The Conscience of the King Chapter 11: Colorblind "I am colorblind, coffee black and egg white Pull me out from inside I am ready, I am ready, I am ready I am taffy stuck and tongue tied Stutter shook and uptight Pull me out from inside I am ready, I am ready, I am ready, I am fine I am covered in skin No one gets to come in Pull me out from inside I am folded and unfolded and unfolding I am colorblind, coffee black and egg white Pull me out from inside I am ready, I am ready, I am ready, I am fine." -- Counting Crows "Yuletide is coming, the chocobo is fat, please to put a gil piece in the old man's hat..." "He's singing /again/." Reeve looked over at the bar; sure enough, Reno was singing loudly, drumming against the bar to keep time. "Sure is." Rude reached out and snagged a nearby bowl of bar food, scooping out a handful of peanuts. "Least he's not drunk this time." Reeve laughed. "You couldn't tell it from how he's acting, though. Didn't you see him trying to hit on Tifa before?" "Yeah. She ignored him." This was a common practice; over the past six months or so, Reno had insisted that the gang choose the Seventh Heaven for their Friday-night drinking sprees more often that not, so that he could continue the game. He wasn't /serious/. At least, Reeve /thought/ he wasn't serious. Tifa, he could tell, wasn't so sure about whether or not Reno really meant it, but over the past six months as she'd lost some of the haunted look and the shadows under her eyes, she had started playing along. She appeared from the back room now, laden down with a tray full of plates -- the Seventh Heaven had started offering a small range of cooked snack foods and simple meals, when Kyle had discovered that his waitress and bouncer could also cook -- and gave Reno a genial kick in the shin. "Stuff it, Reno," she suggested, and disappeared to pass out the food. Reno looked after her. "Aw. I was just tryin' to get everyone into the holiday spirit. Hey, ya got any mistletoe around here?" "/Reno/." Tseng rolled his eyes from his post behind the bar. He'd been drafted -- as nearly all of the 'regulars' in the Seventh Heaven had been, at one point or another, if they stayed around for long enough -- to cover for Kyle while the latter headed out to take care of some errands. Everyone who knew what was good for them didn't ask what kinds of errands needed running at ten PM on a Friday evening. Reno deflated in place, looking like a cat that had just been dropped in water. "I /like/ Yule," he said, grumpily. "Why doesn't anyone else?" Reeve took pity on him and got up from the table, heading over to the bar with his drink to sit next to Reno. "There's nothing wrong with Yule," he said. "Except we're going to have to sit through another one of those damn parties, aren't we." "Ah, th' mighty have fallen." Reno snickers. "I remember last year y'thought that the party would be fun." Reeve rubbed a hand over his cheek, idly, where Scarlet's nails had marked him nearly a year ago. "Yeah, well," he said, ruefully. "You live, you learn, or you don't live long." Tifa headed by again, starting to look frazzled; it was a medium-sized crowd tonight, but apparently the munchies had struck everyone at once. Tseng noticed her and knocked on the bar next to Reno. "Reno. Take the bar for a few minutes." "Huh? Aw, boss, you're goin' to try and hit on her, aren't you." Reno scowled, but stood, vaulting the bar easily with one well-placed hand. Tseng shook his head. "No. I'm not." He picked up a clean bar-rag and wiped his hands with it. "Then what're you doin'?" One eyebrow arched. "Birdseed." He lifted the swinging piece of wood at the end of the bar and slipped past it, disappearing into the kitchen after Tifa. "Birdseed?" Reeve raised an eyebrow at Reno and pushed his empty pint glass over at the other man, then thought better of it and reached over the bar to refill it himself. Reno was watching the door to the kitchen; he 'hmm?'d absentmindedly, and then refocused on Reeve. "Oh. Birdseed. Y'know, when you're tryin' to get a bird to come close to you, you put out th' trail of birdseed and sit /real/ still for a long time, and sooner or later they'll come an' eat out of your hand." He frowned, and looked back at the kitchen. "Th' boss wants to know what's up with her." Rude headed up to the bar, glass in hand, and snapped his fingers in front of Reno's face; Reno shook his head and refocused. "Whattya want?" Rude wordlessly