Salutations, and welcome back! Somehow I have managed to compose this next installment in spite of transferring from Community college to University, working, and spending the holidays with family. Thank you all for your patience. I hope it is rewarded by this chapter. You know, the longer I write, the more I realize that writing a long story like this is hard work! Consistency is tough!

Regardless, I have updated, so without further ado:

Refugees

By: Illusion of the Mirror

"Son of a bitch…" It was all the veteran pilot could manage, his unlit cigarette dropping from downturned lips. And it was not an at all inappropriate sentiment to describe the grisly scene before the rag-tag group of fighters that had only just arrived.

Vincent's stunned gaze swept the pandemonium. When the young Ms. Bordeaux had so abruptly informed them of an attack on the Resistance base, he had expected to rush back find the stark white halls of the underground construction lined with Darknation guards, one of the rooms full of hostages, perhaps even bodies strewn on the floor of the empty hangar. But no imaginings on his part had even come close to reality.

From their vantage point of the hill overlooking the western edge of the city, Vincent took in the abysmal rubble that cracked and smoldered the entire area of where the subterranean station had been. It was obvious what had occurred: strategically placed explosives had weakened the structure, most likely taking out key supports, and caved the entire site in. This, in turn, had caused the surface buildings to crumble and collapse into the newly created crater. Underground pipes and electrical systems had become exposed, asphalt and concrete roads had buckled and given way, and all the people who had been working, driving, or shopping had fallen victim to a hideous plan that never even concerned them.

Beside him, Ms. Bordeaux steadied herself on a telephone post, gasping for breath, and Vincent's mind suddenly resounded with only one thought: Tifa.

Not wasting another precious second, Vincent stalked down the grass and dust covered hill, purpose in his eyes. Tifa. Pace quickening and heart thudding, he approached the edge of the carnage, dodging a rescue team working to extinguish an unruly electrical fire. He scanned the debris fervently, the acrid air burning its way through his nostrils and into his lungs. If his calculations were correct, he shouldn't be too far from the exact spot where he had reluctantly said goodbye to the woman he loved not twelve hours ago. Tifa…

Concrete buildings loomed on either side of him, their inner rooms ripped open and exposed to the world like the organs of a dissected frog. Stepping sharply to his left to avoid an overturned and splintered desk, Vincent caught sight of something bright blue before him. Climbing over a papered section of wall, he drew closer, but halted as soon as he identified the source; a torn, blood-stained shred of linen dangling from a dirty limb that jutted out from under a fallen filing cabinet, fingers lifelessly scraping the ground.

Immediately, he spun on his heel, eyes stinging from the swirling dust clouds and compounding emotion that was fighting its way up his throat. He hastily started in the opposite direction, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, unsure of what he planned to accomplish. He longed to cry out Tifa's name, to call her forth from the hopeless ruble unharmed and alive, yet his logic prevailed. If she were still in the area, it was highly improbable that Tifa was in any state to speak or call back. The rebellious part of him settled to whisper her name, this throat clogging like with cotton. "Tifa…"

It was then that Vincent realized he had stopped, his hands balled into tight fists, eyes downcast. He had no idea what to do next and had managed to completely lose himself amongst the chaos. Frustrated at his own lack of control and inability to compose his racing thoughts, he raised a hand to his forehead and squeezed his eyes shut. I must remain calm…I am no good to anyone if I lose composure…remain calm…

A hand clapped on his shoulder, startling him from his meditation and Vincent whirled around, eyes blazing, his pistol instinctively in hand.

"Whoa!" Cid threw up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Cool your jets, it's jus' me!"

A fraction of a second later, the pistol was back in its shoulder holster, and Vincent tamed his face into its usual mask of indifference.

Cid frowned, the action carving deep lines into his weathered face. "This is some shit we stepped in." He ruffled a hand through his short blonde hair. "They've gone and blown everything to hell."

Vincent shifted his weight and peered out from between the two mounds of concrete blocking the view to the left. The space beyond was teeming with rescue personal hurriedly digging out survivors, and cadavers alike, and rushing them off on stretchers. He still couldn't banish the lump in his throat, so he opted for a nod of comprehension.

"And what for? I mean, they coulda jus' taken hostages or killed the rebels, not these innocent bystanders." Cid's voice dropped, brows shadowing his eyes. "This is low. Even for Darknation."

