Yellow

Rude's green eyes met Woodstock's grey ones, iris for iris. The intensity of their stare felt as if it could burn worlds, incinerate whole human beings.

Guard training was approaching the two month mark, and Woodstock was about to send another batch of killers to Shinra HQ. His officials had sent him a letter questioning his methods about Barry. When he had caught the kid napping on patrol, he had flogged the bastard until the youth's ribs cracked and he coughed blood. Apparently, he died in a hospital a week later.

HQ didn't approve of his methods. The only reason Shinra had failed to fire the sergeant was because he produced the best damn soldiers on the planet, and the old man knew it. He'd never met a recruit he couldn't break, never met a recruit that didn't fear him and his methods. He was good at his job.

Then again, he'd never met Rude.

He'd watched the boy evolve into a man in the time he'd served. His skin, once pale, was tanned, his black hair had been shaved off, making him look like a professional, even in scuffed combat boots and a muddy, green uniform. His once thin frame had become harder, bigger, the power in his arms all too evident beneath the fabric of his shirt. Despite his rebellious attitude, he hadn't spoken a word for the majority of the two months, other than the occasional yes sir or no sir in response to a question.

Of all the recruits in this new batch, Rude was the one that Shinra was interested in. They said that he was going to make a very successful guard, and maybe even a Turk, one day. He had also proven himself an excellent shot, favouring a long distance rifle to a pistol. A sniper, maybe. Woodstock couldn't allow him to continue, unfortunately. If Shinra heard about Rude's rebellious attitude, they might think that Woodstock was slipping, and he couldn't have that. Not one bit.

Woodstock stood, face to face with the recruit, a cigar in his mouth. Maybe it was time to teach Rude how to be polite to his elders.

"Rude. You've been a right pain in my ass since the first time I saw you. I don't like you, son. In fact, I think you're the only recruit to ever be trained by me and be utterly despised. I don't like your attitude, your compassion, or your face. A guard can't afford to be compassionate to his squad. A guard guards the objective. If a soldier falls, so be it. Keep the objective safe." The sergeant turned, taking a pace away from Rude. "You've failed every drill and every test I've set out for you, because you're too concerned about your team to do anything about the objective. You aren't in SOLDIER, son. You aren't even in the Turks. You're a goddamn guard, and that's all you'll ever be if you don't pass these tests."

Woodstock turned, looking deep in Rude's eyes, looking for a reaction. All he saw was that steely-eyed determination, the constant expression on Rude's face.

He sighed, turning away. "You're clearly not determined enough to pass the exam to guardship." He took a piece of paper from his pocket, and slapped it against Rude's chest. "You are hereby expelled from the guardship. You can apply next year. But if I see you in my unit again, I will not hesitate to cut you, you understand? Stay away. I'll give you two days to clean out." The sergeant spun on his heel, and walked away.

Rude's eyes narrowed and his fists clenched. He would only need one.

--

Woodstock was writing out forms in his cabin when he heard a twig snap outside. He looked up, wondering who could be outside at this time of night. "Hello?" he called, waiting for an answer. When there was no knock after ten seconds, Woodstock stood.

He grabbed his pistol off his desk, checked the ammo, and levelled it at the door. Years of combat training had honed his instincts, and he wasn't about to go down in a training camp of all places.

"Show yourself." He called, creeping towards the door. Silence answered him, nothing but the wind moving through the trees.

Woodstock didn't consider himself a stupid man, and so turned the knob, opening the door a crack. He put the pistol out first, scanning the area around the door. Satisfied that there was nothing amiss, he stepped outside fully, checking the corners, gun levelled in case someone rushed him.

When nobody did, he walked back inside, closing the door. He turned to go back to his writing.

A hand grabbed him by the throat, another grabbed his gun wrist. He was lifted up against the door, making a helpless gurgling sound as his panicked grey eyes met calm green ones. Rude unloaded the gun in his sergeants hand with a flick of his fingers, listening as the magazine dropped to the floor.

"What you did to Barry was unforgivable, Woodstock." The recruit growled. Woodstock gasped for air as Rude's grip tightened. "Fortunately, there is redemption available."

Rude's grip on Woodstock's wrist slackened ever so slightly as he focused on strangling the sergeant. Woodstock had only one chance.

Sharply, he pulled his gun hand out of Rude's grip and put it in the middle of Rude's forehead, firing. The blank cartridge made a cracking sound, and gunpowder flew into Rude's eyes. With a yell, Rude brought his free hand around, the weighted gloves adding to the powerful strike across Woodstock's jaw. A crack signalled the bone snapping, pushed past it's endurance point. Much like the two combatants.

Rude kicked the older man in the stomach as he fell. Woodstock doubled over, groaning. Rude staggered out the door, half blind and confused. He stumbled into the woods he jogged in for the last two months, looking at himself in the water.

His eyes were yellow. Bright yellow. Canary freaking yellow.

He pulled sunglasses from his inside pocket, donning them quickly. Yellow eyes meant that he didn't blend in. Yellow eyes marked him as an oddity.

Yellow eyes were going to be a problem.

