The Conscience of the King
		Chapter One: Last Year's Man

	"Like a bird on the wire
	Like a drunk in a midnight choir
	I have tried in my way to be free."
		-- Leonard Cohen

	The cafeteria located within Shinra Towers was more deserted than usual.
This was probably because most normal people had gone home and were feeding
themselves properly, someplace where food was really food and not
re-packaged, re-processed sludge. The man who was sitting in the back
corner, back in the smoking section, pecked a few more keys on his laptop
and sighed, loosening his tie. ~This isn't food,~ he thought. ~I don't know
what the hell it is, but it sure as hell isn't food. Food doesn't bite
back.~ He poked half-heartedly at something that he was vitally certain
hadn't started out its life being green, and decided that it wasn't worth
risking a trip to Midgar General this evening. Instead of picking up his
fork, he picked up a pack of cigarettes instead, fishing out one of them and
lighting it with a half-hearted flick of his lighter. Maybe there was
someplace that delivered.

	"You must be new here." The voice was soft, amused, coming from just
behind his left shoulder; the man jumped what felt like a few thousand feet,
before turning around, pressing a hand to his chest to calm his racing
heart. The man who stood behind him, waiting patiently to be noticed, was
tall, slender, honeyed hair falling into his eyes haphazardly; his tie was
unknotted, his shirt-sleeves rolled up. Sitting on the tray he carried was a
paper bag from which the world's most heavenly smells were emanating.

	The lone diner hadn't noticed the shadow, or the footfalls; he took a
moment to calm down before offering up a shy smile. "Just hired last week,
actually. Does it show?"

	A soft chuckle, and his companion slid into the booth seat across the
table, without waiting for an invitation. "Yep. For a few reasons. One,
you're actually braving the food, instead of calling for takeout, which is
what most normal people do." He picked up the bag from the tray, opening it
and taking out a few foil-wrapped hamburgers, pushing one across the table.
"Here. My good deed for the day. Two, you brought your work to dinner with
you. Three, you're still wearing the tie. And four, I don't know you yet.
That usually adds up to something."

	The new executive watched this whole process with a bit of amusement,
which quickly morphed into gratitude as the hamburger made its way across
the table. "Oh, Ramuh. You're a lifesaver. I was just thinking that I should
call around and see if any place around here would deliver. I'm fairly sure
that green beans aren't supposed to crawl around and spell out 'Help' on the
plate." He unwrapped the hamburger, inhaling the scent of grease and
grill-char thankfully. "I'm Reeve Brannon. I work up in City Development.
They just sort of threw the whole mess in my lap and said 'Here, fix this.'" 

	The other man laughed, a free and easy sound. "They do that. Lemme
guess, the old man gave you a stirring speech about duty and responsibility,
showed you to your office, and then washed his hands of the mess. Leaving
you with absolutely no clue what was going on."

	Reeve made a face. "Dead on the money. 'Welcome to the company. Now fix
your department.'" He sighed, and then realized -- a bit too late -- that
his companion still hadn't introduced himself. ~Big mouth, Brannon. Let's
make sure you're not about to get fired.~ "So -- uh -- where do you work?"

	The blond man sitting across from him waved one hand, the hand that
wasn't holding one of the hamburgers. "Here and there. I've worked nearly
everywhere in this company by now." He deftly changed the subject, eyes
roving up and down Reeve's frame. "Gongagan, hmm?"

	~The fuck?~ "Yeah," Reeve said, slowly. "How'd you know?" The old
familiar trapped feeling began to claw at the back of his throat, and he
fought it, fought it hard. 

	"Your accent," the other man said, offhandedly. "Just a little bit of
the drawl, but it's there." He grinned again, charmingly, and Reeve felt his
panic begin to still. "If I'd realized it, I probably would have offered
barbecue, instead of burgers."

	"Oh, man. There's a good barbecue place around here? I'd /kill/ for good
barbecue." Not quite realizing that he'd been deftly maneuvered into
forgetting his questions, Reeve leaned forward. "Do they have good wings?"

	"Depends." A laugh, as his companion crumpled up the wrappings to the
burger, tossing the bundle into the garbage over his shoulder. "What do you
consider 'good'? Choco Bob's, down in sector 7, has decent wings, but
they're a little spicy for my tastes."

	Reeve laughed. "Define 'spicy'. Are we talking safe-for-the-masses
spicy, or are we talking napalm?"

	"Depends," the man -- boy, really, upon closer inspection, but he
carried himself like a man, and didn't seem to pay much attention to the
slight traces of youth left on his features -- repeated, waving one hand.
"What do you consider safe for the masses?"

	"Well," Reeve began, leaning further forward and realizing, suddenly,
that he was beginning to actually relax, "'safe' means that you take a bite,
think 'hmm, that's hot', maybe have a little eye-watering and grasping for
the mug of beer, and get on with your meal. I like stuff that most people
can't stand being in the same room with unless they're wearing asbestos
suits."

	Another laugh, this time accompanied by a nod. "I think you'll like
Bob's," his companion said, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and claiming
Reeve's ashtray with one hand. "They do wings all the way from "so mild your
mom could eat 'em" all the way up to "nuclear". I can't even look at the
nuclear wings without my eyes going into sudden spasms."

	Reeve grinned. "My kind of place. I don't suppose you have the number
handy?" Taking the other's actions as an answer to the 'mind if I smoke?' he
was just about to ask, he fished out his own cigarettes, lighting one up.
"I'm used to cooking for myself, but lately I sure as hell don't feel like
going home, cooking, washing dishes, all that happy stuff."

	The man grinned through the haze of cigarette smoke and nodded. "Yeah. I
know the feeling. Personally, I couldn't cook my way out of a wet paper
bag." He patted his pockets, and then made a face. "Damn. No paper. Well, I
think I have a spare menu lying around somewhere; I'll drop it under your
door or something."

	"Cool," Reeve said with a smile and a nod. "My office is just up on
57th. It'll be a mess for a while; my predecessor didn't see fit to clean
his shit out before he left."

	A thoughtful nod, as his companion tapped ashes into the ashtray. "He
was a real asshole," he said, offhandedly. "Treated his employees like shit,
more so than most of the execs. I think that everyone was glad to see him
go." He paused, studying Reeve, and Reeve could feel the tips of his ears
beginning to go red. "If you don't mind me asking, you seem a bit young for
the job. Where'd the old man find you?"

	Reeve chuckled, a soft little sound, and ignored the embarrassment.
"Hired me straight out of college. I think they figured if they grabbed
someone right out of the school of engineering, they might find someone who
hadn't been tainted yet." He sighed, softly. "I kinda got the impression
that there was no love lost between the department and my predecessor. One
of the techs seemed startled that I didn't -- I don't know, throw something
at him, or scream, or something. I still don't know how I managed to impress
the brass enough to get hired, but if that's any cue as to what it was like
around here before, I'm a little less surprised."

	"Eh. It doesn't take much to impress them." The other man nudged the
ashtray a little, idly. "Hell, you're bringing your work to dinner with you.
That in and of itself is a pretty good clue that you're working four times
harder than just about any one of the other execs."

	Reeve made a face. "It's still not enough. There's a serious problem
with some of the reactors. As in, serious enough that if two of them aren't
shut down soon for emergency repair, we might find ourselves with a /real/
mess on our hands. And who knows when the others are going to develop the
same thing."

	The other paused, cigarette halfway on its way to the ashtray. "What
kind of problem?" he asked, his tone suddenly serious, seeming to hold no
doubt that he was privy to classified information. 

