AN: I feel it best to mention there is violence in this chapter above what I've written thus far.

Splintered Dreams

Chapter 16

"We Have Some Questions"

"You know, as far as plans go...this one could've gone better." From his hand-bound position between two Turks, Zack rocked back on his heels, his voice tinged with subtle amusement.

"Ya think?" Across the expansive office, also flanked by Turks, Barret shot Zack a narrow look from beneath his heavy brow. "What was the first clue, Princess?"

Zack's lips quirked up at the annoyed expression on Barret's face. Not that he could blame the guy, he thought with a shake of his head. He was feeling pretty damn irritated at the moment, too. Bound, hand and foot, standing in the President's office, Zack was forced to admit, he probably shouldn't have been surprised by their arrival here.

It hadn't taken much for them to overpower the guards and get out of the lab, and, to their initial relief, they had found the hall empty. It hadn't been until they reached the elevators that they ran into trouble again...this time in the form of Turks.

Confined in such a small space, the group hadn't been able to do anything but comply with the command of, "Press up, please," and hold out their arms—paws, in Red's case—out to be shackled.

Zack knew before he saw the floor number where they were going. Top floor; President's Office and they were in some deep shit. But he'd be damned if he let on that he was worried.

"You know, this is almost like being caught by really pissed off hall monitors," he continued. "Overdressed, overpaid hall monitors, but still..." As he talked, he studied the room, the angles, and tried to come up with a way out. So far, nothing.

"Shut up."

The blunt of an un-open EMR jabbed him in the back and Zack sent a dark look over his shoulder. The Turk—one he didn't recognize—took a step back.

"You know, you guys are kind of a downer to the whole escaping thing we had going on," Zack added.

"Zack, you would do well to listen and keep your mouth shut."

The voice, calm, cool and collected, straightened Zack's spine and wiped the smirk off his face. "Tseng." He turned his head, stared through dark locks and narrowed eyes at his former friend.

Slowly, with methodical, even steps, Tseng made his way over to the large, garishly elaborate mahogany desk in the center of the room. He turned, so that he stood just ahead of the corner with his hands clasped behind his back. Suit pressed to perfection, dark hair tied back in a neat nub, and face a picture of placid neutrality, Tseng was the perfect Turk. "Where is she?" he asked finally.

"You just told me to keep my mouth shut," Zack pointed out.

Tseng sighed quietly. "Now is not the time for games, Zack."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Barret's head come up at their familiarity, but he kept his focus on the tall man across the room.

"Tell me where she is."

"Why? So you can cram her into a giant test tube and ruin her?" Zack shook his head, his mouth tightening into a hard line. "You can go to hell."

"I can assure you that no harm will come to the Cetra—"

"Don't kid yourself, Tseng. Once Shin-Ra has no use for her, they'll destroy her." His eyes flashed. "One way or another."

"You don't know what's at stake—"

"Aerith is at stake," Zack emphasized her name. He refused to let Tseng forget who they were talking about.

"And she will serve a greater purpose than you can imagine."

"Still licking Shinra's boots, huh?" Zack asked, bitterness snaking its way through him.

At this Tseng tilted his head, brows knitted above the odd birthmark in the center of his forehead. "Some of us know the meaning of the word loyalty."

Zack almost laughed. Loyalty? He'd been blindly loyal to Shin-Ra for years. Right up until they tried to kill him. He'd willingly given all of himself to the Company; sacrificed his own body to Mako treatments and special surgeries in order to become SOLDIER. He'd watched friends and mentors get chewed up and spit out, and he'd still done Shin-Ra's bidding.

And how was he rewarded for his loyalty? Trapped like a rat and torn apart for the advancement of a corporation hell bent on destroying the Planet they built their empire on. Yeah. He knew the meaning of the word loyalty...just no longer by Shin-Ra's definition.

The door behind the desk opened, cutting off their conversation, and the President of the Shin-Ra Electric Power Company stepped into the room with all the pomp of a King entering court. He ran one hand over his tie, down his portly belly and clucked his tongue disapprovingly at the sight before him. "You've all caused me great deal of trouble."

