Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Darkstar, down,” Rufus commands, leaving him whining at his feet. Ever since the… intrusion, a couple hours ago, he’s been right at his side, worriedly climbing into his lap every time he spaces out, thinking about whatever the hell just happened, or how Tseng is doing.

The paperwork swims in front of his eyes, words blending together before he digs his pointer finger into the corner of his eye and blinks, re-evaluating what he’s looking at. He’s still behind- Rufus wouldn’t admit to anyone but Tseng, but he’s been behind on paperwork since he ascended to presidency. His father, the asshole, left piles and piles of paperwork for him to catch up on. Apparently, he didn’t even complete most of it himself, getting his poor, overworked secretaries to file them for him, so he could complete the bare minimum amount of work. When Rufus had taken over, he’d decided he wasn’t having any of that; he’d work for this company himself, to get what he wanted.

Was that biting him in the ass a little? Absolutely. Rufus doesn’t think he’s gotten a full night’s sleep in months. The closest he gets is when he can persuade Tseng to come with him back to his apartment, and the two of them can relax together- and Sephiroth almost took that away from him.

Sephiroth… what a mess. Rufus barely remembers the first time he met the silver-haired man, back when Rufus had been a moody preteen, jealous and harsh with Lazard. He’d demanded to meet this “super-SOLDIER”, and no one had been able to tell him no. Recently 17, Sephiroth had been in and out of Wutai, becoming a war hero, and deeply uninterested in Rufus. Instead, he’d been ushered into the science department, from whence he himself had been forbade. Other times, he would sneak into the SOLDIER floor, just to catch a glimpse, and would catch him speaking with two other “promising SOLDIERs” who his father had also claimed to be “super-SOLDIERs”, but they clearly weren’t Sephiroth.

Then Sephiroth went to Nibelheim, and everything from there was simply speculation on Hojo’s part. Hojo himself had been dispatched after the town had allegedly “burnt down”, and had apparently continued experiments on many people, notably a First Class, and Strife. The odd blond who claimed he was a SOLDIER, despite Rufus’ complete lack of record saying so. The blond who, according to Hojo, was intrinsically intertwined with the ex-SOLDIER.

But was Sephiroth alive? How did he manage to get into the office- would he come back and try again? Send another soulless experiment to kill him? Why show himself as Lodbrok? Why did he stab Tseng? Does the silver enigma know about them, and is out to make them suffer? It doesn’t even make any sense, how Sephiroth is still haunting them after all this time-

“Ah!” Rufus grunts, as Darkstar jumps up on his lap again, snuffling at his chin. “D, I’m fine, get down.” He snaps his fingers, pointing back at the rug, and he acquiesces, but stares up at him, his tentacle swirling protectively around his ankles. He sighs, looking over at the clock, and blinks for a moment before he realizes he… can’t read it. It’s too fuzzy for him to read, and Darkstar clearly doesn’t want him to go anywhere, because when he goes to stand, he holds him down. His long silver tentacle-

“Agh, no,” Rufus grunts, shaking his head. Darkstar’s tentacle is dark purple, just like the rest of him. He knows that, damnit. He pats his lap, and he perks up, before settling his chin atop his lap. He scratches absently at his head and takes a deep breath.

“Sir? Are you still in here?” a feminine voice calls, and Rufus jumps. Darkstar startles at his reaction, carefully lapping around his desk chair before pushing his head closer. Rufus takes another stabilizing breath before replying.

“Yes, I’m still working,” Rufus calls back, and a woman with a blunt blonde bob appears. For a moment, he thinks it’s Elena, before he blinks again and sees the woman’s thin, rectangular glasses and shrewd glare. For all of Elena’s sass, she’s carefully polite when around her superiors (read: Tseng). He wouldn’t even know how irritable she could be if Tseng hadn’t relayed a story Rude had told him.

“The office is clearing out for the night, I just wanted to let you know. It’s almost midnight,” the woman says, (he really ought to know her name,) before she raises a hand in goodbye and leaves. He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, tense shoulders relaxing as Darkstar huffs again, pulling a paw up onto his pants. Rufus sighs, pushing his paw off, and blinking again as he looks at the paperwork.

“Damnit, fine, D,” Rufus grumbles, shuffling the papers into a neater stack before standing from his desk. The world blurs and darkens, but Rufus manages to stay up, fingers shaking against the cool metal of his desk. Darkstar whines at him, leaving him torn between looking down at his dog or continuing to stare forward, hoping the world comes into an acceptable amount of focus. He can’t see him, but he paces around Rufus’ legs, the air brushing against his pant leg.

He takes another stilted deep breath and blinks a few more times. Luckily, this time the world solidifies, and his feet feel more solid on the ground. He’s here, in his office, and he’s safe. He lets go of his desk, and steps back. Darkstar lets out a quiet bark, but Rufus is able to gather his things, (read: his jacket and Kamui) and step towards the door. He doesn’t need to instruct him anymore, but he pats at his left side anyway, and Darkstar heels. He flicks at the light switch, and heads toward the elevator.

His personal suite in the Shinra Building isn’t his home, or at least hasn’t been in a long time, but he’s not willing to make the trek home to his Sector 2 apartment at this hour, or in this state. He keeps it outfitted with necessities just in case he stays the night, and secretly enjoys the safety he can count on in the building- with 1st Class SOLDIERs and the Turks so close, he quietly thinks he’ll rest easy this evening. It would be a lie to say he’d never enjoyed a post coital shower in here either, though. Convenience at its finest, a solid goal of the Shinra Electric Power Company, one could say.

Tomorrow, he’ll have to go and see Tseng. Reno came by his office earlier in the night, before he’d been interrupted by Sephiroth’s mirage, and reported that he was recovering well, although still unconscious. According to the red-head, Tseng had passed out when they’d landed but was otherwise stable. It wasn’t enough to make Rufus worry, but it was enough to plant seeds of anxiety that’d bloomed the moment he’d shot Lodbrok as many times as he could. Ever since then, the looming worry had hung heavily over his shoulders.

He'd messed up the mission in the north. The temple hadn’t been the promised land, and Tseng had been hurt. He’d wasted a bunch of resources on something he’d been so sure of, and now he had to face the consequences. He’d wanted this company for so long, and the minute he got his hands on it, he wastes millions of gil on a pipe dream? Idiocy. His father would’ve done the same thing, with no regrets; but he wasn’t his damn father, no matter what the papers say.

Rufus comes back to reality as the elevator stops, and Darkstar lets out a meek bark. He steps forward, a hand holding tight to his gun, as he quickly walks to his suite. He pulls the keycard out of his jacket pocket, and sighs in relief when it beeps open. He’s able to go in, close the door behind him, and drop off his jacket on a nearby chair. He isn’t quite ready to part with Kamui, so he takes the gun into the bedroom with him, undressing quickly, tossing his clothes beside it on the bed. He finds one of Tseng’s shirts and slips it on. Rufus slides a hand through his hair, grimacing at the greasy feeling. He needs a shower, but he’ll leave that for the morning. A final glance around the room, and he sets Kamui on the dresser, still within his line of sight from the bed. His day clothes tossed on another chair; Rufus settles into bed.

“Darkstar, up,” Rufus commands, patting the bed. It depends, if Rufus allows him into the bed at night. Tseng has never once protested it, but from the way he carefully manages his expressions, Rufus would guess he doesn’t like it much. He prefers having Tseng in his bed anyway, but sometimes a man needs warmth from another being. Tseng has protested at his cold limbs in their bed at night. It took Rufus insistently teasing him, shoving freezing hands and feet into Tseng’s knees and elbows until the both of them were laughing and delirious, but he’d requested Rufus to never freeze him again. Rufus made no promises.

Darkstar hopped up into his bed, pressed against his side, Rufus underneath the expensive sheets, Darkstar atop them. Even when he lets him share the bed, he still has standards. Darkstar nuzzles closer, and Rufus takes another stilted attempt at a deep breath, before falling into an uneasy slumber.

He’s out with Tseng in Junon, this time. A creeping feeling of unease settles comfortably over his shoulders, not unlike his father’s hands from behind, but Rufus ignores it to instead focus on the warmth of his Turk’s hand in his. Tseng has forgone his gloves and official uniform, lucky for Rufus. Instead Tseng is in a silky red dress shirt, tucked into dark slacks. His holster is still equipped, but Rufus let it go as they had left their accommodations. Especially when he’d seen that Tseng hadn’t buttoned his shirt all the way up, as per uniform standard.

