By the time Yuffie and Tseng reached the Jade Dragon again, everything ached. Her scraped elbows, her torn, throbbing feet, and especially her cut ear, which pulsed in time with her heartbeat. Fatigue had begun to drag on her, and moving her abused feet was a struggle.

As she and Tseng made their way closer to the restaurant, the lights grew brighter, the sounds louder. On their way back, she'd heard sirens and figured the fire brigade must have arrived. The slums, only a few blocks over, could go up like kindling if they didn't stop the blaze.

When they found themselves once again at the mouth of the alley where they had begun their chase, Yuffie stopped to survey the destruction. Tseng halted just behind her, his presence dwarfed by the raging inferno before them. There was no way Daiyu's restaurant could be salvaged. At this point, the firefighters were just containing the blaze, ensuring it did not spread to the neighboring businesses.

Yuffie's eyes scanned across the crowd of observers, whose faces were cast in strange shadows by the jittery flames. Her eyes lit on Reeve. To his right Nanaki, Tifa, and Cloud also watched in rapt attention as what was left of the Jade Dragon burned to the ground.

"Reeve!" she called, waving her arms. He turned, and when Tifa noticed his shift in attention, the others followed. She saw her own relief mirrored in their faces as they moved to meet her halfway. "Is everyone okay?" She hobbled over, her injuries a little less painful knowing at least a few of her friends had made it out.

"We're all fine," he said. "I'm sorry I couldn't save the place. I bought some time when I managed to disable the clock, but the bomb had a failsafe."

She frowned, scanning him. "You sure you're okay? No lasting psychological traumas?"

"What happened?" Reeve asked.

She felt too tired to explain, so she turned to Tseng. "Maybe you should tell them."

He proceeded to recount their pursuit and eventual elimination of the assassin, all the way up to the discovery of the tattoo. Yuffie described the tear drop-shaped fragment in detail, but none of them seemed to have a clue about its origins.

"I'll see if I can find anything about it," Reeve said after a ponderous silence.

She was about to say, "You do that," but someone interrupted. "My lady," said Daiyu, who had been a few feet away talking to Uryuu in a low voice.

"I promise you," Yuffie said ferociously, pinning Daiyu with her gaze, "I'll rebuild the Jade Dragon, if I have to do it with my bare hands."

With surprising serenity, Daiyu said, "Do not trouble yourself. I have insurance for times such as these."

Nevertheless, Yuffie felt partially responsible for the catastrophe. This restaurant had been Daiyu's life's work, and she knew she would have to pay at least part of the cost for rebuilding it. Since Daiyu did not seem troubled, she tucked these thoughts away and slanted a look toward Uryuu. He did a very good imitation of a man who was not eavesdropping. "You didn't tell me you had a boyfriend."

A shadow of guilt flitted over the older woman's face. "I did not mean to keep it from you, my lady."

Instead of responding, Yuffie met Uryuu's sidelong gaze. "Just know, I have the power to hurt you," she said with a cheerful smile.

"Of course, my Empress," he said with a dip of his head. He looked so serious, the lines in his face speaking to his years. He looked so serious, she felt the wind go out of her sails a bit.

Daiyu held out an object that had been tucked under her arm. "Perhaps you will find this useful."

"Good thinking," she said, taking the guest list and flipping past the decorative cover, through the thick, creamy pages.

Despite being such a small book, Yuffie thought it seemed very heavy all of a sudden. She closed it to gather her wandering thoughts, and the embroidery on the cover seemed to shift and morph before her eyes.

"Yuffie, are you all right?" Tifa asked in a quiet voice.

"I just need to sleep," she said.

"Tseng should take you back to the palace."

"We can manage everything here if you need to leave," Reeve said.

"I need to be here to help," she said. Why am I so tired? I can barely keep my eyes open.

"My lady." Her husband had taken Tifa's place behind Yuffie's shoulder, and he was a solid presence at her back. She wanted to slide down him like a wall, curl up and just sleep for a very, very long time.

"Can you walk?" he asked in a low voice, looping her limp arm through his. She swayed on her feet.

The contact reminded her she was supposed to be angry with him. Weakly, Yuffie shrugged him off. "I can walk."

He took her arm again in a gentle grip. She contemplated continuing the fight, but as her eyelids sank and her muscles sagged, she knew she needed his help. The anticipation of getting back to her bed almost made her weep with relief.

"Just a little farther," he said as he made his way to the car she guessed he had arrived in.

