“I thought we stopped doing this,” Reno mutters, his usual sarcasm muted by the awkwardness of the situation as he stares down at you. You couldn’t have been older than six or seven, your too-big coat hanging off your shoulders as you glance around the sterile Turks office.

Rude, standing beside him with his arms folded, nods in agreement, his expression grim. “We did. Tseng made sure of it.” It wasn’t entirely uncommon in the past for Shinra to identify prodigious children and bring them aboard as ‘apprentices’ to different divisions. Many of the Turks had been recruited like that, but when Tseng assumed position of the chief director, he put an end to that practice.

Reno lets out a long, frustrated sigh, crouching to meet you at eye level. “Alright, kid. Here’s the deal: we’re not doing that whole ‘child soldier in training’ thing, got it? You’re gonna have a normal childhood—er, as normal as it can be with me and Mr. Stoneface over here raising you.” He’d read in your file that you had nowhere to go, and Tseng’s hands were tied too. If Turk adoption was the only way, then so be it.

Reno runs a hand through his hair. “Damn. Guess we’re parents now,” he remarks, loud enough for Rude to hear. For the first time in a long time, neither of them are sure what the next move is, but as you stare up at them expectantly, something in their chests were shifting, yielding to whatever this form of parenthood was. “All right, kid,” declares Reno with a shrug, “let’s figure this out together.”