held up his glass; Reno scowled and swiped it from Rude's hand. Reeve laughed. "You two should form a comedy team and take it on the road. You'd make millions." Reno bent down and fished in the cooler under the bar for another bottle of the beer that Rude favored, imported from Costa del Sol. ("Flavored horse piss," Reno had once been heard to call it, but Rude seemed to like it.) "If you could ever get Old Surly over here to /talk/, maybe," he snorted, and started looking for where he'd left the bottle opener. Rude solved that problem by reaching over, picking up the bottle, and twisting off the cap by himself. Reeve blinked; he knew, from his last time behind the bar, that the brand of beer in question did not come with twist-off bottle caps. "Show-off," Reno snorted. "Thirsty," Rude corrected, and drank directly from the bottle. Reno snorted again. Reeve laughed. "Are you guys running the real party at the ball again this year?" "Oh, yeah. We do that every year." Reno nodded at one of the patrons across the bar who was signaling for more beer, pulling out clean glasses and starting to draw more pints from the tap. "It's tradition. Th' buildin' would collapse or somethin' if we didn't." "Well, I suppose I should hope that /this/ year, I can stick around for a while for it." Reeve grinned a bit ruefully. "Last year I had to make a rather, um, precipitous departure, after all." Reno smirked. "Ya had to get outta there before all hell broke loose. ...Broke looser." He frowned, as something occurred to him. "Y'know, Scar's been in an awfully good mood for the last eight months or so." "I /know/." Reeve made a face. "It's been worrying me, actually. She's got that I'm Up To Something look every time I look at her. And she hasn't done anything that could even remotely be construed as "nasty" in a long time." "...which means that she's really up to somethin', yeah." Reno scowled. "I haven't seen anythin', but she's been hiding out lately. I'll go poke around." Reeve sighed. "That's probably a good idea. I'd ask how she got her job, except, well ..." "Yeah." Reno shrugged. "You gotta admit, th' company sure as hell does run on nepotism. Between her an' Rufus, the next generation is pretty much set." He paused for a second. "Well, /they're/ set, at least. Dunno about the company." "The chief's back this week," Rude offered. Reeve nodded. "Yeah. Thursday night." He tapped his fingers against the bar nervously, then stopped when he realized what he was doing. "He's back for two weeks for the holiday season, then it's back to Junon." "/Fuckin'/ Junon, Reeve. Get it right." Reno picked up a rag and mopped up a spill at the other end of the bar. "You gotta make sure you give th' town its full name." Reeve laughed. "Yeah. I keep forgetting." The kitchen door swung open again, and Tifa emerged with another tray, looking for all the world /more/ stressed than she had when she'd gone inside; she cast a glance over her shoulder, nervously, as if waiting to see if someone was following her. Tseng did follow, a minute later, and ducked back under the bar. Reno tossed him back the bar-rag and vaulted the bar again, sitting down on one of the stools. "You guys have any plans while he's here?" Reno asked as soon as he was settled next to Reeve. Reeve shook his head. "Not that I know of. I haven't gotten a chance to talk to him in a while. Mail drop isn't exactly the best way to keep a conversation running, you know?" Reno nodded, sympathetically. "Good for givin' summaries of what's been goin' on. Not so good with the sweet nothin's whispered into your ear, right?" With the instinct of one who's done it hundreds of times before, he ducked just as Rude reached out to smack him upside the back of the head. Reeve, not surprisingly, blushed. "Go soak your head, Reno," he said, with a bit of a laugh. "Now, that's what I like to hear," Tseng murmured. "Now all you have to do is learn when to hit him, and you'll have mastered the art of dealing with Reno without strangling him." "Can you /really/ see me wanting to strangle anyone, Tseng?" Reeve asked. "Not to mention that Reno could probably break me in half with one hand tied behind his back." "With /both/ my hands tied behind my back!" Reno protested. Tseng ignored him. "You know, you're probably right. We should send you for some kind of training." Reeve was caught halfway through a sip of Guinness at that statement; he coughed and