	Reeve cast his eyes down to one of many sheets of paper that remained on
the table. "Um...No. 6 here, and the one at Junon. I've been looking over
all the blueprints, and there's no regulators in the Mako intake system.
Those two have already taken damage from surges, and since they're all built
like that, it's only a matter of time before they all get messed up too.
You'd think that someone with enough brains to /invent/ the Mako reactors
would have enough brains to know that." He half-skidded to a mental stop,
hearing his own voice, and wondering just what the hell he was thinking.

	Producing a pen from his back pocket and scowling, the man reached for
the blueprints. "Let me see that," he demanded, and his tone was clearly a
demand. He flipped the blueprints around to face him, studied them for a
moment, and then cursed, sharply. "Oh, the absolute fucking idiot. I
wouldn't have noticed, not until you pointed it out, but there's -- oh, the
idiot." The ash from his cigarette fell onto the papers, and he scowled,
brushing it away. "Sorry about that," he offered, lifting his eyes and
shifting, quickly, into a charming grin, the kind of smile that could melt
the most hardened of hearts. He picked up his pen again, blocking off an
area of the blueprints quickly, deftly. "Yeah. Stick an intake flow in here,
and if you slapped a regulator onto the pool --"

	The diagrams that his companion was drawing made just a bit too much
sense, as if he had spent some time studying engineering, and Reeve nodded,
slowly. "Yeah. That's what I was just working on. That's what we need to
do." Racking his brain to see if perhaps the other man was one of the other
techs in his department, and he just hadn't noticed, Reeve picked up the
slender laptop and turned it on again. "With all the reactors except those
two I mentioned, all we need to do is put in the regulators...we'd just need
to shut them down for a few hours, a day tops. But with those other
two...some folks are going to be in the dark for a week or so, unless I can
figure out a way to route some juice from another reactor."

	The stranger frowned. "Better that they be in the dark now," he said,
ruefully, "then be glowing permanently in a few years when it all blows up.
But try convincing the president of that."

	"Oh, I don't think I'll have a problem convincing him on those two." 
Reeve stabbed his cigarette into the ashtray and sighed. "Midgar and Junon
are the company's babies. It's the /other/ reactors that have me scared
shitless, like the ones in Nibelheim and Gongaga. And on top of that, those
are /older./ I'm waiting for the techs to call me back on those, and I am
not expecting happy news."

	"Damn." The other man winced. "Are things that bad?"

	Reeve sighed again, softly. "I hope to hell not," he replied. "My folks
are still living in Gongaga. I'm trying to get them a place here, but with
me still getting settled in, it's going to be tough. I just hope I can get
this taken care of one way or another before something goes wrong."

	The other growled a little, tapping the pen against the table in what
seemed like a nervous habit. "Make them believe you," he said, forcefully.
"You've got the authority; use it. Threaten to shut down every reactor on
the damn continent if you have to, in order to get those two fixed."

	With a couple more quick keyclicks, Reeve shut the computer down again.
He could feel his temper eroding at the suggestion that he'd been doing
anything less than his full job. "I've been here for a week. I'm fresh out
of school, and I'm four years younger than most folks with the same degree I
got. I could threaten until I'm blue in the face, but I get the feeling they
won't believe a damn word I say until something goes wrong."

	The stranger leaned across the table, standing enough so that he could
put his hands on the table and lean on them, staring Reeve directly in the
face with a piercing gaze that stopped short one step shy of uncomfortable.
"Make them," he repeated, softly, intently. "Because I can already tell that
you're the type who will kick himself from here to Wutai if something ever
happens."

	Reeve almost unconsciously shrank back, just a little, from the
stranger. After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, he nodded, slowly.
"You're right," he sighed, lighting up another cigarette. "You're right.
First thing tomorrow, I'm marching into the old man's office waving these
damn blueprints at him." And even though he'd flinched that little bit, the
other man's voice and actions didn't strike him as angry or unfriendly...in
some strange way, it actually seemed that he was concerned...

	Relaxing a little, his table companion nodded, dropping back into his
seat. "Worst-case scenario," he said, fishing out his own pack of
cigarettes, "you should point out how bad for the public image letting one
of the reactors blow would be. He's not moved much by humanitarian
arguments, but hit him in his bottom line and he'll usually cave." He made a
wry face, tapping the chosen cigarette on the table a few times to pack it
further. "At least he's a /consistent/ asshole."

	With a wry little laugh, more of a snort actually, Reeve relaxed a
little as well. "Thanks for the advice," he said. "I'll put that in my bag
of dirty tricks."

	The smoke wreathing around his face did little to hide the other man's
smirk. "Oh," he said, slyly, "I've got a ton of them. Can't get where I have
without having used them." He watched Reeve through the wisps of smoke,
studying the other with a curiously intent gaze that was half measuring,
half curious.

	Reeve let out another small chuckle, the awkwardness already beginning
to dissipate like the smoke that surrounded them. The comment -- taunt,
almost -- brought back all of his previous worries about his dinner
companion's identity, though, and he ventured, almost hesitantly, "And where
would that be?"

	Another slow, sweet smile, vaguely akin to the sun breaking past the
near-continual fog of Midgar to shine directly on the tower. "You're a
bright boy," the man said, slyly. "I'm sure you'll figure it out eventually,
Mr. Brannon."

	There was something, either in the other man's smile or words or both,
that jarred Reeve's brain into action. And there was also something--Reeve
wasn't sure what-- there that made just the tiniest bit of color creep into
his face. "You're higher up on the food chain than I am," he said, slowly.
"That much I can guess."

	The mysterious man gave him an encouraging smile, slow and lazy.
"Maybe," he allowed, nodding his head and tipping off his cigarette ash
again. "Or maybe I'm just observant." He tipped his head to one side, still
studying Reeve with that sort of intense scrutiny. "Or maybe a little bit of
both." A pause, and then the other man seemed to take pity on Reeve,
averting those painfully intense blue eyes. "I do a little bit of
everything. The theory seems to be to give me as much experience as I
possibly can get. Apparently I'll need it when I take over someday." Another
pause, and then the slow, lazy smile returned. "Rufus Shinra. You may have
heard of me."

	Reeve had just taken a sip of his coffee; he choked, sharply, and then
spent the next few minutes coughing. Rufus just watched him, reaching out
for the ashtray and stubbing out his cigarette, lighting a replacement
immediately. "Shit," Reeve finally wheezed, his laughter holding more nerves
than amusement. "Well, someone had better just tattoo the dumbass flag on my
forehead, then. I /thought/ you looked familiar."

	Rufus laughed, a thick, rich, open sound that, for some reason, made
Reeve blush, wondering what else this man did with such abandon. "Don't
worry about it. I wanted to come and get to know you without all the
bullshit that usually follows me around - people bowing and scraping to the
Heir to the Throne." He pointed the cigarette at Reeve, who had just reached
up to tie his tie a little tighter. "Cut that out. The last name doesn't
change the fact that we were sitting here chatting just fine a few minutes
ago. And it better not." 

	Relaxing slightly, Reeve took a drag off his cigarette, yelping as the
filter burned his fingers; he'd let it burn down too far. "Sorry. It's just
--" He cast his mind over the conversation, wincing as he remembered some of
the things that had come out of his big mouth.   

	Rufus waved a hand. "It's just that you're sitting there and wondering
what you've said that's going to come back to haunt you on the next
performance review. And the answer is none of it. I agree with everything
you said, and could probably do you one better in a few cases. Now siddown
and relax." He paused. "If it makes you feel any better, I really do think
that the old man was right about you."

	'The old man', and not 'Dad', Reeve noted, and filed that fact away for
future contemplation. "What did he say? I haven't been able to get anything
out of him but a grunt and a nod."

	Rufus picked up the styrofoam cup of coffee that had been left untouched
until that moment, popping off the lid, taking a sip, and grimacing at the
taste. "That you were a bright young thing who'd do well in the job. And who
would do well at cleaning up your predecessor's messes. I swear, that guy
was a royal asshole. For someone who's ostensibly intelligent, the old man's
sure dumb as fuck about hiring sometimes."

