Rain
The rain pounded around the recruits as they jogged through the dense forest. Woodstock ran right alongside them, saying nothing, and making the recruits nervous.
It was two weeks into Shinra guard training, and the recruits had learned a few things about their taskmaster. If Woodstock was silent, it meant he was thinking of a punishment that would be far worse than the crime committed. He had already maimed a recruit for stealing from the mess hall, slashing him across the face with that deadly combat knife he always carried. The men had learned quickly that when facing the sergeant, to keep one eye on that knife at all times. It was huge; the blade was fifteen inches long, looking more like a short sword than any knife any of the young men had ever seen. The sergeant always kept it sharp, and called it his "Attitude adjusting module." The men had a healthy amount of fear for the old man, and not a few held a place in their hearts for revenge.
One of the recruits lost his footing on a hill, and slid downwards, knocking another recruit over in the process. Woodstock was right there, kicking at the two of them, screaming until they staggered to their feet and continued the relentless run.
"If you want to be guards, ladies, then you need to step it up! Shinra will NOT have slackers and slouchers on the payroll. They aint got any place for you yellowbellied suckers, and I aint got the patience to change you. So shape up, or I'll kick your sorry hides right back to where you came from."
The recruits, matching in uniforms and shaved heads, turned a corner on the trail, and all breathed a sigh of relief when the mess hall came into view. It was all downhill from here, and the recruits could finally catch their breath, while making it closer to a hot meal.
Woodstock doubled the pace. About halfway down the hill, a young man, named Barry, lost his footing on the slippery grass, and, arms pin wheeling, fell, his five-foot-four frame somersaulting in an almost free fall. He landed in a heap, a sickening crunch was heard to the recruits advancing below.
One of the recruits sprinted down to him, bending near his mouth. Woodstock followed, knife drawn. He arrived to hear the tail end of a conversation.
"-can't make it, man. Just go. The worst he can do is kill me." Barry moaned, clutching a very broken looking leg.
The recruit - Rude, Woodstock saw, with a smirk- said nothing, just picked Barry up. Barry's stocky frame couldn't have been easy to handle for the twig thin teenager, but there he was, lifting Barry like he weighed nothing. And then -to all of the young men's astonishment- Rude continued jogging.
Woodstock caught up to him, giving him a sharp rap on the back of the knee with his knife sheath. "You better run harder and faster than any man in this regiment, Rude, or I'll beat the snot out of both of you. When I'm through, you're going to wish I had only broken your leg. A man down is a liability, someone not to be helped. You must defend yourself, and only yourself, if you're going to be any good at guarding. You hear me, Rude? I'll kick your ass six ways till Sunday-"
Rude drowned the sergeant out, but kept up a relentless pace. Every once and a while, the sergeant hit him in the knee or thigh, trying to trip him up. A couple of times the old man succeeded, but Rude was always on his feet before he could have his "opinion adjusted" by the fifteen inch monstrosity.
Rude made it back to the mess hall a tad ahead of the crowd, depositing Barry in the medical bay. As he was walking back to his bunk, he was suddenly attacked by a very angry Woodstock.
The sergeant whipped him with a cane, beating him until Rude was a bloody mess on the ground. Woodstock then leaned close, to make sure that no words were lost on the resilient teenager.
"Never, ever, embarrass me like that again, Rude. Or I'll kill you." He sneered, spitting on the teenager. He then stood, striding back to his cabin.
Rude rolled over on the wet grass, allowing the rain to wash away the blood and sweat he had accumulated. Not for the first time, he cursed the world for forcing him to join the Shinra guard.
The 7th heaven was just closing up from a very productive day of business, and Tifa was losing herself in her work, as she tended to do every so often.
Even with Yuffie visiting and Cloud rarely leaving, Tifa still found some alone time in the quiet hours between midnight and morning, when she could wash dishes and counters, check inventory, and to general management things to help her think.