A sharp voice cut through the fog of her exhaustion. "Empress Kisaragi, do you think you can tell us—"

"If you will excuse us," Tseng said to the encroaching reporter, who was drawing the attention of more vulture-like media reps.

The reporter persisted. "Do you have any idea who could be behind such an attack? Where were you when the explosion occurred?"

"Move aside," he said, and his clipped tone brooked no argument. The young man seemed to sense something in Tseng's demeanor that he did not want to challenge and backed off. Tseng took the opportunity to open the door and buckle Yuffie in. A moment later, he had settled himself in the driver's seat, and they were on their way back to the palace.

She nodded off and slipped into a shallow slumber, occasionally awakened by bumps in the road. She had just begun to really give in to sleep when they pulled to a stop, and Tseng turned the engine off. Sharp white light hit her eyes as he opened the door, exposing her to the light of the garage.

The thought of standing up and walking down several hallways to get to their rooms was daunting, and Yuffie struggled to sit up. "Do you need me to carry you?"

At the thought of anyone crossing their paths and witnessing her laid out in his arms like a baby, she pulled on her deepest reserves of energy and managed to swing her legs out of the car and stand. When she leaned heavily on his arm, he refrained from comment.

After what felt like an eternity, they arrived in their rooms, and Yuffie almost collapsed at the sight of the bed. Tseng took a moment to close the door behind them, and she tottered over and planted her face in the mattress.

She was too tired, at this point, to get properly into her pajamas, and she didn't have enough energy to care about modesty. With her best half-dead snake imitation, she wriggled out of her destroyed shoes and got halfway out of her dress before she got stuck. The thought of asking for help seemed awful, but she sent Tseng a somewhat pleading look all the same.

Without saying a word and carefully, as though afraid to frighten her, Tseng picked up one utterly relaxed wrist and began removing her bracelet. She was too tired to feel mortified or angry. His hands were warm and gentle, and she was reminded of her mother. The memory was vague as vapor through her mind, a ghostly recall of cool hands on her brow in the throes of fever.

"Do you remember hitting your head at any point this evening?" Tseng asked as he unclipped her earrings and necklace.

"No," she said. "Just tired. Can I sleep?"

"As soon as we're done with this," he replied, unzipping her dress fully and pulling it down her legs with no-nonsense efficiency. She noticed, then, that he sounded nearly as tired as she did. With a little maneuvering, he slipped the blankets from underneath her prone body and settled them over top of her. After a few moments, the bed dipped under his weight as he slid in beside her.

Before sleep took her, she mumbled, "I wish it could be like this all the time. I wish we could just… be okay."

She almost didn't hear him when he replied. "We are okay, Yuffie."

.

She woke in the late afternoon. The bedside clock glared 3:30 pm at her. The winter sunlight retained some of its harshness even through the deadening effect of the curtains.

When she remembered what exactly had happened the previous night, her first impulse was to crawl back under the covers and spend the rest of the day there. She decided, though, to get dressed and face the world like a big kid. So Tseng saw you in your undies. Big deal.

Just as she swung her legs over the side of the bed, the door opened and her husband entered. Yuffie scrambled to cover herself. He had a tray of food in one hand and a newspaper in the other. As he kicked the door closed behind him, he lifted his head and his eyes lit on her. He set the tray of food on the table beside the bed.

Sounding as awkward as she felt, Yuffie said, "Hi."

"Did you sleep well?"

Instead of answering, she reached a hand out to take his newspaper. Quickly, Tseng pulled it away from her, pushing the tray forward with the other hand.

"Food first, then news," he replied simply, cracking open the paper with his back turned to her so that she couldn't see the subject of his reading.

Her stomach growled loudly, and without further ado, Yuffie dug in to her seasoned rice gruel with single-minded determination. Everything else be damned, she could enjoy food at least. When she was finished a scant ten minutes later, she set her chopsticks down with a deliberate clatter.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, folding the paper and scanning her face.

"Good as new," she lied. She was sore, not to mention still tired. His eyes narrowed, and she pasted on a cheerful smile.

In the silence, she felt nervous and blurted out, "Thanks." At his questioning look, she went on, "For last night, I mean."

"You're welcome," he said, and despite his serious expression she saw a hint of approval in his eyes and around his mouth. The newspaper's pages rustled as he held it out to her. "You should read this."

Yuffie's gaze fell on the front page, where a fantastic picture of the Jade Dragon glared at her, the flames lighting up the dark canvas of the sky around it. In the foreground, she leaned against Tseng looking half-dead while he cast death glares at the reporters surrounding them.