Rufus himself is in a baby blue sweater vest, a useless white jacket tied around his neck for the preppy look he’d been going for. Khakis and gleaming aviators, a platinum wristwatch to match his hair, which is perfectly pushed back by the wind. Tseng glows in the sun, Rufus thinks eagerly, and imagines kissing him in the setting sunlight.

“Rufus,” Tseng says quietly, and Rufus looks over at him. He is frowning, but Rufus still cannot think beyond his uselessly rattled brain, so he blinks and looks back out towards the sun. He can still feel Tseng in his grip, although Rufus is sure his grip must be bordering on uncomfortable at this point. “You’re sure you want to go through with this- becoming the president?”

The question is icy, Rufus knows, but he still feels nothing but warmth as he looks back at the Wutaian. “Yes. I want it more than almost anything. I can only think of one thing I want more, and I happen to already have him.”

“Don’t say that here,” Tseng warns, but a flush burns his cheeks anyway, so Rufus just grins and leans closer. “Be honest with me. You aren’t just doing it out of spite?”

“I’m not so spiteful I’d take a job over it. Besides, you and I both know what I did a lifetime ago. Not that I’m necessarily proud of my actions, but you have to admit it got farther than anyone anticipated,” Rufus points out, a cheeky pride coming out when he thinks about how close he came to receiving the chair almost a decade ago now. Before he’d well and truly met the Turks, when he’d invested his time into sabotaging a company he wanted for his own selfish gains, to the point of creating an ecoterrorist group. The power he’d held in that moment, before he’d been caught, had been the highest high he could remember.

“That does little to convince me. You’ve always been a rather spiteful man, my son,” someone says, right out of Tseng’s mouth. Tseng is still frowning, eyes glazed as he looks out at the Sister Ray.

“Tseng?” Rufus says, squeezing his hand. Tseng blinks, turning towards Rufus.

“Sorry, what were you saying?” Tseng asks.

“It’s alright- are you alright, though? You don’t normally space out like that…” Rufus says, and Tseng nods, hooking his chin over the top of Rufus’ head. “You’re worried about the Ancient.”

Tseng hesitates, but he nods again. Rufus has never really understood what Tseng stands to gain from caring so much about the glorified flower girl, but he indulges his lover anyway. Sends him or the other Turks, if he can’t reasonably send Tseng, to look after her, keeping her safe in the Sector 5 slums. He’s lied to Tseng about this, telling him it’s all to indulge Hojo, but truthfully, the scientist doesn’t even know he has tabs on the girl. If Rufus remembers a report from Reno right, the scientist has actually tried to send idiots of his own to watch over her. Lab technicians are no bodyguards. He knows he ought to care more about her, and this promised land his father had worked so hard to discover, but Rufus would rather invest his time and resources into things he was more confident would have positive outcomes. Long cons don’t exactly work out for him.

“I know that the Avalanche splinter cell is strong, but I just wish I could keep my own eyes on her,” Tseng admits, his voice box vibrating right on top of Rufus’ ear.

“I know how that feels,” Rufus replies, and Tseng hums. He hopes the Turk knows he means that’s how he feels about him. Tseng is irrevocably strong, but Rufus still wishes he could protect him too.

“You’ve never protected anything a day in your life. But you rich boys like to have everything just right, huh?” someone else says, and Rufus moves away from Tseng. Tseng looks at him confused, before his face contorts into something awful. Tseng doesn’t play a lot of emotion on his mouth like Elena does, or in his hands the way Reno does, or in his eyes the way Rude does. Tseng hides it so well, it took Rufus ages to figure out what Tseng did, because he refused to take Tseng’s perfect stoicism at face value. But eventually, Rufus puzzled it out. Tseng’s eyebrows were twitchy. When his guard was up, Tseng held his eyebrows perfectly still, raised with his eyes pointed. But eventually with Rufus, as he let down his guard, Rufus became able to spot expressions on his Turk’s face, and react accordingly. That didn’t mean he became an easy read, or that he was expressive, especially not as much as Elena or Reno. So to see Tseng’s face wide in fear, eyes drawn larger than Rufus had ever seen, mouth slack, was shocking, to say the least.

An irritatingly familiar blade had punctured his beloved, and all he could do is stare, as Sephiroth looked at him, his piercing mako-green eyes boring into him with a sinister grin. Rufus reached to his side, delayed, only to remember that he’d left his gun in their accommodations, and only Tseng had been armed. Tseng, who had been freshly kabob-ed in front of him. Tseng, who he hadn’t even gotten to tell he loved- they’d only danced around it. Rufus had worried too long and too hard, and here he was, paying the price.

“Tseng-!” Rufus manages, his voice shot and body trembling. He blinks, and Sephiroth is gone, the sword with it. Tseng is left to collapse into him, blood skulking up upon his lips, but only for a moment. As Rufus reaches up to touch his face, push that beautiful dark hair away from his eyes, an awful sinking, swooping in his gut lurches, and Rufus watches as he falls away, leaving Tseng up on that dusky Junon street, as he falls and falls into the world below-

Rufus starts, shooting up in his bed, only to have the Gaia-awful taste of bile crawl up his throat, and before he can even toss back the sheet, he’s emptying his stomach contents onto the bed in front of him. Darkstar whines at his side, and Rufus hiccoughs, before a sob breaks loose.

“Minerva above, of all the fucking times to be having nightmares,” Rufus whispers, throwing aside the defiled blanket, and grabbing at his dresser. He spares a glance at the clock, and puts together that he’s only been asleep for two hours. Not good enough, but enough to get him where he wants to go. He thought he could hold off until tomorrow, but clearly he’s not man enough to last a night alone. Unwilling to take off the t-shirt, Rufus instead exchanges his shorts for grey sweatpants, and rustles around in his sock drawer until he finds the stupid fuzzy socks Elena bought for everyone last holiday season. He could dig out his slippers too, but that’s too much effort, too much time wasted on himself rather than getting himself to Tseng’s side as soon as possible.

There are tear stains on the shirt he’s wearing by the time he makes it to the door, Darkstar keeping close, whining worriedly at him. He knows he’s a mess, but he also knows who can fix him up, even unconscious. So he swipes at his face, uselessly wetting his hands with tears, before using his keycard to crack open his door, and shambling towards the elevator.

He pushes the number 54, which is the floor for Turk-specialized care. Even before he’d ascended to presidency, Rufus had pushed for on-call doctors for the Turks- not even just for Tseng, honestly. He’d had to wait on his top members healing up a time too many, and had heard enough horror stories through reports of extreme wait times and subpar care that he’d issued a request for specialized doctors, (and had been more than clear that Hojo’s scientists were not acceptable doctors,) and for once, his father had agreed with him, allowing the change, provided the pay was taken out of the Turk’s exuberant paychecks. When Rufus had sent out an email about this to the team, he’d received eager agreement from Reno and Rude, surprisingly. Apparently, Rude was tired of waiting for Reno to heal up, too.

Hopefully, someone was up there though, watching over his Turk. He knew, logically, that Hojo wouldn’t try anything without express permission, especially on the Turks, which Rufus had protected time and time again, but the scientist’s eerie request had only served to make the president more nervous. He also distantly was aware he probably needed to alert someone to the cooling vomit on his bed, but that was no-longer-about-to-break-down Rufus’ problem.

The elevator beeps, and the doors slide open, only for a familiar body to almost fall into him.

“Tseng?” Rufus asks, voice high with anxiety. Tseng steadies himself on the wall and stares, his dark eyes unfocused and blinking heavily.

“Sir,” Tseng replies unsteadily, and Rufus wants to scream. Sir?

“What’re you doing here- in the elevator,” Rufus clarifies, and Tseng blinks again, bringing up a hand to rub at his temple.

“Looking for you, sir,” Tseng says, and Rufus pulls Tseng into his chest. All he wants is hold him, but Tseng remains stiff in his arms.

“We should get you back to bed. You’re still injured,” Rufus whispers, and Tseng grumbles something unintelligible into his shoulder. “What?”

“You’re not supposed to be here either,” Tseng says slowly, as if he’s putting it together. Rufus huffs, but starts leading Tseng off the elevator towards his room- Reno gave him the number earlier.

“No, probably not,” Rufus replies conspiratorially. Tseng groans, but leans further into Rufus. A flood of emotions rushes the blond- he’s grateful Tseng is depending on him, but upset Tseng’s been hurt enough to need him like this.

“Your shirt-“ Tseng pauses, swallowing, “your shirt is wet,” he points out, and Rufus hums. He doesn’t particularly want to have this conversation with Tseng- with how out of it he is, Tseng probably won’t remember this tomorrow anyway. Rufus doesn’t like repeat conversations either.

