Brothers in Arms

"The original fire is died and gone/ but the riot inside moves on"
–Original Fire, Audioslave

Reno stood by Shin–Ra's helicopter, cigarette pressed between his lips, suit jacket unbuttoned and shirt not tucked, as always. He was whistling a nameless tune around his burning cigarette and flipping his open magrod back and forth, almost juggling it. Vincent stood at the top of the stairs to Edge's helipad, presence unnoticed, and watched the Turk's display of agility. Reno was tossing it from hand to hand, getting it to make at least three full rotations between catches, hands and weapon both blurs. He made it do a tight flip over his shoulder, catching it behind his back, and flicked it back over, its crackling tip a mere inch from his neck and ear. He is a Turk, after all. Vincent knew the group was well–trained, but their weakness was lack of focus, hence why Reno had yet to spot Vincent.

He stepped forward, and the sloppy redhead froze, magrod at ready, peering in Vincent's direction. Recognizing the gunslinger, Reno granted him a wide grin and lifted a shoe to stub out his half–burnt smoke on the bottom. He tucked it behind his ear. "Hey, Vampy," he called across the helipad, magrod resting against one shoulder. "You're late!"

Vincent raised an eyebrow at the epithet, and strode past Reno to the helicopter. He climbed into his seat, beginning to fasten himself in. "It is nine a.m.; I suggest you check your watch."

Reno looked down at his wrist, and gave a low groan, which turned into an open–mouthed glare in the cloak figure's direction, an expression only Reno could pull off. He snapped his magrod shut in one fluid movement before strolling over to the pilot's side and taking his sweet time strapping himself in. "Always gotta bust my balls, stupid AVALANCE…" He muttered under his breath, clicking various buttons and switches. "I thought you had to have a sense of humor to be a Turk." The engine started, blades beginning their high–speed whirl.

"I am an ex–Turk." Vincent corrected him, staring straight ahead. "The standards were quite… different then."

Reno gave a snort, helicopter starting to lift up. "Are you trying to imply somethin'?"

"I meant no offense."

Reno snorted again, this one resembling laughter. "There you go again, man. Always so serious. Don't ya ever have any fun?" Reno raised his eyebrows, nudging Vincent's arm with his elbow. When Vincent ignored him, he sighed, not seeming to pick up on the fact Vincent wasn't the talkative type. "What're ya headed to the crater for, anyway? Something to do with that chick of yours?" Vincent gave him a sidelong glance, amused by the Turk referring to Lucrecia as a "chick". Reno babbled on. "Pretty hot, for a scientist. Looked up her files in the database." He gave a low whistle. "Never thought brains and beauty ever went together, you know, but she's certainly fun to look at, and I didn't understand a damned word of that thesis. But, man, what a geek. Caught yourself a fine one, still." Vincent resisted the urge to rub his temples as Reno paused to consider. "I like 'em tough and pretty, like Tifa, you know? She serves a damned fine martini." Vincent's glance took on a hard edge. "I know, I know, she's like your sister. And all hung up over Cloud." They were gaining altitude, Edge falling away and the Kalm plains a green expanse underneath them. "Too good for me, anyway."

Vincent chose to continue to ignore him, staring out across the landscape, Midgar zooming toward them, a black splotch of ruined towers and heaping metal, Shin–Ra logo faded from wear. He could just pick up the metallic gleam of Zack's buster sword, still stuck like a gravestone on the cliff–top overlooking the abandoned city. W.R.O. vehicles crawled across the ground, moving in and out of Midgar, busy salvaging what they could from the past battle and collecting data from the discovered Deepground facilities. Reeve had been so busy lately, Tifa had told him, that he wasn't answering any of her messages. Vincent wondered about the headlong plunge into work, though. Shalua had her reason to live. What if Reeve had lost some of his along with her?

Reno gazed passively down at Midgar as they flew over it, and Vincent took the moment to study the younger man. Flaming red hair, mirroring scars across his cheekbones, grim set to his jaw. Despite Reno's irritating nature, Vincent held a certain respect for him and his fellow Turks; he'd seen some of his fight with Sephiroth's clones, and he and Rude had been outmatched yet scrapping like a pair of pitbulls, harmony as partners long since perfected. Tseng and Elena, as well, had resisted the torture by Kadaj and his brothers, not giving up a word until their rescue. If Vincent had to give them anything, they definitely had the sheer tenacity it took to be Turks.

He felt an unexpected pang of longing. He'd loved his days as a Turk, back before the President became careless and power–mad. The adrenaline rush, the determined glee, the drive to be the best in a world of hidden assassins and dangerous calculations. As much as he'd loved it then, he loathed the feeling now, tinged with guilt and regret, knowing the consequences the simplest decisions could hold. Reflecting, he couldn't believe his own foolishness; when he'd been transferred to Nibelheim to what he thought would be a boring job, all that had changed. Lucrecia had opened his heart, exposing him to everything he'd never wanted to know, Hojo had used that to tear out his humanity, and his own naivety was all he had to blame for it, now.