She was thinking a lot lately.
Of course, a woman in her position had a lot to think about. Or rather, worry about. She worried about Denzel's quiet state lately and Vincent's reclusive attitude. She worried about seeing the sun rise in the morning and the state of the planet as of late.
She worried about Cloud, who had gone out to investigate loud, booming noises he had heard.
Gunshots. He thought they had been gunshots. With the increase in crime rates, Midgar was no longer a stranger to violence. But actual gunfights were a rarity, and if there had been one… well, that meant that others were likely to follow.
She bit her bottom lip, staring out at the blackened streets. What if Cloud went to investigate, and got caught in the middle of some violent showdown? Of course, Cloud could handle himself, but he'd been shot before.
In those moments, when the bullet ripped through him, she had suddenly become aware of how mortal he was.
She shook the thought from her head, wiping a table down, trying to keep the worry at bay. But her gaze rose to the windows again.
"Worried?" A voice said from the stairwell. Tifa looked up, seeing Yuffie leaning against the doorframe, her arms crossed.
"Yeah. It's silly, I know, but I just… I can't help it." Tifa sighed, pushing some stray hair behind her ear.
Yuffie approached the older woman, nodding solemnly. "Hey, Cloud can take care of himself. He only got shot because they took him by surprise. And besides, if it really was gunshots we heard, there's no way they can be experienced gunmen. Not like the remnants, at any rate."
Tifa nodded, still staring blankly at the window, lost in her thoughts. Yuffie smiled inwardly. Tifa could never stop worrying, these days. It was almost cute.
The door suddenly cracked as if kicked, and exploded inwards. Yuffie hopped of the table in a defensive stance, and Tifa had her fists cocked.
Both women relaxed when Cloud appeared. They tensed again when they saw what was draped over Cloud's shoulders.
"Give me a hand." Cloud said, voice raised. "He's really heavy, and he's lost a lot of blood."
With Tifa's assistance, the placed the suited man on the bar counter. Tifa assessed the damage while Cloud explained. "I found him limping, around the same area I heard the gunshots. He kept mumbling about Shinra and threatening someone named Woodstock. When I got to him, he looked almost dead, and collapsed. I had to drag him back to the bar."
Tifa nodded, examining the man. Something about his face looked oddly familiar. She checked his head for injuries. Other than a ripped ear lobe, from what looked like a piercing ripped out, his head was fine.
"Yuffie, hand me that pair of scissors." She said. Yuffie complied, curiously examining the face of the man.
Her sharp intake of breath made Tifa pause, scissors poised over the man's suit. "It… It's Rude." She said, staring into his face.
Cloud leaned closer. "I didn't't recognize him without the sunglasses. Tifa, cut his shirt off. I think his injuries are on his chest."
Tifa did so, and Yuffie turned her back. Tifa looked at her curiously, and then examined Rudes injuries. "He's been shot in the shoulder and gut, it looks like." She checked his back. "They both have exit wounds. At least we won't have to pick any bullets out of him. When he comes to, we'll give him a potion."
Cloud nodded, unwrapping gauze from the med kit he'd retrieved. "We can bandage him up, Yuffie. You can go to bed if you want."
Yuffie looked grateful, and beat a hasty retreat. Tifa looked at Cloud, confused. He shrugged.
"She looked uncomfortable." Cloud wound gauze around the wounds, all the while looking at the downed Turk's face. "What were you doing in Midgar, Rude?"
--
Yuffie stood against the wall in the guest bedroom, trying to catch her breath. She'd never known what his eye colour was until tonight. He had opened them briefly when Tifa was busy cutting his suit to ribbons. He'd looked right at her, and she'd seen something familiar in his gaze.
His gaze…
Why had he affected her like this? Why was she reduced to a shivering mess, against her wall, unable to think of anything else?
Yellow. My god, she thought. His eyes are yellow.
A/N: If you give me a review, I'll admit to bedwetting.