Heat

Rude hated what his life had become, ever since his abrupt departure from the guardship. He worked now as a gun for hire, a mercenary out on loan for whoever had the most dough. Two years he'd slaved for mobsters, gangsters, businessmen, even a housewife needing protection. His services were on a strict 'don't ask, don't tell' basis. He didn't want to know anything more than he needed to, and gangs respected that about him.

Shadier clientele liked the way he looked professional, bomber jacket always zipped, collared shirt pressed and clean, sunglasses and shaved head. He was professionalism personified in a large package. They also liked his morals, or lack thereof. He had common sense, but he did anything to get the job done, come hell or high water. This made him a very busy man, and he moved up in the underground of Edge.

On this particular day, the sun beat down on his shaven head as he walked the streets of Edge. Usually, citizens never felt safe in the slums, but the weight of the pistol strapped to his chest made Rude feel a little better about his position. He walked into a very unkempt building, with a lopsided roof atop a red brick structure, complete with broken windows. Rude sighed. His clientele wasn't getting an upgrade in lodgings, it seemed.

Rude stepped past the two guards standing near the doorway, walking straight to the kitchen. There, Mr. Miyagi, a short asian man, was seated, talking heatedly with two guests, both sporting white suits. Rude felt a little underdressed, his usual attire of black bomber jacket overtop of a white collared shirt paled in comparison to suits and bowler hats.

"I understand, Mr. Mareno, but I cannot be held responsible for the actions of one group of terrorists- ah, Rude. Right on time, as usual. Sit." Miyagi indicated the only available chair. Rude shook his head, crossing his hands behind his back. Miyagi sighed.

"This one's a gem, gentlemen. He never sits. Not unless you pay him to." Miyagi chuckled. "Rude, I want you to meet the Mareno brothers. They were just leaving, unfortunately." Miyagi snapped his fingers, and two broad shouldered men walked into the room. The two suits stood up.

"Remember our warning, Miyagi. A little money goes a long way." They turned and left, escorted by the broad-chested bodyguards. Miyagi sighed, and rubbed his temples.

"Business isn't like it used to be, Rude. These two… imbeciles expect me to fund some harebrained terrorist scheme to bring down Shinra. Like anyone could accomplish that!" The little man barked a laugh, and then softened, looking at Rude almost apologetically.

"I have unpleasant business for you, Rude. I'm very sorry of it's nature, but someone has to do it, and you're the only merc in the city that I can trust. I'd send one of my boys, but…" Miyagi shrugged. Rude understood. Miyagi didn't want anyone to trace him to his crimes. Miyagi reached behind him, grabbing a file folder.

"There's a man. Like usual. He lives in Wutai. Bit of a trip, but all your expenses will be paid. I don't really want to go into detail, but this man needs to die." Miyagi paused. "Other casualties will not be punished."

Rude again understood the little man's undertone. "Other Casualties" meant this man - whoever he was- and his family had to go. The reports would claim that it was collateral damage. Apparently, Miyagi was really pissed.

Rude briefly wondered what the guy did to earn his wrath.

"It needs to look like an accident, or a random mob. We need you to use fire. Engulf the house, make sure there are no survivors." Miyagi slid a pair of weighted gloves across the table. "These are flame resistant and weighted. I know how much you prefer weighted gloves. Consider them a gift."

Rude caressed the calloused leather, remembering another time, another house, where he'd brought his fist across an old man's jaw, shattering it…

"You leave as soon as possible. Money and further information is in there." Miyagi indicated the folder with his chin. Rude nodded and left, taking the gloves with him. As he walked outside, he passed a man with flame red hair, tied in a loose ponytail. The man gave him a smirk as he walked past, and the bald Mercenary had the time to look at his attire. Ruffled suit, unpressed collar, scuffed designer shoes.

Turk.

Rude didn't return the nod, walking out briskly. He didn't like Turks. Didn't know anyone who did. They got in the way of things, made business run roughly. If Shinra wanted someone protected that Miyagi wanted dead, things often got interesting.