spluttered. "What?" "Self-defense training, at the very least." Tseng was eyeing him thoughtfully. "Unarmed combat, and possibly shooting lessons." "Nuh-huh." Reeve's voice was firm, and he held up his hands, palms out. "I'm not learning to shoot. I hate guns. I'm not learning to shoot, and I'm not learning to fight. I'm /fine/ the way I am, and that's that." Tseng looked like he was about to argue, but he was interrupted by a loud crash; all four men's heads swiveled around automatically, and they saw Tifa standing in the middle of the room, pieces of broken dishes strewn around her feet. "/Fuck/," she said sharply, sounding like she was about to cry; Reeve didn't catch what came next -- it wasn't in any language he knew -- but it didn't sound happy. On the other side of the bar, Tseng had turned into a statue of himself; as Tifa dropped to her knees to start picking up shards of dishes, her motions quick and jerky and desperate, he whipped his head around to pin a gaze on Rude and Reno. "Reno, take the bar. Rude, go clean up those dishes." He was over the bar before either one of them could react, with his fingers on Tifa's elbow half a second later. They were out the door -- Tseng dragging, Tifa not putting up a fight -- before Reeve could really blink. "Huh." Reeve looked over at Reno, who vaulted back over the bar again. ~Does anyone but Tseng ever actually /use/ that bar-gate?~ he wondered. "What was that all about?" Reno shrugged. "Dunno," he said, cheerfully. "Th' boss'll take care of it, though, whatever it was. Oi, Rude, catch." He tossed a spare rag over at Rude, who was already on his way over to pick up the dishes. Reeve stood up and went to help, as did several of the other nearby patrons. The more people who helped, the faster it'd be cleaned up. He couldn't help casting another glance at the door, though, and wondering if maybe he should go outside and see what was going on. -- * -- Tseng hauled Tifa brusquely but impersonally out onto the front porch, letting go of her and hauling her around to face him once there. "What was that all about?" he asked, his tone even. Her face was pale in the neon lights, and she cast a quick glance at the stairs of the porch, as if she was thinking of making a run for it. He'd positioned himself between her and the stairs, though, and he could practically see her adding up her chances of getting away before he caught her and coming up with "low". "I -- I dropped some dishes," she said, quickly. "Kyle doesn't mind as long as I pick them up--" He shook his head. "That's not what I was talking about," he said, and folded his arms across his chest. She grew even paler, and Tseng thought that he could see the faintest hint of a tremble as she lifted her hand to push a lock of hair out of her face. He scowled -- sometimes the reputation did more harm than good -- and she misinterpreted it, freezing in place and darting her eyes to the stairs again. Tseng sighed, and switched languages. "\You spoke in Wutaian. I won't repeat what you said, as your accent is atrocious and your vocabulary is beyond rude. Where did you learn it?\" Her eyes grew wider, and -- in case she hadn't understood him -- he repeated, "Where did you learn it?" "I -- my teacher, he taught me -- he said that if I was going to learn the fighting style I should learn the language too -- I didn't mean --" She edged backwards just a hair. Tseng sighed again. "And where did your /teacher/ learn it? He couldn't have been Wutaian himself, or he would never have taught you to speak like a gutter-punk. A /male/ gutter-punk." Tifa took a deep breath. "He lived in Wutai for years. That's where he learned how to -- how to fight the way he was teaching me." Feeling somewhat like a nursery-school teacher trying to elicit an answer from a preschooler, Tseng asked patiently, "And why did they teach /him/?" Catching a glance at her face, he waved one hand. "Oh, you can stop worrying. I'm not going to /hurt/ you." She licked her lips and ventured, "He told me not to tell anyone where I'd learned it. He told me not to /show/ anyone from Wutai that I knew what I knew, or they'd -- they'd kill me." "Yes, and if I were a proper son of the Lily Empire, I'd probably be challenging you to an honor-duel right about now, but if I were a proper son of the Lily Empire I wouldn't be here working for /Shinra/, now would I?" He sighed again, feeling his patience beginning to wane, and sat back on the railing of