"We've caused you trouble?" Barret stepped forward, the motion causing the Turk on his right to haul back by his restraints. Undaunted, Barret sneered at the President. "What do you want with us? With the girl?"

Shinra's smile was small and smug. "That girl is the last of her kind. She's a Cetra."

"Cetra... There was a survivor?" Red's murmur was low enough that only Zack heard him.

"As an Ancient she is the key holder to the Promised Land," the President continued on, oblivious. "I expect a lot from her."

"But the Promised Land, that's just a legend," Red interjected, lifting his head abruptly.

Shinra blinked owlishly, his mouth opening then closing like a wounded fish. He had clearly not expected to hear Red speak. It only took a moment, however, before he was once again addressing the room like a speaker at a podium. "Even if that is so, and it's only a legend, the prospect is still too appealing not to pursue. It has been said that the Promised Land is very fertile." His smile widened. "And if the land is fertile..."

"Then there's gotta be Mako," Barret said, his eyes wide as realization dawned on him.

President Shinra pistol shot his finger at Barret. "Exactly." He spun so that he faced the office's large windows, overlooking all of Midgar. "And that is where we will build our greatest triumph: Neo-Midgar. In the Promised Land, Shin-Ra's new glory..."

"Fuck you and your glory, you crazy bastard!" Barret shouted, jerking against his restraints and earning himself a nasty whap to the back of his head.

"Hey!" Zack grimaced when Barret took a second—harder—hit. "Barret, knock it off!" As much as the other man pissed him off, Zack had no desire to witness the stubborn blockhead bludgeoned to death.

"You're crazy," Barret repeated to Shinra with his head bowed, only slightly, and blood trickling into his eye. "You're fuckin' crazy."

President Shinra shrugged, unconcerned. "Your opinion matters very little to me. All I want to hear from you is where I can find the Cetra."

"Go fuck yourself."

"Sir," Tseng placed his hand to his ear piece, then looked up at the President. "They've found her."

Zack and Barret exchanged worried glances.

"Shit," Zack swore.

Shit, shit, shit!

The mantra hammered in her head as Tifa practically flew down the long corridor with Aerith's hand gripped tightly in her own. Aerith stumbled a bit, trying to keep up, but Tifa only tugged her up and kept moving. They had to keep moving, and fast. They'd been spotted.

"Here. In here!" Tifa pushed Aerith ahead of her through a swinging door. Inside, she placed her hands on the edges to keep it stationary, cocked her head and listened. All she could hear was the sharp rasp of her breathing and the drip of a faucet.

"The bathroom?" Shaking fingers brushed chestnut hair from wide green eyes.

"Yeah." Tifa stepped back. She took Aerith's elbow in a firm grip, moved her toward the stalls. If she was correct—and, Shiva, she hoped she was—then all of the bathrooms should have a ventilation system like the one she'd had to climb into earlier.

And there it was.

Feeling as if the bathroom door was going to burst in at any time, Tifa hustled them into the stall, closed and latched the door. She didn't know how close the guards were or how much time she had. "Climb onto the toilet," she instructed, her voice sharper than she meant it to be.

Aerith's eyes widened, her expression dubious. "What?"

"Please," Tifa implored. "Climb up."

"All right." Fisting her long skirt in her hands, Aerith stepped onto the rim.

From beyond the outer door, Tifa heard muffled shouts and the heavy tread of boots. Quickly, she yanked open the metal grate that covered the ventilation duct. "Get inside."

No hesitation from Aerith this time, and Tifa was relieved. She hadn't meant to sound angry or impatient, but time wasn't something they had a lot of.

Once Aerith was inside, Tifa started to close the grill. "Stay hidden," she said. "Follow the main vent and don't come out until one of us comes for you."

"Wait! Where are you going?" There was fear in the other woman's voice, despite how she tried to hide it.

"I'm going to lead them away from here," Tifa replied and hoped her own fear was well below the surface.

"No, no." Aerith shook her head, her eyes luminous. "Come in here. We can both fit. We'll go together."

