The sound of weeping from a near by exam room had been grating on Yazoo's patience for some time. The nurse taking his vitals and the doctor administering his physical didn't seem concerned by the noise in the least, but the constant snuffling had only continued to gnaw at the edge of Yazoo's attention since the examination began. Eventually the physician left to find some implement or retrieve some sort of information pertaining to his patient, and the nurse was so preoccupied with a personal telephone call that she took no notice when Yazoo lowered himself from the exam table and pattered out of the room.
The sound was coming from another office across the hall and down one door to the right. It seemed as though the staff in charge of this patient had also gotten fed up with the constant crying, for there was no one accompanying the child seated on the sea-green leather exam bed, tiny hands covering his face as he sobbed openly. Yazoo could already see that the other child wasn't that much older than himself. A little taller and a slightly huskier build, but probably only eight or nine years old at best.
Setting a hand on either hip Yazoo set his expression into a disapproving scowl and was about to give the other boy a stern talking too, until the child suddenly brought up an arm to wipe his own damp face, and opened his brilliant aquamarine eyes.
The sight of that breathtaking gaze, glowing softly with the same inner light that suffused Yazoo's own jadeite eyes, erased the mild irritation from a moment before, replacing it utterly with curiosity and wonder. As the other boy lifted his head the florescent ceiling lights caught the silvery peach-fuzz hairs that dusted his closely shorn head, and Yazoo found himself lifting a hand himself, to push back his own wispy translucent bangs, as though he could feel their watery hue with his fingertips.
The boy on the exam table noticed the motion, gaze tracking Yazoo immediately and his pale face suddenly broke out in a bright red blush to be caught in barely restrained tears. But noticing the same similarities in the elfin child standing in the door that Yazoo noticed in him, the older boy obviously found himself unable to look away.
Something instinctive told Yazoo to close the office door. If the nurse noticed him missing or the doctor came back, they might be less inclined to just pop their heads in, but he was certain he'd be immediately dragged back and away from this remarkably familiar stranger the moment he was found. Once the door had clicked satisfactorily behind him, he stepped forward into the room, watching the other boy's eyes intensely.
"Nande naiteru no?" He set his set his small hands on the end of the table, sterile paper crinkling softly under their light weight. The boy regarded him quietly a moment before wiping at his face with his sleeve again. He was wearing the same sort of uniform Yazoo was, black, high collar, carefully pressed lines.
"Because it hurts…" He answered simply. His voice was a little deeper than Yazoo's, a little rougher, though still high and childish, yet young. "The tests always hurt, and they want to do a lot of them today."
Yazoo listened, nodding his small head softly so that his hair fell back into his face. Being constantly scrutinized, subjected to endless tests, sample collections, procedures and examinations… It was a very painful experience. Especially when they administered the Makou. That always made Yazoo very sick, though the doctors always told him it was good for him, would make him stronger and healthier as he grew up. It wasn't very reassuring when he'd spend days at a time not knowing if it was day or night, what was up or down, shivering and puking his guts out.
"Then Professor Hojo yelled at me…" The older boy sniffled again and Yazoo reached over to the counter top, standing on his toes a moment to lengthen his reach so he could pull out a tissue for him. The other child took it gratefully, blowing his nose noisily.
"I hate Hojo," Yazoo returned in reply, rubbing at the back of his neck. He reflected that the other kid was kind of lucky, he didn't have enough hair for Hojo to get his spidry fingers into and twist… Yazoo could have asked to have it cut, but he liked it longer, most the time, and he refused to give that up just because the bent old geezer took advantage of it. "Do you live here, too?"
The boy on the exam table looked a little surprised by the question, nodding with a hint of confusion, as though he'd not taken it into consideration there'd be any one else in the same position as him. Of course, before this Yazoo hadn't known there were any other children here like himself either. None of the doctors or nurses had ever even hinted at it… "I'm Yazoo," he offered finally.
"Loz…" Wadding up the tissue, he dropped his hands into his lap, cupped around the crumpled paper. After a second though, he started sniffling again, and Yazoo just picked up the entire box, climbing up onto the exam table next to him. Loz pulled another tissue out and crumpled it against his mouth, trying to stifle his tears.
Yazoo no longer found himself irritated by the other boy's crying. He only wanted to be close to him, to discover him, to know why they seemed to be so similar, their looks, their situation… and yet they'd never even seen one another. He'd seen people with similar traits before. People with blonde or black or reddish hair, people with blue or brown coloured eyes, people with similar shades of skin… but they'd always had some different combination of those traits, something to set them apart from one another.
But here he had discovered another child with the exact same silver hair, Makou eyes and alabaster skin. He'd never met anyone else with even one of those qualities quite like his. Watching another large crystalline tear roll down the older boy's cheek, he reached out to gently cup his chin. Loz flinched slightly, just as unaccustomed to unknown people touching him as Yazoo was, but there was something about the small and slender hand that didn't make his skin crawl at all, the way the grabby, squeezing hands of adults always, always did.