the porch. "I'm not going to hurt you. For one, Kyle would strangle me; he's finally found a waitress who can keep up with him, and if anything happened to you he'd eat the skin of whomever caused it. Secondly, you see this?" He lifted a hand, tapped the scar between his eyebrows. "This was given to me on the occasion of my departure from Wutai, and it means that I'm marked for death if I ever go /back/. I'm hardly one to be upholding the old traditions." Tifa's eyes were wide, but she nodded, slowly. "I -- you've had me terrified for /months/!" she exclaimed on an exhale. "Every time you were down here, you were there every time I turned around. I kept expecting that you'd --" "Grab you by the elbow and haul you out onto the porch?" Tseng suggested dryly. "Well, your worst fears are over, so why don't we have a nice pleasant conversation like two civilized human beings. /Not/ in Wutaian; I don't think I could stand your accent. What was your teacher's name?" "Zangan." She dropped her head to examine the floorboards of the porch, one toe worrying at a raised spot of wood. "His name was Zangan. He came to town when I was -- six or seven, really, and said that he wanted to train me. My father didn't want to let me, but my mother --" Her voice caught, then continued. "My mother argued with him. She said that every woman should be able to defend herself." Her lips curved a bit, remembering. "It was a good argument, and my mother won." "Zangan." Tseng tapped his fingertips against the railing. "Zangan. Zangan. I remember him, vaguely. I was told that there was a great deal of debate as to whether or not he was going to be allowed to /stay/ when his boat first washed up on shore; they used to kill gaijin on sight, you know." Tifa was calming down by now; she lifted one eyebrow and looked up at him. "Obviously, he won." "I doubt he ever knew about the debate, actually." Tseng pulled a cigarette case out of his pocket, fishing a slender clove cigarette out of it. "It's not the sort of thing that's generally open to outsiders. It happened before I was born, at any rate." Tifa's eyes had lost some of their frightened-rabbit look. "He said that he liked it there," she offered, hesitantly. "He always wanted to go back someday." Tseng raised one eyebrow. "Did he?" He couldn't find his lighter in the first pocket he checked in, nor the second, and he grumbled something under his breath about Reno, pickpockets, and manners before finding it in the third place he looked and lighting his clove. "What town did you grow up in?" She froze. That was the only way to describe it; one moment she was starting to relax, to show some of the sense of humor he'd observed in her over the past few months, and the next moment she was a statue of ice. He noted this and carefully filed it away for further consideration, before taking a drag off his cigarette and putting the lighter away. "A -- town in the mountains," she said, slowly. "Small place. Nobody's really heard of it." Town in mountains, check. Showed up in Midgar nine months or so previously, by all reports injured seriously, check. Skittish around Shinra, check. "Nibelheim." He exhaled a stream of clove-scented smoke, and watched for her reaction. He wasn't disappointed. She recoiled, as if he had struck her in the face, and then her eyes came alive, spitting fire. For half a second he thought that she was going to launch herself at him; instead, she turned around so that her back was to him, her fists tightly clenched. "Yes, /Nibelheim/, all right?" Her tone was sharp and full of venom. "You've been pushing me for the last five minutes, is that what you wanted to hear? I came from Nibelheim. The town that one of /your people/ leveled to the ground nine months, one week and four days ago." One of her hands lifted, gestured sharply and expansively in the vague direction of the plate, as she paced. "The town where one of /your people/ went mad and killed everyone in the town but me, and he damn well tried to kill /me/ too. /That/ Nibelheim. Is that what you wanted to hear before you shoot me for knowing too much? Is /that/ what you wanted to know before you have me taken out and killed like the rest of them?" Her voice was steadily rising, and her gestures getting wider and wider; Tseng had to step back to avoid getting a hand in the face. "That is what I suspected, yes," he answered, his voice mild. She whirled around and pointed a finger at him. "Well, now