Tifa shook her own head resolutely. The best chance Aerith had was for Tifa to divert the attention of the soldiers. "Don't come out," she repeated, "no matter what, until one of us comes for you. Understand?"

"But—"

"Understand?" Harder this time.

"Yes." Aerith placed her fingers on the grate, her eyes searching Tifa's face. "Why are you doing this?

There were a number of answers she could give, Tifa realized. She was important to Zack, she risked her life for Marlene, she reminded her just enough of Jessie to twinge her heart, but it all boiled down to one simple truth. "I like you," she answered and slammed the grate shut.

The corridor was empty when she ventured out of the bathroom, but Tifa could hear voices and footsteps nearby. Taking a steadying breath, she balled her hands into fists and jogged toward them. The first soldier never saw her coming, and paid for it with a broken jaw and concussion. The other two reacted as she expected, and the chase was once again on.

Her boots made harsh slapping sounds against the tile as she ran towards the flickering red EXIT sign at the opposite end of the hall. She dared a quick, furtive glance over her shoulder and quickened her stride when she realized three more Shin-Ra troopers had joined the pursuit. Barret had always told her Shin-Ra lackeys were like cockroaches. Where there's one, there's a hundred, he'd say. She was suddenly inclined to agree.

The metal fire door slammed open beneath the weight of her shoulder, barely slowing her down. The stairs she gave a disgusted look. She really wasn't in the mood for more stairs, but her choices were limited. With a low curse, she vaulted over the railing and dropped the full floor. Then again. And again.

After a few minutes, she heard one of the doors above her bang open, then: "Subject is in the east stairwell, Fifty-ninth floor."

No use going down anymore, she thought grimly. They'd be waiting for her if they weren't already. She yanked the side door open. Two armed guards met her on the other side, their weapons leveled at her, red dots emblazoned on her forehead and chest. Well, hell.

"Don't move!"

Zack was right, she thought fleetingly. That was definitely a ridiculous request.

In a blink, her fist knocked the barrel of one rifle to the left even as she grabbed the second, yanking the muzzle so that as it fired, the bullet splintered harmlessly into the wall.

She didn't try to think; just reacted, and let her training take over. She pushed the gun muzzle down, flipping it out of the startled man's hands, and swung the butt up into his visor. He dropped to his knees, covering his face. The other guard went into the wall, hard, with the force of her kick.

She rushed by, tossed the weapons aside and was rounding the corner when an arm shot out, caught her across her chest and knocked her onto the flat of her back.

On the floor, dizzy and gasping, Tifa blinked. Dark blue pants entered her line of sight and she followed the tailored seam up until she saw her own face reflected in a pair of sliver rimmed sunglasses.

She scissored her legs, intent on knocking the man on his ass, but he anticipated the move, and his hand closed tight around her ankle. He gave a sudden, hard twist and she winced.

"Sorry," the Turk murmured as he hauled her to her feet.

When she swung at him again, he used his forearm to shove her against the wall, effectively trapping her and cutting off her oxygen. "I don't want to have to hurt you, so don't make me, all right?" He almost sounded like he meant it.

She gave a small nod, the only movement he allowed, and he released her slowly. She gulped in much needed air as she glowered up at him. Deliberate, he pulled a length of zip-cord from his jacket pocket and motioned for her to turn around.

When the band was secured—tight , but not painfully so—she was led down the hall and back into the elevators.

By the time this was over, she mused, she was going to hate stairs and elevators and spend her life restricted to one story locations.

The double doors of the office swung open, banging sharply against the wall, and jarring the occupants of the room. Zack felt his throat clench around his breath and he choked a bit at the sight of Tifa being hauled into the office, her arms bound behind her back and her chin jutted up defiantly.

Her eyes met his and she gave a small, almost imperceptive, shake of her head before resuming her straight-ahead glare. Whatever had happened, Aerith wasn't in Shin-Ra hands, but any relief Zack felt over that fact was countered by his concern for Tifa.

