Author Note: Soundtrack while writing this was definitely Invincible by Tool.
Night fell fast, the clear sheen of the day giving way to a heavy blanket of darkness.
Healen was more quiet than normal, the nights having been silent enough to send a chill down Rufus' back every time the sun sank below the horizon.
The normal cacophony of dinner, five people pleasantly talking, bickering over card games, all that was long gone, replaced by the hum of lights overhead that were slowly driving him mad.
Left alone with his thoughts, Rufus found that he wasn't doing as well as he'd alluded to Reno.
Silence was deadly to his soul, having been used to petty business, the practice of going hard and fast, doing the things that had to be done. But there was nothing to do but tend the sick and spiral into his own morbid thoughts.
The four of them were the only family he had.
What if they die.
He had no one if they were to pass away, that much he'd realized long before, but the thought was especially damning when the world felt like it was closing in on him.
I'll be alone.
The long hours that he wiled away waiting for one of the four to wake were maddening.
Reno slept fitfully, tossing and turning, wincing in his sleep from the pain in his body.
Rude was like a stone, lying in place without moving save for the peaceful, crooked rise and fall of his broken ribcage.
Tseng seemed out of his head whenever he opened his eyes at his friend's voice calling his name, cracking them open just enough for Rufus to see the brown as the weathered gaze attempted to focus on him.
The man hadn't spoken since the day they'd all met up again after the chaos, but the slight upturn of the corners of Tseng's mouth said enough as he faded back into unconsciousness.
Elena hadn't woken in the entirety of time they'd been back, and she was beginning to grow warm and clammy with fever.
She was his highest concern.
I can't wait any longer.
The phone hadn't rang at all, though he'd spam-called the numbers he could find.
Strife Delivery Service nor the bar had answered, and Rufus wasn't sure if it was because they knew the numbers and refused to pick up or if they genuinely hadn't been home because of celebration and city rebuild efforts.
His eyes flicked to the clock on the wall.
8:27.
He'd checked on them only ten minutes before, but he rose like he was on a string, making his rounds to touch them, check their pulses, and make sure they were breathing.
It felt like Elena's breathing had gotten more labored even since the ten minutes before.
If I don't go, she's going to die… I don't have a choice.
I could call one of the other Turks.
But what if they're not close enough?
It's not like they always stay in the area.
They're not on duty. Not officially.
Rufus took a deep gulp of air and held it to try and coax his brain into working.
I should've called them to start.
It's too late now.
I have to go or she might not make it.
… What if she's dead when I come back?
He released the breath in a slow, ragged hiss, digging his fingers into his ribcage as he crossed his arms over his torso in a weak bid to self-comfort in a situation where he knew he couldn't control the outcome without rapid action.
If I don't go, she'll die anyway. If I get back in time, she might make it.
With heavy resolve and comfort in his decision, he cast one last look at the smallest Turk before he turned on his heel and dutifully marched out of the bedroom and down the hallway, mind reeling back to the promise he'd given Reno.
The Turk had to have known he'd been lying, but there were questions afoot:
Would they even know he was gone?
What if he got back so quickly they didn't even notice?
What if he didn't make it back at all?
What if he didn't go?
What if she dies before I get back.
What if she dies alone.
She won't know it anyway; she won't wake up.
I have no choice.
She has no chance at all if I don't go.
I promise I'll be back.
Everything seemed so hopeful and yet simultaneously so bleak.
Rufus gently pushed the door to Reno's room open, not to warn him or give him a heads up about his leaving but to borrow clothing so he could more easily blend in.
It wouldn't do for me to be caught by an angry mob, after all.
Just as he'd been the last time Rufus had entered the room, the redhead's face was turned away from the door, and he was asleep, eyes shut, breathing lopsided and rhythmic.
Barefooted, Rufus was able to creep past him and into the forever-open closet to leaf through and pick garments that wouldn't scream 'rich boy' to the people he would encounter.
That wouldn't improve the situation at all.
Satisfied with the bare basics of camouflage, he cast another glance back at Reno.
The Turk's mouth was slightly agape, hair spilled over his forehead, no sign of his stirring.
Forgive me, please.
Rufus left the room like he'd come, silently and surely, leaving the door slightly ajar to not wake Reno with the sound of the jamb catching.
Rushing to his room, he hurriedly undressed and then dressed in the foreign garments.