	Wincing slightly -- he'd tried the coffee, at lunch his first day, and
vowed never again to touch it -- Reeve tilted his head. "I haven't met many
of the other execs," he said, slowly. "But I'm afraid I'm going to have to
agree with you. That chubby guy -- what's his name, the one who runs the
technology department? Does he actually /do/ anything? 

	Rufus rolled his eyes and flipped the tips of his hair out of his eyes
with a grimace and a gesture that was so natural it must have been repeated
thousands of times. "Palmer," he said, on a groan. "And yes. He does. He
stands in the way of getting anything useful done. As far as I can tell,
that's his only function around here."

	"I figured as much." Reeve nodded, and began -- just slightly -- to
relax; the other man's candor was contagious. "All I've ever seen him do is
eat donuts. And that other guy -- Heidegger? God, he's a jerk. I hate to
complain -- I don't go out of my way to make people dislike me, but /him/ --
I think I've already decided that I don't like him. At all."

	Another cigarette stabbed out, adding another butt to the ashtray that
was already beginning to overfill. "Let me give you a tip," Rufus said,
softly, leaning forward. "Don't ever get caught saying anything bad about
anyone around here. You can trust me -- fuck knows that I ain't gonna say
anything to anyone. I happen to agree with you. But don't let /anyone/ know
that you dislike them. Don't ever openly contradict anyone who's been here
longer than you have -- which is to say, anyone. Treat this job like you're
in enemy territory with no cover and you've just run out of ammo. Trust me.
It's a war zone out there, and you're too competent to be counted as a
casualty."

	Reeve gave a little nod, fishing out another cigarette of his own. "I --
I'd figured that," he said, ducking his head slightly. "But thanks. For the
warning. I've already decided that I'm just gonna sit back, treat people
decently, and try to stay out of the madness." He laughed a little. "The
guys I've got are probably splitting their time between being shocked that
I'm not tearing them new orifices, and wondering if I'm just shy a few
important parts. Damned if you do and damned if you don't, I guess."

	"Hey." Rufus reached across the table, closing the distance between them
easily, and rested two fingers on Reeve's chin, tipping his face up to lock
eyes with him. Rufus's eyes were bright, blinding sapphire, serious and
compelling. "Don't lose the game before you start playing. Just treat people
well, and they usually respond. The ones who aren't brain-dead lemurs, that
is." He studied Reeve's face a few more seconds, and then smiled again.
"Around here, the watchwords are 'walk softly and carry a big stick'."

	~He's touching me. He's --~ The panic threatened to overwhelm again, for
that one brief second before Reeve fought it down. Rufus's fingers were
gentle, yet firm; warm against his skin, somehow strangely compelling. He
cursed the fair skin that made his blush no-doubt blazoned brightly across
his cheeks. "Yeah," he finally said, softly. "Which is why I'm just gonna
keep my head down and do my damn job. The job they hired me for."

	A nod, and then Rufus dropped his hand. One part of Reeve's brain was
thinking ~Finally~ as the other thought ~Already?~  "I figured. You're too
smart /not/ to. I just thought you rated a warning. I try to warn the people
I like." 

	Reeve forced a smile, backed by a nervous chuckle. "Thanks. I appreciate
it." Rufus's last words echoed in his head as he looked back down at the
table, grateful for the chance to look anywhere but that far-too-intent
gaze.

	Drumming his fingers on the table absently, Rufus nodded; Reeve got the
impression that this man was always in motion, that stillness was as alien
to him as fear or uncertainty must be. "Anyone who could point out that
reactor problem in his first week on the job deserves a warning," Rufus
said, ruefully. "I can't /believe/ that no one noticed that yet. Myself
included."

	Reeve cocked his head. "It's pretty big," he allowed, slowly. "Do you --
do you spend a lot of time working with the reactors?"

	"Not usually." Rufus's mouth twisted; it was a rueful expression,
almost, as diametrically opposed to his previous smiles as could be. "I
don't spend a lot of time anywhere. One month here, one month there, and
then the old man moves me out before I can get too good at anything." He
made a brief dismissive gesture, changing the subject slightly. "Nah, the
jerk you replaced should have noticed it. Which just confirms my suspicion
that he was more interested in the bottom of a shot glass than he was with
actually doing a damn thing." He added something under his breath that
sounded distressingly like "pigfucker".

	"Well, that's hardly going to be a problem with me." Reeve laughed a
little, and lit the cigarette he was still holding on to. "Smoking too much,
yes. Drinking too much, not since college. Early college. Frat days
college."

	One eyebrow raised. "Why do I have no problems seeing you as a frat
boy?" Rufus drawled, tucking one foot up onto the chair with him and draping
an arm over his knee. 

	Reeve blushed. "Because you have an overactive imagination?"

	Again, that rich laugh rang out across the near-empty room, causing
heads to turn. "Right. Probably. At least, that's what the old man always
tells me." A brief flash of bitterness crossed those bright eyes, and then
was gone. "Still into the usual frat pastimes? Drinking, dancing, finding
willing members of the appropriate sex or not so willing as the case may be,
etcetera?"

	Reeve chuckled wryly. "Not really. I haven't had time for any of them in
a while. What do people generally do for fun around here?"

	"Drinking," Rufus said, his tone laden with irony. "Dancing. Finding
willing members of the appropriate sex, or not so willing, as the case may
be." He smirked. "Watch out for the Menace. Wench down on the 29th floor,
who won't take no for an answer. She'll probably try to try out the new
blood personally, if you know what I mean."

	"Oh God." Reeve groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face. "I think I've
seen her. Is /that/ who sent me that email? Ugh." He turned bright red, just
remembering some of the lewd suggestions that had appeared on his PC screen
that morning. "I'm sorry. Anything that needs to wear makeup /that/ thick
has something to hide."

	Rufus laughed, and suddenly shifted; even his body language changed,
quickly, subtly, becoming someone else, a character from a play written long
ago. "Go to my lady's chambers," he said, his tone low, urgent, "and tell
her, paint an inch thick, to this end she too must come."  Another eyeblink,
and he was Rufus again, offering up a completely unrepentant smile as he sat
back and relaxed. "There are a few other people to be wary of," he said, his
tone normal again, even as Reeve gaped at that sudden flash of the theatre.
"Though I doubt the one I'm thinking of will try to get you in bed, she
certainly will try to make life difficult for you."

	Reeve caught his tongue -- ~Hamlet, that was? Or was it? God, it's been
far too long since Freshman Lit --~ and laughed, shakily. "And who's that?"

	A hint of the theatre touched Rufus again, as he clapped one hand to his
chest and rolled his eyes dramatically. "The lovely and persistent Miss
Scarlet Blake, head of Weapons Development, two years my senior, and the
only /other/ executive who's on the sunny side of forty. Orphaned at age
twelve, taken in by the old man due to some mysterious and bizarre
arrangement with her parents. The old man is firmly convinced that some day
she's going to grow up and marry me. /She/ is firmly convinced that at that
point, old man will dower us both with riches, deed the company to us both,
and retire to a beach in Costa del Sol." He slumped back in the chair,
dropping the conscious attempt at wit and scowling. "To which I say, fuck
all that and a bag of chips."

	Reeve didn't know quite how to answer that; he just dropped his eyes and
studied the table. "It must be ... weird. Having your life planned out for
you like that," he offered, shyly. 

	Rufus gave a half-shrug. "I'm used to it. Doesn't mean I like it, but
I'm used to it. I really doubt that it's ever going to happen. She's a nice
enough girl, but --" He stopped, shook his head. "You're not interested in
this anyway. It's nothing spectacular, just the usual company politics."