He knew she could handle herself, knew she was a fighter and had survived by strength and determination for far too long—in far worse circumstances—but all the logical pep-talking in the world did nothing to alleviate the pound of his pulse nor the tightness in his gut at seeing her bound and in Turk hands.

"This is not the Cetra," Shinra pointed out, drawing the room's attention back to himself.

"No, sir."

"Well, where is she?"

The bald Turk—Rude, if Zack remembered correctly—shifted uncomfortably. "Unknown, sir."

"You lost her?" Shinra frowned, his jowls shaking his displeasure.

Rude lowered his head, but remained silent.

"This has become unproductive," Tseng stated, his eyes traveling to where Zack stood. "It is clear they aren't going to volunteer any information."

"Agreed." President Shinra rubbed his hands together, thoughtful. "Perhaps, then, we should have them speak to someone better suited at getting answers." He lowered himself into his over-sized chair and from behind the steeple of his fingers he said, "Get me a Specialist."

Solemn, Tseng agreed with his President. "I'll see to it."

Zack swore under his breath. A subdivision of the Turks, Specialists were called in only for the really nasty job of interrogation. They were the black sheep of Shin-Ra, talked about, but never associated with. Looks like they were going to have to fight their way out— "Ow."

A small prick in his left arm caused Zack to wince. Clever, Tseng, he thought as his body became too heavy to hold upright on his own. He glared blearily at the Turk with the syringe, then back at Tseng. His arms were caught when he sagged and his hazy eyes sought out Tifa as he was drug, limp, across the room.

"Zack!" Tifa lunged toward him, pulled short by a hard yank and a needle jabbed into her arm.

Dimly, he heard Barret swear and Red growl and Zack assumed they were recipients of the same inhebriating cocktail.

"Be strong, Zack. We're here!" Tifa called out to him even as she slumped forward.

As the door closed behind him and the blanket of fog shrouding his mind thickened to smothering black, it was her voice he held onto.

Cold! Holy Shiva that water was cold!

Zack's head snapped up and he spluttered against the second wash of ice cold water tossed into his face.

"Wake up. We have a lot to talk about." The bucket clattered to the concrete floor, flopping uselessly on its side.

The sound was loud in his ears and Zack shook his head, trying to clear away the last remnants of the tranquilizer. It took a moment for his brain to play catch up, but as the fog retreated, Zack felt his muscles tense, his senses alert in a manner that only meant one thing: imminent danger.

He took stock of his situation quickly, making a mental catalog. He was in a small holding cell of sorts, his arms strapped behind him at odd, painful angles and his shirt and boots had been removed. Never good signs.

He blinked against the harsh white light that was suddenly directed into his face. "Better." The voice—low-pitched and unemotional—belonged to a man with a shaved head and a scar running from his left ear to below the right side of his jaw. He stood in front of Zack, only a few feet away with his head cocked, watching Zack with what could only be described as an anticipatory expression. "You with me now?" he asked after a moment.

Zack supposed he could fake incognizance, but it'd be a waste of time. Deciding he'd rather face whatever this asshole had in store for him head on, he lifted his head and allowed the hard glint in his eyes to be his answer.

The Specialist straightened his posture, his jaw going tight at the challenge. "Good." He painted a conciliatory smile on his face. The movement pulled at the scar tissue on his upper lip and it curved into a sneer. "I've never had to pleasure of questioning a SOLDIER before," the man said, conversationally. "I'm curious to see what it takes to break you."

He made his way over to where a black suitcase was propped open on the floor. He bent, retrieved a long, thin blade. "Shall we begin?" he asked, walking closer.

Zack didn't suppose he was actually expected to answer, so he didn't. Instead, he watched the glint of surgical steel beneath harsh light and fought down bile and memories.

The first cuts were shallow, almost gentle the way the blade traced along his skin, but the sting of air and trickles of blood prevented that illusion.

"Where's the Cetra?" The question was casual, in the same neutral tone as one may have asked, "How's the weather?" But the bite of blade on skin was deeper that time and the touch couldn't be confused with gentle.

"Go to hell," Zack hissed between his teeth. Breathe in. Out. In. Out.