Rude prayed silently that this job would go over smooth. He didn't like fighting Turks.

---

"Reno." Miyagi said, folding his arms. "What have I done to interest the Turks?"

Reno sat against the table, looking at his fingernails. "What haven't you done is a shorter list, short stop." He smiled, and jerked his thumb at the door. "You still employing Mr. Clean?"

"He does good work. A man like me needs a man like him. It keeps things… convenient." Miyagi sighed, reaching behind him and grabbing a brown envelope. He tossed it to the Turk. Reno caught it, grinning.

"There. That's a months payment. Please stay away from my establishment."

Reno laughed. "I didn't come here to collect, shorty. I came here to find someone. Someones, actually. The Moreno brothers. Apparently, Shinra has an interest in them."

Miyagi squinted at the Turk, who was now sitting full on the kitchen table. He hated dealing with Shinra. It was bad for business. "For what, exactly?"

"Don't know, don't care. Only been in the Turks a few months. All I care about is getting the prize." He leaned across the table, grinning. "Where are they, Miyagi?"

Miyagi shrugged. "Gone. You missed them. They came here, asking me to fund some project of theirs. They left when I refused."

Reno smirked. "Miyagi, you refused to help someone? Perish the thought."

Miyagi shrugged again. "There's no money in terrorism."

"Ain't that the truth." Reno said, grinning. He stood. "I'll be off. Thanks for the chat, shorty."

At the door, Reno turned to look at the short mobster. "Oh, and one more thing. That guy in Wutai who refused to take your bet? Shinra's got an interest in him. Something about "advanced testing" in biotechnics or something. I hope Mr. Clean is prepared for a fight."

Miyagi watched the flame haired Turk leave. He immediately grabbed his cell phone, dialing Rude's number. No answer. Rude never answered when he traveled.

With no way to warn the prized merc, Miyagi had just sentenced him to death.

--

Rude lay on a hill, hood of his bomber jacket pulled over his head, the only skin showing was the skin around his eye. The eye itself was looking through a high powered scope, attached to a high caliber sniper rifle. The sights of said rifle were now on a house, which was about to be engulfed in flame.

Rude checked his watch, waiting for exactly three o'clock in the morning. Three minutes to go. It hadn't been a big deal to sneak into the house and rig the stove to blow up at three, using a disintegrating timer and fuse. When the explosion happened, they would be reduced to ash, just more debris in the wake of the rest of the house.

The rifle was a precaution. If anyone in the family tried to escape, he'd gun them down. Simple as that.

Through the scope, he saw two suited men walking up to the house. His eyes widened. No way they could be…

The pair knocked on the door of the house, a red haired one drew his pistol. The one that looked like the leader, blonde, spoke into what looked like a radio. The knocking finally yielded in a result, the house owner poked his head outside. The suited duo spoke quickly to him, and he ran back inside.

One of them turned his face to the side a little, looking in the general direction of Rude, his gaze cool and determined.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Turks.

Someone must've tipped them off. Miyagi? No. The man was like an uncle to Rude, and he'd die before selling him out. The Morenos? No way Avalanche backers were snitching to Shinra execs. That left…

The red head that he had passed.

The little sneak had been listening. Rude cursed his luck. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He had been careless, and now he was screwed.

He faced a difficult decision; fight or run. They clearly knew where he was, so fleeing straight forwards or backwards was out. He could open fire, kill the two standing there, but that would lead to a manhunt. Besides, Turks rarely traveled in pairs at night; usually backup was only a short helicopter ride away. Rude swore again, and made his decision. Fleeing. He quickly packed the sniper rifle up, putting it in its case.

"Going somewhere?" A voice said behind him. He stiffened. Of course.

He snapped the case shut, and put his sunglasses on. He heard a pistol cock. "On your feet, turn around, hands where I can see them."

Rude rose, his hands in the air, but he didn't turn around just yet. He stood, weighing his options, waiting for the Turk to make a mistake.

A sigh was heard behind him, and footsteps drew nearer. Rude counted them, waiting.

