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If he stares any harder, those pretty blue eyes of his will pop out of his head. The rest of his face is carefully neutral, but Elena knows a pissed off president when she sees one.
Good.
"Where's the dress I bought you for the event?" Rufus asks eventually, smoothing his chin between his thumb and fingers as he leans on the doorframe of the Turks' shared office. His gaze drops to her feet. "And the heels?"
Technically she's still wearing heels; black patent, pointy boots with a stiletto heel. Not quite the hideously nude, ridiculously high strappy sandals Rufus had in mind. But still heels.
"It's a black tie event," she says plainly. "So I'm wearing a black tie."
There's a Reno-sounding snigger from behind her. It's all right for him; no one tries to stuff him into a stupid frock for a work event. What if she has to tackle an assailant? She'd rather do that without breaking an ankle and flashing her underwear to the world.
"I can see." Rufus folds his arms. His eyes are still scrutinising her. Maybe the all-black suit with a black shirt and black tie, paired with dark eyeliner and red lipstick, was a bit too contrary even for her.
Elena shrugs and folds her arms, mirroring Rufus. She has to hold her nerve now. "Do you want an ornament, or a bodyguard?" Rufus blinks. "Sir," she adds. Maybe if she remembers to be polite, she'll get away with it.
Another snigger. "I would've thought that was—oof!"
Rude clears his throat. She could do without the interactive audience behind her.
"Who says the two are mutually exclusive?" Reno says. Elena wishes Rude had elbowed him harder.
Rufus cocks an eyebrow, tilting his head as if to second Reno's question. Fuck you, Reno.
"I'd like to see you tackle an opponent wearing a dress that hardly covers your boobs," Elena says, glancing over her shoulder. "Oh, wait, your shirt barely covers your tits anyway, so you'd probably be fine in that dress."
"Oh come on, Elena." Reno is smug, too smug, and she realises too late that she's walked right into this one. "It's not like you have to worry about that; your tits are too small to fall out of anything."
"Why, Reno, have you been paying too much attention to things you shouldn't?" Tseng appears in the doorway behind Rufus and folds his arms across his chest. His gaze is laser sharp over Elena's shoulder, Reno quite obviously in his sights.
"What? No, of course not." The sweet sound of Reno back-pedalling brings a small smile to Elena's lips. "You can't blame me for noticing the… absence of certain… things."
Tseng raises an eyebrow. Reno is silent. Rude clears his throat.
"So what do you think, Tseng?" Rufus asks. What is she, a piece of meat on display? All this opinionated testosterone is getting a bit nauseating.
Tseng's eyes switch to Elena and he seems to go very still. Staring.
What if he doesn't like it? Fuck it, who cares if he doesn't like it. She doesn't need his approval, or anyone else's.
She really hopes he likes it.
Elena stares back at him, folding her arms. His eyes wander downwards, slowly, and back up again. She sees him swallow.
He doesn't like it.
She grips her folded elbows, massaging with her thumb.
"It's appropriately practical," he says. He clears his throat and avoids her gaze. "Ideal for the task at hand."
Appropriately practical. The fucker. If he thinks she'll wear a thing to please him for the next century and a half, he's got another thing coming.
So he's agreeing with her that it's a better choice than the dress, sort of. But that's not the point.
"It's not very likely that she—" Rufus hesitates, redirecting his attention to Elena, "—you, will need to worry about any close combat situation. Tseng, Reno and Rude will be at the event. They'll intercept anyone before they can get close to us."
"So it is an ornament you want." The words are out before she can stop herself. There's just no way in hell he'd do this to Tseng, Reno or Rude.
"You're hardly the ornamental type, yo." Anyone would think Reno would've learnt to keep his trap shut by now. "Last time I checked, ornaments didn't have a thing for blowing things up or punching people's teeth down their throats."
She supposes that's a compliment. Sort of.
"You can never be too careful," Tseng says, eyeing Reno like he's skating on very thin ice. "Sir, I think this way," he nods to Elena, "you'll have the very best of both worlds."
Elena looks at Tseng, resisting the urge to smile with her mouth so she smiles with her eyes instead. So maybe she will wear something she knows he likes within the next century and a half.
