AN: I highly recommend listening to this music while reading: www dot youtube dot com / watch?v=Ez_J9Vf1tYU

WARNING! This author's note contains SPOILERS for this brief epilogue. It's silly, I know, but I didn't like how the note looked at the bottom of the page. So if something below makes you go "huh? but I thought…," come back and take a look at the note. In any case, thanks so much for reading! This story went from "I guess I'll write about the Turks or whatever," to something I'm genuinely proud of, and it was great to have you along for the ride. Love & Peace, Incanto, 2011. So…yeah. Not only did I go with this ending, which I think is what 80% of us originally assumed happened in the game, I'm claiming it used to be canon. Why? Two reasons: a) I know some people claim that when Elena says Cloud "did in her boss," it's a mistranslation; but I speak Japanese, and I'm withholding judgment until I see the original line. b) If Tseng isn't dead, where is he for the rest of the game? But, I understand. If there were anything I might be tempted to retcon, it's this; but I think this made more sense in the game, and makes sense here. Goodnight, sweet prince.

"There's a bluebird in my heart, that wants to get out / but I'm too tough for him / I say, stay in there, I'm not gonna let anybody see you / There's a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out / but I pour whiskey on him, and inhale cigarette smoke / and the whores and the bartenders and the grocery clerks never know he's in there…I only let him out at night, sometimes, when everybody's asleep / I say, I know that you're there, so don't be sad / and I put him back, and he's singing a little in there / I haven't quite let him die / and we sleep together like that with our secret pact / it's nice enough to make a man weep / but I don't weep / do you?"

-Charles Bukowski

Reno was trying to light a cigarette. He struck one match, then another, but the howling wind lashing the cliff face kept extinguishing them. Finally he sighed deeply and turned.

"Hey, Cloud. Little help here?"

Still cautious, the blonde mercenary reached out one hand and cupped it around Reno's. This time the flame held, the cigarette lit, and Reno took a few deep, satisfied draws, the smoke whisked away into the clear sky over Da Chao.

"Thanks. That's better. Now where were we? Oh, yeah." Casually, he reached out one toe and pressed it on the fat, sweat-greased knuckles of the man dangling from the gigantic stone hand, his bulk swaying in the wind like an overripe, rotten fruit, staring up at Reno with pleading eyes. "All right, Corneo. This'll be over quick, so listen up. Why do you think we went to the trouble of teaming up with those guys to get you? One. Because we're ready to die? Two. Because we're sure to win? Three. Because we're clueless?"

The Don's flabby cheeks rippled in the wind; his mouth worked like a fish's. He gasped out:

"Two…number two?"

"All wrong."

"No, wait, sto…!"

Kneeling down, Reno applied the cigarette to the Don's knuckles.

Barrett grimaced. Tifa couldn't keep a little smile of satisfaction off her face. Cloud, like Reno, remained expressionless. They didn't hear anything for a long time. Then, like an echo of the awful thud far below, Reno muttered:

"The correct answer was…"

On the ledge above them, standing with his rifle up, Rude finished the sentence:

"…because it's our job."

It was an idyllic spring day in the Wu-Tai capitol. On either side of the Sacred Plaza, the cherry trees were in full flower. But although they had only bloomed the week before, they were already beginning to shed their petals, which blew in a white cloud over Reno as he walked, and he grimaced as he pulled one out of his eye. Then as he blinked, he saw a figure on the path ahead, looking spectral in the bright light and the riot of swirling blossoms.

"Hey, you," said a little voice.

Reno stopped, opened his mouth, scuffed one shoe on the other, gave a half-shrug, then smiled.

"Hey."

"You weren't really gonna leave without saying goodbye…were you?"

"Look, little sister," he said, "we got a week's vacay. I got a lot of drinking to pack in."

"You're such a jerk."

"It pays the bills. Anyway, give ol' spike-head back his lousy materia. He needs them more than you."

"Y-yeah. I know."

He passed her, and she reached out, but stopped her hand before the fingertips touched his dark suit.

"Wait."

He stopped again. "Yeah?"

"Y'know," she said, and brushed at one eye. "You never even sent me a letter. I know you're busy being a big, important Turk. I guess…I'm still small-time, huh?"

"Ah…" He scratched his neck. "Don't say that. I'm the one who's small-time. Punching a clock. Wearing a tie. I aint much to look at."

"I still think you're pretty cool."

"Thanks. Right back at you, sister."

"And I wish you wouldn't leave. If you stayed here…I'd cook you super-delicious food, and make you tea. And maybe…" Stepping in front of him, she framed his face in her hands, larger now but still slender, and craned upwards-not so far now-and brushed her lips against his. Reno shut his eyes.

"Gross," she muttered. "You taste like cigarettes."

He took her in his arms, feeling her tremulous heartbeat, and ran his fingers through the short, pert strands of her hair.

"Come on," said Yuffie. "Ask me. Ask me that question every girl wants to hear."