“Yes,” Rufus replies shortly, but Tseng tugs at his shirt anyway. Rufus is close to pulling the Turk off his feet and into his arms, but he’s not confident Tseng won’t thrash- and Rufus isn’t sure he can hold him up. The Turk is almost two hundred pounds of lean muscle, and while Rufus is no spring chicken…

“Isn’t this… my shirt?” Tseng asks. Rufus again, is drenched in a desire to scream. Yes, idiot, I’m wearing your damn shirt, I miss you and I thought I got you killed and then Sephiroth-as-Lodbrok broke into my fucking office almost killed me and I love you, damnit, and I would like to tell you sometime.

But all Rufus can manage is a soft, “yeah,” before pushing the door open, and putting Tseng back on his bed. He stands back up, and goes to back away, but Tseng’s hands are still grasping at his shirt. He glances around- not a capable Turk in sight. “Where’s Elena?” Rufus asks.

“I sent her away,” Tseng says, and Rufus sighs, rubbing at his own aching temple.

“Why? I had her watching you for a reason,” Rufus explains, and Tseng blinks again, owlishly, before leaning into Rufus’ torso again, his forehead meeting the President’s abdomen.

“I don’t need you to protect me, Rufus. That’s my job,” he defends, and Rufus moves to rest his hands on Tseng’s shoulders.

“I’m not going to let Hojo get his grimy hands on you because of your pride,” Rufus replies, squeezing Tseng. Tseng, to his credit, doesn’t bodily flinch, but he cranes his neck to look up at the blond.

“Hojo was asking after me?” Tseng asks, and Rufus hopes the tighter squeeze on his shoulders is enough of an answer. “I see.” Tseng looks back down, and turns his head to pull himself closer to Rufus’ core.

“You should be resting,” Rufus reprimands gently, but Tseng pays him no mind, his cheek nuzzled into Rufus, exhaustion dragging him slowly towards the blond, as if a Graviga had gone off behind him.

“So should you,” Tseng grumbles quietly, and Rufus sighs. Even mildly incapacitated, definitely high Tseng could read the room.

“I came here to check on you. You lay down, I’ll stay in the chair,” Rufus suggests, gesturing at a classically uncomfortable chair that one would find in a hospital room. Tseng pulls back, his brows furrowing, his mouth dropping open to protest, before Rufus sighs again. “Tseng. You need to rest in the bed. Please don’t fight me on this.”

“You could lay in the bed with me,” Tseng posits, and Rufus’ stomach swoops. He hadn’t wanted to force the idea on his Turk, but he would truthfully prefer that.

“You’re sure?” Rufus asks, and Tseng nods into Rufus’ body. Tseng loosens his arms, and pulls gently on Rufus’ shirt.

“Lay with me,” Tseng says quietly, and scoots back to let Rufus get in the bed. Rufus is used to Tseng’s anxieties at this point, and lets Tseng arrange himself between Rufus and the door. He doesn’t expect anyone to burst in anyway, besides maybe another Turk, so he settles on his side, looking at Tseng’s face. Tseng is laying facing the ceiling, his eyes scanning over the tiles, before he glances over at the president. “Don’t think I can’t tell something’s off with you,” Tseng mumbles, closing his eyes.

“I know,” Rufus whispers back, curling towards his lover. He takes a deep breath, before closing his own eyes and falling into another uneasy slumber.

“Rufus, stand straight. And look me in the eye when you speak to me,” his father demands, and Rufus swallows nervously, before doing just that.

“Yes, sir,” he replies, and spares a moment to glance over at his mother, who is looking at him with an unreadable expression.

“You’re going to tell me what you were doing in Sector 2 without my permission last night, and then swear you’ll never do it again. Your mother was beside herself with worry,” his father says, and the familiar feeling of his heart dropping in his chest hits him so hard he almost flinches. But he maintains his posture, and instead nods solemnly.

“A friend from school told me there was a shop in Sector 2 that was only open at night- he made it sound interesting, and my curiosity got the better of me. I did not consider my safety or your concerns, and for that I apologize,” Rufus apologizes, and his father narrows his eyes.

“What were you trying to buy, that you could not simply ask someone else to go for you?” his father asks skeptically.

‘An apartment,’ Rufus thinks eagerly. “Condoms,” Rufus says aloud instead. His mother stifles a laugh, and his father coughs. Their reaction was expected- this lie was planned. An amusing teenage experience was an easy cover for his reach for freedom.

“In the future, simply have them delivered. I trust we won’t have this problem again?” his father says, clearing his throat awkwardly.

“Yes, sir,” Rufus repeats.

“You may go, Rufus,” his mother dismisses him, catching Rufus off guard. Most often, his mother did not speak, when his father summoned him. But Rufus simply nodded again, and stepping out of the room. He retreats all the way back to his locked-in suite and sighs, his shoulders drooping.

Rufus lays back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, imagining the freedom he’ll have once he comes of age. Soon, he’ll be out of this building, and in his own little apartment in Sector 2. His interest in the company is waning, but it still possesses him with this exceptional desire to control the Shinra Power Electric Company. He wants out, only so he can control it on his own terms.

His father lies about “protecting him” by keeping him trapped in here, when he knows the truth is that his father doesn’t want his son to know about what’s going on. What the negative impacts of his actions are- he doesn’t want Rufus to be concerned with that, because he isn’t. Why should the President be concerned with things like the lives of the populace of Midgar? Why would the President care about what the slums are like, besides to sell more products?

This isn’t the first time he’s snuck out, and it certainly won’t be the last. Rufus is naively eager to explore the city he’s meant to take charge of, and he knows it. There’s a certain danger in the city, especially in the slums, but that’s where all the excitement, all the livelihoods are found. Rufus wants to see that- wants to experience it, to a certain extent.

A knock raps on his door, drawing the blond out of his daydream. He steps up to the door, and hesitatingly opens it. A Turk stands at the door, coldly staring right into his soul.

The Turks are a newer addition to security- Rufus is high priority, but most of his escapades only include a tip to a security officer, and he’s off. He isn’t monitored 24/7, especially in his own suite.

“I’m to take you to your shooting practice,” the Turk says, and Rufus just blinks.

“Why?” he asks thoughtlessly. The Turk’s face somehow gets… colder, and he stares.

“I don’t ask questions,” he says, quieter. Rufus nods, and steps back into his room. The Turk goes to follow, but he quickly slams the door- “Hey!”

“I’m sorry- I’ve got to change quickly! I’m not- escaping or whatever-“ Rufus reasons, grabbing aimlessly at his clothes.

The door slams open, and Sephiroth is standing there. Adult, mass-murderer Sephiroth. Rufus’ instinct is to scream, but feels the breath torn out of him as he looks past him, and sees Tseng, his Turk, impaled on the ground. Masamune stands strong, the blade piercing through Tseng into the carpeted floor. Sephiroth laughs, a long-drawn out laugh that cascades down Rufus’ back and forces him to shiver, despite how frozen he feels.

“You-!” Rufus squeaks, and Sephiroth’s eyes shoot over to him, his expression shifting from bored to angry. A moment later, Rufus is on the wall, Sephiroth holding him up by merely his neck. The urge to vomit is strong- but it’d be impossible, since the silver-haired SOLDIER is choking him. “Seph-i…roth…”

“Rufus- Rufus, wake up!” Tseng says sharply, and Rufus blinks. Isn’t Tseng- “Rufus!”

Rufus can’t breathe- Sephiroth stole his air, and he can’t breathe, and he can’t breathe-!

“Rufus, Rufus, it’s okay,” someone says, and a warm hand touches his ribs- his ribs are easily available- Sephiroth is going to slice open his ribs and serve them to Jenova. He makes a high pitched noise of protest and attempts to roll away- and then he’s falling onto the floor, and he’s grasping at the floor, and his stomach is heaving, and fuck he doesn’t want to throw up again-

“Rufus!” Tseng says- but that can’t be Tseng, he died because of his ego, and Sephiroth is going to kill him next, and Tseng can’t be dead, because Rufus hasn’t told him how much he loves him, and that’s his Turk- his Turk can’t die yet, but he saw Sephiroth-

“Rufus, you need to breathe, c’mon-“ Fake-Tseng says, and someone’s hand is in front of his face for a moment, before it disappeared from his view. Weakly, Rufus reaches up for it- hoping he can have the long-forgone comfort of his lost lover. The hand reappears, and Rufus grabs at it. It squeezes back, and Rufus feels the pressure in his chest loosen. It’s certainly not the deep breaths he should be taking, but it’s better.