Rufus straightens from his leaning position against the doorframe and sighs. His gaze settles on her. "Fine. Be ready to leave in half an hour, all of you."
*
This is third time she's caught Tseng's eye across the event hall this evening. Maybe he's in full professional mode, keeping watch over Rufus between all the mingling tuxedos and evening dresses attending the charity function.
Or maybe he really likes this suit after all.
Rufus, on the other hand, only has eyes for potential investors. If she has to listen to his sales pitch one more time, without a single drop of the champagne that's being paraded teasingly around the hall on waiters' trays, she'll be hearing it in her sleep.
She adjusts her comms earpiece and scans the room once more.
Rufus' hand at her back gets her attention for a moment, drawing her into his conversation with an older couple.
"Is this your wife, President Shinra?" the woman asks, looking at Elena. Her voice is too posh and her dress is too purple. She's probably someone with a lot of money if the way Rufus is pulling his best salesman smile is anything to go by.
"No." Elena glances at Rufus to find him glancing at her. They both said it at the same time.
"No," Rufus repeats with a smile. "This is one of my bodyguards, Elena." Bodyguard sounds better than Turk in this context, probably. Everyone knows Turks are generally a more aggressive bunch than the average bodyguard.
"Well, I must say, I love your outfit," the woman says, eyeing Elena and raising her glass. Maybe she's not too posh and purple, after all.
Elena nods and smiles in thanks for the compliment, giving Rufus the side-eye. She expects him to have that goatish look he gets when he's put out, but he's nodding with that charming smile.
"It was rather a good choice of mine, wasn't it?" he says, taking a sip of champagne and glancing at Elena.
Gods he can be an asshole sometimes.
"Absolutely," Elena says, flashing Rufus a smile that bares her teeth. "Much better than that beige number you considered as an… alternative."
Rufus smiles harder. They both know he won't lose face by arguing with her here, not when his chosen investor prey seems to have taken a shine to Elena.
A movement in the crowd nearby catches her eye. A guest breaks away from the group of people nearest them, a matter of feet away, cutting a direct path towards them. Towards Rufus.
He's wearing a tux like most of the other men in the hall, but there's something about him… No drink in his hand. He doesn't acknowledge anyone, his eyes fixed on Rufus beside her. He's too determined, too direct.
And close. Too close.
There's no time.
He shoulders his way into their little circle, one hand lifting. She can't see his weapon but she knows it's there. Elena has already stepped across Rufus, shielding his body with hers, pushing him back with one hand and raising the other towards the attacker's incoming wrist.
He has a knife.
She disarms him quickly and violently with a practised flow of movements. The knife drops to the floor but she doesn't stop, using her grip on his outstretched arm as a vantage point. She knees him in the gut, lands a blow to the back of his neck as he doubles over, then twists his arm up behind him.
And breaks it.
She doesn't let go despite his cries of agony, thrusting a knee into his back and forcing him down onto the floor. She moves with him, holding his broken arm pinned and kneeling into his back.
She takes a breath. Shiva, that was close.
*
The champagne is overrated. Considering it was supposed to be a fancy event, Elena isn't sure she'd water her plants with this stuff. If she had plants that were actually living.
There's a brush of fingers on her shoulder. "Not to your taste?" Tseng asks.
Elena looks up at him from her position perched on a drinks crate and pulls a face. His fingers linger and she glances around his waist, eyes scanning the empty foyer outside the event hall. Shinra security is picking over every last gold embossed napkin and abandoned champagne glass in there. They're all too busy to notice what's going on out here.
She smiles up at him, grazing her fingers over his.
"Are you all right?" he asks, suddenly serious.
She nods. "I'm fine." Tseng knows as well as she does that the attacker didn't land a single blow on her; Tseng was close, just not close enough.
His fingers tighten. Hers do too.
"You never fail to impress me," he says. "Not that I expected anything less." There's a glint in his eye now that makes her smile. "And you certainly showed His Highness."
"A functional ornament, then?" she grins.
"Very functional," Tseng says. Elena puts her glass down and stands, tracing his lapel with one finger, pretending to smooth it down. "And very stunning."
He's looking at her appreciatively, attention flicking every so often to her tie, lower, back to her lips. At a guess, she'd say he really quite likes this suit.