Rude awoke with a start, on a strange couch, without a shirt. He squinted, rubbing his head absently as he looked around. He was in a living room, he thought. A well decorated living room, with the walls a soft, light brown, the television on but muted.

He sat up, one arm leveraging himself on the back of the couch. Two curious faces were looking at him over the opposite arm.

He rubbed his neck absently. "Uh… Hi." He said, wincing at the sound of his own voice. It sounded scratchy, like he had just woken up from a long and deep sleep. The two kids continued scrutinizing him, sizing him up, testing the waters before diving in.

The little girl spoke first. "Hi. I'm Marlene." She said brightly, coming forwards, extending her hand. The boy ducked lower, clearly the more cautious of the two.

"Rude." He said flatly, engulfing her hand in his. She studied his eyes.

"Why're your eyes so weird?" She asked, cocking her head. The boy hissed at her.

"Marlene! That's rude."

Marlene looked at the boy. "Can it, Denzel. You're just mad because I asked first."

"Am not."

"Are too!"

Rude fell back against the arm of the couch with a small sigh, watching the little ones bicker. He squinted against the sunlight streaming through the window, his gaze roaming the room, taking in the sights.

Sunlight…

Rude bolted upright again, his bandaged shoulder wound singing with pain as he did so. He looked around nervously, running his hands over his shaved crown.

It was morning. Which meant he must've gotten to where he was going. Which means that he was in 7th heaven.

Did Tifa patch him up last night? If she did, she did a really good job with the bandaging. He ran his fingers over his wrapped abdomen, feeling for flaws. There were none. Truly a terrific job.

Someone cleared their throat, and Rude looked up to see Marlene and Denzel watching him.

"Cloud said you'd be staying with us a while. Is it true, Rude?" Marlene smiled at him. Rude shook his head.

"I'm not sure." He said, standing. The room tilted a little, but he could stand without support. His shoulder, in addition to having a hole in it, also was scraped from when he walked along the wall. He felt the scabbing, satisfying himself at the fact that they were healing quickly.

"Where'd you get the scars?" Denzel asked shyly, pointing at his chest.

Rude didn't answer, instead stalked past the two little ones and into the bar area.

The bar was bustling with patrons, the noise level a steady hum as he strode through, searching for the exit. A familiar spiky blonde head was suddenly in view, and he walked towards it.

Cloud was just finishing a conversation with a potential client when a shadow came across his path. He turned to see Rude, barefoot and shirtless, standing in front of him. Cloud's mako-blue eyes met Rude's mustard-yellow ones, and the two men looked awkwardly at each other for some time before someone spoke.

"Thank you." The bald man said, nodding. Cloud nodded back.

"You're welcome. I would ask for an explanation, but I'm not sure if I actually want to know." Tifa came up behind his shoulder, putting a hand on Cloud's arm, leaning into his shoulder as she looked at Rude.

"I would, if you don't mind. Did it happen near here?"

Rude nodded. "I was escorting a client through Midgar with a partner. We were ambushed."

Cloud looked intrigued at this bit of news, reaching over and covering Tifa's hand with his. "Where?"

"About four blocks from here. Five of them, not exactly well trained. Mr. Miyagi and my partner were the first ones down. I had to fight my way out." He searched his pockets for something, and came up with a gold necklace. "Does this mean anything to you?"

Cloud took the trinket, turning it over in his hands. He shook his head. Tifa left his side to go take a few orders at the far side of the bar. "It doesn't look familiar. Why?"

Rude took it back. "One of them was wearing it. Same guy who ripped my ear stud out."

"Where is he now?"

"Dead." Rude's voice was flat as he said it. Cloud didn't look surprised. "I need to find out who did this, Cloud. I need to found out who wanted us dead."

Cloud nodded, but noted the sweat on Rude's brow. "You need to lie down again, Rude. You've been shot. Take a few days, recover, and then go find out who did it."

Rude nodded, leaning against the bar for support. "Thanks."

"Take my bed. It's probably the only one big enough to support you. Go. Get some sleep. I'll even help you in the morning." Cloud watched the big man head up the stairs. Tifa came up behind him.

"So, you gave up your bed, eh?" She said, smiling. Cloud turned to face her. "That was a nice gesture. Where were you planning on sleeping?"

"Well, the couch is always comfortable, and I figured since I get home late anyways, it'd be a good place to crash-"

"My bed's big." Tifa blurted, and then went red. "I- I mean… if you wanted to sleep in a bed, rather than the couch. It's pretty uncomfortable."

Cloud rubbed the back of his neck. "Uh… Sure. If- that's okay with you?"

Tifa nodded. "Yep. Yes. Yes it is."

"Okay then." Cloud grinned lopsidedly, and then jerked his thumb to the door. "I uh… Gotta… see ya." He walked briskly to the door.

"Bye!" Tifa said, hurriedly grabbing a glass to wipe.

"Smooth." muttered one of her customers, grinning at her. Tifa shushed him, pressing her knuckles to her cheeks, trying to soothe the heat.

A/N: If you give me a review, I'll give you a dollar.