into the kitchen. "I'll make us some soup, would you boys like that?"

Sometimes Elmyra really wondered how Aerith could have loved this wretched world…

Author's remarks: I know you've been waiting for it! I finally delivered. :D They're alive, as I'm sure most of you suspected, but did you really think I could let a pair of silver-haired bishounen just die? (D'ya ever notice they're like a species, those silver-maned bishies?) Totally fuck them up though, I can definitely do. Sadistic author here, be warned. I'm just warming up.

Translations:

Nakimushi – basically means "crybaby", though it's literally "cry-bug." Cute huh?

Onegai – is a request or favor, and in the context I used it means something along the lines of "please." Basically the memory of Aerith is requesting an unspecified favor from her mum, in regards to Yazoo and Loz. I simply find the way the Japanese express things more elegant some times, I can't help but use it. :3