you know. Go ahead and /fucking/ shoot me." He laughed. "On the contrary." Another drag of the clove, and he had to admire her spirit; she breathed deeply and balled her hands into fists again, obviously fighting back the impulse to punch him in the face. "I just have a few questions to ask you." Tifa tossed her head. "About /what/?" Tseng dropped the mostly-unsmoked cigarette onto the porch and crushed it out with his heel. "What really happened." Her eyes were wide as they dragged up to meet his, and she was left speechless for a long moment. -- * -- Tap. Tap. Tap. Reeve caught himself drumming his hands against the side of the retaining wall for the tenth time, stopped himself, jammed his hands back into his coat to warm them, and stood to pace the little area he'd mentally roped off for himself once more. He'd smoked the last of his cigarettes about ten minutes ago, waiting for Rufus's helicopter to show up. There was another pack downstairs in his desk, but he was honest enough with himself to admit that he didn't want to go downstairs and get them for the risk of losing the chance to see Rufus the moment he arrived back in Midgar. ~You're pathetic, Reeve,~ he scolded himself. ~You're like -- I don't know, you're like a teenage girl waiting for her prom date to show up.~ He hadn't seen Rufus in nine months; the hypothetical visit to Junon had never materialized, and he hadn't found the time to make the trip on his own. He caught himself wondering, slightly bitterly, if Rufus would even /remember/ him. "Hey, you got a cigarette?" Reeve whirled around at the voice, to find Reno poking his head out of the door to the building, not wearing anything to shelter him from the cold and the biting December wind but his normal suit jacket. "I -- no, actually," he said, tugging slightly with one hand on his ponytail. "I ran out myself." His breath steamed in front of him in small puffs. "Huh." Reno wandered out over to stand next to Reeve, producing a nearly full pack from one pocket of his rumpled jacket and holding it out to Reeve. "Here, then." "...I didn't think you were physically capable of having your own cigarettes, Reno. I thought you smoked OPs." Reeve took the proffered pack gratefully, fishing out one and his lighter. It took a few tries to light the cigarette, in the fierce wind on the top of the building, but he managed. "OPs?" Reno quirked an eyebrow. "Other People's." Reeve grinned a little. "I've never seen you with your own pack. Don't you usually lift 'em from Rude?" Reno shrugged, and put a cigarette in his own mouth. "Hey, if he's willing to provide 'em, I ain't gonna say no." He grinned a bit, and held out a hand for Reeve's lighter to light his own. "Keep my own in case I can't find someone to give 'em to me. How long ya been waitin' up here?" "...About half an hour," Reeve confessed, and sighed as he could feel his cheeks starting to pinken. "I, uh, wanted some fresh air." He ignored the fact that it was colder than Shiva's tits outside, hoping that Reno would ignore it too. Reno only nodded. "They should be gettin' in soon; th' boss radioed Air Traffic Control a few minutes back and let 'em know that they were in Midgar airspace." The cigarette provided a few moments of distraction, for which Reeve was grateful. "So -- fifteen minutes, then?" Reno grinned. "More like two." He pointed upwards; Reeve could make out, by squinting, the shape of a Shinra helicopter outlined against the neon-illuminated night clouds. "I just came up to give ya a cigarette and tell ya to relax, okay? It'll be fine. Just roll with it." "Yeah. Uh. Thanks." Reeve tugged on his ponytail again and took a long drag on his cigarette. He wasn't quite sure whether that meant that Reno thought that he and Rufus would be fine, or if that was Reno telling Reeve to roll with it while Rufus dumped him -- but whatever it meant, he didn't really want to think too hard about it. Reno laughed. "Hey, Reeve. Look sharp." Reeve looked up abruptly, just in time to catch the pack of cigarettes that Reno tossed him. "We won't bother lookin' for you tomorrow night, hey?" Goddamn it, he was blushing /again/ as Reno wiggled his fingers in a wave and disappeared back down the stairs to the building proper. Busying himself with the cigarette and with properly disposing of it -- proper disposal, in this case, being stubbing it out well enough to make sure that nothing was still burning before he pitched it over the side of the building's roof -- took up the last few minutes, and then the helicopter was landing and the roof was full of noise and chilled wind and it was too late to do anything else or go anywhere. ~Ramuh and Ifrit. Please get me through this without sounding like an ass. Please.