	Slowly, Reeve shook his head. "Company politics?" he asked, quietly. "Or
personal politics?" He hated them both, but there was a difference, and he
got the sudden feeling that to Rufus, the one was irrevocably tied to the
other.

	Rufus laughed, a half-forced sound. "Yes," he agreed, sourly. "They're
one and the same around here. Have been since I was a little kid. I've grown
up knowing that, and it sure as hell hasn't changed since I became the vice
president. If anything, it's gotten worse." His lips twisted a little more,
this time more of a smile. "It was simpler when I was younger, and just had
seventy floors of office space spread out over six blocks to play Space
Invaders in."

	That image brought an answering smile to Reeve's lips; he had trouble
imagining this poised man as a child running around the building. "You grew
up in the building?" he asked, softly.

	"Yeah." Rufus tucked one of his feet up underneath him again, resting
his chin on his knee. "Until I got sent off to jail." Noticing Reeve's
shocked expression, he corrected, "Well, not really jail. The old man
shipped me off to boarding school in Junon when I was about seven or so.
Didn't come back except for summers and holidays -- and not all that many
holidays -- until two years ago when I graduated." The casual way in which
he threw this out did nothing to change the bitterness that still lingered,
well-hidden, in his eyes and his voice. "I just think he didn't have any
clue what to do with a little brat running around the building. My mom died
when I was about eighteen months old. She'd never really recovered from the
birth."

	"I'm sorry," Reeve said, quietly; he was getting a very clear picture of
Rufus's childhood, not only from what Rufus was telling him, but from what
Rufus was not telling him. "I can't imagine that. My family was pretty damn
poor, but -- we were a family."

	Rufus laughed a little. "I envy you," he said, his voice dropping until
it was barely audible. Then, as if realizing what he'd said -- as if
realizing that he'd let Reeve in, just a little bit, past the mask of
confidence and self-assurance -- he changed the subject. "So, have you met
people yet? This place is a war zone, yeah, but we at least have a couple of
ways of blowing off steam."

	Shaking his head, Reeve said, "Not really. I've been busy cleaning out
my office and trying to get things settled. And everyone I've met has been a
little --"

	"Old. Stuffy." Rufus grinned, his previous melancholy put aside. "You've
been dealing mostly with the brass, but there's a bunch of people in middle
management who know how to throw a party. And there are a bunch of us who
don't really fit into any of the categories. We have fun. I'll introduce you
around this weekend. I think you'll fit in just fine."

	Reeve was startled at the tacit offer of friendship. "I -- I think I'd
like that. But you don't really know me -- how can you think that I'll fit
in?"

	Fishing out yet another cigarette and lighting it, Rufus shook his head.
"I know you," he said, calmly. "I feel like I've known you forever. You're
good to talk to; you listen. And that's a rare quality around here."

	Reeve could feel his cheeks beginning to flame again. "I -- yeah. I
kinda feel like I've known you forever, too." He laughed a little. "It's
been a while since I had a friend."

	"Shall we be friends, then?" Rufus's eyes were bright sapphire as he
gazed at Reeve. "Stand back to back against the vultures of the corporate
world."

	"I'd like that," Reeve said, shyly, looking away from Rufus to glance
back at the table. That gaze was uncomfortable -- piercing, as if Rufus
could indeed see right through him. 

	Rufus nodded, and then gifted Reeve with another one of his slow smiles.
"Good. Well, then, as your new friend, I'm going to order you to put down
your work and come out drinking with me. It's Thursday night, and nothing
really ever gets done past noon on Friday; the work can wait. I'm sure
you'll wind up working straight through tomorrow; you can take tonight and
let it go."

	Sparing a glance down at the laptop that had been pushed aside in favor
of the ashtray, Reeve nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I think you're right. If I don't
get out of here soon, I think I'm gonna go nuts." He looked back up and
smiled. "Drinking, huh? Is there a good bar around here?"

	"Well, there's one over in upper Sector Eight that isn't all that
terrible. And they don't make Shinra execs feel like freaks, which is a rare
quality around here. How about I meet you over at --" Rufus broke off as a
sharp beeping noise filled the air. "Fuck," he cursed under his breath, and
fished a pager out of his pocket, checking the message and frowning. "Ramuh
on a raft. Look, I gotta run. The old man wants to rant at me. How about I
meet you back in your office in an hour or so? This shouldn't take long;
he's gonna want to take off himself soon."

	Reeve nodded, sweeping his papers off the table. "Sure. Good luck." He
opened his briefcase, stowing the blueprints. "You know where my office is,
I'm sure."

	Rufus chuckled. "Off the elevators, third door on the left, past that
Godawful fake plant, and right next to the place where the Martian invaders
always used to shoot my armor into shreds," he agreed, stabbing his
cigarette out in the overflowing ashtray and standing himself. "I'll see you
in a bit." He stowed the pager back in his pocket and held out a hand to
Reeve.

	"I'm going to throw that damn plant out the window," Reeve laughed,
extending his own hand to clasp Rufus's in a perfectly normal businesslike
handshake.

	The handclasp that Reeve received in return was warm, almost more of a
caress than a handshake -- or it could have been his imagination. "Not
without me, you're not. No one's allowed to toss company property out of the
window without the authorization of a vice president or above," Rufus
retorted, grinning right back. "Later." Without a backwards glance, he
strode through the cafeteria, moving through the tightly-packed tables with
the ease of long practice.

	Reeve just sat there for a long minute, the feel of that handshake
lingering against his skin. He wasn't sure what the hell he was feeling; he
wasn't quite sure what the hell that whole thing had been. He did know one
thing, though: he had a friend. A friend who, from the looks of thing,
needed a friend as badly as he himself did. And somehow, that made the whole
thing a little more bearable.

				-- * --

	Rufus whistled as he pushed the button for the penthouse suite, sliding
his keycard through the reader with the absent swipe of one who'd been doing
it for years. He felt strangely buoyed by the conversation, despite the fact
that he'd been far more talkative than ever before -- or perhaps, because of
it. Living in the constant dance of politics and power struggles, it was
rare for him to find someone he could actually /talk/ to.

	He laughed as he realized, suddenly, what he had found himself
whistling, and switched to singing. "She told me a story 'bout free milk and
a cow, and said, 'No huggin', no kissin' until I get a wedding vow. My
honey, my baby, don't put my love upon no shelf, she said, 'Don't gimme no
lines, and keep your hands to yourself...'" ~Keep your hands to yourself,
indeed,~ he thought, amused, leaning against the back of the elevator and
drumming the rhythm of the song. ~If I've ever met a straight boy, I was
just having dinner with him. I think I'll just be chaste and virtuous around
him -- or at least, as chaste and virtuous as I'm capable of.~ He laughed
again, even as the soft chime of the elevator heralded his arrival at the
top floor of the building. ~Which is to say, not very.~

	~I wonder what the old man wants. It's past six -- long past the time he
usually heads down to the Honeybee.~ With that thought, he rapped on the
door of his father's office, stifling his amusement and summoning the
professional detachment he'd long ago learned was all that his father wanted
to see from him. 

	President Jonathan Shinra was on the phone, and he gestured sharply for
Rufus to seat himself as he talked. "All right. I'll expect those figures by
tomorrow, at the latest. If you can't get them up here tonight, they had
better be on my desk the first thing in the morning. Goodnight, Heidegger."
He set down the phone and gave Rufus a piercing gaze, one that Rufus had
inherited. "We're raising our energy rates," he said, without preamble.

	~The fuck?~ "All right, sir," Rufus said, slowly. "Might I ask why?"

	The president, as usual, had little attention to spare for his son; he
shuffled a few stacks of paper back and forth, frowning slightly as he
couldn't find what he was looking for. "Free market, Rufus," he said,
brusquely. "We've got more demand, and we need more operating capital to
cover the expenditures of the war in Wutai."