The room starts to come into focus- he’s in the Turks’ hospital room… he was here… to find Tseng. He looks up, blinking, at the bed, and Tseng is leaning over the bed, his hand squeezing in a pulse-like manner with his eyebrows twitching.

“Tseng…” Rufus splutters, choking on a cough. Tseng squeezes his hand tightly, losing the rhythm. Rufus squeezes back, and lets out a noise of shock as Tseng pulls him up onto the bed, pulls him up into his lap, and wraps his arms around the still-shaking president.

“You’re alright, no one is going to hurt you,” Tseng says as Rufus leans closer, burying his face in his Turk’s shoulder. A shaking hand grabs at the hospital gown and tugs, and Tseng huffs. “I’m right here, Rufus, take a breath. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You- I- You-“ Rufus gasps, and Tseng hums worriedly, running his hands up and down Rufus’ body.

“Rufus, breathe,” Tseng insists, and he inhales deeply, then lets it out slowly. Rufus does his best to copy it, but coughs again and continues to hyperventilate. “It’s alright, hey, let’s try again.”

Rufus’ gasping breaths eventually mellow out into slow, deep breaths, but it takes time- time that Rufus doesn’t want to spend on breathing. He just wants to talk to Tseng- tell him about how much he treasures their time together, tell him about how sometimes he imagines the two of them running away from Shinra, tell him anything and everything he’s ever thought about, because he trusts him more than he trusts himself. He wants to tell Tseng that he’d do anything for him.

It takes him a second to realize that he’s crying again. He’s not hyperventilating, but the sobs shock breaths out of his chest that make Tseng grab him tighter. It’s the tight grasp that makes Rufus realize this is likely the first time he’s done this in front of his Turk- he hasn’t had a proper breakdown in a couple years at this point. He thinks the last time it happened was his confrontation with Avalanche’s leader, and he’d been isolated at that point.

“Tseng,” Rufus manages. Tseng leans forward, pressing his face into Rufus’ scalp.

“I’m right here. We’re both safe. Elena came back an hour or so ago and is keeping watch outside the room- she’ll protect us,” Tseng shares quietly, then he pauses for a moment. “Sorry, is this helping at all? Did you want me to talk?” Tseng murmurs, and Rufus nods, gasping out another wet sob, before heaving out a slower breath, and wetly laughing.

“Minerva above, yes,” Rufus laughs, sniffing.

“I don’t know what else to tell you… uhm, Reno stopped by earlier and said he stopped by your suite, and got someone to clean it up for you, although he didn’t really say what needed to be cleaned… but I thought I’d tell you anyway. Rude is organizing our paperwork- I think he started with mine, since mine’s probably a much smaller collection, but he’s working on organizing yours, so you have an easier time with it. And don’t worry- both Reno and I told him he didn’t have to, but he insisted on it, so… but you know him, whether he admits it or not, he’s a bit of a neat freak,” Tseng rambles. Rufus wetly laughs again, and then pushes gently on Tseng. Tseng easily lets him slide away, but holds onto his hands gently. Rufus sighs softly, before pulling away and grabbing Tseng’s face.

“I- thank you, Tseng,” Rufus starts, then leans in and kisses him lightly. When he pulls away, Tseng is staring at him with an eyebrow ever-so-slightly quirked, and Rufus can’t help but chuckle at him. “I’m sorry- you’re giving me quite a look, you know.”

“I do- I also know you just had a panic attack, cried, and then kissed me. Excuse me for being a little shocked,” Tseng replies, but he’s smiling back- more of a smirk, but it’s not like Tseng normally beams at him or something.

“Sorry- no, I am sorry. I have no right to be such a wreck when you’ve literally been stabbed,” Rufus protests, and Tseng sighs. He pulls his gown aside, and Rufus gapes at the perfectly healed skin on his side- a light, raised scar where the blade made a clean cut through.

“Don’t tell me you’ve just forgotten about materia. They had to use quite a bit of magic, hence my… incapacitated state last night, but I’m alright now. I’ll be out of here by noon with some soreness.” Tseng puts a hand on Rufus’ leg, and Rufus looks back up to his face, his eyes watering again. “Oh, god, don’t cry again, please- I’m alright-“

“I know! I know, I know, I know you’re fine. I just- I’m embarrassed, alright? I’ve been freaking out- it was just that you got stabbed by practically my father’s biggest mistake, and then he broke in my damn office and threatened me and he just got in my head and you were unconscious in the helicopter on the way back and fuck it, Tseng, I was scared I missed my opportunity to tell you I loved you, and I’ve just been so overworked and I’m freaking out a little, or a lot, and I’m crying again, even though you just asked me not to, because I feel so fucking stupid right now- and-"

“Rufus,” Tseng says, his thumb running over Rufus’ knee in a soothing manner. Rufus blinks, and the tears barely fall, before Tseng is wiping them away. “First of all, I love you too. Second of all, when did Sephiroth break into your office? Did you alert anyone?”

“No, no, I took care of it. It was last night- Lodbrok showed up again, and turns out I did kill him a few years ago. Apparently Sephiroth had control over him the way he does over those damn robed men,” Rufus explains, laughing tiredly. Tseng sighs, but squeezes his thigh gently.

“But you didn’t alert anyone?” Tseng repeats, and Rufus shakes his head.

“I handled it,” he says vaguely, and from Tseng’s expression, he knows he’ll have to tell Tseng more seriously later, likely in the form of a detailed report, but he leans forward into Tseng, who drops it.

“I know you’re just trying to get out of it, so I’ll let it slide for now. But, why don’t we just rest a bit, until we’ve got to work?” Tseng suggests, and Rufus stiffens against him. “You can just come work in my office with me, this afternoon.”

“That’d be good, yes,” Rufus replies, relaxing once again. Tseng adjusts them both, Rufus’ head on Tseng’s shoulder, Tseng’s arms still wrapped protectively around his president. They take a moment to breathe, before a noise at the door makes both men freeze. While the other Turks are… aware of their “arrangement”, they still don’t particularly wish to be caught off guard. Rufus reluctantly pulls away, both of them sitting up with a space between them. Tseng sneaks an arm behind Rufus, squeezing his hand, before the scratching at the door resumes, and Tseng pulls away.

“Elena, let him in,” Tseng calls, and the door swings open. Elena stands in the doorway with a grimace, but Darkstar rushes in, jumping up so his front legs hit Rufus’ legs. He goes to pet the base of his tentacle, and smiles as he barks quietly at him, panting eagerly.

“Sorry, boss. I did my best to keep her occupied while keeping an eye out, but he’s a pretty excitable dog,” Elena apologizes, and Tseng scoffs.

“That he is,” Rufus says, distracted. Rufus doesn’t pay any attention to the Turks, tuning them out for a moment, until the cot shifts underneath him, and he looks up from Darkstar to see Tseng getting off the bed. “Where’re you going?”

“A short walk around the floor- I’ll be back soon, unless you want to come along,” Tseng offers, and Rufus nods, moving to stand up. Darkstar whines at him, until he pats his left side, and he heels eagerly. “I wasn’t aware I invited the dog.”

“I-“

“I am teasing, Rufus. Darkstar may come- he likely could use the exercise,” Tseng says calmly, reaching cautiously for Rufus’ hand. Rufus takes it, and nods.

“Yes, he could,” Rufus replies, deflecting the real question on Tseng’s face.

Chapter Text

It’s late afternoon when Rude makes an appearance in Tseng’s office with a short stack of paperwork. Tseng is at his desk, and looks up when the glabrescent man walks in.

“Go ahead and put it on my desk,” Tseng says, and Rude nods shortly. He glances over at the president, asleep on the couch. The president’s paperwork is untouched, and when Rude looks back up, the leader of the Turks is watching the president as well. “…How much more work do you and Reno have, after the most recent mission?”

Rude places the papers on the desk, before flexing his hands. “We’re both freed up. You got something for us?”

“If you wouldn’t mind. I know it’s been a busy couple of days,” Tseng says apologetically, “It’s nothing intensive- I just need someone I trust to do it.”

“Sure. Should I go get Reno, or…?” Rude trails off, and Tseng shakes his head.

“You can fill him in, it’s not too complicated. This morning, the President mentioned something about Sephiroth breaking into his office last night. I just- could you and Reno look through the security cameras for me? Find how he got in- if he was on camera? He mentioned Lodbrok, that P-0 SOLDIER too, but I wasn’t sure how they were related,” Tseng explains.