~ Tseng was the first one out of the back of the helicopter, which made Reeve frown. He'd thought that Tseng would be piloting, but no; he could barely make out Rude's bulk in the cockpit. His thoughts stopped worrying over it, though, a second later. Because there he was. Rufus had gotten thinner, was the first thought to cross Reeve's mind. Rufus was laughing as he ducked out of the helicopter's back, his head down as if to resist the wind whipped up by the blades, trying in vain -- as always -- to keep his hair from blowing right back into his eyes. Even from this distance, Reeve could tell that Rufus's eyes were shining, bright and alive as he glanced over the edge of the retaining wall to look down upon Midgar. The barest hint of a private smile rounded the edge of his lips, and he seemed lost in thought for a moment, before a shout from Tseng made him turn again and catch the duffel bag just as it was lobbed into his chest. Rufus laughed again -- or so Reeve thought; he couldn't really hear over the noise of the chopper -- and slung the bag over one shoulder, leaning back into the helicopter and grabbing his laptop carrying case before stepping back again and reaching up to extend a hand to someone who was still in the bird. He bowed with a flourish, head lifted up to say something, practically bubbling over with good spirits. Beatrice stepped down from the chopper, all grace and dignity, and Rufus reached back into the cargo bay again and produced another duffel, handing it to Tseng. One hand lifted to flip the errant hair aside, fully revealing a face far more tanned, far more golden than Reeve remembered. Beatrice put a hand on Rufus's shoulder to say something; Rufus nodded, and gestured back to the building. He tried to reply, threw a good-humored, mock-irritated glance up at the blades of the chopper, and pantomimed something that Reeve assumed to be "go, get some sleep, I'll call you tomorrow" from the context. There was a momentary tug-of-war between Tseng and Beatrice for Beatrice's duffel; Beatrice won, and clicked off in her high heels across the roof, not noticing Reeve. Tseng disappeared back into the chopper, came out carrying a briefcase, and handed that over to Rufus, then turned around and shouted something at Rude, who nodded and stopped fighting the updraft to keep the helicopter on the building, letting it rise again. As the chopper receded into the distance, the noise receded with it, until Reeve could make out Tseng's words. "...on your desk the first thing in the morning, and we can go over them over lunch. It's getting interesting the more I find out." Rufus grinned again as he looked back over the city. "Fuck that, Tseng, I'm home. We'll deal with it later. I --" He turned his head to look at Tseng, and saw Reeve. His grin got even wider. "Much later, okay?" he said, without looking back at Tseng, and crossed the roof to stop a few feet in front of Reeve. "Hey," said Reeve, after a long minute; he could feel himself grinning in response to Rufus's contagious smile. "Hey," was Rufus's response, and they just looked at each other for a moment longer. Tseng cleared his throat from behind Rufus. "I'll just be downstairs, then," he said, unnecessarily, and was gone. "I didn't expect you to be waiting," Rufus said, hitching the duffel bag higher up his shoulder to keep it from slipping. "I, uh, finished up my work a little early. Thought you might want to see a friendly face before you got thrown back into the lion's den." "Oh, believe me, I appreciate it." Rufus's eyes flicked out over the city again, and he took a deep breath, letting it out with a whoosh and a visible relaxing of his shoulders. "You, uh, wanna go downstairs and pick up something to eat? I pretty much blew out of Junon as soon as the chopper got there. Didn't get much chance to feed myself." Reeve nodded. "Sounds good to me." He glanced at the various bags and briefcases that Rufus was wearing like a Yule tree wore tinsel. "You, uh, want some help with that stuff?" Rufus glanced down, and then handed over the briefcase. "Yeah, sure. Tseng brought me a /lot/ of paper. He's been busy with trying to figure out the whole Nibelheim thing." He lifted a hand and flipped his hair out of his face again, scowling lightly as it blew right back. "Let's go get out of this wind, okay?" ~I feel like I'm walking on broken glass. He hasn't said one word to me that he wouldn't say to ... to Reno, or to Tseng. Or hell, even to Scarlet.