[FF7-AC] Empire : Chapter 11
[FF7-AC] Empire: Chapter 11
Rating PG-13 (Safe for work) - Status: In progress - Chapter 11/? - Warnings: None
Pairings: Tseng/Rufus, Rude/Reno
Fic summary: Post-AC, barreling down the road to the reconstruction ofShinra Company. A Hero, a President, a new world, and the politics that draw them all into a tangled web beyond all ability to forecast.
Chapter Summary: In which there is a lot of running away.
A/N: Draft. Only proofread once. Please let me know if there are any errors.
XI
5.33.
There was something about the air here in Corel. The night brought reprieve from the sun, and with it temperatures plummeted. With the heat and bustle of the day vanished without a trace, it seemed like an entirely different world.
5.34.
The cold gave the Ghost Hotel of the Golden Saucer a real chill, enough to make it comfortable under a thick quilt - one, the staff had assured him, had been stained with the blood of the last occupant of the room, who had been murdered in this very bed.
Right. Whatever.
5.35.
But for all that the cold transformed the place, the taste of the air was still the same. Dry. Dusty. Acrid. It stuck at the back of the throat, whispered tales of lives of hardship, toil, and loss. It reeked of Corel, through and through.
And it gave him insomnia.
5.3--
Cloud growled in sleepy frustration and rolled over onto the side where he didn’t have to face the green glow of numbers counting the minutes away till morning. Something creaked ominously, one of the myriad sound effects that the hotel provided, and he rolled his eyes at it. Ghosts be damned; the only white spectre haunting him these days was Rufus bloody Shinra. The one who’d sent him all the way out here on a run that was nothing more than a wild-goose chase. Tifa had been mad, and he knew that by the time he noticed something like that, she must have been really mad. It had made him miss... some important event. Some school thing that one of the kids was having. Denzel, probably. But it might have been Marlene. Or both.
You promised, Tifa said, hurt and angry.
I know, he lied, even if he didn’t remember having promised such a thing. It’s just that... things are crazy lately. I’m sorry.
He was making money at last, he felt like saying. The WRO and Shinra paid, and paid well. He didn’t have to go out sourcing for jobs, which should have given him more time to stay at home with them. Except that ... well. He hadn’t. And he was getting the feeling that, like the damn clock on the sidetable, time was ticking on.
Damnit.
He rolled back over.
5.40.
His phone was on the bedside table. He grabbed it, flicking it open. The screen flashed back at him, void of any messages or missed calls. She hadn’t called. Two days and she hadn’t called.
His finger hovered over the numbers for a moment, before he sighed and snapped it shut instead. It would be... 4 am back at the Edge, and Tifa was going to be seriously mad if he called up in the middle of the night, to say-
--to say, what? Hi, I’m at the Golden Saucer. I decided to call and ask how are things...
That ... was simply asking to be kicked. He’d promised to bring the kids here, and come out and visit Barret while they were at it. But one thing or another had come up, and he didn’t have time, they didn’t have time, no one had time, there just wasn’t enough time, and somehow, it had just been one of those things that had hovered on the To Do list until it’d just slipped out of mind.
Too late to regret it now, he figured, staring at the phone for a moment longer before tossing it back onto the sidetable.
5.43.
She hadn’t called. She always called.
Ask her whether they needed anything - bread, milk, books for the kids...? Except that he was headed back to Junon, and Reeve would give him that earnest look and a pat on the back before sending him out on another delivery. And then he’d have to apologise to Tifa again -- sorry, another job came up, sorry, I couldn’t spare time to go home...
Sorry, I couldn’t make time for you.
But you can make time for Rufus Shinra, she would say, eyes flashing with hurt and accusation. He didn’t know. He didn’t understand it either. It was just... work. Work that got in the way of things. Work that drove him out, and ...
...and no, if he was utterly honest with himself, it wasn’t.
Home was... light and noise and the kids’ high voices chiming for attention, their happy chatter, their endless queries. And he loved it, he loved listening to Denzel’s latest project, and Marlene’s school day, he loved seeing their bright eyes and joyful smiles. Most of all, he loved looking up and seeing the corner of Tifa’s mouth twitch, the way her features softened and relaxed. Contentment. The family around him. Tifa smiling. And for a moment, all would be right with the world.
But only for a moment. His eyes would linger a moment too long, and his heart would skip a beat, thinking of brown hair instead of black, green eyes. And his heart would start thinking of another, soft smile, and wondering why- why Aeris couldn’t be here with them, why he couldn’t have protected her, why he couldn’t have led her through the death and destruction and into this new world.
And then he would flee, stuttering excuses, jumping on the bike and revving the engine until he was speeding away. Running. Running knowing that he broke Tifa’s heart each time he did it, but he couldn’t... just couldn’t... how could he be the one she wanted when all he saw when he looked at her was another love, long dead?