KISARAGI CHARITY EVENT ENDS IN FIERY DISASTER

Empress Alarmingly Silent on the Situation

Her mouth dropped open in outrage. "Those bastards!"

She took the offered paper and scanned the story, nearly ripping it to shreds when she reached the bystander interviews.

"Though I have the utmost respect for the Empress, I wonder if the stress of ruling has overwhelmed her. One wonders how she might have handled this unfortunate incident with a better choice in husband," commented guest Shiga Daitaro.

"That rat bastard's still pissed I rejected him," she said to Tseng.

"There's more," he replied, gesturing for her to continue reading.

The rest of the article consisted of a scathing criticism of her recent ruling decisions and questions as to her ability to handle the throne. When she lowered the newspaper, she let it cover her hands, which shook with rage.

"That's not the only one," Tseng said.

She tipped her head back to look at the canopy and sighed. "I have to figure out what to say to the press."

"The Mighty Gods request your presence in the meeting room for just that purpose," Tseng added, rising. "I'll meet you there."

She sighed as he left, moving toward the bathroom to shower before she faced the music.

Tseng, Shake, Gorki, Staniv, and Chekhov rose and bowed when she entered the room. She tried not to roll her eyes as she took her seat.

"I take it you've all seen the papers?"

"They didn't get your good side," Shake replied.

"They have a talent for not getting your good side," Chekhov added.

She frowned. "I'll release a statement to them as soon as we have any idea of what to say."

"What happened last night?"

She launched into a retelling of the events which had transpired. Only when she described the tattoo did the Mighty Gods bring anything useful to the table, however.

"Could it be-but no, there's no way," Gorki murmured, his round face tense.

"Care to share with the class?" Yuffie waved a hand in front of his face.

"We'd been hearing rumors, but we didn't believe them until—"

"What rumors?" Yuffie asked sharply.

Gorki ran his hands through his thinning hair. "My informants in the black market have been reporting rumors of activity from the Black Flower Syndicate."

"What? Who?" Yuffie looked around the room in bewilderment. She saw that Shake looked just as confused as she did, but Staniv had stiffened, and Chekhov gripped the table with her gnarled fingers.

"How can you be sure?" Chekhov breathed. Yuffie had never heard the rock-solid woman sound so frightened.

"Wait a minute," Yuffie interjected. "What the hell is the Black Flower Syndicate? I know we have trouble with gang activity sometimes, but a crime syndicate?"

"They were the demon of Wutai before you were born. When your Great Aunt Wu had the throne, the Black Flower Syndicate was the scourge of her days," said Staniv. "Empress Wu had much trouble with them, as they had most of Wutai's business either in their pockets or too scared to move against them. They were led by a man named Kurosaki, born into money which he used to control the private sector."

"He was a terrible man," Chekhov said, folding her hands in her lap and looking grave. "It was an act of the Gods that he disappeared when he did."

Yuffie supposed she and Shake were too young to have known about the Black Flower Syndicate. Chekhov, Staniv, and even Gorki seemed haunted by the shadow of this memory. "Why haven't I heard about any of this before?" she asked, frowning.

Gorki cleared his throat. "A few years before the Wutai-Shinra War, Kurosaki disappeared, and the organization never recovered."

"The tragedy of the Wutai-Shinra War pushed aside the memory of the Black Flower Syndicate," Chekhov admitted. "Much has happened since then."

"And you say they're active again? What does that mean?" Yuffie asked Gorki.

"A mole I have planted in the black market has reported seeing a resurgence of the Black Flower insignia."

"What does it look like?" Shake asked.

"There's a picture in the file," Gorki said. Yuffie thumbed through the papers until she discovered a printed photo of a black flower with red markings. It didn't look like the tattoo on their assassin, but that marking had been obscured. It was entirely possible he'd had this black flower before the scarring had destroyed all but a portion of it. "Members of the organization had this tattooed on them."

"Do you know why they might be re-activating?"

Gorki shook his head. "I don't know. My informants haven't returned anything noteworthy, but we're working on turning up something more useful."

Yuffie stared at the table, pondering the continued problems in Wutai. It always seemed to be one step forward, two steps back with her ancestral home. She sighed. "If that's all the information you have, let's set this aside. What else is on the agenda?"

"This might be of some use," Tseng said, reaching into a briefcase at his feet and fishing out a clipboard.

"Remind me to thank Daiyu again," Yuffie said, taking the offered guest list. She flipped through idly, unsure of what she might find, then stopped and frowned on reaching the "S" section. There was no entry for Shiga Daitaro, and she remembered now that she'd forgone inviting him when it came time to narrow down the guest list. Faced with limited space option, she had snipped him from the final list at the memory of his rude behavior in the palace. So what was he doing at the Jade Dragon?