The clothing was a tight fit, but he'd lost enough weight over the months he'd been sick that it wasn't much of a problem as he wriggled to make them stretch to his form.
Ratty jeans and stained screen-printed tees were what made up the majority of Reno's street clothing, and what Rufus had picked out had been the same, fitting on his slender frame like they'd been made for him after a few squats and stretches.
With the borrowed hoodie zipped up over the top, the hood cocked up over the characteristic blond tresses, he was satisfied as he gazed at himself in his mirror.
His ungelled hair completed the look, his hair falling over his eyes and tickling his nose.
Who purposely wears holes in their clothing?
Turning away from his mirror and the useless stray thought, Rufus left the room, flicking the light off as he went, padding silently down the hallway as he attempted to mentally prepare himself for the fright that awaited him outside of Healen.
Unsavory things lurked in the dark, fiends that would like nothing more than to devour him before he could reach his target and make it back home.
Rufus removed the hoodie as he reached the living room, draping it over the back of a chair as he reached for his gun holster.
Will it fit formlessly in this garb? Can I properly draw it?
He had no idea, and he knew he wouldn't truly be able to tell until his life was threatened.
It most surely would be.
Man or beast? Like it really matters… At least it'll be quick if it's a fiend.
Rufus let his breath escape in a rush as he looked at the darkness of the window.
They won't hear the car crank. But it might be spotted more easily… It will be more suspicious.
Reno has the motorcycle, but I have no idea how to run that thing…
I'm sure I could figure it out.
He let his eyes roll upward in annoyance at himself and the lack of a skill that he knew all the Turks possessed.
The vehicles there were neither stolen nor purchased; they'd been smuggled away in the confusion of evacuating Midgar and, like the helicopters, were some of the only still-functioning pieces of equipment they had.
Reno and Rude kept them in good working order, serviced and kept, and though Rufus knew the features the vehicles possessed through his duties as President of Shinra, he had no idea how to go about fixing an issue if something were to go awry.
The car would be fine, he figured.
The motorcycle intimidated the mana out of him.
What if I crash it.
He pushed the thought out of his brain as he thought of another thing: how would he carry everything?
Duh.
He turned away from the entryway and back to his room to rifle through his meager possessions only to come up with no bag at all.
We really didn't get a lot, did we? When all this blows over, I wonder if we can pillage our own things.
I wonder if there's anything left. After all… That explosion was gigantic.
A sigh escaped his lips before he straightened again and resigned himself: the hoodie pockets could carry enough, and if he took the car, he wouldn't need to worry about the minutia.
Besides, what store doesn't have bags?
You're stalling, Rufus.
He shook himself out of his anxiety and paced back through the hallway to make one last round.
All four Turks were still in the last positions that they had been during his last round.
They're going to kill me if they find out I did this.
He felt his heart speed up as he turned with resignation, walking back toward the main living area.
Rufus felt like he was about to run a marathon, but there was no end in sight at that moment.
He had no idea what he was going to find in Edge.
Will the town be dark?
Are things still in tatters?
Is there a lockdown?
Slipping on his socks and boots, he tightened the laces and tied them before standing straight and reaching for the hoodie to drag it back onto his form.
He threw a look back to the mouth of the hallway again as he zipped the unfamiliar garment.
I'll be coming back. I have to come back.
If I don't come back, they're going to die.
They would do this and infinitely more for me. … They have done things like this and infinitely more for me.
A defiant resolve hewn into his soul, he turned and reached for the keys of the car, silently slipping them off the hook before collecting his wallet and phone from the table. Patting his pockets to count everything there, he amused himself by thinking how the outing almost seemed normal if not for his fear of uncertainty.
Giving one last look to the mouth of the hallway, Rufus gulped before unlocking and slipping through the front door and into the night, locking up behind himself.
It was amazing what the wooden barrier did to isolate him in the loneliness of his task.
The feeling was stifling, almost as if the world outside of the safe, warm apartment was an open mouth furiously screaming.
The wind was harsh against his face and hands as he took his time going down the stairs to avoid noise, making up the time spent when he got to the ground level by hurrying toward the car as fast as he could without running.
Rufus' hand shook as he unlocked the door with the key, fearful that the beep of the deactivating car alarm would disturb one of the ones sleeping above.
His heart hit the bottom of his stomach when a low growl cut the night behind him.
Fuck.