“No offense, sir, but do you really think Sephiroth was in the building last night and no one else saw him?” Rude asks skeptically, earning an exhausted glare from Tseng.

“I wouldn’t know, I was incapacitated. I’d like to know, and I’d like you to check the tapes. That will be all,” Tseng dismisses. Rude nods shortly, and disappears from the office. Tseng sighs, lifting a gloved hand to massage his temple. He doesn’t have a headache yet, but if Reno keeps rubbing off on his partner like that, the insubordination will shatter his sanity. He sneaks another glance at Rufus, who is still asleep, curled on his side. His eye bags are getting worse lately, with more stress and less sleep. He knows the president has work he likely ought to be doing, but Tseng prefers the blond with some energy to quip back at him.

Darkstar is pacing around the office, his tentacle level in the air, which Tseng has come to know means he’s feeling rather protective at the moment. He hates to admit it, but he kind of agrees with the dog.

Never in his time serving the Shinra Power Electric Company has he ever seen Rufus like that. Not when his plan to take the company was dismantled, not when either of his parents died, not one of the many times Rufus grasped for freedom and was smacked away. But truly what confuses the Turk is why this is the time Rufus couldn’t hold it all together. Was it just the combination of all this stress? Was it the threat on his own life? Was it the threat on his life?

But Tseng has been hurt a million times- it comes with the job, whether the president likes it or not. This isn’t the first time he’s been stabbed- it’s the first time he’s been stabbed by Sephiroth, sure. He’s been shot, tortured a time or two (or over ten, although he doesn’t think about that too often), and any other sort of thing. There was a reason Rufus had invested in the floor for Turks’ care. They got hurt quite often- but Rufus had been so… concerned for him.

Does he feel like that all the time? Worrying and overthinking about him?

…He hopes not.

Another knock at his door has Darkstar growling, pausing his pacing in front of the President protectively. Luckily Rufus remains asleep, but Tseng steps away from his desk to answer the door himself. He knew Rude was coming, but he wasn’t aware of anyone else coming to visit this afternoon. He creaks it open to see Reeve Tuesti; the board director of the Urban Planning division, and more importantly, the controller of Cait Sith.

“Tseng, you are here!” Tuesti says with an intensely false cheer. “I’m glad you’re up and about, after yesterday’s predicament.”

“Yes, as am I, and I’ve paperwork to be catching up on. Is there something I can do for you, sir?” Tseng asks tersely, and the director’s smile fades.

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I ran into Hollander late this morning, and he seemed like he was rather intent on having a board meeting with the president about yesterday as soon as possible. It’s my understanding that he has ideas on how to get back into the temple- he and Scarlet were up scheming about that, and Wutai, to my knowledge. I just thought you and the president would want to know,” Tuesti’s voice drops, and Tseng stares at him. Tseng blinks, and then nods briefly at the director.

“Thank you, sir,” Tseng says reluctantly. He isn’t actually grateful for the news this brings, but he’ll double check it himself. He goes off duty for one night, and everyone gets up to some other new scheme, he supposes. Next he’ll find another batch of SOLDIERs ready to defect, and Hojo’ll have his newest experiment set free in the slums.

“No problem. I’ve got the cat ready to pounce, if you know what I mean, but obviously the cell isn’t taking any radical action at the moment. Not after their loss,” Tuesti says cryptically, and Tseng feels his eyebrow twitch.

“What loss, sir?” Tseng asks, and Reeve’s eyebrows furrow.

“You don’t know? The Ancient… Aerith, she didn’t make it,” Tuesti frowns, looking away from the Turk for a moment.

Tseng’s heart drops. “Aerith?” he repeats, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Strife said it was Sephiroth. No one else made it in time to see it- just her body,” Tuesti explains, and Tseng pulls further away, back into his office.

“Thank you for your time, sir,” Tseng says, before shutting the door forcefully- harder than he means to, but he’s painfully close to his own tears.

It’s off-putting, to imagine a girl so full of life, dead. He’s been protecting her since she was a little girl- when he was sent after her, and on his own time. Her gardens, god, her mother. Would the church in the slums wither, now that its caretaker had moved onto the lifestream? Aerith had always believed in the lifestream’s power- he’d never been able to tell if that was just her faith in the planet, or if she’d had a closer relationship with it, due to her being an Ancient.

He’d seen her not yesterday, after Sephiroth had stabbed him. He’d gone for Rufus, and killed Aerith- the bastard.

“Shit,” Tseng mutters. Maybe Rufus had been right- maybe the silver-haired man really did have it out for the both of them. The records on Sephiroth provided by Hojo had always been rather convoluted- he supposes that’s what happens when the super SOLDIER of the century is your son. But his genetic predecessor, the supposed Ancient… Tuesti’s reports from Cait Sith had said Jenova was otherwise, otherworldly- calling her a “calamity”. Sephiroth was no Ancient, that was clear to the Turk now.

Maybe he ought to re-read those reports. The ones from Sephiroth’s conception- and his defecting from the company later on. Maybe he’d put together something new- something everyone else had missed.

“…Tseng?” a murmur from the couch forced Tseng to spring back into reality, back into his shaking hands and dead protectee. He turns around, and Rufus is sitting up, a steadying hand resting on the back of his dog. Still blinking tiredly, threads of blond hair falling into his eyes, Rufus looks more rested than before, but that invincible exhaustion still weights him down. “Tseng, did something happen?”

“Aerith’s dead,” Tseng replies, toneless. Rufus shoots up from the couch, standing at his side in an instant.

“Can I touch you?” Rufus asks softly, and Tseng swallows around the lump in his throat. He nods, and a moment later Rufus has enveloped him. His arms pull tightly around the Turk, squishing Tseng’s arms to his sides. A moment later Tseng drops his head on Rufus’ shoulder, the world darkening around him. Rufus’ hand comes up to his head, cradling it gently, before pressing a kiss to his scalp. “I’m so sorry, Tseng. You- She was important to you.”

“Tuesti said it was Sephiroth,” Tseng says, tensing. Rufus hums, an echo of the concern Tseng had earlier this morning. “Sephiroth killed her.”

“Sephiroth will be dealt with. We’re not seeking out revenge- not like this, Tseng,” Rufus replies, raking a hand through Tseng’s hair. It’s calming, and Tseng sighs.

“I know. It’s not what she would’ve wanted,” Tseng admits, and Rufus nods. Another kiss on his scalp, another brush-through of his hair, and he pulls away to look at his lover.

“I’ve got an idea, for tonight,” Rufus says, a smirk on his face. Tseng stares at him, blinking, and Rufus laughs quietly. “Not that. Why don’t we go to the shooting range- work off some steam, clear your mind, and then we can order takeout from that place you like, back at my apartment. Then you can stay the night- maybe watch that new Loveless adaptation that came out recently. Does that sound alright with you?”

Tseng grunts, reaching for and taking Rufus’ hand. He squeezes it, and then leans back into his lover.

“I love you, Tseng,” Rufus murmurs, his free hand pushing the hair out of Tseng’s face. Tseng grunts again, the exhaustion and grief still wracking his body. Rufus squeezes him close, pressing another kiss on his head. “On second thought, why don’t we skip most of that. Can I take you home? Please?”

Tseng nods. Part of him wants to protest- his workday doesn’t end for another few hours, and he’s already behind from his night in the Turk’s-care-floor, but part of him knows Rufus is right. He won’t be able to get any quality work done in this state, and he wants to keep an eye on Rufus as badly as Rufus wants to keep an eye on him. A third, quiet part wants to beg Rufus to take him to the slums- to her church. He wants to see it, he wants to make sure it hasn’t withered away already, without her care. He wants to buy another overpriced yellow lily from her, taking it home to Rufus’ apartment. Fair told her once, “Midgar full of flowers, pockets full of money,” and while she never quite had pockets full of money, the flowers she sold spread wide across the metropolis.

He hopes those two are together, wherever they go when they die. He wonders if he still has any of her letters for Fair, somewhere in his own apartment. Not that he goes to his own apartment very often nowadays, but he thinks he still has them in the back of a closet somewhere.

He’d never told her he’d seen the SOLDIER die- he couldn’t stomach telling her the part he’d played. But she’d given up writing him letters of her own accord, so he’d never had to. Now he never will, he supposes.

“Ah- Tseng?!” Rufus says, and Tseng blinks, singular tears dripping onto his cheeks. Rufus swipes them away, a confused expression on his face. Tseng sucks in a breath through his teeth, and pulls away, out of Rufus’ grasp.