Loz let his wispy haired doppelganger turn his head, dropping the hand with the tissue in it back into his lap. He didn't understand the sense of comfort emanating from that simple touch, but then Yazoo was turning their faces toward one another, leaning in and his tongue tipped out to taste Loz's tears.
The older boy let out a quiet sigh, serenity enveloping him for a brief moment with that little kitten lick, but then the door to the exam room was thrust open and orderlies had seized upon them, ripping the two boys apart from one another, dragging Yazoo to the door. Out in the hall, Professor Hojo waited with an expression of severe displeasure etched upon his narrow face, and as soon as he had the long-haired boy standing before him, his bony hand whipped out from behind his back and struck the child across his delicate face.
The force was enough to knock the boy to the floor, and Loz kicked at the kneecaps of the man holding him, trying to break free and help Yazoo. He didn't know what he could possibly do against the likes of Hojo, but he felt intensely and instinctively, rather suddenly, that Yazoo was more than a mere stranger to him. Though they'd been no more than ten short minutes in the same room together, Loz understood to the deepest whorl of his brain: We are linked.
The door to the exam room was shut though, cutting them off and as Yazoo was hauled up from the floor he could hear Loz bursting into tears again. Strangely unconcerned for himself and the furious adult jerking him up face to face, Yazoo merely thought, Loz, don't cry. He knew it too, that though it might mean going through Heaven, Planet, and the depths of Hell, they would see one another again.
But Loz wouldn't stop crying. The sobbing went on and on, and Yazoo couldn't even move to go to him. Don't cry, Loz… Please, don't cry… Don't cry… Don't cry…
"Loz…"
Yazoo's voice was small and thin, issued between his blanched lips as quiet as a sigh. His older brother might have actually missed it, save a hand on his shoulder squeezing softly to alert him. Picking his head up quickly from his hands, the weeping fighter choked on his tears, trying to stifle them as he searched frantically for any sign the severely wounded gunman would actually wake. "Yaz-" He couldn't even choke out the entire name, reaching out quickly to grasp his brother's icy hand.
"Don't…" he was trying to speak the mantra aloud, struggling out of his murky dreams to find Loz in this time, where he could actually reach him. Still indescribably weak and suffering from the severe blood-loss, clawing his way back to consciousness was proving difficult and he lapsed back into silent sleep another few moments, before the renewed violence of Loz's weeping roused him again.
At last his cloudy Makou eyes managed to part into sickle-moon slits, regarding Loz with groggy confusion, unable to remember what could have happened to upset his older brother like this, and why he himself was in so much dull pain…
"Yazoo!" The sight of those even partly opened eyes was all Loz had been waiting for, keeping constant vigil through the long hours of the day, into the night and now the small and crawling minutes of the barely encroaching dawn. He'd been going through fits of self-reproaching and panicked sobs, broken up by long periods of anxious silence once he'd spent his tears, but nothing could coax him away from the unconscious Yazoo's side.
Loz could have never forgiven himself if he'd actually lost Yazoo, had no idea how he'd have possibly gone on, and the terror that any moment his other half might swing for the worst and desert him utterly had been almost more than he could bear. It had been stupid to split up in the laboratories, too arrogant to think no harm could come to them. Loz had almost paid the ultimate price for being too inattentive.
"Loz… Don't cry…" He finally managed to complete the admonishment, a distant sense of wonder striking him as Loz only lost his composure again. There was a desperate sort of laugh paired with the sobs this time, and if he hadn't feared hurting his friend, Loz would have hugged him.
"Gomen…" Loz apologized, wiping at his eyes with his sweater sleeve before he spoke again. "I thought I was going to lose you. I'm sorry, Yazoo! I wasn't there to help!"
It didn't help clearing up Yazoo's confusion, only deepened the perplexed sense he had of missing something vitally important. He truly could not think clearly enough to remember anything particularly, and gave up trying to puzzle it out for himself after a moment. Coming to the realization that he was drugged, he conceded to ask at last, "What happened…?"
"Elena of the TURKs shot you full of holes, and nearly bled you dry," a rich, pleasant voice issued from somewhere close, and now Yazoo made the first attempt to focus beyond Loz, just now noticing the chestnut haired man standing close at hand. Though his perception was still quite fuzzy, he could make out the strong, kind, bearded features and the clean lines of the suit worn by the unfamiliar business man. "My associate, Mr. Vincent Valentine interceded on your behalf, brought you here," he gestured to an indistinct crimson form, somewhere close to the high French windows halfway across the room, "And your brother was good enough to volunteer his own vitae to our medics, to secure your life."
Taking in his surroundings slowly, there was indeed an IV stand close beside him, semi-translucent vinyl bags hung above his head, blood and saline solution gradually finding their way into his veins via the long clear tubes and the plastic needles secured into the crook of his arm.
