Don't Play With Fire (Turks FFVII)

XL) Mutten

I never thought I'd be sitting in a bed beside Rufus Shirna as he carts himself around in a wheelchair, heavily bandaged and leg weighted with a thick cast. But here we are, staring out the window wistfully wishing for our freedom like a pair of dogs left alone during the workday. The silence becomes suffocating and it's hard not to pick holes in the material of my pants.

"So... How do you think they're holding up?"

"They as in the others?"

"Who else?"

"They're fine." Rufus's voice is dry, bored even. He refuses to turn away from the window, pale eyes locked on the street.

"Well, that's good I guess." I chew on my cheek, anxious to ease the tension. Of course, the next thing out of my mouth does the opposite. "The kid's okay."

"Marx told me."

"... Oh."

"Is something wrong?" he asks, making a half-hearted effort to glance over his shoulder. "You're acting strange."

"I'm fine, I just feel weird."

"Weird?"

"It feels like..." I sigh, shaking my head, my stomach twisting into knots. "Like something bad is gonna happen. I'm just being paranoid."

But maybe I wasn't. After another hour of silence, the doorbell rings. I sit up straight, heart skipping a beat. That's not the others. It rings twice more before I stand, hobbling over to the window to see what Rufus is staring at. A group of men is outside, sweating and trying to pry a window open. Impatient, the closest man smashes the window.

"Great, an angry mob," I huff, closing the door and pushing a chair until the knob to keep us safe a little longer. Rufus nods toward the nightstand.

"There's a gun in there. Give it to me."

I obey, handing the gun over and watching him slip it into his sleeve. "How'd they find us so fast?" Where did Reno put my rod?

"They probably saw Tseng and the others leave this morning."

"Uh oh." I jump when the door at the end of the hall opens, slamming against the wall as the group files upstairs.

Rufus glances up at me, raising an eyebrow. "Sit down, Kat."

"But they're—"

"You can't fight them. Sit."

Scoffing, I obey, crossing my arms and leaning my crutches against the wall. It takes a moment of shoving, but the men manage to pry the door to the room open and rush inside, guns raised and faces sweaty.

The one in the front sneers, pulling back his chapped lips to reveal a set of crooked teeth. "Looks like you've gotten yourself into quite a mess, Mr. President." He waves his gun as he speaks, eyes wild with excitement. My hand twitches as I remember the knife on my leg and immediately two guns are pointed in my direction.

"Indeed. But now's the time I fear most." Rufus raises an eyebrow, calm and collected. "There is nothing more frightening than a foolish mob."

"We might be foolish, but at least we know who should be taking responsibility for everything that's happened."

I take a breath to retort, but Rufus shoots me a look, determined to appease his audience. "Then let me ask you this: what will you do after you leave this house? Have you thought about your futures?"

"What do you mean?" the man snarls, eyes narrowing. It's not that hard to understand, idiot.

"There are two kinds of people in this world: people who give orders and people who take them. It is a question of one's abilities, not a trick question. Often when an incident occurs, it is the ones who give orders that are made to take responsibility." Rufus refuses to break eye contact with their leader and I can tell it's starting to unnerve him. He's a good liar. "As a result, those who remain lose their direction and panic arises. Then everything comes to a halt."