“Damnit,” he growled out loud, and somewhere, a fake ghost screamed.
This always happened. He’d start thinking, and his thoughts would fumble down the same, worn path, down to the same, old problems. Aeris was dead, and he loved her. Zack was dead, and he loved him. Tifa wasn’t, and...
...and he felt guilty.
5.46.
He dragged himself out of bed, and headed for the bathroom. The water from the tap was freezing, and it was a welcomed shock to his senses when he splashed it across his face. He swiped the lingering droplets from his face with a vicious movement, angry for no fathomable reason. In the mirror, his eyes glowed in the half-dark, mako light dancing in their depths like fireflies on a summer’s evening.
For a moment, he almost fancied he saw Zack staring out at him. But the blue distracted, and water tugged his fringe down, and instead of a familiar, roguish grin, he saw blue and blond and a polite, distant smile.
I had feelings for Zack.
“Bastard,” he growled, something that might have been envy twisting in the pit of his stomach. “Should have killed you when I had the chance.”
His reflection stared back. Water dripped off his bangs, falling soundlessly to the sink. The words echoed off the walls, resounding more in his head than in his ears. And they sounded tired. Not vehement, not like they used to. Just tired. A mantra he’d said too many times.
And he realised that... that he was getting tired of it. In fact, he realised that he was getting tired of everything. Tired of the twist in his heart when he thought of Zack and Aeris. Tired of the twist in his stomach when he thought of home and Tifa and the kids. Tired of running. Tired of hating. Tired of... tired of feeling, period.
He rested his forehead against the mirror, closed his eyes, and sighed. His breath turned to fog upon the glass.
Half an hour later, he was on the road again. There was a muted glow on the horizon that whispered of dawn and the heat to come, and as dust and gravel pinged against his goggles, he found himself infinitely glad that he was getting out of here before it turned into an inferno.
He bent forward over the bike, jaw set. His mind was made up. He wasn’t going to run any more. Whether or not he loved Tifa ... was irrelevant. He was fond of her. But more importantly, he owed it to her, and to the children, the ones who had given him a home, a family of sorts. The ones who had given him their love, and he... he had selfishly sucked it dry and used to it fuel an ... obsession with the past.
His phone was in his hand as he pulled onto the main road. The sound of the phone at the other end of the line chimed in his ear: once, twice, three times.
No more. He owed a duty to the living, not to the dead. He would not lose Tifa because he was too busy pining over Aeris.
There was a click, then the answering machine: Hi, you have reached the answering machine of the Seventh Heaven bar and restaurant.
He felt like something had just hit him. Hard. In the gut. Tifa... Tifa had changed the message? It had been... it had been Strife Delivery Service for as long as he could remember-
We are unable to take your call at this time.
When had she changed it?
...When was the last time he’d called?
Please leave a message after the beep, and we’ll get back to you as soon as possible!
Why had she-
Beep.
“Uh-” words didn’t seem to want to get past the block. “Um.”
A buggy went past him at full speed, churning up dust and gravel that nearly blinded him.
“Ah... hi Tifa. This is Cloud.” He swallowed, hard, which might have been a mistake. It felt like the dust turned to mud in his throat. “Just finishing up a job. Got a couple of souvenirs for you and the kids.”
He paused, faltering. Floundering. His conviction wavered, and he found himself suddenly unwilling to say the next thing on the agenda. Unwilling to commit. It would be so easy to hang up now... to make no promises, the same way he’d been doing for the past two... three years...
Kid, you faced Sephiroth, and you can’t even face your own family?
Shut up, he told that obnoxious inner voice, that always, always sounded like Zack.
You know I’m right. Come on. Shoulders back, chin up, put some strength into that backbone...
Shut up!
Not until you listen, chocobo head.
Cloud groaned mentally. Fine. Fine. Whatever. Wasn’t that hard. He’d saved the world twice. This was easy. Take a deep breath, and just ... say it.
“Um.”
He could swear he saw his little mental Zack slapping his forehead in frustration. And giving him The Look. It was the same Look that Zack had given him every time he’d mumbled his misgiving about not making it into the SOLDIER programme, every time he’d been tempted to just give up and slink away, and run for dear life.
It was the Look he couldn’t argue with.
Fine.
“I’ll be back.” It was strange how easy it was to say those simple, ordinary words. “I’m coming home after this run, and we’ll bring the kids to the Saucer. Just thought I’d let you know.”
Strange how easy it was to say, once he’d started.
“Promise.”
*
Dawn broke in flames over Junon. The view of the sky between the foliage that was streaking past was one that burned an angry, flickering red.
In between the bumps on the road that threatened to give him whiplash, Rufus glanced out of the car window and scowled. “It seems that they torched Junon,” he muttered.