"Perhaps they are truly desperate."

"Ya think so?" Cid looked contemplative. "I guess that's to only logical- HOLY SHIT!"

Both men's eyes flew down to Cid's ankle, where a dusty, blood-stained hand gripped his ripped pant leg. A man lay on his stomach, his right shoulder and down pinned beneath a toppled catering truck.

"Hey, don't suppose I could bother you gents for a hand," the man rasped, a deep cough rattling his body as he released his grip on Cid's clothing.

Cid stepped back, and then promptly began looking for a way to lever the truck off of the wounded man. Vincent knelt down a faint spark of recognition going off in his mind. "You're part of the Resistance," he stated and the man gave a pained nod.

"Guilty."

At that moment, Vincent felt another presence behind him and Emily knelt at his side. "Dean," she whispered, a hand resting on the fallen man's crown. "Just hold on, we'll find a way to get you out."

Turning his head slightly, Vincent spotted Cloud in his peripheral. The blonde was leaning against a concrete boulder, his eyes closed.

"No," Dean Preston coughed. "Even if you could get this-" a wheeze "-damned thing offa me…that's it."

Cid, who had fully circled the van, returned to the now expanded group, giving Cloud a nod of greeting before crouching down on Vincent's other side. He merely shook his head, his hand instinctively going to the nearly empty packet behind his goggles.

"Don't say that," Emily choked, tears brimming in her eyes. "You need to try."

This was unnecessary. Vincent realized the girl was clinging to a false hope, and they needed information before the man passed on. "Where are the others?"

Emily looked up at him, her expression upset. Ah well, it is to be expected.

Dean wheezed, his upper body releasing the tell-tale hiss of a sucking chest wound. "Alex…he took them to the woods…survivors…"

Emily continued to stroke the dying man's hair. "So there were survivors?"

"Yeah…"

Vincent cleared his throat, indicating he wasn't finished. "What about Tifa? Did you see Denzel or Tifa?"

Wheezing…a cough… "I saw the girl…fighting…but not after…" After a hiccupping gasp, Dean lifted his pale eyes to Emily, his free hand searching for hers. "Emmy, tell my kids…tell Benji…and Amelia…"

Emily nodded, tears spilling unhindered down her cheeks, leaving streaks in the layer of dust on her face. "I will, Dean. I will."

With one last trembling cough, Dean Preston breathed his last and was no more. His limp hand fell from Emily's into the dirt.

Dropping her face into her hands, Emily began to let sobs rack her small frame. Vincent stood. The woods. Tifa was in the woods.

--- O ---

But Tifa was not in the woods. When she, Denzel, and Luna Bordeaux had fled from the hangar, they had headed up one of the exit shafts leading out into an old churchyard. The three escapees had emerged into the overcast day, blinking in the light after their pitch-black trek up the corridor.

At first, Tifa had no clue where to go or what they should do next. What she did know is that she had two very shaken children that needed food and rest and a deep gash in her arm that had yet to stop bleeding. The light brought her headache back in full force…multiplied by ten.

But after resting a short period, their backs against a marble sepulcher in the middle of the church's graveyard, Tifa spotted a familiar bell-tower down the block. Wrapping her injured arm in her jacket, she gathered the children and set off toward the college. Surely, someone there would help.

--- O ---

Tifa walked down the bustling halls of the college, her arm tucked up against her chest and the two kids in tow. Was it really a school day? She realized she had completely lost track of what day it was. Head injuries will do that to you.

Denzel had approached the history department head secretary and asked to see Professor Altmann or Professor Stratford. The tightly-dressed woman had replied by saying that both were out for the day and all classes had been cancelled. There was little wonder why that was. So now Tifa was walking toward what she supposed was the cafeteria in order to find something for the three of them to eat. But she was intercepted as she turned a corner by a familiar face.

"Oh! Miss Lockheart, what a pleasant surprise." Professor Malcolm had nearly collided with the distracted brunette. He shifted his full lunch tray to one side and eyed the three up and down. "Is…something the matter?"

Tifa's eyes shot to the children, who were looking to her with expectancy and then back to the professor. His gaze slid down to her arm wrapped in a blood-stained jacket. His rich, indigo eyes glinted and he motioned for her to follow. "Come with me."