	Rufus bit back the first response -- ~the war that I've been arguing
against since day one, the war that isn't going to get us anything at all,
the war that's costing us billions~ -- and nodded, slowly. "What kind of
rate increase are we talking about?"

	"Another five gil per kilowatt-hour," came the response, and Rufus
couldn't hold back his shock. That wasn't a rate increase; that was a rate
doubling. Unbidden, the spreadsheets swum before his eyes -- the 
spreadsheets, and the accounts receivable department, with their constant 
struggles to collect from the people who were too poor to afford much. He 
knew better than to protest outright, though. All he could say was "May I 
see the cost-benefit analysis that led you to this decision, sir?"

	"We didn't do one." The president's tone was flat -- /drop it/, he
seemed to be saying. "We're the only supplier of energy to Midgar, these
days. If we want to raise our rates, there's nothing that's going to stop
us. And we're going to raise our rates."

	~Drop it,~ Rufus thought, instinct warring with reason. Instinct told
him that to press his father further would probably result in a screaming
match, and probably less pleasant consequences as well. Reason told him that
he was the vice-president of this company, dammit, and if he saw the old man
about to make a mistake, he had every right to say something about it.
Instinct won, however, and Rufus just nodded again. And then he saw his
opportunity. "With some of the extra capital brought about by the new rates,
then, sir, I'd like your permission to take some of the reactors briefly
off-line for a full safety audit, both here and on external sites. Someone
in Urban Dev brought it to my attention that we might not be operating in
perfectly safe conditions." He knew better than to name Reeve, knew better
than to expose the other man to the president's potential displeasure.

	The president's face clouded over. "We just did a safety audit last
month, Rufus. I told you to leave that all to me."

	Leaning forward and propping his chin on steepled fingers, Rufus studied
his father, struggling to keep his temper under control. "/Warner/ did a
safety audit last month, sir. And Warner was so far gone in his last few
months here that he wouldn't have noticed a problem if it jumped up and bit
him in the ass." ~Give him reasons,~ he thought, remembering what he had
told Reeve, and added, "I've looked at the blueprints, and I can't believe
that we didn't notice this sooner. It's better and more cost-effective to
take care of matters now than wait until we have a real problem. I doubt we
could afford to reconstruct any of the Midgar reactors -- and that's not
even taking into account the liability payouts if any of our workers were
injured when one of the reactors blew." His fingers itched for a cigarette;
he ignored it. His father disapproved of his smoking, as he disapproved of
so many of Rufus's actions.

	His father's frown grew more pronounced. "Your job isn't worrying about
safety, Rufus," he snapped. "Nor is it your job to question your father. You
do your job, and let me do mine."

	~Let you screw these people out of more money. Let you completely ignore
everything that I'm warning you about. Let you sit up here and play with all
the money that runs through your computer terminal all day, let you sit here
and run this company into the ground and never once listen to one word I say
about how to keep it running smoothly.~ Aloud, all he said was, "Yes, sir."
He sighed, inwardly, never once letting slip a hint of his internal turmoil.
Sitting up fully, he asked, "Will that be all, or was there something else
you wanted me for?"

	"That should do," the president said, absently, finding the paper he had
been looking for and scowling at it. "Board meeting at two tomorrow."

	~Board meeting at two every Friday, you fucker; don't you think I know
that by now? Do you really need to treat me like I need to be reminded of
how to tie my fucking shoes?~ "I'll be there," he said, censoring his
thoughts sharply, lest any hint of them creep into his voice. He stood,
flipping his hair out of his eyes. "Have a good evening, sir."

	Once out of his father's office -- and knowing that as soon as he left,
the old man, hypocritical as ever, reached for one of the cigars he didn't
think Rufus knew about -- Rufus leaned his forehead against the wall,
struggling for control. The temper that had been his lifelong curse welled
up once more, and he breathed, deeply, practically tasting the urge to drive
his fist through the wall. There were already a series of dents down the
hall, legacy of any one of a thousand similar conversations with his father;
from the waist-high, barely-visible marks of the twelve-year-old who had
finally realized that his father truly didn't love him, to the eye-level
handprint, recessed into the plaster, that had come just a few weeks ago
when the old man had brought Rufus in for another lecture on how it was
about time for him to come to his senses, settle down with a "nice girl" --
~read, Scarlet~, Rufus thought wryly -- and begin raising children. Or, no
doubt, simply sire the children and then forget about them until they could
be of use. Rufus had no doubt that if he were to show any interest in his
hypothetical children, it would be the source of yet another lecture. Yet
another dent in the wall.

	~God, I need a drink,~ Rufus thought, and then, sharply, ~Reeve. I have
to warn him. If he's going to go ahead and fix the damn reactors, he has to
do it without the old man knowing about it until it's a done deal. God. He's
two years older than I am, and I know so much more about corporate politics
that it's not even funny. I'm going to have to make sure he doesn't fall off
the tightrope.~

	The nameplate reading "Bob Warner" had finally been pried off the door
of Reeve's 57th floor office, and -- judging by the previous state of the
department -- Rufus would be willing to wager that no one was at all sorry
to see it go. The office itself looked like a tornado had hit it. Papers,
boxes, and office supplies were strewn haphazardly across every available
surface; Reeve himself was sitting in the desk chair, feet up, tie gone,
sifting through one of the boxes of papers to try and find if it could be
tossed safely or if there was anything important left in it.

	He didn't notice Rufus standing  there, and Rufus took the moment to
just watch him. His dark hair had started to escape the neat ponytail, and
as Rufus watched, Reeve lifted one hand to scratch the neat goatee he
sported. ~I bet he grew that to make him look older,~ Rufus thought, feeling
some of the tension draining from him. ~More respectable.~ The thought
amused him enough that when he finally spoke, it was in a much gentler tone
than he would have thought himself capable of. "You weren't kidding when you
said that Warner hadn't packed."

	Reeve jumped, upsetting his papers; clutching for them gave him the
moments he needed to gather his composure again. Rufus felt a pang of guilt
for startling the other man. ~He's jumpy. I wonder why.~ "Sorry I startled
you," he said, leaning against the doorframe. 

	"Nah, it's okay." Reeve looked up, his hands stacking the papers into as
neat a stack as could be managed, with the other stuff spread out over the
desk. "It's a mess, isn't it? At least I got here before anyone could raid
his desk for supplies." He dropped one pile onto the floor, where the stack
of yellowing newspapers indicated that it was probably the pile of lesser
importance. "What's up?"

	Shaking his head, Rufus moved into the room, one loafer-clad toe
prodding at a pile of papers to see if anything was going to jump out and
bite him. "I was just up to see the old man," he started, slowly, and then
stopped as his gaze was caught by the vista of Midgar, visible out through
the low, wide window behind Reeve's desk. Something about the lights against
the velvet of night spoke to him, as it always did, reaching inside him to
soothe his soul. ~My city.~ Reluctantly, he tore his gaze from the display
and gave Reeve a wry little smile. "It didn't go well."

	A frown clouded Reeve's face. "What do you mean? You talked to him about
the reactors?"

	Rufus dropped into the chair across from Reeve's desk, wearily. "I did.
He said that we were raising the rates again -- don't get me started on that
-- and I suggested gently that it might be a perfect time for a safety
audit."

	"Let me guess. He didn't want to hear it." Reeve dropped another pile of
papers into the box on the floor; Rufus got the impression that he was
working to distract himself.

	"Give that man a prize." Rufus's voice was tainted with just a hint too
much sarcasm; he could hear it, and it deepened his scowl. "As a matter of
fact, he told me to remember my job, and then just about threw me out of his
office."

