Disclaimer: I do not own FFVII
Warnings: Slight Blood, Slight Tissue
Mindless Babble:
Cloud held Tifa close, feeling her body trembling with suppressed sobs. His own face reflected the disbelief he was feeling, his heart unable to come to terms with what he had just heard. He glanced at his friends.
Yuffie was horror struck. The young Turk had fought and died for her country. She would never again see his face turn red when she stole his Materia, only to go even redder when she returned it to him for a kiss. He would no longer be there for when she would be crowned as queen like they had planned. She would never see him again and it tore at her very heart.
Barret held the young princess like he would Marlene after a bad dream, although, as much as the young girl wished it was, this wasn't just a nightmare. It was real; real enough to hurt. He had always thought of the Turk as the brutal enforcer, especially after the whole Sector 7 massacre. But then Cloud had told him the truth about that and Barret had started to wonder. Now, it seemed that the obnoxious Turk had died fight the good fight.
Cid felt his chest tighten. The Turk pilot had become one of his drinking buddies since they had found a common interest- a love of flying. Cid had even been invited to help test some of the new aircraft thanks to the Turk. They were supposed to have gone out together as soon as the warlord had been taken out. Cid had been waiting in anticipation for that day. And now that wait had been extended into forever for he would fly with no other.
The animosity he had felt for Shinra dimensioned a slight bit, as Vincent watched the young president struggle to keep his emotions in check. The Turk had been rough, obnoxious and cruel. But he had also been loyal to the point of death. That was one of the few aspects of Shinra's elite that Vincent could still admire. This death served to remind him of that attribute even as his carefully crafted mask of indifference threatened to crack.
Nanaki had always despised anything to do with Shinra, especially the Turks. That was until one night, shortly before the rebirth of Sephiroth, when his home in Cosmo Canyon had been attacked by bandits. Tseng and the rest of the Turks had arrived minutes after the call for help had gone out. Nanaki still remembered how the red hair blended with his own fur as the Turk carried his injured body to a medic.
The one thing they all knew was that no matter how much pain they felt, Reno's death had hit Rufus, Tseng, Rude and Elena the hardest, almost destroying them.
Rufus cleared his throat, swallowing his emotions for the moment. "As you all know, Turks give up their past on the day they are initiated. Even I do not know of their birth names. When they die, they are cremated and their ashes scattered. This gave me a problem that my father never cared about; how to remember them when they passed on. Whether on the field of battle or of natural causes, I never wanted them to be forgotten."
He stood up motioning the group to follow him. "With some of the older personal, I was able to do something for all of the Turks- Past, present and future."
Rufus led them to the triangular column at the entrance of the level. A plaque covered the side facing the elevator, so it was the first and last thing anyone getting on would see. It was made of black marble with years etched into it. Tiny silver daggers had been embedded next to the numbers.
"Each dagger represents a Turk lost." Rufus intoned, staring at the five silver blades next to the date that marked almost three years ago. The years following had none, being that only four Turks had survived the crises. His eyes dropped to the current year.
A single dagger made of bloodstone instead of silver stood out from the black background. Rufus brushed it lightly, heart breaking at the thought of the one it represented.
The day the Turks returned to Wutai, Michael, Reno's co-pilot was rescued. One week later, Hideyoshi's head hung from the gates entering the main city. The next day, three very tired people found themselves at the Seventh Heaven drinking to their fallen comrade. A set of not-so-shiny dog tags wrapped in battered rubber lay on the table, reflecting the flickering light of the dying candle.