Rude, bent in concentration over the steering wheel as he threw them at breakneck speed over little used forest trails, nodded his assent.
“Who... could be behind this?”
“Don’t know,” Rude replied. “Tseng went to investigate.”
Which meant that they would know more when they got in touch with Tseng. If they got in touch with Tseng.
They went over a pothole, hard enough to rattle Rufus’ teeth. They’d swerved off the established roads as soon as they could, which left them ploughing through forest trails on a car that was, by all accounts, not a four wheel drive. His PHS was clenched tight between nerveless fingers, and he found that if he held on hard enough, until the edges were cutting into his palms, it could detract from the terrible tide of fear threatening to crash through his mental barriers. There had been no word from Tseng. None. And it had been hours.
“You should get some rest, sir,” Rude said calmly, before tossing them around a bend so hard that it nearly knocked the wind from his lungs. Shrubbery clawed down the body of the car, and branches snapped across the windscreen.
“...If you can,” Rude added.
Rufus shook his head, too tightly wound to even try it. The inaction gnawed at him, made him grit his teeth in annoyance to avoid fidgeting. There was nothing to be done in this mad flight to safety, and the Turks had steadfastly refused to stop or turn back in the face of orders, pleas, and threats. Elena claimed they were being followed. Rufus didn’t see how anyone could possibly have followed them through the chaos and down the Junon cliffs, and deep into this apparently never-ending forest. But the Turks had been adamant. There would be no stopping until they were absolutely certain of their safety. Of his safety.
Even at the cost of one of their own.
He snapped open the phone, and hit the redial. The line buzzed with a busy tone. Unavailable.
He had to force himself not to put the phone through the window in pure frustration. Drawing on the experience of countless boardroom sessions with his father at the head of the table, he schooled his features into impassiveness and clipped the phone shut with deceptive calm.
Rude shot him a sidelong glance. He knew. Oh, he damn well knew.
The worst part about this was that there was absolutely nothing he could do, except trust in his Turks. He glanced at his watch, noted at the stopwatch, which had been ticking since they blew out of Junon, registered two hours and sixteen minutes. The gunfire had stopped one and a half hours ago. He didn’t see why they weren’t stopping.
...As if in response to his aggravation, the engine spluttered. His eyes snapped immediately to the dashboard, where the fuel indicator glowed a warning orange. “We’re running on fumes.”
Rude nodded, and eased off the accelerator. The car continued hurtling down the trail.
“Yo,” Reno’s voice crackled over the intercom. “Looks like the tanks weren’t full. Gonna run out of gas.”
“No safe place to stop,” Rude shot back. The road forked, they went down the right. Rufus had long since stopped trying to keep a mental map of their direction.
“Actually, according to the GPS, we’re fairly close to an old Shinra weapons cache,” Elena piped up over the intercom. “We could ditch the cars and walk.”
“If it’s a Shinra depot, what are the chances that they’ll know about it too?” Rufus queried. “We can’t be sure that they don’t have ex-Shinra personnel in pursuit.”
“We can’t be sure,” Rude replied. “But we don’t have much of a choice. It should have spare gas tanks...”
Obligingly, the engine spluttered again and groaned. Rufus could smell burnt carbon on the air.
“Alright,” Reno said. “I’ve gotta stop before the engine trashes itself.”
Rude wrenched the wheel, and the car swung hard to the right.
“That’s a-” Rufus didn’t even have time for the warning before they slammed straight into the undergrowth, twigs snapping and tearing across the windscreen. He ducked instinctively, but the cacophony was over as soon as it had begun. Rude took his hands off the steering wheel and mopped at his brow.
For a long moment, there was nothing but silence in the car. They were encased in greenery, so dense that not a scrap of light was visible through the forward windscreen and the windows. It was surreal, Rufus thought to himself. It was as if they were in another world entirely.
“Well,” Rufus said.
Rude actually looked a tad contrite.
“Warn me before you do something like that.” He unclipped the seatbelt and nudged the door open. It took some effort; the shrubbery was jammed up against it.
“Yes,” Rude acknowledged, then pulled Rufus back just as he was about to exit the car. And shook his head. “Stay here. Let me secure the area.”
Ordinarily, Rufus would have sighed. But ordinarily, he wouldn’t expect to be dragged out of his bed with the city exploding behind him. Ordinarily, he would...
He snapped open his PHS again and dialled. No reception, it said. Swearing seemed like a good idea. He thought about it, then thunked his fist against the dashboard instead, as Rude left the car and moved out.
Silence descended again. He could smell the scent of rain - or perhaps it was just forest damp. City born and bred like he was, he had difficulties discerning the-
--something crashed through the bushes and slammed up against the car. He caught sight of a flash of colour before it wrenched open the door, and the next thing he knew, he had his gun in his hand, his finger on the trigger...