The Specialist made a noncommittal sound and continued carving; his hands steady, his motions fluid. Every so often he would switch blades, but his expression remained unchanged.

Muscles spasmed and blood dripped and cut after cut criss crossed flesh and sinew until Zack wasn't sure where one ended and another began. Pain muddled and fuzzy, he tried to focus his thoughts on more pleasant things. Like dark chocolate hair and soft, warm eyes. Lips that were parted, yielding beneath his... Fuck! A sharp lick of pain re-focused his thoughts to skin and steel and flowing red.

"The Cetra. Just tell me where she is and this," he gave the blade buried beneath Zack's ribs a sharp twist, "all stops."

"Fuck. You."

The other man made a disapproving 'tsk' and began again.

Twenty minutes and what felt like a hundred cuts later, the question was repeated. "Where's the Cetra?" Muscle and tissue separated and a thick stream of blood snaked its way down his sweat slicked chest and over his twitching abdomen.

Zack clenched his teeth against a shout when the blade turned, widening the wound and digging into nerve. "Fuck you!" he panted instead. He dropped his head forward, sweat dripping from his nose and onto the blood red floor.

"Hm. Not the answer I was looking for. Perhaps a new toy is in order."

The suitcase beside them was rummaged through again and Zack heard the distinct sound of an EMR crackle to life.

"Is there a limit to what a SOLDIER body can handle?" The Specialist asked, swiveling back to Zack.

The rod tapped against Zack almost casually, but there was nothing casual about the pain that ripped through him. It lanced though his muscles with all the subtlety of a bolt of lightening, jerked them tight and hard to the point where he felt like they would snap—that he would snap.

Back arched and teeth grit, Zack refused to give anything. This guy was a mere novice compared to Hojo, and Zack had survived that, hadn't he? Maybe not as wholly as he'd have liked to believe, but now wasn't the time for self analysis. Now was the time to tap into the reserves he'd had in that dark, hopeless lab.

Slowly, deliberately, Zack lifted his head and smiled. "Gonna... have to do better than that..." he goaded. He almost laughed at the other man's baffled expression. Clearly this was not the reaction he was used to. "Lemme guess," Zack continued, annoyed at the lisp his split lip caused. "You weren't SOLDIER material?" There was a superior sneer to his words, a silent taunt that had scar tissue and knuckles tightening.

There was no pseudo civility when the EMR struck him again. All pretense of calm was gone and Zack took the pain of the baton to his face and fists to his gut with the smug knowledge that it hadn't been him to break.

"Teef, would you stop pacin'; you're driving me and Red nuts." The voice, gruff and lethargic filtered into her cell from the ductwork overhead. "You've been at it for hours. Sit down. You ain't doin' anyone any good by driving yourself up the wall."

He was right. She knew this, but it didn't stop the worrisome thoughts from swamping her. The cot was lumpy and decidedly uncomfortable, Tifa thought, flopping onto her back. She sighed up at the gray ceiling and placed her hands behind her head, her boot swinging up and down across her knee.

She had spent the first ten minutes after waking trying to pry open the door of her cell, but it was reinforced with some sort of shielding that she couldn't place. She'd once seen a Materia that cast a protective barrier over its user, and she wondered briefly if Shin-Ra had someone managed to harness that as well.

Wouldn't surprise her, she thought now, tossing the door an angry look. Shin-Ra was capable of many things she'd never before dreamed. Thinking that brought a familiar knot into her stomach and she once more wondered where Zack was. Was he all right?

As if in answer to her silent thoughts, the doors hissed open and Zack was flung inside.

He hit the floor hard, curled to his side.

"Zack!" Tifa was off the cot in a flash, glaring at the retreating guards as she knelt beside Zack. He rolled onto his back and blinked his one good eye up at her. Oh, Gods...what had they done to him? He was bruised, bloodied and she thought she could smell charred flesh.

"Teef? What's going on?"

"It's Zack," she called, voice shaking. Blood. There was so much blood. Softer, she whispered, "Zack?"