He was not, however, in any sort of hospital. Yazoo found himself laid out beneath the rich burgundy coverings of a large, soft four-poster bed inside a room of rich but tasteful, homey design, at least as far as he could make out, and occupied by only himself and the three others he'd noted before. Apparently whatever medics had been here had done their work and left him to these fellows' care. The lighting of the room was pleasantly low, and an actual oil lamp burned on the near by bed stand, with fragrant kerosene.
Satisfied with his assessment of his surroundings so far, Yazoo's mind finally moved on, and after a moment his voice caught up, continuing on to the next obvious point of question. "Where am I?" He searched the eyes of both his brother and the man, now just vaguely recalling the details of that dismal battle in the Healin Lodge as it was reminded to him, but unable to penetrate beyond that final shot and flash of blood deep red.
"My home, in the town of Kalm, just north of Midgar. I am Reeve Tuesti, former head of urban development for Shin-Ra, Inc. I resigned from the company two years ago, in regard to various irreconcilable differences. So you needn't concern yourself over my previous attachments to them."
"Alright…" Yazoo was quiet a moment, contemplative. Staying conscious was still difficult, let alone following an unbroken line of thought. But he was aware that he was greatly wounded, and other than Loz, had only strangers of unknown alliance collected about him. He could not afford to rest until he was certain of his and Loz's relative safety.
He watched the crimson figure across the room as he considered the situation, putting the pieces together, trying to bring the man into better focus. Yazoo was fairly positive he knew the other's identity, though: AVALANCHE's mysterious gunman, and now he had a name. Valentine. In a moment of unexpected clarity, he realized what that flash of scarlet had been… Suspicion rearing its serpentine head, he directed his next inquiry straight toward his apparent mysterious savior. "Then… Not to be ungrateful, but… Why did you bring us here?"
"One can never atone for a sin, if he permits its evil to perpetuate." The wounded gunner's brows knit, not understanding the former TURK's rather cryptic reply. Vincent appeared not to notice, stepping away from the wall with a wraith-like grace to approach what had been converted from guest lodging to Yazoo's sick-bed. He was proving himself quite an enigma, one the younger brother was having a difficult time puzzling out for himself, especially through the fog of endorphins and pain killers.
Opiates aside, Yazoo knew this man had already thrice stood in their way, rescuing both the TURKs Tseng and Elena, then their niisan when Kadaj had meant to execute him, and Yazoo was certain he'd caught the flutter of that tattered crimson cape weaving through the cross-beams of Edge's unfinished construction, trying to help fell Kadaj's summon. Yet this Valentine had just as readily plucked Yazoo from the path of Elena's righteous vengeance, as though this sordid battle had no lines of allegiance. He found himself watching the mercenary's approach with an anxious sort of anticipation, garnet eyes tracked by paraiba tourmaline.
"There are secrets that surround the two of you and your brother Kadaj. While they remain hidden they lay like poison seeping deeper, an unseen catalyst to evil and harm. I have my own hand in that poison's administration, and it has recently become all too apparent to me that I have not done enough in my attempts to counteract that." Vincent paused as the younger gunman's eyes suddenly flickered and the fighter Loz glanced up.
"Kadaj-?" Yazoo did not elaborate his inquiry, but it was clear enough that neither man yet knew their younger sibling's fate.
"Safe and well… If you were seeking him at Healin, Shin-Ra does not have him." Valentine assured, and for reasons Yazoo could not name for himself, he believed his strange, unorthodox rival at his word. He permitted the other to continue, with out demanding further detail. "There are things that I must tell you, something I must show you… But not now. Elena is an exceptional marksman, you will need time to heal."
The silver haired youth did not protest this by any means. He still did not understand the ex-TURK and his vague, knowing statements, but in his current condition reason could not be trusted over intuition. Though he couldn't have explained why, Yazoo believed that he and Loz were safe here, and his only answer now was a deep, exhausted sigh. He squeezed his brother's strong hand lightly, giving him a fragile smile as means to convey these thoughts to him.
"I have to sleep now," Yazoo offered, to stem Loz's anxious fretting. Looking up to Reeve Tuesti, who all this time had stood quietly by, he fought the reaching grasp of sleep long enough to softly ask, "Take care of Loz, okay?" Then surrendered himself to dream.
Author's Remarks: There, I did it, and I'm sure you all knew I was going to, too. He's alive, if a little worse for wear, but I'm still not done with him yet. I need the pretty, long-haired bastard, so, there. Happy?
Did anyone out there figure out that Vincent had rescued him before this chapter was up? I wasn't sure if it was too vague an allusion, but either way, I'll clear it all up better next time I get around to Elena. Hee hee, fun with TURKs.
But, now, I've finished this chapter, and I made it to level 27 just inside the Mythril Mines, talked the Zolom into giving up Beta. It's bed time. :3
P.S. Oh, yeah! Akemashite Omedetou! (Or for you unilinguals out there: Happy New Year!)
Translations:
"Nande naiteiru no?" – "Why are you crying?"