When the steps hit eight, Rude swung, hitting the gun away with his outstretched fist. His other hand hit the man in the gut, simultaneously bringing his knee up to hit the Turk in the chin as he doubled over. The Turk made a gurgling sound as he staggered backwards, leaving himself open for a kick in the face. He slumped, unconscious.

Rude grabbed the case and ran, his strides growing longer as he ran down the hill, away from the house. An explosion sounded, roaring in his ears. He grimaced, not even satisfied with another job well done.

All he could think was a continued mantra. I just knocked out a Turk…

A knock on his- or rather, Cloud's - door disturbed his waltz down memory lane. He looked up from his seat on the floor and said in a choked voice, "Come in."

The door creaked open, and an unfamiliar silhouette briefly filled the room. The door closed and a female figure walked towards him, carrying a tray. He looked up at her, recognizing her from his hunt for Avalanche.

"Why're you on the floor?" Yuffie asked, noting his position. He was sitting with his knees close to his chest, arms folded on his knees. He was clad only in pants. Yuffie tried not to stare at him shirtless, but there she was, gawking anyways.

"Didn't feel right to take the bed. It's too small anyways. And I think I've slept enough for a week." Rude relaxed from his tense position. He'd been sitting there for hours, it felt like. Long enough for the sky to get dark, anyways.

"Yeah, well, sleeping for eighteen hours is likely to do that to you." She set the tray on the nightstand positioned at the foot of the bed. "Mind if I join you? I'm having trouble sleeping, too."

Rude gestured to the floor beside him. She smiled and settled on the floor, leaning against the wall, mimicking his leg position.

Rude cocked his head at her, looking at her face. She looked back, briefly meeting his gaze, staring at the yellow.

"Your eyes are a little… unorthodox." She said meekly, looking away. He nodded, breaking the gaze too.

"Yeah… Long story." He said, simply. He had been having a lot of uncomfortable memories lately, memories that didn't need to be unlocked just yet. But strangely, he felt comfortable here, sitting on the floor. Company didn't hurt, either.

"So, why can't you sleep?" Rude said, looking at her. She turned her face to the ceiling, closing her eyes.

"I dunno. I guess… It's been a hectic few days, I guess. The whole reason I came down here was to escape my father, y'know?" She smiled. "And now, I… I don't think I want to go back."

"To Wutai?" He said. She started, and looked at him. Had she told him where she lived?

"Yes…" She said, slowly. "It's a beautiful country, but being a princess and all is… hard work." She chuckled. He was still looking at her, gazing at her face. She squirmed a bit and changed the subject. "What about you? Why couldn't you sleep?"

That made him shift his gaze, and Yuffie couldn't decide whether or not that was a good thing. "Nightmares." he said, flatly. Yuffie nodded.

A comfortable silence stretched between them, Yuffie shifting every once and a while to find a comfortable position on the floor, Rude staying stock still and staring straight ahead. She wondered how he did that, staying so stock still. She asked him.

He seemed surprised by the question, and shifted his gaze back to her again. "I was trained as a sniper. It's second nature, I guess."

She smiled, nodding. "You've spent most of your life fighting, then?"

Rude nodded somberly. "I was born in a bad neighbourhood. I thought I could escape it by becoming a Guard for Shinra, but… well, life goes on." He sighed heavily. She sighed too, and rose.

"I better get some sleep. Tomorrow, I'm taking you to get some clothes." Rude looked at her in confusion. "Unless you plan to go about exacting revenge shirtless." She added. Rude smiled, and nodded.

She exited, reminiscing about the peace of the strange exchange. His quiet nature made sense to her, now. In the peace and quiet of his room, she had realised a lot about him.

His eyes were still his most startling feature, but they seemed to wax and wane. When he was quiet and staring, they seemed dull, but when they focused on her face, they brightened to an almost topaz hue. And his voice was deep, gravely.

She smiled to herself as she made her way back to the guest bedroom, humming softly. She lay in bed, quietly pondering the man who had seen the entire world, and all it had taught him was how to fight.

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