...and a red haired Turk backpedalling really fast, with his hands up. “Still in good form, boss.”
“I am inclined,” Rufus said, willing his heart to slow down from overdrive, “to shoot you anyway.”
“I survived Tseng’s itchy trigger finger,” Reno said cheerfully, opening the door for him, just barely enough for him to squeeze out. The branches caught on his jacket and he fought them off, stooping and pushing his way round to the back of the car. Rufus opted not to grace that with a retort.
“Area secure, I take it,” he said, giving Reno a sidelong glance.
“Yep.”
“Secure enough.” Elena’s voice preceded her by a step. “You should go with Rude, sir. Reno and I will stay behind to camouflage the vehicles-”
“You go with him,” Reno said, jerking a thumb towards the trail that Rufus could just barely make out, once they’d stepped clear of the mangled bushes. “You suck at camo and you have the GPS.”
“We stick together,” Rufus said, eyes narrowed.
Rude shook his head. “The cars are a target. You’d best be as far away as possible from them. Sir.”
“We might be able to contact Tseng at the base station,” Elena said hopefully.
Low blow. Rufus glanced between the Turks - one earnest, one nonchalant, one unreadable. He sighed, and gestured for Elena to lead the way.
*
There was an airlift between Costa del Sol and Junon these days. Cloud stood at the railing of the WRO airship, humming under his breath. He felt cheerful for the first time in days. Weeks. Months. So easy. It had been so easy to make that commitment, to put his foot down. Fenrir was slung in the belly of the airship, and once they touched down in Junon, he was jumping on that bike and speeding home. Reeve could send the payment by telegraphic transfer. Cloud wasn’t about to waste a single moment talking to them - and that would avoid the possibility of being roped into a new job at the same time. He was headed home.
No more running. He was going to look forward, into the future. Into the faces of the family that he had now. He had conquered his own demons, as Rufus would put it. He wasn’t the lost sixteen year old he’d been, trailing along in Zack’s shadow. He was his own person. He had defeated the past, and laid it to rest--
--red sky. Red sky in the morning heralded trouble, his mother had always said.
“Nonsense,” he told himself. “Old superstition-”
“Strife!” someone yelled, and there was the sound of footsteps thumping on the ladder. “We gotta problem!”
Oh damn.
It was Daniel, one of the junior crew who regularly chatted him up while loading Fenrir into the bay. He looked absolutely distraught.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, feeling his bubble of a moment go pop, almost audibly. Dread made his stomach sink in anticipation.
“Junon.” Daniel gasped the word out. “Cap’n says it’s a war down there!”
And he had been wondering how bad it could possibly have been. He felt his blood turn to ice in his veins. “What about... where is the WRO? Where is Reeve? Where is Rufus Shinra, and what the hell is he doing?”
The boy’s eyes were wide and panicked. “Don’t know. No one knows. They say it was an assassination. Someone triedta kill--”
“Shinra tried to kill Reeve?!”
Daniel shook his head. “Someone triedta kill Rufus Shinra. And they took out the whole WRO while they were at it.”
Cloud’s fingers curled into fists.
“You’re gonna do something about it, right, Mr Strife? You’re gonna stop them, save the day...”
He thought of his message to Tifa, and all the explanations and apologies he was going to have to render. “I’ll do what I can,” he said hollowly.
Of course he would. He always did, in the end.
*
It was... it was remarkably hard to get the phone open. Strange, how a simple task could be so difficult, when his fingers were slicked with blood. It wasn’t all his own. He hoped. He wasn’t sure any more. It was hard to be sure of anything, with the chaos, with his head ringing from the explosions.
...The blood kept getting into his eyes.
Seven missed calls. All from Rufus. It figured. The corner of his mouth twitched in a smile.
He hit Rufus’ speed dial. Uncontactable. Good. That meant that he was at least out of range. Hopefully out of the sights of snipers and would be assassins.
I’m alright, he typed out. It took a while. His fingers were numb. I’ll join you soon. His finger hovered over the send button.
“Tseng?” a voice called from somewhere behind him. He glanced over his shoulder.
“Chairman.”
“Call me Reeve,” Tuesti insisted, inching forward towards his side. “Just wondering how the situation is out there...”
He shook his head. “Latest report states that the enemy is still in control of the area. Looks like we’ll have to lie low for a while longer.”
A lot longer, he thought privately. “I’d advise you to move back, sir. You’re a potential target.”
“We’re stuck, aren’t we?” Reeve said, but his voice was softer. Evidently, he’d retreated further back into the ruined tunnel that they had taken cover in.
“It would seem that way.” He glanced back down at the phone in his hand. I’ll join you soon.