It swelled up inside of him, so strong he didn't feel the surge of icy air as they flew over the frozen continent, and he resisted that darkness, reaching for the bright spots: Marlene's glowing face as she offered him Moogle again, insisting so he wouldn't be lonely; Tifa hugging him goodbye, telling him to bring Lucrecia back quick because she was tired of worrying, but the hope was restored to her eyes again, and Cloud smiling at him over her shoulder; Barret's rough clap on the back and gruff words of encouragement. If only they knew the help they've already given me. And he remembered her words, that torch that he nursed so it'd never go out: I can come back to you, Vincent.

He opened his eyes, and they were over Icicle Inn already; he'd been caught in internal reverie for nearly half an hour. Reno glanced at him from the corner of his eye, reaching up to pull the goggles off his forehead and into their intended position. "Good, you're awake. This'll be where she gets real rough," Reno gave him a toothy grin, glint in his eyes and hands gripping the steering column tightly. "Hold onto your panties, Vampy."

Vincent reached up, grabbing onto the support bar that framed the door, just as the first wave of turbulence hit. The helicopter glided then bounced in the wind, windshield obscured by gusts of snow, and Reno let out a whoop before gritting his teeth and grinning manically, enjoying the bumpy ride in the way only a danger–junkie Turk could, grunting and hissing until the helicopter landed forcefully with a whoosh of air and a metallic scrape on the sole flat outcrop of rock at the crater's edge.

Reno let out a sigh, sitting back as he peeled the goggles off his eyes, turning that crazy grin on a stoic Vincent. "What a ride, huh?" Seeing no reaction, he let out a huff and began to dig in his pocket. He pulled a slender tube out of his pocket, thrusting it at Vincent, who took it with eyebrow raised in question. It had a small clip on the back, and a small button on the top. "Pager." Reno held up his cell phone, rocking it back and forth in front of Vincent, its screen blank. "No reception, 'member?" He gave Vincent another grin. "Just hit the button when you're 'bout done. It takes a few minutes to get here from Icicle Inn, and they got one fine waitress at the tavern who I owe a visit." That gleam Vincent had seen when he was talking about Tifa resurfaced. "You know what I mean, bro?" He dropped a wink.

Vincent couldn't help himself, rolling his eyes at the Turk as he unbuckled and slid out of the helicopter, and he was rewarded with a chuckle and a shrug. "What? It's no secret that I'm a treacherous bastard. Why do you think I stay away from Tifa? She'd take me apart in an instant." It was Vincent's turn to snort. Reno began to lift off again as Vincent ducked under the blades. "See ya later, Vampy." Another whirl of blades, and the helicopter skimmed across the sky toward Icicle Inn and the unfortunate girl that awaited Reno there.

Vincent tucked the pager into a pocket before eying the steep path into the snowy crater. It would be slow going, he knew, between the rocks and the ice. He pulled his collar up with both hands, blocking the wind that wailed in his ears, blowing a warm breath against the inside fabric. The cold didn't bother him really; he enjoyed it more than anything else. The strange feeling of painful numbness, aching, tingling nerves, skin blue and so cold it burned. It was a feeling, and Vincent had been devoid of those too long. Not that he'd ever get cold enough to be dangerous. Besides his uncanny ability to heal, Hojo had seen to it that he was resistant to extreme temperatures as well. I was created to be a weapon, after all. Or, at least, as a precursor to one. Fitting, that he was destroyed by what he created, his failed experiments. Vincent set a heavy foot into the powdery snow, gazing across the crater, unsure of what waited for him below.

Cloud opened the side door to see Tifa, barefoot and dressed in shorts and tank top, standing on the cracked pavement she liked to call a patio. The sun blazed down on her, noon high, as she watched Marlene and Denzel disassemble the lean–to they'd built, laughing and goofing off, doing a pathetic job of folding the borrowed blankets. Her jaw was clenched, maroon eyes stern, and as Cloud came to stand beside her, he felt a wave of concern. "Uh–oh. What did they do now?"

She started, giving him a quick glance. "The kids?" She returned to watching them like she expected a wyvern to swoop from the sky and drag them off. "Nothing."

Cloud drew his eyebrows together. "Tifa…" A chilled breeze blew her hair off her shoulder, and despite the warm sun, she shivered slightly. Summer was fading, giving way to a blustery autumn, and Cloud took in her crossed arms and goosebumps, beginning to worry about her exposed feet. "What's wrong?"

She gave a soft sigh, eyes softening at the loud giggle coming from Marlene as Denzel made faces at her, and she clutched the blanket they were trying to fold, doubled over. "It's just… something's not right." She shook her head, and he rested one hand on her semi–exposed shoulder. When she leaned into it, he slid his palm across the back of her neck, giving it a light squeeze before dropping his hand onto her opposite shoulder. "I don't know why, though." The disconcerted expression haunted her features again, so Cloud tucked her in closer to his side, brushing a kiss across her temple as she brought her inner hand across her chest and up to his, lacing their fingers together. "I just hope everything's all right with Vincent."

He looked down at her. "He'll be fine, Tifa," he reassured her, although, for an inexplicable reason, he doubted his own words.