	"You've got to be kidding." Reeve's voice was flat, not a question; the
tone of someone who knew damn well that his companion wasn't kidding, and
wasn't all too happy about that fact. "Fuck. What the hell is it going to
take to make him realize that we've got a goddamn /problem/ here? It's not
like I'm asking him to shut down all the reactors for two weeks or
something. The repairs on most of them will take half an hour, an hour tops
-- and even the problem ones won't take more than half a day --"

	Rufus held up a hand to forestall Reeve's objections. "Woah, back up. I
jumped the gun in talking to him; I should have known better, yeah. It's not
like he ever bothers to listen to anything I say anyway. That doesn't mean
that you can't repair the reactors, though. You just have to be a bit more
devious about it."

	"Devious doesn't bother me." Reeve's voice was quiet. "Not when it deals
with safety. What do you mean, devious?"

	Rufus reached into his back pocket, pulling out a battered cell phone
and flipping it across the desk to Reeve, who caught it belatedly just
before it would have hit the ground. "Go ahead and call your techs. Put
things in motion /now/ -- you already know what needs to be done, you've got
the blueprints, and you can get the parts from Supply by giving them your
org code and your authorization number. You do know your org code and your
authorization number, right?" At Reeve's slow nod, he continued. "Get the
teams out to Gongaga and Nibelheim first thing tomorrow morning, and I do
mean first damn thing. Pay overtime if you have to. If you've got people who
are willing to work overnight, or if you've got people on the graveyard
shift who are competent enough to handle things, get things started here in
Midgar tonight." Restlessly, he stood up, pacing back and forth -- five
steps one way, five the other, in the small cleared zone in front of the
desk. "And then tomorrow, at the board meeting, in front of everyone, when
he calls for a status report from your department, tell him what you've
done. Have the plans ready, and present them to him as a done deal.  If you
do that, in front of all the other department execs, he's not going to be
able to override you without looking like he doesn't give a damn. And if
there's one thing he hates, it's looking like a fool in front of everyone
else."

	Reeve nodded again, slowly. "And that will work." It wasn't quite a
question.

	Pausing in his pacing, Rufus turned back to face Reeve. "If you're
asking, will it get the repairs done, the answer is yes. If you're asking,
will it get the repairs done without you getting overt backlash, the answer
is yes. If you're asking, will it get you on his shit list for a while,
unfortunately, the answer is yes. But he won't be able to do anything
without going completely against the doctrine of department autonomy that he
preaches." He lifted one hand to rub at his eyes, which felt gritty and dry.
"The worst you'll get is a lecture on overstepping your bounds, and everyone
gets that lecture about six times in any given week. It would work for you,
where it wouldn't work for me. He'll pass it off as new-hire excitement.
You'll wind up looking overzealous, but that can be explained by you being
new here."

	"Right." Reeve nodded once more, and then reached for his laptop,
unearthing it from the pile of papers on the floor. "Number Six is gonna
have to be shut down for a little while; it's the worst of them all. I think
I can probably route enough from Five and Seven to cover the shortfall, if
I..." He pecked at the keys a little more, frowning at the tiny screen.
"Fuck. Yeah. I can do it. I can do it, and it'll be easier than I thought.
And you're right, I don't care about looking overzealous. This needs to get
done." He paused for a moment, and then added, "Thanks."

	Rufus snorted. "For fucking it up so that you have to fix it this way,
instead of presenting your case normally and being able to convince him in
your own way? Don't thank me." His shoulders slumped, the tension getting
the better of him once more. "I should know better by now, but I can't help
thinking that maybe someday he's gonna realize that all that fancy expensive
education he paid for had /some/ use." His voice was marred by heavy
sarcasm. "That I'm more than just a cardboard copy of himself. That I've got
opinions and talents of my own. God damn it." He broke off, hearing his own
voice, and took another few deep breaths. "I'm sorry. I should know better
by now than to think that I'm fit for human company after one of our little
chats."

	"It's okay." Dark concern was in Reeve's eyes as he looked up at Rufus.
"There's nothing wrong with being pissed off. You're a human being, with a
mind of his own, and if he can't recognize that -- well, I can. And I don't
mind being ranted at." 

	~It makes you uncomfortable, though, and I'd love to know why,~ Rufus
thought, but did not say. "Yeah, well." His gaze was caught by Midgar again,
and he spoke slowly, staring out at the city that would one day be his own.
"You have the honor of talking to the Heir To The Throne, here. The Heir
isn't supposed to be a human being. The Heir is supposed to be some sort of
semi-mythical creature without a single flaw." Dryness scarred his tone, and
then he shrugged, offering up a small smile. "I'm pretty much used to it by
now, but every now and again it makes me want to spit nails."

	Reeve followed Rufus's eyes, looking out at the city himself. "The Heir
To The Throne sounds like a pretty dull guy," he said, softly. "I think I
like Rufus a lot better."

	Rufus laughed, and Reeve's words made it a lighter laugh than it should
have been. "Yeah, well, that just about makes you a minority of one." He
made a sharp little gesture with his hand, banishing the thought. "But
enough about that. I didn't come up here to whine at you. Which I apologize
for doing, by the way. We were gonna go have a few drinks, weren't we." 

	"Yeah, sure. Let me just get these jobs started." Startled to find that
he was still holding Rufus's cell phone, Reeve flipped it open. Before he
could dial, he added, "And you weren't whining."

	~Yes, I was,~ Rufus thought, but let it go. Drumming his fingers on the
desk, Reeve was giving out brisk orders, involving the No. 6 reactor and its
problems in precise detail, every technician that wasn't occupied with
equally important work, the rerouting of power from neighboring reactors to
Sector 6, the importance of teams getting sent out to Nibelheim and Gongaga,
and a deadline of "yesterday" before hanging up. Rufus hid a smile; he had
the tone right, at least. And he seemed to actually give a damn about his
employees, something that might very well wind up making him the most
respected executive around. 

	"There, that's done," Reeve said, finally, flipping Rufus's phone
closed. "Here, catch." Rufus did so, neatly stowing the slim phone in his
back pocket once more. As Reeve stood, his foot caught a pile of papers,
sending it spilling further across the floor. Reeve cursed. "Goddammit. I'm
never going to get this place cleaned up."

	"Sure you will." The few moments while Reeve had been on the phone had
allowed Rufus's mercurial temper to calm again; a little smile danced across
his face. "You just need to open all the windows, arrange for a dumpster to
get put on the sidewalk down there, and call in a fire hose." 

	Reeve looked startled for a moment, and then laughed, leaving the papers
behind him. "Maybe a bulldozer would work better."

	"A heavy trashcan and some lighter fluid," Rufus parried, the amusement
starting to become more real, less forced. "Or some napalm and a /whole lot/
of prayer."

	Reeve laughed again. "I think I'll just stick to the old-fashioned way
of doing things. Tomorrow. Let's get out of here; I don't think I can stand
to spend one minute more in this damn pigsty."

	"'What a /dump/,'" Rufus quoted, in agreement, and grinned a little
more. "Come on, there are a few beers down in Upper Eight with our names
written all over them."

	"You got it." Reeve shut down his laptop again, pulling out a set of
keys from his pocket and locking it into one of the desk drawers. Looking
up, he slipped back into seriousness for a few moments. "And -- thanks
again."

	"No problem." Rufus paced back over to the door, leaning against the
doorframe. "Welcome to the madhouse. Give it a few weeks, and you'll learn
the minefields just as well as the rest of us."

	They clicked off the light behind them, and Rufus could feel the tension
beginning to leave his shoulders again. It was an early night for him to be
leaving the office -- barely seven o'clock, when he was usually there until
nine or ten -- but he didn't care. It had been a long day, and he damn well
deserved a chance to relax. 