Shaking his head, he deleted the last word, and hit Send.
Rating PG-13 (Safe for work) - Status: In progress - Chapter 11/? - Warnings: None
Pairings: Tseng/Rufus, Rude/Reno
Fic summary: Post-AC, barreling down the road to the reconstruction ofShinra Company. A Hero, a President, a new world, and the politics that draw them all into a tangled web beyond all ability to forecast.
Chapter Summary: In which there is a lot of running away.
A/N: Draft. Only proofread once. Please let me know if there are any errors.
XI
5.33.
There was something about the air here in Corel. The night brought reprieve from the sun, and with it temperatures plummeted. With the heat and bustle of the day vanished without a trace, it seemed like an entirely different world.
5.34.
The cold gave the Ghost Hotel of the Golden Saucer a real chill, enough to make it comfortable under a thick quilt - one, the staff had assured him, had been stained with the blood of the last occupant of the room, who had been murdered in this very bed.
Right. Whatever.
5.35.
But for all that the cold transformed the place, the taste of the air was still the same. Dry. Dusty. Acrid. It stuck at the back of the throat, whispered tales of lives of hardship, toil, and loss. It reeked of Corel, through and through.
And it gave him insomnia.
5.3--
Cloud growled in sleepy frustration and rolled over onto the side where he didn’t have to face the green glow of numbers counting the minutes away till morning. Something creaked ominously, one of the myriad sound effects that the hotel provided, and he rolled his eyes at it. Ghosts be damned; the only white spectre haunting him these days was Rufus bloody Shinra. The one who’d sent him all the way out here on a run that was nothing more than a wild-goose chase. Tifa had been mad, and he knew that by the time he noticed something like that, she must have been really mad. It had made him miss... some important event. Some school thing that one of the kids was having. Denzel, probably. But it might have been Marlene. Or both.
You promised, Tifa said, hurt and angry.
I know, he lied, even if he didn’t remember having promised such a thing. It’s just that... things are crazy lately. I’m sorry.
He was making money at last, he felt like saying. The WRO and Shinra paid, and paid well. He didn’t have to go out sourcing for jobs, which should have given him more time to stay at home with them. Except that ... well. He hadn’t. And he was getting the feeling that, like the damn clock on the sidetable, time was ticking on.
Damnit.
He rolled back over.
5.40.
His phone was on the bedside table. He grabbed it, flicking it open. The screen flashed back at him, void of any messages or missed calls. She hadn’t called. Two days and she hadn’t called.
His finger hovered over the numbers for a moment, before he sighed and snapped it shut instead. It would be... 4 am back at the Edge, and Tifa was going to be seriously mad if he called up in the middle of the night, to say-
--to say, what? Hi, I’m at the Golden Saucer. I decided to call and ask how are things...
That ... was simply asking to be kicked. He’d promised to bring the kids here, and come out and visit Barret while they were at it. But one thing or another had come up, and he didn’t have time, they didn’t have time, no one had time, there just wasn’t enough time, and somehow, it had just been one of those things that had hovered on the To Do list until it’d just slipped out of mind.
Too late to regret it now, he figured, staring at the phone for a moment longer before tossing it back onto the sidetable.
5.43.
She hadn’t called. She always called.
Ask her whether they needed anything - bread, milk, books for the kids...? Except that he was headed back to Junon, and Reeve would give him that earnest look and a pat on the back before sending him out on another delivery. And then he’d have to apologise to Tifa again -- sorry, another job came up, sorry, I couldn’t spare time to go home...
Sorry, I couldn’t make time for you.
But you can make time for Rufus Shinra, she would say, eyes flashing with hurt and accusation. He didn’t know. He didn’t understand it either. It was just... work. Work that got in the way of things. Work that drove him out, and ...
...and no, if he was utterly honest with himself, it wasn’t.
Home was... light and noise and the kids’ high voices chiming for attention, their happy chatter, their endless queries. And he loved it, he loved listening to Denzel’s latest project, and Marlene’s school day, he loved seeing their bright eyes and joyful smiles. Most of all, he loved looking up and seeing the corner of Tifa’s mouth twitch, the way her features softened and relaxed. Contentment. The family around him. Tifa smiling. And for a moment, all would be right with the world.
But only for a moment. His eyes would linger a moment too long, and his heart would skip a beat, thinking of brown hair instead of black, green eyes. And his heart would start thinking of another, soft smile, and wondering why- why Aeris couldn’t be here with them, why he couldn’t have protected her, why he couldn’t have led her through the death and destruction and into this new world.
And then he would flee, stuttering excuses, jumping on the bike and revving the engine until he was speeding away. Running. Running knowing that he broke Tifa’s heart each time he did it, but he couldn’t... just couldn’t... how could he be the one she wanted when all he saw when he looked at her was another love, long dead?