Reno put his lips to the delicate seashell-shape of her ear, and whispered:

"So you're legal now, right?"

She kicked him.

Half-smiling, he said: "Listen. The problems of two little people aint worth a broken materia in this world. But, hey…we'll always have Gongaga."

He released her, and stepped back.

"Don't go."

"Maybe someday, sister. When the war's over."

"War? What war?"

"The war with Cloud. Or Sephiroth. There's always someone. But keep your flat ass safe, and I'll see you on the other side."

Yuffie stood as Reno walked off, his nightstick on his shoulder, the spring air brushing the tips of his hair. He started down the stone steps towards town.

"Hey, scumbag!" she called after him. "Don't take too long! Prime real estate like this aint gonna be on the market forever!"

And he waved slowly, without looking back. Then, when he had reached the gate, she called out again.

"One more thing!"

He stopped. "Yeah?"

"Where's…Tseng? He's not with you."

Reno glanced back. His blue eyes looked, she only now noticed, much older than the mere four years that had passed since the day they met, the circles around them much darker. He brushed back a lock of hair.

"What," he said. "Didn't you hear?"

Godo, dressed in his gold and silver-inlaid formal robes, sat in the small garden behind his estate, putting the finishing touches-sprigs of moss and lichen-on a flower arrangement in a tiny, elegant clay pot. Bees hummed around his head. His powerful face, now clean-shaven, was tensed in innocent concentration.

There were soft footsteps on the path behind him. Without looking up, he said:

"I was wondering if you would come by. Where's the other one?"

"Probably getting a head start at the pub," said Rude.

"Hmm," purred Godo, and deftly attached a small gray patch of lichen. "Well. Tell him if he hurts my daughter, I'll rip his head off."

"Respectfully, sir, I believe she's capable of handling him herself."

"That's probably true, when it comes to it.-There. Finished. What do you think?"

"It's…very beautiful."

"What does it make you think of?"

"I'm probably not the one you should ask."

Then Godo looked up, and saw a large porcelain urn, died blue and painted with elaborate characters of Wu-Tai calligraphy, under Rude's arm.

"What's in that jar?"

"Tseng," said Rude.

Godo blinked. He nodded several times, then lowered his head.

"I see."

"I was wondering…"

"We can't inter him in the Imperial Vault," Godo said quickly, overly businesslike. "You'll need to take it to his hometown. The family must accept the remains, no matter what the child has done…this is traditional. I will draw you a map. Come back in ten minutes or so."

Rude nodded. Then Godo asked, without looking at him:

"How did it happen?"

"There was a man called Sephiroth…the most powerful fighter on the planet."

"I see. Good…I would not have wished him anything less."

Rude turned to go. Godo, stopping once again to admire his arrangement, remarked:

"Don't step on the flowers."

Rude had been walking all afternoon. The Wu-Tai countryside was dusty, and the high road was trafficked by mule carts that constantly forced him aside, into an empty drainage ditch. The white dust clung to his suit, but he made no effort to brush it off; only from time to time he flicked sweat from underneath his chin.

When he passed a stationary peddler's cart, he stopped. Cuts of dried, fragrant meet hung on a wire, over stunted persimmons, and a row of dark green bottles caught the fading light. The old peddler shrank back, regarding him with an obsequious smile.

"Ah hello, Shinra-san. What you want?"

"What's in those bottles? Beer?"

"Yes, is best beer in all Wu-Tai. I sell to you, twenty gil. Special Shinra price."

"Fine, give me one bottle and two glasses."

"What you want two glasses for? There only one of you."

"I want the other one to piss in, alright? What's it to you."

Then a gleam came into the peddler's eyes. "Ah, I see. You want to meet my sister? She very pretty girl."

"Oh, shut it."

Rude paid, collected the bottle and two dirty tea cups, and went on.

A wide, shallow canal ran parallel to the road, and beyond it, rice paddies stretched off toward distant farmsteads. Rude kicked through the tall grass toward the water, and, finding a large, flat stone, sat down, and placed the urn beside him. He filled one cup with beer, and set it carefully on top of the urn. He filled the other, drank, filled it again, and sat there, regarding the scenery. A black bird, perhaps a crow, winged by overhead.

Rude picked up a stone and tossed it over the water. It skipped twice before sinking. He tried again, and managed four skips.

A yellow dog, some hopeless mutt of indeterminable heritage, ran up to him. It barked several times, high and shrill. He shrugged, then took a rice cake out of his pocket, picked off a crumb, and tossed it to the dog. It sniffed the morsel, but left it alone.

"Suit yourself," said Rude.

He filled his cup again.

The dog, seeming to forget his presence, began to chase its own tail. It ran in frantic circles, kicking up dirt, the ragged tuft of hair always just out of reach of its eager black nose. Rude drank two more cups, but the dog didn't tire in its pursuit, or seem to realize it would never succeed. Oh well, he reflected. At least it seemed to be having a good time.

The End