“I- I apologize. Give me a moment to compose myself, please.” Tseng turns towards his desk, looking up at the ceiling. He pushes his tongue to the roof of his mouth and wills his eyes to stop watering. He is not a crier, for Leviathan’s sake.

“Tseng, it’s alright, you can cry- I was just shocked-“

“I don’t want to cry. Not here, not now. It is not the time,” Tseng interrupts, a force in his voice he learned from Veld. He isn’t an angry man, but he has learned how to behave like one.

“…Right. Let’s get out of here, hm?” Rufus suggests. Tseng takes another deep breath in, sighs it out, and turns back around to look at Rufus. He looks a little off kilter, as if Tseng had done something unexpected, but Tseng doesn’t have the emotional energy to explore that, so instead he nods sharply.

“Let me organize my things, and then we can go,” Tseng murmurs, and Rufus nods at him. Rufus’ piles remain untouched, so instead of bothering with his paperwork, Tseng notes that Rufus wanders over to Tseng’s desk and watches Tseng sort the papers, add a note to a list, and quickly add an out-of-office reply to his PHS. Two minutes later, the Turk straightens up, glancing down at Darkstar, before looking back up at Rufus. “Takeout?”

“Takeout. You want the regular stuff?”

“Yes, please.”

“I want to go somewhere, in the morning,” Tseng declares suddenly, in the dark. Rufus is lying on his side, looking at him with a soft look in his eyes.

“How early?” Rufus asks, and Tseng frowns, turning his head to see his lover.

“You aren’t going to ask where?” he asks, and Rufus huffs, a smile on his face.

“I trust you. I assume you’re telling me because you’d like me to come along- usually you just sneak out if you want to go alone. So, I’d rather know how early we’re rising,” Rufus says. Tseng stares at him for a moment, before grabbing one of Rufus’ hands and kissing the knuckle.

“I love you. Is six okay?” Tseng suggests, and Rufus nods, the silk sheet of the pillow rustling beneath him.

“Anything for you,” Rufus replies.

The third time Tseng was kidnapped, the man in charge was inexperienced. He remembers thinking that he’d do a better job of getting information from a suspect than this man would, despite his age. The man would shout and scream endlessly, never allowing Tseng to get a word in, then switch instantly to hitting him. No blades, no true threats, just weak smacks and punches, a few kicks when he could manage. Tseng doesn’t remember a single question being asked- just playing the part of a human punching bag.

That was the easiest. Rufus told him once it was awful that he had a “easiest” time being kidnapped- but Tseng supposes that’s true. Rufus has been kidnapped before- but he was treated kinder than Tseng ever was. That’s what happens when you’re information, rather than bait. No one would think to use him as bait, and no one would torture the son of the most powerful man in the world for information.

Tseng finds himself in the room he was in, over two decades ago. His wrists are bound by simple rope, his ankles clasped in metal chains. His mouth is gagged, and he can feel the uncomfortable sting of a broken rib. The room was darker than he remembered, although that could be the edges of his vision going dark. He shifts in the chair and is shocked at the weight of the rope- he can barely tap his fingers on the edge of the armrest.

Uncomfortably in a vulnerable position, Tseng flinches harder than he means to when the door creaks open. Short tufts of white hair- Hollander, in his degraded state.

“Where is my son?” Hollander asks, and Tseng shakes his head. Even if he knew- even if he had any idea what the scientist was talking about, he couldn’t tell him. “WHERE IS MY SON?” he shouts, stomping his foot childishly. The shock from the ground forces his degrading skin to peel off, falling and fading to the ground. His eyes are crazed, but Tseng doesn’t have anything to tell him. It hurts as Hollander slaps his face- his teeth ache in a way that tells him he’s been punched. He closes his eyes, anticipating another attack, but when all he can hear is his heartbeat and someone’s heavy breathing, he cracks them open again.

Sephiroth is in front of him. He is thirteen again, trembling and watching as the man steps ever closer.

“You cannot protect them. You cannot protect them from me.” Sephiroth says, towering above the captured teen. “I am more powerful than anything you’ve ever faced. I am stronger than anything you’ve ever imagined, and I alone will destroy you. Your life, your world. It will be mine, all of it- it is my birthright.”

Tseng can only shake his head, and watches Sephiroth stab through him. Time seems to slow down- the blade inching through his torso, the pain building and building until even the thought of thinking hurts. His body is on fire, and he cannot do anything to stop the monstrosity in front of him. The blade stops on the other side, embedded in the wooden chair he’s tied to, before Sephiroth kicks the chair, jolting the wound in a way that forces a cry from the stoic Turk.

“You are weak. You are incapable. There is nothing you can do to slow me down, let alone stop me. You are but ants beneath my feet. This world is mine,” Sephiroth proclaims. He kicks Tseng in the face, his jaw aching again. The gag pulls down, and Tseng coughs, blood beneath his teeth.

“Please-“ Tseng manages, and Sephiroth is gone. Instead, Aerith stands before him.

“You were supposed to protect me. You told me you would never let someone harm me if you could help it. Can you imagine it? I probably screamed and screamed. A slow, painful death. You let that happen to me. You failed me. You’ll fail Rufus next. The world won’t let you win,” she taunts, and Tseng lets the words sink in. He knows they’re true, after all.

“I’m sorry, Aerith,” Tseng wheezes, and she steps closer. She still smells like flowers, but something is wrong about them. As if she smells like the wrong flower.

“I know. You’ve always been sorry for protecting me. You knew you couldn’t save me when it really mattered,” she says airily. What did her flowers smell like? Was this the right smell after all, and he couldn’t tell anymore? How could he have forgotten already?

“I’m next, you know,” Rufus says, because apparently, he’s there now, instead of Aerith. “I’m going to be murdered next, or kidnapped and experimented on, and it’s going to be your fault, because you won’t be able to save me either. Sephiroth is stronger than you, and you’ll never be able to help. You can’t save her, and you can’t save me.”

“Rufus-“ Tseng protests, and a slim, cold finger presses his lips together. Rufus is grinning maliciously, and Tseng cannot help but feel anything but exhausted by it. He has been betrayed a million times, but not once has Rufus. His mind seems unable to conjure up a threat from the blond that sticks with him. Rufus does not sincerely tease him like this- the falsehoods ring warning bells in his head, the volume being the last thing his mind can take.

Tseng blinks awake to Rufus’ alarm, a familiar bell. Rufus mumbles something unintelligible at his side, before stretching out to mute the alarm. Tseng sits up, eyes flitting about the room. The door is still closed, Rufus’ clothes are still draped over the chair from last night. Everything seems to be normal. He lets his first breath out of the morning, looking over at Rufus. His light blue eyes are half-lidded and amused, a smile gracing his softened features with the morning sun.

“Good morning,” Rufus says, his voice delightfully low. Tseng finds himself smiling back, leaning over to kiss Rufus on the lips.

“Good morning,” Tseng says, his face an inch away from Rufus’, eyes searching his face. Rufus, to his credit, looks incredibly endeared. Rufus leans up to kiss him again, and this time, Tseng pulls further away, getting up and off of the bed. “Do you still want to come with me?”

“I’ll follow you anywhere, Tseng. Yes,” Rufus replies, and Tseng turns around to huff amusedly at him.

“You’re properly smitten with me, aren’t you?” Tseng teases.

“Without a doubt,” Rufus answers, entirely serious.

Eventually, Rufus also pulls himself out of bed, and into the shower. Tseng had showered last night, and set to making them a light breakfast while checking the train times. A train would be departing in 20 minutes- perfect timing. He bought two tickets online, before quickly opening his email and scrolling through it while waiting for the microwave.

An email from Rude, with Reno attached, with a short video clip was near the top of his inbox- delivered late last night.

Most Recent Assignment

Thought you’d want to see this yourself: [Video Link]

Video was taken from 23:28-23:34, on the night of our return. There are no cuts in the video. Reno and I went up and investigated the president’s office, and there was no evidence of any of those events occurring: no body, no blood, no gun shot residue.

Awaiting orders, Rude (& Reno)

Tseng clicks on the video, and the grainy security video clicks. The timestamp in the corner matches the timestamp Rude supplied, but he watches as Lodbrok seems to appear in the president’s office. Tseng furrows his eyebrows, rewinds the video, and watches it again. He doesn’t walk in from off camera, just appears in the office. That doesn’t lend Tseng any information on how the ex-SOLDIER got in in the first place.

“What are you watching?” Rufus asks, and Tseng looks up, sliding his phone in his pocket.

“Security tapes from Reno and Rude. I’ll look at them in the office,” Tseng answers vaguely, thinking of Rufus’ similar omittance when he was asking about the incident in question. Besides, he can surely check them in the office. “Breakfast? The train’s set to leave in fifteen minutes now, so you’d better hurry.”