“Damnit,” he growled out loud, and somewhere, a fake ghost screamed.
This always happened. He’d start thinking, and his thoughts would fumble down the same, worn path, down to the same, old problems. Aeris was dead, and he loved her. Zack was dead, and he loved him. Tifa wasn’t, and...
...and he felt guilty.
5.46.
He dragged himself out of bed, and headed for the bathroom. The water from the tap was freezing, and it was a welcomed shock to his senses when he splashed it across his face. He swiped the lingering droplets from his face with a vicious movement, angry for no fathomable reason. In the mirror, his eyes glowed in the half-dark, mako light dancing in their depths like fireflies on a summer’s evening.
For a moment, he almost fancied he saw Zack staring out at him. But the blue distracted, and water tugged his fringe down, and instead of a familiar, roguish grin, he saw blue and blond and a polite, distant smile.
I had feelings for Zack.
“Bastard,” he growled, something that might have been envy twisting in the pit of his stomach. “Should have killed you when I had the chance.”
His reflection stared back. Water dripped off his bangs, falling soundlessly to the sink. The words echoed off the walls, resounding more in his head than in his ears. And they sounded tired. Not vehement, not like they used to. Just tired. A mantra he’d said too many times.
And he realised that... that he was getting tired of it. In fact, he realised that he was getting tired of everything. Tired of the twist in his heart when he thought of Zack and Aeris. Tired of the twist in his stomach when he thought of home and Tifa and the kids. Tired of running. Tired of hating. Tired of... tired of feeling, period.
He rested his forehead against the mirror, closed his eyes, and sighed. His breath turned to fog upon the glass.
Half an hour later, he was on the road again. There was a muted glow on the horizon that whispered of dawn and the heat to come, and as dust and gravel pinged against his goggles, he found himself infinitely glad that he was getting out of here before it turned into an inferno.
He bent forward over the bike, jaw set. His mind was made up. He wasn’t going to run any more. Whether or not he loved Tifa ... was irrelevant. He was fond of her. But more importantly, he owed it to her, and to the children, the ones who had given him a home, a family of sorts. The ones who had given him their love, and he... he had selfishly sucked it dry and used to it fuel an ... obsession with the past.
His phone was in his hand as he pulled onto the main road. The sound of the phone at the other end of the line chimed in his ear: once, twice, three times.
No more. He owed a duty to the living, not to the dead. He would not lose Tifa because he was too busy pining over Aeris.
There was a click, then the answering machine: Hi, you have reached the answering machine of the Seventh Heaven bar and restaurant.
He felt like something had just hit him. Hard. In the gut. Tifa... Tifa had changed the message? It had been... it had been Strife Delivery Service for as long as he could remember-
We are unable to take your call at this time.
When had she changed it?
...When was the last time he’d called?
Please leave a message after the beep, and we’ll get back to you as soon as possible!
Why had she-
Beep.
“Uh-” words didn’t seem to want to get past the block. “Um.”
A buggy went past him at full speed, churning up dust and gravel that nearly blinded him.
“Ah... hi Tifa. This is Cloud.” He swallowed, hard, which might have been a mistake. It felt like the dust turned to mud in his throat. “Just finishing up a job. Got a couple of souvenirs for you and the kids.”
He paused, faltering. Floundering. His conviction wavered, and he found himself suddenly unwilling to say the next thing on the agenda. Unwilling to commit. It would be so easy to hang up now... to make no promises, the same way he’d been doing for the past two... three years...
Kid, you faced Sephiroth, and you can’t even face your own family?
Shut up, he told that obnoxious inner voice, that always, always sounded like Zack.
You know I’m right. Come on. Shoulders back, chin up, put some strength into that backbone...
Shut up!
Not until you listen, chocobo head.
Cloud groaned mentally. Fine. Fine. Whatever. Wasn’t that hard. He’d saved the world twice. This was easy. Take a deep breath, and just ... say it.
“Um.”
He could swear he saw his little mental Zack slapping his forehead in frustration. And giving him The Look. It was the same Look that Zack had given him every time he’d mumbled his misgiving about not making it into the SOLDIER programme, every time he’d been tempted to just give up and slink away, and run for dear life.
It was the Look he couldn’t argue with.
Fine.
“I’ll be back.” It was strange how easy it was to say those simple, ordinary words. “I’m coming home after this run, and we’ll bring the kids to the Saucer. Just thought I’d let you know.”
Strange how easy it was to say, once he’d started.
“Promise.”
*
Dawn broke in flames over Junon. The view of the sky between the foliage that was streaking past was one that burned an angry, flickering red.
In between the bumps on the road that threatened to give him whiplash, Rufus glanced out of the car window and scowled. “It seems that they torched Junon,” he muttered.