	And if the relaxation happened to be in the company of someone new and
fascinating, someone he happened to like a great deal -- well, that was all
for the better.

				-- * --

	They weren't drunk. Reeve knew that much. In retrospect, perhaps the
last round of shots had been a bad idea, but they weren't drunk. Reeve would
rate it at about a sheet, a sheet and a half to the wind. It was enough so
that when Rufus, relaxed enough to be witty again, had given a ten-minute
impression of Palmer Encountering the Out-Of-Paper Printer, Reeve had
laughed so hard that he thought he might never recover. By the time they had
paid their bill and sauntered -- all right, staggered -- out into the
street, the night was well-advanced, cool and crisp without being chilly. 

	"You feel like walking back?" Rufus asked him, abruptly, patting down
his pockets for his cigarettes. The alcohol had blurred his speech, but not
terribly so, leaving him sounding more causal and relaxed than Reeve had
heard him all night. "There's something I want you to see. I think you're
one of the first people I've met who'll appreciate it."

	"Hmm?" Reeve asked, distractedly, fumbling with his own cigarette.
"Whuzzat?"

	Rufus just laughed. "Trust me. Come on, this way." His steps sure and
purposeful, he set off into the street, heading for an area where the lights
were dimmer, the buildings more sparse. "You ever had a place where you'd
go, just to sit and think? Just someplace you'd go to /be/, with no
distractions?"

	Reeve thought about that for a few minutes, and then nodded. "Yeah.
There was this big rock in the woods back of our house when I was younger.
Used to go out and just ... I dunno, lie on it." He could hear the alcohol
in his own speech, and fought to keep it down. The whole night felt /real/
-- maybe it was the alcohol talking, but he felt more alive than he had
since moving in. 

	The smile that Rufus gave him back was almost relieved, as if he'd
worried that the other man wouldn't understand him, would think him mad.
"Yeah. Bit of a shortage of rocks around here --"

	"I'd noticed," Reeve interrupted, with a laugh.

	"Yeah, well. I've got something almost as good." The little gesture that
Rufus made somehow encompassed the whole city, rising above them. "I love
this city. Love this damn city. It's filthy and it's crime-ridden and it's
rude and it's incredibly beautiful. C'mon, this way." He ducked down a side
street, one that carried more than a little bit of slope to it. "Lived here
all my damn life, except when I was in Junon. And when I was, I hated being
there. Midgar is where I belong. It's my damn city."

	Reeve hadn't really thought of the city as anything spectacular. He'd
lived there for four years before taking the job with Shinra, attending
Midgar University, living in one of the better neighborhoods up on the
plate. He hadn't thought of the city as anything more than a place to live,
but it was clear, from Rufus's words, that the other man /had/. He spoke of
the city as another man might speak of a woman, with that same sort of
tender possessiveness. "So where are we going?" he asked, almost hoping that
it would be somewhere amazing. He wanted, suddenly, to see the city in the
way that Rufus did.

	Rufus just gestured, the breeze -- already holding a bit more of
winter's promise than summer's kiss -- ruffling his hair. "Up here," he
said, tucking one hand, the hand not holding the cigarette, into the pocket
of his windbreaker.  "Watch your step."

	"How far do we have to go?" Reeve answered, turning back around to look
at Rufus curiously.

	If Rufus answered, however, Reeve did not hear it.

	When he turned back around and took a few more steps, he saw it. The
section of road that they'd been walking had been closed for a reason; it
quickly became obvious what that reason /was/. The road simply ended here, a
few half-hearted efforts at safety railing lingering at the edge. Over that
steep drop, the lights of Midgar-Above spread, each tiny facet winking like
a star. Below them, scattered against the inky darkness, was a tapestry of
diamonds and rubies, sapphires and amethysts, each gem offering up its quiet
serenity to the people that undoubtedly moved beneath their light. In the
distance, the darkened bulk of the sector 6 reactor loomed, and to one side
the outline of the Shinra complex, ablaze with lights, sketched a sharp
profile against the night sky ... but to the front, over that edge, the
world awaited.

	Rufus smiled, knowingly, at the look on Reeve's face. "Here," he simply
said, a curious peace settling over his features.

	Reeve just stood there for long moments, unaware that his jaw was
hanging and his eyes were as big as dinner plates. His eyes took in that
scene, every twinkling light below and every shining star above, and when he
opened his mouth to speak again, he found that the scenery had reduced him
to the most idiotic word in his vocabulary. "Wow...oh, wow, lookit that..."

	Behind him, then, Rufus spoke, his voice soft and almost eerily
dreamlike. "And all this dominion will I give to you," he quoted, taking the
few steps necessary to bring him to Reeve's side, "and the glory that goes
with it; for it has been put in my hands and I can give it to anyone I
choose."

	Something in Rufus's voice drew up a shiver from Reeve's body, or maybe
the presence of the other man at his side...or maybe it was just the breeze.
Whatever it was, it came, passed, and was forgotten. "God," he gasped,
softly. "This..is incredible." He stared out over the city, his eyes still
taking in every sparkle and gleam.

	Rufus laughed, taking the few steps to bring him up to the edge. The
single figure perched there on the very edge of the plate looked slender,
fragile, against the backdrop of the world. "I come out here when I need to
think," he said, softly. "When I just need to clear my head..." The lights
of the scene played across his face, throwing his profile into sharp relief.

	Carefully, Reeve crept close enough to the edge to sit with his feet
dangling over. He was suddenly almost sober now; something about the view or
the crisp breeze or the sudden realization that he and Rufus might have had
more in common than he could have imagined...whatever it was, it was as if
someone had turned up a giant "contrast" knob on the world for a few short
moments.

	Rufus looked down at him, the breeze blowing his hair into his eyes.
"So?" he asked, almost gently. "Am I right?" He looked back up, then, his
eyes sweeping the view, something akin to contentment on his features. "It
almost feels as if the world is more /real/ up here."

	Reeve looked up to Rufus and nodded, a wide grin finally breaking
through the shock and awe. "Oh yeah," he agreed. "This...this is beautiful."

	The look on Rufus's face was almost peaceful, almost avaricious. "For I
shall lead you to a great height," he murmured, "and show you all the
kingdoms of the world..." He looked down at Reeve, then, and smiled, a
little. "Be careful," he advised. "I don't think that the angels will guard
you from striking your foot against a stone."

	Reeve laughed, softly. "I'm not gonna fall off, don't worry." Then he
turned back to look out over the sprawling twinkling city below again -- and
at that very moment, the No. 6 reactor flared into life again. Up to that
moment it had been dormant and dark; apparently, the repairs had gone well.
And Reeve was unable to hide the sheer pride of accomplishment he felt at
seeing the reactor live again.

	Rufus gave Reeve a bit of a knowing smile. "It's like being a god, isn't
it?" he asked, softly, contemplatively. "Knowing that you did that..."

	With a little shrug, Reeve replied, "I didn't do it...I had other folks
do it...but still--it feels /damn good/ to see that thing work right." He
grinned back up at Rufus -- a warm, beautiful, and for once completely
relaxed smile.

	Rufus chuckled. "Oh, don't lie to yourself. You did it, more than anyone
else." He sat next to Reeve, cross-legged, back just slightly from the edge,
and pulled out his pack of cigarettes. "Yours was the hand that set the
process in motion." His face was still slightly distant, as if his thoughts
were a thousand miles away.

	"Yeah," Reeve finally admitted, looking over to study the reactor.
"Okay, I'll give you that." 

	They sat in comfortable silence for a few moments, just gazing out over
the view. Reeve pulled out his own cigarettes again, the familiar noisy
guilt -- ~I really do need to quit one of these days~ -- nagging at him. "It
never fails to amaze me that someday this city is going to really be mine,"
Rufus finally said, quietly. Almost hesitantly. After a second more, he
laughed. "Well, not the city itself, but --" He made a short, abrupt gesture
with his cigarette. "You know." 