"Am I still pretty?" he asked through split lips.

Tifa placed her hands to his cheeks, smiled gently down at him. "You never were."

He winced as he laughed.

"What's going on?" Barret demanded again.

"They hurt him, Barret." She couldn't seem to steady her voice.

"Fuckers!" The wall gave a loud thud.

Tifa couldn't have agreed more, but refrained—barely—from vocalizing her anger. Her hands fluttered above Zack, unsure of where to grab him. He was covered in lacerations, some still weeping crimson and others dried open, so deep she could see bone. She swallowed the thickness in her throat and shook herself. "Come on, let's get you off the floor."

She slipped her arms around his. "Ready?" she asked.

He gave a slight, careful nod, and together they stumbled him to the cot. Once there, she propped his head on the pillow, as gently as she could, and winced when he did. "All right?" she asked and received a small sound of affirmation.

"Tifa...? Dreaming."

"I'm here." Trembling fingers brushed the forever stray lock of black from his forehead. Beneath the caked blood there were ugly bruises and swelling. They'd really worked him over. She looked around the barren cell and cursed. She didn't even have anything to clean him up with.

After a few minutes, when his breaths had evened and his chest wasn't so labored, she shifted away and was surprised to find her wrist suddenly shackled in his hand as pain doused blue eyes bored into hers. "Stay," he rasped.

Her heart constricted at the way his voice broke on the word. She smiled tremulously down at him and lowered herself back onto the cot beside him. "I'm not going anywhere," she promised.

Satisfied, Zack rolled onto his side, keeping her wrist in his possession so that she followed; her arm snaked across his abdomen and her forehead pressed to his shoulder. She waited until his breathing settled once more before she pressed her lips to his skin and fought back the hot sting of tears. Oh, Zack.

Zack couldn't say how long she lay quiet behind him, with him listening to her soft breathing, but it was the sound of the door hissing open again that startled her awake. Her arm tightened around him marginally, afraid to squeeze his wounded ribs, but wanting to let him know they weren't alone.

"On your feet." The order was issued from behind a visor and gun.

Stubborn, Tifa shook her head. "He's had enough! He's not going to talk. Leave him be."

An all too familiar suit stepped in behind the guard and a scarred lip turned blood cold. "Oh, we intend to, sweetheart. We're here for you."

"No." Zack, fully awake now, tried to sit up; failed. "Tifa..." He fumbled for her hand. They couldn't take her. No, he wouldn't let her go. His movements reopened several of his wounds, smeared blood across sheets.

"It's okay, Zack. Shhh...it's okay." She squeezed his fingers, attempted a reassuring smile.

"Tifa." He knew his eyes were bleak...and afraid.

"I won't tell," she whispered to him as she eased him back down. "Aerith will be safe."

What about you? He wanted to shout.

"Move!" The guard grabbed a fistful of her hair, jerked her away from the cot.

"Tifa!" Zack reached for her even as the guard tried to restrain him. Furious, he tossed the man off and fought his way to his feet, swaying. Two more guards entered the room. Fists and boots dropped him, not once but twice. However, all his struggles amounted to was nothing more than reopened wounds and pain. But he still tried. He had to try. "Tifa!"

Arms craned behind his back and head jerked up by the roots of his hair, he could only watch helpless as Tifa was hauled from the cell. "Stop. Please, stop hurting him!"

The nameless Specialist crouched down in front of him, smiled his sick little smile, and nudged Zack's chin with his EMR. "I'm going to enjoy breaking her." He brought the baton down hard against Zack's temple.

"Zack? What's going on over there? Zack!" Barret pounded the wall but Zack couldn't bring himself to answer him. He tried to hold onto lucidity but the room spun and fell dark once again. Tifa!

The room was small, bloodstained and humid. The splatters across the floor were a fresh, vibrant red and Tifa knew without a doubt that she was in the same place they'd had Zack. She stared at the blood and felt anger sear her veins. Those bastards.

From across the room the man stared at her, but not in the manner she was used to being stared at. There was a cold indifference in his stare, a look of calculation that made her feel like an object and not a subject. She shifted against her restraints, testing them.