“Train? Where are we going?” Rufus asks, taking the bowl of oatmeal Tseng had prepared- a mix with Rufus’ fancy oat milk and ground cinnamon sticks- and starting to eat it.

“You’ll see,” Tseng says vaguely again, and Rufus laughs.

“You love your mystery. It must kill you that I know you so well,” Rufus says between bites, and Tseng just huffs again. He’s saved from having to answer by the clacking of Darkstar’s paws on the kitchen tile. “Good morning, D.” Rufus leans down to pet his ear, which he flicks at him.

“Hurry up with your breakfast,” Tseng says, walking back into the bedroom. He takes a moment to close the door, before pulling out his phone and resuming the security footage. He watches as Lodbrok instigates and mocks Rufus, and once again mourns their lack of decent security cameras. All of the ones with microphones had been given to the Science Department, due to the former President Shinra’s distinct favoritism of the department, and the former President’s feeling of invincibility.

But right as past Rufus balks at the robed man, the current Rufus knocks on the door to the bedroom. Tseng fumbles his phone, sliding it into his pocket again, and opens the door.

“I’m ready- is everything alright?” Rufus asks, and Tseng nods sharply.

“I was double-checking something, no need to worry. Let’s go,” Tseng instructs, leaving the bedroom. Rufus is quick to follow Tseng, and Darkstar is quick to follow Rufus. They don’t touch at all as they leave the apartment building, quickly falling into their roles of “bodyguard” and “president” that they assume when they’re in public. Tseng opens doors, checks their surroundings, and clears paths. It’s not quite as big a shock to see Rufus in Sector 2 these days, although maybe this early it is a bit of a surprise.

After living in an apartment here for over a decade, it becomes less of a surprise.

Tseng leads the way to the train station, and luckily enough, they’re right on time. The morning train to the slums is here, and Tseng tilts his head towards the train, as a silent indication to get on, before Rufus seems to realize that this is the train they’re here for. It isn’t until they’re on the train and the train is moving that Rufus speaks up though, whispering in his ear.

“We’re going to the slums?” Rufus asks, almost silently. Tseng just nods, refusing to meet his eye. Some of the other passengers are staring at Darkstar, but he keeps close to them and remains unusually quiet. Perhaps he understands how frightened and harmless the passengers are. As they wait, Tseng has the urge to continue looking at the security footage- he suspects he was getting right to the confusing part, although he was already confused about Lodbrok’s arrival. But truly, he can look at it later. Instead, he focuses on the civilians boarding the train, keeping an eye on how they look around at the three of them. He was hoping it was early enough there wouldn’t be much human traffic, and so far, he seems to be right. He’s more worried about getting them back up to the plate, but he knows a few roundabout ways.

“Sector Five slums stop, Sector Five slums stop!” an announcement echoes as the train begins to slow, and Tseng gently pushes at Rufus’ arm.

“This is our stop,” Tseng says, and Rufus nods. He stands up, prepared to exit, and a woman jolts away from the door. The train stops, the door opens, and Tseng guides Rufus off the train. Darkstar follows faithfully, and the three of them watch as the train pulls away. Few civilians are left at the station, so Rufus risks a pat on the shoulder.

“Where are we going, then?” Rufus asks, gesturing ahead. Tseng points at a gate behind where the train was, and Rufus hums. “After you.”

Tseng starts walking, and thankfully the path towards the church was still very obvious- piles of trash and scrap filled the sides of the road. After a few minutes of walking, Rufus reaches for Tseng’s hand, and Tseng lets him take it. No one else goes this way anymore, now that the person who did has-

“D!” Rufus shouts, and Tseng blinks back into focus- Darkstar has run ahead, and seems to be starting a fight with a local Hedgehog Pie. “Damnit, he’s too eager- Darkstar, stop!”

“That is a monster, you know,” Tseng says, drawing his own pistol. He shoots at it, hitting it, and Darkstar whines, trotting towards the couple. The monster fades into the lifestream, and Tseng puts the gun back into his holster, then re-grabs Rufus’ waiting hand.

“Still, I need to train him better on that front. He’s always eager to start a fight- but at least he knows how to be reserved around people. There’s a good chance that thing would’ve left us alone if he hadn’t started it,” Rufus says thoughtfully. Tseng huffs at him.

“That’s how I know you don’t come down to the slums enough. You think the monsters here are docile. That monster absolutely would have attacked us if we’d gotten closer. They’re aggressive down here, what with their lack of resources to survive. All they have is mako leaks and each other,” Tseng says, gesturing up at the plate. Even as he says it, a fume of mako pumps out of a pipe nearby, and Tseng takes the opportunity to gesture at that.

“When exactly am I supposed to be coming down to the slums? To make deals with that Wall Market idiot? If I remember correctly, you’re the one keeping me up on the plate most of the time,” Rufus rebukes, and Tseng shrugs.

“I think I remember a story or two about a younger Rufus Shinra sneaking down to Midgar,” he says, raising his eyebrows testily. Rufus rolls his eyes and laughs.

“That was only ever plate-side, and even that was difficult to manage,” Rufus admits. “Sorry to let you down.”

Tseng pauses in their walk, pulling Rufus back. The church before them looms, and Tseng takes in a large inhale.

“Oh,” Rufus murmurs, looking between Tseng and the church. “This is Aerith’s, isn’t it?”

Tseng nods, the sinking feeling in his chest returned tenfold. Part of him still hopes Tuesti had been wrong, that he’d push open those doors and Aerith would be tending to her flowers, as per usual. That she’d stand up and berate him for breaking a floorboard, before pressing a flower into his hand and telling him to go on his way. That she’d give him another letter for Fair, before sharing an anecdote from her and her mother. But he knows better than that.

He tugs on Rufus’ hand, leading him up the stone steps. He pulls his hand away to push open the heavy double door, and the sunlight streams in perfectly to the flowers. The hole in the ceiling from Strife- although it oddly reminded him of Fair’s similar fall from Mako Reactor Five- let in a glorious ray of sunlight, leaving the flowers beneath it glistening and glittering in the light. The sight alone almost brings tears back to Tseng’s eyes.

He steps forward carefully, nervous to break the flimsy floorboards below him, but he makes it to the edge of the flower patch, where he carefully sinks to the ground. He pulls his glove off, before gently brushing one of the petals with his fingertip. The leathery petal springs back up afterwards, and Tseng bites the inside of his cheek.

“I don’t know what to say,” Tseng finally says, and he hears Rufus’ shoes step towards him, a gloved hand resting on his back.

“You don’t have to say anything, not to her, not to me. You don’t owe anyone a thing when it comes to this,” Rufus says confidently, and Tseng is reminded, not for the first time, that Rufus’ parents are both dead. That while Tseng never really had parents to grieve, Rufus has grieved both of his parents- although when it came to his father, Rufus’ grief was odd. It hits Tseng that he likely has heard something to that effect from someone else.

“I want to, though. I wish I had something to say, some final message for her,” Tseng admits.

“We can come back, if you want time,” Rufus suggests.

“But that’s the problem. I don’t want time,” Tseng says. “When you’re a Turk, when someone’s gone, they’re gone. There’s no grieving, no funeral, no time off. They’re put in a body bag and disposed of, whether that’s to Hojo or just incinerated. There’s a reason most Turks are recruited as children and are discouraged from connecting. I don’t- I’ve never truly grieved for someone like this before.”

“But you have, Tseng,” Rufus protests, and the floorboards squeak eerily as Rufus squats down to Tseng’s eye level. “You’ve grieved for Veld- wherever he is these days- and you’ve grieved yourself. The idea that you could’ve been someone else, not a Turk. It’s a normal thing- and you’ve done it. It might have been years since you accepted it, but acceptance is just the last piece of the stages of grief.”

Tseng rips his eyes away from the flowers to look at Rufus, which he instantly realizes is a huge mistake, because the moment their gazes meet, he feels tears build in his eyes, and he looks right back at the flowers. Rufus sits down on the dusty floor and pulls Tseng to lean on him in one smooth movement. Tseng doesn’t fight him, but he doesn’t say anything either. Rufus runs a hand up and down Tseng’s right arm quietly, the suit jacket rustling with the movement.

“A Midgar full of flowers,” Tseng mutters, “was her dream once.” He lightly brushes the lily again, and sighs. “It’ll never happen. I’m sorry about that.”

“It could,” Rufus says, but Tseng shakes his head.