Tifa let Denzel and Luna pass in front of her before following Malcolm and noticed that the young blonde was nervously gripping Denzel's sleeve as they walked. A thin smile graced Tifa's lips. Perhaps they would be friends after all.

Moments later, Malcolm opened the door into his office and bade them enter. Setting his tray on an immaculate coffee table, he turned back to shut the heavy, wooden door behind them.

"No meaning to seem rude, Miss Lockheart," he said, crossing to a miniature fridge and pulling out three bottles of spring water, "but you appear to be in some sort of…distress." He handed one of the cold bottles to each of them and Tifa immediately snapped the cap free and took a large, refreshing swig.

"Not at all, Professor," she replied with a wince as she shifted her arm to her side. "Thank you."

The professor glanced down at her limb, and then turned to Denzel and Luna. "I have some apples in the fridge and granola in the cupboard. Please help yourself."

The two children looked at each other. Luna seemed incredibly skeptical about the whole ordeal, but Denzel grabbed her hand and led her across the room to the cupboard.

Once they were out of the immediate vicinity, Malcolm approached Tifa. "Now how about you show me that arm of yours?"

Tifa blanched. "Oh, no, it's nothing, I just-"

Malcolm reached out and took hold of the injured limb and carefully unwrapped as Tifa shifted her weight uncomfortably. Once exposed, she could see that the skin around the gash was now purple and swollen; pus was oozing from the center of the wound. Malcolm's brows drew together in concern. "Hardly, Miss Lockheart. This is what we experts like to call infected."

Patiently, the older man drew Tifa toward a shelf in the corner of the room and turned from her to open a small chest. When he spun back around, he held small gold-green orb in his hand that Tifa instantly recognized. "Heal Materia? You…you know how to use materia?"

Malcolm chuckled, a not particularly pleasant sound. "As a professor of the planet's history, I know my fair share about Mako and the uses of it." He pulled a black glove onto his left hand and slid the orb into a slot on the back. "Now, if you'll allow me, I'll heal your injury."

Tifa stood completely still as she was enveloped by a familiar warm glow. A tingling sensation budded inside her bones and her eyes slipped shut as she felt her skin regenerate and close, even her headache was subsiding.

Finished, Malcolm slid the glove from his hand and placed it back into the chest while Tifa examined her now healed arm with relative amazement. "Thank you so much, Professor Malcolm," she smiled, looking into his dark eyes. "You really didn't have to go to all this trouble for us."

"Didn't I?" The professor turned from her and retrieved his tray before taking his place in the chair behind his desk. Tifa saw Denzel and Luna sitting cross-legged on the floor eating slowly and watching everything that transpired between the two adults. She sunk into one of the chairs opposite his desk.

Malcolm went to pick up his sandwich, but then seemed to change his mind and instead steepled his hands in front of his lips, his hard gaze locking on Tifa. "I notice you have a different young lady in your company this time."

Tifa nodded, her fingers absently picking at the skin where her wound once was. "Yes. Marlene is…at a friend's house. This is Luna. "

Malcolm raised an eyebrow. "She is also yours?"

"Oh no," Tifa laughed nervously. "No, Luna is a friend of Denzel's."

He turned to the young blonde and beckoned to her. "You look an awful lot like a young lady I have in class. Pray, what is your full name?"

Luna swallowed her mouthful of apple and squared her shoulders. "It's Lunetta Bordeaux, sir. But my older sister doesn't go to school here."

If she hadn't been studying his face, Tifa wouldn't have seen Malcolm's eye twitch ever-so-slightly.

"Hm…well, nevermind then. I apologize for the confusion." The professor picked up his sandwich and took a large bite. As he chewed, he studied the back of his hand. To Tifa, the silence was anything but comfortable. Then, as she was just about to break into the quiet with some trivial anecdote about the weather, the clock on Malcolm's desk chimed the hour.

He looked up, eyes a bit wider. "Oh my, that time already? Forgive me, Miss Lockheart, but I have a class shortly."

Tifa nodded her understanding and stood in unison with the professor. She reached across the desk and shook his hand. "Thanks again for all your help."

Professor Malcolm smiled, showing a row of perfectly white teeth. "You are most welcome."

As he rounded the desk to bid goodbye to the children, Tifa glanced down at the professor's desk. It was very neat and very much unlike Alexander Altmann's office had been, but there was an open letter lying on the desk. It was addressed to Dr. Sebastian K. Malcolm.