Rude, bent in concentration over the steering wheel as he threw them at breakneck speed over little used forest trails, nodded his assent.
“Who... could be behind this?”
“Don’t know,” Rude replied. “Tseng went to investigate.”
Which meant that they would know more when they got in touch with Tseng. If they got in touch with Tseng.
They went over a pothole, hard enough to rattle Rufus’ teeth. They’d swerved off the established roads as soon as they could, which left them ploughing through forest trails on a car that was, by all accounts, not a four wheel drive. His PHS was clenched tight between nerveless fingers, and he found that if he held on hard enough, until the edges were cutting into his palms, it could detract from the terrible tide of fear threatening to crash through his mental barriers. There had been no word from Tseng. None. And it had been hours.
“You should get some rest, sir,” Rude said calmly, before tossing them around a bend so hard that it nearly knocked the wind from his lungs. Shrubbery clawed down the body of the car, and branches snapped across the windscreen.
“...If you can,” Rude added.
Rufus shook his head, too tightly wound to even try it. The inaction gnawed at him, made him grit his teeth in annoyance to avoid fidgeting. There was nothing to be done in this mad flight to safety, and the Turks had steadfastly refused to stop or turn back in the face of orders, pleas, and threats. Elena claimed they were being followed. Rufus didn’t see how anyone could possibly have followed them through the chaos and down the Junon cliffs, and deep into this apparently never-ending forest. But the Turks had been adamant. There would be no stopping until they were absolutely certain of their safety. Of his safety.
Even at the cost of one of their own.
He snapped open the phone, and hit the redial. The line buzzed with a busy tone. Unavailable.
He had to force himself not to put the phone through the window in pure frustration. Drawing on the experience of countless boardroom sessions with his father at the head of the table, he schooled his features into impassiveness and clipped the phone shut with deceptive calm.
Rude shot him a sidelong glance. He knew. Oh, he damn well knew.
The worst part about this was that there was absolutely nothing he could do, except trust in his Turks. He glanced at his watch, noted at the stopwatch, which had been ticking since they blew out of Junon, registered two hours and sixteen minutes. The gunfire had stopped one and a half hours ago. He didn’t see why they weren’t stopping.
...As if in response to his aggravation, the engine spluttered. His eyes snapped immediately to the dashboard, where the fuel indicator glowed a warning orange. “We’re running on fumes.”
Rude nodded, and eased off the accelerator. The car continued hurtling down the trail.
“Yo,” Reno’s voice crackled over the intercom. “Looks like the tanks weren’t full. Gonna run out of gas.”
“No safe place to stop,” Rude shot back. The road forked, they went down the right. Rufus had long since stopped trying to keep a mental map of their direction.
“Actually, according to the GPS, we’re fairly close to an old Shinra weapons cache,” Elena piped up over the intercom. “We could ditch the cars and walk.”
“If it’s a Shinra depot, what are the chances that they’ll know about it too?” Rufus queried. “We can’t be sure that they don’t have ex-Shinra personnel in pursuit.”
“We can’t be sure,” Rude replied. “But we don’t have much of a choice. It should have spare gas tanks...”
Obligingly, the engine spluttered again and groaned. Rufus could smell burnt carbon on the air.
“Alright,” Reno said. “I’ve gotta stop before the engine trashes itself.”
Rude wrenched the wheel, and the car swung hard to the right.
“That’s a-” Rufus didn’t even have time for the warning before they slammed straight into the undergrowth, twigs snapping and tearing across the windscreen. He ducked instinctively, but the cacophony was over as soon as it had begun. Rude took his hands off the steering wheel and mopped at his brow.
For a long moment, there was nothing but silence in the car. They were encased in greenery, so dense that not a scrap of light was visible through the forward windscreen and the windows. It was surreal, Rufus thought to himself. It was as if they were in another world entirely.
“Well,” Rufus said.
Rude actually looked a tad contrite.
“Warn me before you do something like that.” He unclipped the seatbelt and nudged the door open. It took some effort; the shrubbery was jammed up against it.
“Yes,” Rude acknowledged, then pulled Rufus back just as he was about to exit the car. And shook his head. “Stay here. Let me secure the area.”
Ordinarily, Rufus would have sighed. But ordinarily, he wouldn’t expect to be dragged out of his bed with the city exploding behind him. Ordinarily, he would...
He snapped open his PHS again and dialled. No reception, it said. Swearing seemed like a good idea. He thought about it, then thunked his fist against the dashboard instead, as Rude left the car and moved out.
Silence descended again. He could smell the scent of rain - or perhaps it was just forest damp. City born and bred like he was, he had difficulties discerning the-
--something crashed through the bushes and slammed up against the car. He caught sight of a flash of colour before it wrenched open the door, and the next thing he knew, he had his gun in his hand, his finger on the trigger...