Gorki reached over and took the clipboard out of her hands, interrupting her puzzling thoughts. "I'll have to peruse this."

She tried to say, "I wasn't done with that," but Shake interrupted her by slapping his hand on the table. "What are you even doing in here? You should be resting."

"I'm fine," she protested.

"Yuffie," he said, and more firmly, "Yuffie. Seriously. You're falling to pieces."

"Now you, Shake?"

He scowled. "No offense, your highness, but I can see from looking at you that a piece of your ear's missing. Having fun growing that back?"

Her hand flew reflexively to the shell of the ear that had been nicked by the knife last night. It was still tender, and after her shower, it had become puffy and swollen. "It's not as bad as it looks."

He crossed his arms, sending her a stern look. "I can't imagine how the rest of you looks. Gorki, keep those papers. One of yours can handle it."

Seeing that she was not going to convince them, she rose and said coldly, "Meeting adjourned."

Dinner was odd. It seemed like the quiet nights from before their falling out, when Yuffie had grown somewhat comfortable in Tseng's presence, had even looked forward to their alone time and taken some amount of solace in it. Still, she felt some lingering awkwardness and was surprised when he looked up from the thick book he was poring over and said without warning, "They're out of line, but they care about you."

"Reading at the table is really rude, you know." She jabbed a chopstick toward his book.

"So is pointing with chopsticks." He closed the tome and set it to the side of the deep red cushion he kneeled on. "And they're right. You should rest."

She wanted to say, And since when are you in a position to tell me what I should do? Something made her hold her tongue, though. Maybe she had gotten better control of her mouth. Or maybe she was just tired of fighting with him.

Before she could formulate a suitable response, however, he spoke again. "How does your ear feel?"

"Okay, I guess," she shrugged. She itched to do get up and do something interesting. Training with Chekhov was off for tonight, to better allow for her recovery, and Shake refused to spar with her. She didn't bother asking Tseng. She knew him well enough by now to predict his disapproval.

"Perhaps it should have had stitches." He frowned, squinting at it.

"It's just a little tender right now," she insisted.

"And your strength? Do you feel it's returning?"

Now that he mentioned it, she'd noticed some residual fatigue, but she didn't want to tell anyone for fear they'd coddle her further. Truth be told, she suspected her exhaustion the previous night had been two parts assassin-chasing and one part Leviathan. Running with all senses on a god's version of high alert had most likely taxed her beyond her usual physical and spiritual means.

"I'm kinda tired, but that's not abnormal. Probably gonna hit the hay early tonight."

"You'll excuse me if I stay awake for paperwork."

"Nope. You're not excused."

Tseng blinked, staring at her like he didn't understand.

She pasted on her most serious face. "You have to stay and watch me sleep. Hours of entertainment."

A small smile tugged at his mouth. "I see. I will just have to suffer the glory of your visage until you fall asleep, then slip away."

"Tseng," she mock-gasped, holding a hand to her heart, "you would do that to me?"

"Never," he said, then put another bite of kalamari in his mouth, chewing with care. Yuffie had noticed he enjoyed each meal as if it were his last and supposed it was a direct result of his childhood and life in the Turks.

She laid awake for a while after Tseng turned out the lights and shut the door, unable to fall asleep after waking in the late afternoon. Thoughts turned over and over in her head—the fragment of a tattoo, the bomb, the assassin. Yuffie wondered what could be happening around her that she just could not seem to put the pieces together. The woman who held the gun to her head and the man in black—were they working together? Who had planted the bomb? Why was Shiga at the auction?

After half an hour of chasing her own tail, tossing and turning and pulling up the sheets on the bed, she decided she'd just take her concerns to Tseng and see what he said. Throwing on a couple of robes, she told the guards she was off to visit the Emperor in his office.

She'd made it a little over halfway there when everything went wrong.

Looking back later, Yuffie would be unable to recall what alerted her to the presence of intruders. Perhaps it was a small sound, some creak of the floors which could not be attributed to the palace settling. Perhaps it was the unnamable instinct for danger which had kept her alive thus far. Whatever it was, she hesitated mid-step and did a one-eighty.

Yuffie ducked. A split second later, and she would've been laid out—a fist swung through the space her head had just occupied. She aimed a quick jab at the assailant's unguarded solar plexus, then took two steps backward to avoid the second person—a woman, Yuffie registered as the black-clad figure lurched forward and tried to grapple with her.