"Ahem," the man cleared his throat and Tifa spun around wide eyed. He gestured toward the door. "If you would."

Tifa apologized for "spacing off" and left the office, the door shutting smartly behind her. She could feel that her face was hot with a blush. For some reason…it felt as though she had seen something she shouldn't have.

Denzel lightly tapped Tifa's arm as they neared the street exit. "So…um, what do we do now, Tifa?"

She looked down into his eager eyes and gave a smile she hoped was reassuring. "Let's go home."

--- O ---

The "woods" to which Dean Preston had referred was actually the very forest near Tifa's house and late restaurant. When Vincent, Cid, Cloud, and Emily had arrived, they were greeted by a pair of camouflaged, gun-toting guards and then led into the inner camp. Immediately, Emily broke off to find her family with Cloud on her heels. Cid turned to Vincent, arms crossed.

"Maybe we should split up and look for the others." There was a tremor of worry and fatigue in the pilot's words, but Vincent chose not to address it. He merely nodded his assent and then set out to find Tifa.

But Red XIII found him first. "Greetings, comrade," the large cat-like creature called out to him. Leaping down from his seat on a large boulder, Red approached quickly. "Any news?"

Vincent let out a nearly undetectable sigh. "I was hoping to hear news from you."

"Well, Barret and I found nothing while on our mission today." He cocked his head to one side and let loose a low growl. "Darknation did quite a number on the base of operations."

"So we saw."

"Oh?" Nanaki looked up with curiosity in his eye. "You were there?"

"Only after the fact."

"Hm. Well, you're here now. That's what matters. Where's Cid?"

Vincent scanned the vicinity for any sign of Tifa. "He is searching for the others."

Red sat back on his haunches, blowing a strand of his unruly red mane from his eyes. "Barret is around here somewhere, but I haven't seen hide nor hair of Tifa or the young one."

"…I see."

There was a pregnant pause. "I'm worried about them too, Vincent," Nanaki sighed. "But Tifa's strong and so is the boy. Professor Altmann seems to be under the impression that they escaped with Emily Bordeaux's younger sister. If that's the case, all we have to do is wait." As an afterthought, he added, "they'll be here soon."

--- O ---

"What do you mean, no?!"

James Bordeaux tried to calm his irate daughter. "It's too dangerous. We have to wait and regroup before we attempt any kind of-"

"But that's what Darknation expects us to do! If we attack now, they won't be prepared to fend us off!"

James rubbed his throbbing temple. She had inherited her mother's stubborn streak. "With what men, Emily? Right now we are stuck licking our wounds, without proper shelter or medical facilities, I might add."

Emily crossed her arms, attempting to be level-headed but knowing that she was failing miserably. When it came to Darknation, she just couldn't remain calm. "What about Tifa's friends? Are we to condemn them to whatever fate those bastards can think up?"

"It is regrettable that we cannot aid them at this time," James sighed. "But we cannot risk any more lives."

"You mean, you WILL not! We can still fight, but you will not see it! You refuse to! You would have us cower with our tail between our legs when the time to act is now!"

Irritated and quickly growing tired of this conversation, James' voice was even, but severe. "Don't allow your personal issues to cloud your judgment, Emily. We all have sacrificed. It's time to realize that this isn't all about you and your grudge."

The young woman was speechless. Her mouth opened and closed in shock before rage flooded her face and she stormed out of the council's tent, fuming past a waiting Cloud.

"Em, slow down!" He reached out and gripped her shoulder, turning her to face him. This wasn't the Emily he knew and loved. This woman was bitter and angry. For a second, he flinched, but then drew her into a tight embrace. "It's gonna be okay. Just roll with the punches."

She had all sorts of retorts prepared: 'You don't know it's going to be okay!' or 'Easy for you to say, you didn't just watch a friend die!' But instead, Emily just closed her eyes and leaned into Cloud's arms. The truth was, he didn't know what she had lost, but in all fairness, she hadn't told him.

"Um…excuse me…"

Both lovers turned to look at a slender young man with sandy blonde hair and big brown eyes. Cloud raised an eyebrow in recognition. "Hey, aren't you one of the kids that works…er, worked at Tifa's bar?"

"Yeah," the young man answered as he adjusted the elaborate headphones resting around his neck. "My name is Keaton."