...and a red haired Turk backpedalling really fast, with his hands up. “Still in good form, boss.”
“I am inclined,” Rufus said, willing his heart to slow down from overdrive, “to shoot you anyway.”
“I survived Tseng’s itchy trigger finger,” Reno said cheerfully, opening the door for him, just barely enough for him to squeeze out. The branches caught on his jacket and he fought them off, stooping and pushing his way round to the back of the car. Rufus opted not to grace that with a retort.
“Area secure, I take it,” he said, giving Reno a sidelong glance.
“Yep.”
“Secure enough.” Elena’s voice preceded her by a step. “You should go with Rude, sir. Reno and I will stay behind to camouflage the vehicles-”
“You go with him,” Reno said, jerking a thumb towards the trail that Rufus could just barely make out, once they’d stepped clear of the mangled bushes. “You suck at camo and you have the GPS.”
“We stick together,” Rufus said, eyes narrowed.
Rude shook his head. “The cars are a target. You’d best be as far away as possible from them. Sir.”
“We might be able to contact Tseng at the base station,” Elena said hopefully.
Low blow. Rufus glanced between the Turks - one earnest, one nonchalant, one unreadable. He sighed, and gestured for Elena to lead the way.
*
There was an airlift between Costa del Sol and Junon these days. Cloud stood at the railing of the WRO airship, humming under his breath. He felt cheerful for the first time in days. Weeks. Months. So easy. It had been so easy to make that commitment, to put his foot down. Fenrir was slung in the belly of the airship, and once they touched down in Junon, he was jumping on that bike and speeding home. Reeve could send the payment by telegraphic transfer. Cloud wasn’t about to waste a single moment talking to them - and that would avoid the possibility of being roped into a new job at the same time. He was headed home.
No more running. He was going to look forward, into the future. Into the faces of the family that he had now. He had conquered his own demons, as Rufus would put it. He wasn’t the lost sixteen year old he’d been, trailing along in Zack’s shadow. He was his own person. He had defeated the past, and laid it to rest--
--red sky. Red sky in the morning heralded trouble, his mother had always said.
“Nonsense,” he told himself. “Old superstition-”
“Strife!” someone yelled, and there was the sound of footsteps thumping on the ladder. “We gotta problem!”
Oh damn.
It was Daniel, one of the junior crew who regularly chatted him up while loading Fenrir into the bay. He looked absolutely distraught.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, feeling his bubble of a moment go pop, almost audibly. Dread made his stomach sink in anticipation.
“Junon.” Daniel gasped the word out. “Cap’n says it’s a war down there!”
And he had been wondering how bad it could possibly have been. He felt his blood turn to ice in his veins. “What about... where is the WRO? Where is Reeve? Where is Rufus Shinra, and what the hell is he doing?”
The boy’s eyes were wide and panicked. “Don’t know. No one knows. They say it was an assassination. Someone triedta kill--”
“Shinra tried to kill Reeve?!”
Daniel shook his head. “Someone triedta kill Rufus Shinra. And they took out the whole WRO while they were at it.”
Cloud’s fingers curled into fists.
“You’re gonna do something about it, right, Mr Strife? You’re gonna stop them, save the day...”
He thought of his message to Tifa, and all the explanations and apologies he was going to have to render. “I’ll do what I can,” he said hollowly.
Of course he would. He always did, in the end.
*
It was... it was remarkably hard to get the phone open. Strange, how a simple task could be so difficult, when his fingers were slicked with blood. It wasn’t all his own. He hoped. He wasn’t sure any more. It was hard to be sure of anything, with the chaos, with his head ringing from the explosions.
...The blood kept getting into his eyes.
Seven missed calls. All from Rufus. It figured. The corner of his mouth twitched in a smile.
He hit Rufus’ speed dial. Uncontactable. Good. That meant that he was at least out of range. Hopefully out of the sights of snipers and would be assassins.
I’m alright, he typed out. It took a while. His fingers were numb. I’ll join you soon. His finger hovered over the send button.
“Tseng?” a voice called from somewhere behind him. He glanced over his shoulder.
“Chairman.”
“Call me Reeve,” Tuesti insisted, inching forward towards his side. “Just wondering how the situation is out there...”
He shook his head. “Latest report states that the enemy is still in control of the area. Looks like we’ll have to lie low for a while longer.”
A lot longer, he thought privately. “I’d advise you to move back, sir. You’re a potential target.”
“We’re stuck, aren’t we?” Reeve said, but his voice was softer. Evidently, he’d retreated further back into the ruined tunnel that they had taken cover in.
“It would seem that way.” He glanced back down at the phone in his hand. I’ll join you soon.
Shaking his head, he deleted the last word, and hit Send.