“No, it couldn’t. We would’ve needed her expertise, and her passion. She really did like being a florist,” he admits. “She loved brightening people’s days with her flowers. Making bouquets for lovers, and things. I never quite understood it.”

“What about that confuses you?” Rufus asks quietly.

“How she did it so… benevolently- selflessly, I suppose,” Tseng corrects himself, tugging politely on the flower. “Even when I’m protecting something, I’m doing it to keep me alive, or to keep you alive. Not just because protecting something’s the right thing to do.”

Tseng continues to fiddle with the flower for another minute, before Rufus shifts, and out of the corner of his eye, he sees Rufus playing with a flower of his own.

“Would you be upset if we took some of these home?” Rufus asks carefully, his gloved finger brushing dirt off of a yellow petal. Tseng hums noncommittally, before shaking his head.

“She’d be okay with it. She was always giving them to me,” Tseng says distantly, before leaning into Rufus for a moment. “But maybe just for the office.” Tseng pulls back, sitting up straight. Rufus’ arm falls down to the ground, the soft thunk of his palm hitting the rotting floorboards. Tseng pinches the flower he’d been playing with at the base and pulls up on it. The weak stem snaps, and suddenly he’s holding the flower in his hand. He freezes.

How sure really was he that Aerith would let him take the flowers home? When push came to shove, he’d still failed her- surely if she’d known that, she’d never have gifted him the flowers she did. The lily shifts with the draft from above, and Tseng feels his heart racing- distantly, he’s aware he’s panicking. Panicking over taking some flowers.

“Tseng, hey, hey, hey,” Rufus says, his voice garbled over the blood rushing in Tseng’s ears. Rufus’ hand slowly moves closer in his periphery, closer and closer to his hand, with the flower. “Can I have the flower? Just- Just drop it in my hand, alright? I’ll give it back when you’re ready.”

Tseng gasps, his chest impossibly tight, and lets the flower go. He has the urge to shake his hand, get the flower off of him, but Rufus has suddenly taken his hand instead. His hand is warm, comforting.

“You can breathe, okay? You’re safe,” Rufus consols. He squeezes Tseng’s hand, lets it go, and squeezes it again. It takes Tseng a moment to realize that Rufus is doing what he’d done a couple nights ago, and it makes Tseng want to cry and laugh all at the same time. “I’m sorry I asked about the flowers.”

Tseng shakes his head, squeezing Rufus’ hand, and pulling in a deep breath through the anxiety. “Don’t be sorry,” Tseng reprimands. Tseng takes another deep breath, before pulling away from Rufus, shaking his hand out. “Let’s go.”

Tseng stands up without another word, and Rufus is quick to follow. Darkstar is still sitting outside of the church calmly, his ears perked as the two men emerge. Tseng reaches into his pocket for his phone to check the time, the security footage still on the screen.

“What’s that?” Rufus asks from behind, and Tseng jumps. “Woah there, Tseng!” It’s a moment later, when Rufus is holding his forearm with an iron grip that he realizes that he tripped at all. He really is off his game. “I-“

“I apologize, sir,” Tseng says, and Rufus winces. It isn’t very often when it’s just the two of them that Tseng calls him “sir”, and whether or not the Turk admits it, it’s normally because he’s stressed. Tseng readjusts his stance on the ground, and pries Rufus’ fingers off of him. He steps back carefully, reassessing the situation, before nodding tightly, and tilting his head towards the path to the train station. “If we’re lucky, there’ll be another train to the plate soon.”

“Tseng, talk to me,” Rufus begs, and Tseng feels his heartstrings pull. The president doesn’t often beg him for much, and Tseng has an awfully hard time denying him of anything. But his own heart being the thing on the line makes it easier- this isn’t necessarily something Tseng likes giving.

“It’s time to head to the office,” Tseng says quietly, and Rufus bites his lip. It makes want Tseng to give in a little bit. “I am… in need of time to think.” While the admission hurts Tseng to make, his pride taking a hit, it’s worth it when Rufus’ face softens, and he nods.

“Why don’t we check the train schedule before we walk back? In case we need to take a detour?” Rufus suggests, tastefully redirecting the subject. Tseng nods, and pulls his phone back up. It takes a moment, but Tseng finds another train up to the Sector 4 plate from the Sector 5 slums, bound to leave in just a few minutes.

“I’ve found one. Let’s hurry,” Tseng instructs, and they’re off. There’s a minute or two of silence, the noise of the slums as they awaken and their high-quality shoes meeting the ground below them the only noise, before Rufus speaks again.

“I saw the security tape on your phone, you know,” Rufus admits. Tseng was fairly certain, but the admission still makes his back twinge with stress. Tseng nods, the knot in his neck tight. If he were a less disciplined man, he might’ve reached up to massage it. “I was wondering if you were going to go behind my back about it, since you hadn’t asked me about it again. I guess I was right.”

“It’s not a matter of going behind your back,” Tseng protests, “But you have to understand. I had no information on the event at all besides your, excuse my phrasing, panicked nonsense. I wanted the facts.”

“You sound like the professor,” Rufus accuses. It takes effort for Tseng not to flinch at it. “You wanted the facts? Just fucking ask me. I get maybe in the moment I didn’t want to talk about it- judging as it’d been recent- but since when have I kept you in the dark? Since when have I not looped you in, of all people, Tseng?”

“Have you considered maybe I didn’t want to ask you about it because I wanted to protect you? Not once in my service to you have I ever seen you break down like that. Protecting you is my damn job, and I’m going to keep doing it. You don’t have to be happy with the way I do it,” Tseng shoots back defensively. Rufus sighs, and Tseng catches a flash of pink in the corner of his eye.

“I’m not some sort of-“ Rufus’ words are cut off by a gun going off, and Rufus stares at the Hedgehog Pie writhing on the ground in pain. He glances over at Tseng, whose white-knuckled grip on his gun is thankfully hidden by his leather gloves. Tseng steps forward, and shoots at the monster again. This time it fades into the lifestream, and Tseng puts the gun back into his holster.

“You’re not weak. You don’t have to convince me of that. But protecting you is my job, and damnit, Rufus, I like protecting you. Keeping you safe makes me feel better, because I care about you. Keeping you safe includes figuring out how to prevent Sephiroth clones from spawning in your office in the middle of the night. Even if I’d asked you about it, you wouldn’t have been able to tell me how he got in, and I would’ve had to pull the footage anyway,” Tseng says with an air of finality, and Rufus huffs. Suddenly, Darkstar pounces forward, a minute too late, at the fading streams of light from the monster. Rufus makes a noise of protest, but lets him bite uselessly at the air, before turning back to Tseng.

“I wish there was no protecting in our lives. A world where I don’t want to protect you and you don’t need to protect me- where there’s nothing to protect us from in the first place at all,” Rufus muses. Tseng surges forward in a moment of bravery and grabs Rufus’ hand.

“Me too,” he admits quietly, his eyes softening as he looks over his president once more. It’s difficult to entertain Rufus’ thought- the idea of a world where there’s absolutely nothing to protect Rufus from physically leaves Tseng at an awkward loss- what would he do with his time, his life? He knows little else besides the art of working as a Turk. He can imagine Rufus’ surprise at such an admission though, the lack of understanding, but willingness to adapt for him. It would be an issue Rufus would never anticipate for him.

They continue forward in silence, Rufus heeling Darkstar to his side, leaving Tseng to stew in these new thoughts. What would he do, if given the time to do whatever he wanted? He supposes Rufus has a list- a series of ideas gathered from a lifetime of peers with substantially more freedoms. If he had to guess, Reno and Elena likely had similar lists, due to their memories of a life outside of the Shinra building. Perhaps Cissnei has things she’s doing now- mundane, normal things she does. Maybe she even has a hobby now… not that he could find out without being extremely suspicious.

“What are you thinking about now?” Rufus asks suddenly. Tseng lifts an eyebrow, and Rufus hums, squeezing their hands again. “You’re furrowing your eyebrows a little.”

“I was thinking about hobbies,” Tseng says vaguely, and Rufus tilts his head, a little like Darkstar does when he’s lost. “I don’t… have any.”

“Someday, you’ll have the time. After Sephiroth, after we clean up the damn company. We’ll take a crazy long vacation and investigate all the hobbies worth trying out,” Rufus says dreamily, light blue eyes sparkling in the false light of the sun-lamps. “We’ll make the time for it, Tseng.”

“Sure,” Tseng answers, and Rufus smacks his shoulder suddenly.

“We will. Trust me?” Tseng nods, pulling away as the station comes back into view.

“Always.”