Emily broke free of Cloud's embrace, eyeing Keaton with suspicion. "I don't recall you being part of our organization."

Keaton smiled nervously and shifted his feet. "I'm not, technically. But I am sympathetic to your cause." He gestured to the apparatus around his neck. "I'm here to help man the radio system so the others are free to do other jobs. I think I met your dad."

At the mention of her father, Emily felt hot ire building inside her. "Oh?"

"Yeah, he's the one that hired-er-let me volunteer."

Cloud was unimpressed. "Uh-huh…" He looked around and spotted Barret not too far away. "Hey, look, Em, I'm going to go talk to Barret. I'll be back, okay?" With that, he slid away, leaving Emily and Keaton alone.

"Um, you ARE Emily Bordeaux, right?"

"Yes."

Keaton glanced over his shoulder and then leaned in closer to the petite redhead. "I have something you'll want to see."

Without another word, the blonde turned around and walked off toward the radio tent. Emily followed, mildly curious as to what the young man was referring. When she had entered the tent behind him, Keaton turned from the desk he was studying and passed her a piece of paper.

"I intercepted this message not five minutes ago and wrote it down. It mentioned you by name."

We have the young Miss Bordeaux in custody.

"This…who sent this?"

Keaton took the paper back and folded it. "It wasn't sent TO me, per se. I actually picked it up on a different wave. I think it may have been from…"

"Darknation," Emily spat. "But this couldn't be about me…Luna!"

Keaton glanced up from the note in his hand. "What?"

"My little sister! They…they've captured her!"

The wiry blond looked alarmed. "Do…do you really think so?"

Emily spun around to leave. She would go see the council and tell her…wait. No, that would be no good. Her father was always cool and collected. He wouldn't risk it even if his own daughter were on the line. Her only hope was Cloud and his friends.

Rushing from the tent, Emily jogged up to Cloud, who was now leaning against a tree with his eyes closed. "Cloud," she whispered as shook his shoulder. "We have an emergency!"

The blonde ex-soldier's eyes popped open. "Emergency? What is it, Em?"

"Luna's been captured by Darknation!"

Cloud's brows dipped down in a frown. "How do you know that?"

"The guy from the radio tent got a message. They have my baby sister, Cloud!"

"Calm down. What exactly do you propose we do?"

Emily's green eyes flashed. "We have to go rescue her. We have to go back to Darknation's stronghold. We know how to get in now. We can go get her and your friends!"

Cloud placed his hands on Emily's shoulders and gazed into her hopeful eyes. "I don't know, Em. Did you talk to your dad yet?"

The young woman snorted. "He won't approve. You heard what he said earlier."

Knowing that his next words would most likely be ill-received, Cloud tried not to winch as he spoke. "Maybe there's a good reason for that, Em. I mean, it could be a trap."

Indignace laced through her words. "But what if it's not? I can feel it in my bones, Cloud. Luna's in real danger…and I can't stand by and do nothing. Please," she added, softening her voice, "help me."

Cloud shook his head. "Look, Em. I understand why you want to rush in and save your sister, really, I do. But I also understand that for some reason, when it comes to Darknation, you just can't seem to think rationally. Don't get mad, I'm not meaning to offend you." He searched her eyes for any sign of resignation. "But I love you, Em. Don't put yourself into unneeded danger, okay? Promise me?"

Emily looked down at Cloud's warm hand on her shoulder and then up into his sincere blue-green eyes. "Okay," she sighed and let him pull her into an embrace.

But Emily Bordeaux had no intention of keeping her promise.

--- O ---

So! How was it? REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW!!! Really, it's my bread and butter.

On a side note, I realized a while ago that I could monitor where my readers are from, so for this chapter, I would like to make a shout-out to all my readers from AUSTRALIA, GERMANY, and IRELAND. Hooray for going global!

Thank you to Uchiha Lolita, Ghedea, Forevermare, wolf of infinity, Shtit, nanimo, and my newest reader, brokenmaelstrom for your lovely feedback.

Also, thank you, once again, to all of you who have read, faved, and subscribed. I love you all!

Thank you to Kimmit the Ferg for continuing to kick my butt into gear when it comes to getting this story written and for your continued support in my exploits.

So in closing, I'll be back, ya'll!

Fight the Power!

-- Illusion of the Mirror --

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