"Don't bother," the man said, stepping away from the wall. "If a SOLDIER couldn't break them, you're certainly not going to. And he tried, oh how he tried."

"Monster," she seethed.

The cool, flat edge of a blade was against her skin in a heartbeat. "That wasn't very nice."It traced along her brow and she fought the urge to shut her eyes when the tip nudged at the corner before sliding along her jaw. "Now, be a good girl and tell me where I can find the Cetra."

"Go to hell."

"Again, not very nice." The blade shifted, trailed along the slope of her breast and back up beneath her chin where he used the point to tilt her head back. "You're very beautiful," he murmured, contemplative.

Tifa stared straight ahead even as he shifted alongside her, his breath hot in her ear. "I could cut you, scar you, take your beauty away and leave you ugly. Hideous."

The clinical detachment in his voice told her that he could and probably would do just that, but she refused to let him cower her. No. Just, no. Aerith was counting on her. Zack was counting on her. She wouldn't fail them.

He inclined his head, watched her eyes carefully. "No," he stated. "You're not a vain creature, are you Miss Lockhart." It wasn't a question, and the finality of it had warning bells going off in her head.

"Your file says you're a fighter." He stepped back, cocked his head. "Zangan-Ryu to be specific, am I right?"

Did he honestly expect an answer? She stared at the wall, refusing to so much as blink.

"That's a hand to hand technique. Quite advanced." He set the knife down, his fingers walking over a variety of other tools. "I'm told you are quite skilled." He lifted a pair of pliers, then a a hammer, tested their weight in his palm. "One has to wonder, how good would a fighter be without the use of their hands?"

Tifa's eyes snapped away from the wall and widened.

"Pride," he whispered, satisfaction in the place of indifference in his voice. "So fun to break." He approached her and the anticipation in his eyes turned her stomach. She thought of Zack, how beaten he was and how bloody.

Oh, Gods...

She refused to flinch. She stared straight ahead, re-focused on a spot on the wall. She felt the pliers grip her trembling index finger, felt them tighten and still refused to look. There was a vicious twist followed by an unnatural snap and then screaming. Someone was screaming.

The cell was quiet when he regained consciousness and it took him a moment to remember where he was. When he did, near panic had him bolting upright. "Tifa!" Nauseating dizziness threatened to drop him again, but he shook it off.

He pushed himself to his feet; sore and stiff, but healing. His Mako enhanced body was good for somethings, he thought.

Barely conscious, Tifa lay on the cot, her back to him, facing the wall.

"Tifa?"

Damp eyelashes fluttered on pale cheeks but her eyes didn't open. "No..." her voice was hoarse and frail. "I... won't... Safe...Aerith...Zack..."

He leaned over her, placed his hand on her shoulder to roll her over and suddenly she was screaming. Alarmed, he surveyed her quickly and found the cause of her pain almost immediately.

Fuckers! Miserable rotten motherfucking Monsters!

Her hands were destroyed. Broken from fingertip to wrist, shattered and bloodied.

And Zack broke.

There was no other word for it.

He fractured into a thousand irreparable bits. He staggered, fell to his knees and screamed with her. He punched the floor, left a dent in the steel. And another. And another. His chest heaved and he wanted to tear the walls down with his bare hands.

"...Zack...?" Her voice, weak, and so, so tired, broke through his rage. Her eyes were open now, and she was staring at him, concern and pain warring together.

"Here. Right here." He moved onto the cot, careful not to jostle her too much.

"Are you...okay?"

He held back a choked laugh. Leave it to Tifa to be broken and bruised and worried about him. He slipped his arms around her, cradled her head to his chest.. "No," he answered honestly. "Don't talk, okay. Rest now."

"Safe..." She closed her eyes. "Didn't tell."

"I know," he whispered and pressed his face into the thickness of her hair and wept.

AN2: As always many, MANY thanks for reading! The continued support and interest in this story has been wonderful and I am so grateful for all of you. :) I hope you enjoyed this--despite the darker than usual violence.