"Is that so?" She lifts an eyebrow.
"Mmm." He brushes her cheek with his thumb, then settles on her lower lip. "That takedown definitely wouldn't have been as elegant in that vile dress he chose."
"Because this way I look… 'appropriately functional'?" Both her eyebrows go up this time.
"That was a compliment," he says, his feet inching closer. "I couldn't very well say that I couldn't wait to tear you out of it."
Elena chuckles, sliding her hand from his lapel across to his shoulder, her other settling at his waist.
"So you like it?"
He drops his hands to her waist and pulls, his lips moving to meet hers, stopping so close his face goes out of focus. She loves his face out of focus. Her core flares at the sudden contact.
"I like it even more now than I did earlier."
His nose brushes hers and she's already parting her lips, waiting, wanting. He pauses, testing her patience as always, but his own runs out and he's kissing her, nipping and sucking, tongue pressing forward, hungry. The weight of his hands on her waist is divine, until one lifts and she can feel his fingers sliding into her hair, cupping the side of her head.
A noise, closer than the background chatter from the hall, sends them springing apart; a hard-soled shoe chafing on the polished floor. Elena straightens her hair with one hand, reaching down for her champagne glass with the other. Tseng is wiping at his lips that are stained with the brilliant red of her lipstick.
She takes what's supposed to be a small sip but which, in her haste, ends up a fizzy gulp.
Rufus, flanked by Reno and Rude, rounds the corner out of the event hall just as she swallows. She can't hold back a grimace as the fizz burns a bitter path down her throat.
"I wouldn't drink too much of that if I were you," Rufus says. "It tastes like dishwater."
For once, something they agree on. Rufus looks at Tseng, and Elena gets the feeling he's not even trying to hide the smug smile on his face.
"Wouldn't you agree, Tseng?" Rufus asks.
"I wouldn't know," Tseng replies. "I'm still on duty."
Rufus looks at Elena, then back at Tseng. And smirks. "I never said you'd drank any. But you've tasted it." He looks at Elena.
Tseng touches his lips, wiping once more, looking down at the floor.
Busted.
"What is he talking about?" Reno mutters to Rude. Rude chuckles and jerks his head, gesturing for Reno to follow him out of earshot. Gods, for the king of gossip, he can be so dense sometimes. Which is absolutely a good thing right now.
"Anyway," Rufus continues, approaching Elena. "I wanted to ask you…" He clears his throat. "Where did you get your outfit?"
"Where did—why?" What's he going to do? Visit the store and close it down so she can't be contrary again?
"I have a date on Friday night," Rufus says matter-of-factly, tilting his chin up slightly in that way he does when he wants to remind people who he is. "I want to surprise her with something nice to wear."
"Oh. Right." Elena nods slowly. "Something nice and functionally ornamental to wear." She can't help herself. This moment is too good not to savour, just a little.
Rufus gives her a look.
"Of course," she says. "I'll text you a link."
"They do a very nice tuxedo," Tseng says smoothly. He can't possibly be going there. Oh gods Tseng what the hell. "In white."
Rufus looks at Tseng, expressionless. Elena takes another gulp of champagne.
"You like white, don't you, sir?"
Elena struggles not to choke.
Rufus sighs. "How very observant of you, Tseng."
"Very appropriate for dinner at a nice restaurant." Tseng clears his throat. "If you make it that far," he mutters. And coughs.
Elena half chokes on the champagne that she hasn't quite managed to swallow. The bubbles are making her mouth want to explode. Oh Shiva burning in hell, what is he doing?
Rufus really really really doesn't need to know how many dinners out they've missed because of that white tux and Tseng's inability to resist it.
"What was that?" Rufus asks. Thank gods for that. She elbows Tseng in the ribs all the same, champagne sloshing in her glass.
"Nothing," Tseng replies. "Sir."
"Hmm." Rufus turns to leave, hesitating. "Oh, by the way, Tseng." He gestures to the corner of his mouth. Elena's eyes slide sideways and upwards to see a little smudge of red lipstick still there. Fuck. She takes another, longer gulp from her glass. Rufus smiles. "You missed a bit. Seems you won't be making it to a restaurant, either."