	"Yeah," Reeve repeated. He did know; Shinra /was/ the political power in
Midgar. Of that much, he was more than aware. He puffed lazily on his
cigarette. "Coming up here -- I bet it makes a lot of the bullshit a lot
more worth it."

	Nodding, Rufus echoed, softly, "A lot, yeah." He tucked his knees up
against his chest, resting his chin on his knees. "Through all the shit I've
been through in my life, this view -- oh, not this view, they just started
building this road last year, but views like this one -- it's been what's
kept me sane."

	"It was bad, wasn't it," Reeve finally ventured, giving voice to some of
the things that he'd thought during the day. "What -- what happened?" Maybe
it was the words, maybe it was something in Rufus's tone, but he thought
that perhaps, just perhaps, that Rufus wanted to talk about it.

	Rufus chuckled, a bit bitterly. "Nothing major, really," he said,
looking away. "Just living with my dad ... I'm not good enough, you see.
Never have been. Never will be. So when he's really starting to give me
shit, I just come up here." Eyes dark, he looked back out over the city.
"You see, Midgar never tells me that I'm a worthless piece of shit who never
should have been born."

	Reeve cringed, suddenly; just the barest flinch, the barest indication
that Rufus's words had hit too close to home. "Yeah. I -- I know the
feeling."

	Rufus looked back at him, a puzzled expression on his face -- and then,
as Reeve watched, the puzzled expression smoothed itself out, turning
rueful, almost knowing. "You too?" he asked, gently.

	~How did he know?~ But Reeve could already tell, based on their few
hours of acquaintance, that this was the kind of man who could see right
through you, right down to your core, and so he nodded. "...Yeah," he said,
pulling his legs up from the edge of the road and crossing them, leaning an
elbow on one of his knees.

	Rufus looked back out over the city, something in him seeming to relax
as the suspicion that he'd found a kindred spirit seeped through. "It's
rough to get over, isn't it," he mused, finishing off his cigarette and
flicking it to fall, end-over end and trailing sparks, down to the distant
ground. "The feeling that no matter how hard you try, there's always someone
behind you waiting for you to fall and ready to say 'I told you so' when you
do."

	"Or ready to push you down themselves," Reeve heard himself say, and --
irritated at himself for saying anything -- dragged viciously on the embers
of his cigarette and threw it over the edge as well, hoping its last
remaining ember burned out before it hit the ground and, possibly, someone
walking by. 

	Rufus looked back at Reeve, eyes dark and knowing. "Your father too?" he
asked, and it wasn't precisely a question.

	For a long moment, Reeve just sat there, looking at the other man and
wondering, suddenly, crazily, what the fuck he was doing here. And then he
took a deep breath. "...Yeah."

	Rufus winced a little and shook his head. "Goddamn." He sighed, running
a hand through his hair. "What did --" He stopped, then shook his head. "No,
I shouldn't ask that. I don't have any right to ask that." Something in his
voice, though, seemed to suggest to Reeve that perhaps he was looking for
some sort of comfort, some thought that he was not alone. It touched Reeve
-- and that thought scared him.

	Reeve drew his knees up to his chest as Rufus had done and folded his
arms over them. "It's okay," he murmured with a little shrug, his eyes still
fixed on the lights below.

	Rufus gave him a bit of a sidelong glance, sapphire eyes seeming to hold
a little too much understanding. "Still hurts, doesn't it?" he mused. "I ...
I don't ever really talk about it. I don't know why I'm talking about it
now. Sometimes it feels like it's all ... all wrapped up inside me with a
sort of poisonous, festering hate that is just ready to burst out and eat me
alive..."

	"Yeah," Reeve replied, and damned if his voice didn't crack just a
little. "I've never really told anyone about...what he did. Talking about it
means I have to think about it." 

	There was another moment of silence, and then Rufus turned to face him,
one hand coming to rest on Reeve's arm; Reeve jumped a little at the touch,
and then forced himself to relax again. "You're already thinking about it,"
he said, softly, "if you're anything like me. And sometimes ... talking
about it ... well, there are times that talking about what's bothering
you..." He shook his head slightly, grimacing.  "Not that I'd really know."

	"It's not the kind of thing you bring up in a casual conversation,"
Reeve agreed. Somehow he sensed that escape from talking about his own past
could be found in asking Rufus about his, and that emboldened him enough to
offer, quietly, "If you want to talk about it, I'll listen." 

	A small chuckle; another lit cigarette. "It's ... it's nothing really
big," Rufus finally said, once the matter of flame had been settled. He
hugged his knees a little as complete honesty forced him to admit, "To
anyone but me. I've always ... been distant from my father; I think he
blamed me for my mother's death ..." He took a deep drag off his cigarette,
and looked back at Reeve, though his eyes were focused on something that
wasn't even there. "All my life, nothing that I've ever done has been good
enough for him. He's always found fault with evverything ... And he doesn't
quite seem to realize that so much of what I do, I do because I want to
once, /just once/, hear him say that he's proud of me..."

	"It's not /fair/," Reeve said, sharply, watching Rufus's grip on his
knees tighten. For one brief crazy moment, all he wanted to do was to wrap
an arm around Rufus's shoulders, pull him close and tight. He fought it
down, simply resting one hand on the other man's arm, as Rufus had done for
him. "It's not fair. It's not fair when someone who's supposed to love you
and take care of you, someone you're supposed to trust, turns around and
hurts you like that. It's just not goddamn /fair/."

	Rufus nodded, some old pain glittering in his eyes. "Exactly ... and you
don't know what to do about it, and you're not sure that's not the way it
/should/ be..." He looked up at Reeve, his face drawn and weary. "You do
understand. I thought I was the only one..."

	"Or you know it shouldn't be that way, but if you try to fight back it
just makes it worse." Reeve offered up a weak smile. "You're not alone," he
said, softly.

	Rufus returned the little weak smile, and nodded. "You have no idea ...
how much that relieves me," he said, his eyes focusing in on Reeve. "I ... I
feel sometimes like I'm trying to carry the world on my shoulders, and I'm
so scared of slipping."

	"I am too," Reeve confessed, his hand still resting on Rufus's arm.
"I...still have nightmares sometimes...not like I used to, but..." The hand
on Rufus's arm tightened, just a little. "It's hard...I know."

	Sighing slightly, Rufus rested his cheek against the hand that was still
on his arm ... not quite knowing why, just feeling for that one moment that
he needed some kind of human touch. "I never had the nightmares," he said,
bleakly. "Sleep is the one place where it /doesn't/ haunt me..." He looked
up, then, and met Reeve's eyes, a curious sort of caring there. "If you ever
need to talk ... I'll listen."

	Reeve closed his eyes, absently running his thumb across the line of
Rufus's cheekbone. He bowed his head to rest it against his knees,
swallowing back tears of what might have been relief. He was silent for long
moments, then he nodded. "Thanks," he whispered, his voice almost lost on
the wind. It was the first time anyone had made any sort of offer like that;
the first time that he might actually be willing to admit that someone,
anyone, could care about him enough to make an offer like that.

	Rufus's eyes drifted closed as well, something within him seeming to
almost break down at the simple touch of Reeve's thumb. "It's weird," he
said, almost thinking out loud. "You and I ... it's almost like there's some
sort of connection here. Like it's so ... so strange to find someone who
actually /understands/..."

	Reeve chuckled, softly, almost darkly. "Two poor lost children," he
said, only partly in jest. 

	Echoing softly, Rufus added, "Trying to find their own way home..."

	As they sat there, just barely touching, a single light went out below
-- a single person finishing his day, settling down to rest his burdens
until the sun rose once again over the city of Midgar.