If she didn't take control of the situation, one of her attackers would grab her. And she was sure they wanted to take her, not kill. The man had a curved dagger sheathed at his waist, and the woman had a sword strapped to her back. They had made no moves to use deadly force, and she suspected they would not.

The man had time to recover in the few seconds the woman had distracted her, so Yuffie made a split-second decision and pushed, slamming her attacker into the wall. She wrenched her hand from the woman's slackening grip and punched on the right cheekbone, temporarily putting her out of commission. In that moment, the other attacker wrapped his arms around her from behind and pulled her off the woman.

Yuffie took a deep breath to scream. If she yelled, she might alert more of these people to her presence, but she was running out of options. She just hoped someone would hear her. Before she could let loose with a shout to bring down the palace, though, the man clapped a heavy hand over her mouth and nose, squeezing. She struggled, but he was nearly twice her size, and her vision quickly blackened at the edges.

On the precipice of unconsciousness, the man released her. She slipped to her hands and knees, gasping for breath. She wasn't sure who had helped her, and she couldn't be bothered investigating as she gulped sweet oxygen into her starving lungs. When she had regained her wits, she registered the hand in front of her face.

She took it and found herself hauled to her feet. When she stood, she was face to face with Tseng.

"Uh, thanks," she said, still a bit out of breath. He was very close to her, his eyes dark and concerned. His hands skimmed over her, checking for injuries.

"Are you all right?"

She was too flustered at him touching her to answer. She was saved when the woman slumped against the wall stirred, groaning softly.

"You have to come with me now," he said. He tipped her chin up with one hand, turned her head this way and that to examine the marks on her face from the man's hand.

"What? What is it?"

"We're been infiltrated. Let's go," he threw over his shoulder as he took off, obviously expecting her to follow.

"By who?"

Without warning, he skidded to a stop, and she collided with his back. He just barely wrapped his body around her in time to roll them out of the way of the three throwing stars that struck the wall. Yuffie had half a second to register their new position on the floor before Tseng swept to his feet and whipped out two handguns.

Without hesitation, he fired a few rounds into the darkened hallway. They weren't very far from the first attackers, and she wondered if more would come from that direction. She threw anxious looks over her shoulder while she tried to pay attention to action unfolding before her.

"Go back," Tseng snarled, pushing her that way with his body. She scrambled to move, tripping a couple of times in her haste, and took off in the opposite direction. Tseng followed behind her, and she couldn't tell if they were being tailed by the attacker.

Her uncertainty dissolved when Tseng hissed in pain.

"You okay?" she asked, alarmed. He urged her onward, pushing at her shoulders.

"Go!"

She and Tseng were about to reach a widening of the corridor and a series of guest sleeping quarters. She knew of an exit a few short halls away. The question was whether they could make it that far.

"I'm passing a law against assassins," Yuffie huffed.

"Already have one."

"Damn."

Events went sour when they turned the corner and found themselves in a widening hallway. A figure stood haloed in the bright lights. In the half-second she paused to squint, the figure raised its arm. A deafening crack sounded.

She whirled at a choked sound behind her. Tseng clutched his chest. A flower of red bloomed beneath his hand, and he fell to his knees. When he sucked in a breath, it sounded wet and broken.

"No," she breathed, feeling as though someone had punched her in the gut. Tseng can't die, she thought stupidly. Tseng's invincible.

She didn't have time to dwell on him. The shooter behind her was first priority. As she put her back to the wall, she fished in the inner pockets of her hastily donned kimono, congratulating herself on disorganization as she found two shuriken and a half-mastered fire materia.

The assassin following them rounded the corner and loosed a few shuriken. Yuffie cast a fire spell in that direction. A quick burst of satisfaction shot through her at the resulting shriek. She turned, prepared for a repeat performance with the shooter. Instead, Yuffie crumpled at a blow to her head with the blunt end of the gun. She grunted as she smacked the floor, and the edges of her vision darkened. Her gaze lit on Tseng, still and white-faced a few feet away.

With the last of her willpower, head pounding and ears ringing, Yuffie pulled herself toward him, one hand feeling for his ruined chest. His blood soaked her hand much too quickly. She gasped and felt almost as if she had been shot in the chest herself. It hurt to breathe.

Please, she thought. The word played in her head like a chant. Yuffie felt something electric inside her surge outward through her fingertips and transfer to him with a snap.

Footsteps approached. A socked-and-sandaled foot settled next to her outstretched arm. Before she could follow it up to the owner's face, she blacked out.