~ Reeve nodded. "Yeah. That sounds good." He hitched the briefcase up a little, and turned to go. "Hey, Reeve." The wind whipped his ponytail in his face as he turned back. "Yeah?" Rufus gave him one of those sunshine smiles, and his heart stopped. Nine months of separation apparently reduced his immunity to the feeling of Rufus looking at him like that, like he was the only thing in the world, and smiling like it was the only smile he'd ever given anyone. "I missed you," Rufus said, simply. The quick glance upwards to verify that they were out of the range of the security cameras was second nature, and Reeve found himself being kissed, thoroughly and enthusiastically. His arms closed around Rufus automatically, and he leaned into the kiss, his eyes closing. His entire world narrowed down to the feeling of Rufus's body against him, warm and tempting and solid, not the thoughts that had been haunting him for the past nine months. It didn't last long enough. By the time that Rufus pulled back, leaving one hand on Reeve's hip, Reeve's head was spinning. Rufus just grinned at him, and it wasn't the heartstopper smile this time, just a highly amused and energetic expression. "Come on. I'm starving." The wind caught Reeve's answering laughter as they ducked back in the building to get warm. -- * -- Say what you might want to say about Reno -- and most people did -- he certainly did know how to DJ a party. "Tongue-tied, twisted, just an earthbound misfit I..." he sang along as he sorted records. He was watching the party pretty carefully, making sure that there wasn't a repeat of last year's incident. No one had asked him to, but as unofficial gossip king of Shinra's quite active underground network, he considered it his sacred duty. Rude was out on the dance floor, putting the moves on a pretty lab assistant from the Science department. Reno smirked as he saw that and silently wished Rude luck; she was famed for being nothing but a tease. Rufus had long ago shed the tuxedo jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves, and was dancing with Beatrice; he had an expression of relief on his face that she /wasn't/ hitting on him. Which, Reno knew, was probably why he was dancing with her for the third time that evening. He'd been thrilled to find a secretary that wasn't interested in throwing herself at him; to find one who was competent too was a godsend. Tseng and Reeve, surprisingly, were involved in a conversation over against one wall; Reeve looked relieved, and Tseng was gesturing with the hand that held his drink. Tseng had been dancing a few minutes ago, and Reno wasn't looking forward to the boss bitching later about how tough it was to not look like an idiot on the dance floor in those heavy Wutaian formal robes. He knew it wasn't worth the effort to suggest that Tseng wear something more Western. It was the one time of the year when Tseng could get away with flaunting his heritage under Heidegger's nose, and the man enjoyed every minute of it. The song ended and Reno flipped the disc smoothly, choosing something with a heavier beat. He drummed along as he flipped through more CDs, trying to choose what to play next, as the vocalist growled: "Build a new god to medicate and to ape, sell us ersatz dressed up and real fake.." No one ever really noticed the social commentary that he provided as a thoughtful extra service with the music he played, but he knew it was there. A man had to have pride in his work, after all. Reno watched the crowd carefully, taking note of who was where, and talking to whom. Jolie was getting a bit too drunk, he noticed, and made a mental note that it was probably time to gently suggest that Rick take her home; she was drunk enough to dance with /Hojo/, and that was usually a dangerous sign. Brad and Aidan had started a game of poker in the corner; that could be safely ignored. Marie had lost the top of her dress at some point, and was dancing in her slip and her skirt; Reno took a moment and appreciated the view. Hey, even if he /was/ staying mostly sober and out of the way to keep an eye on things, that didn't mean he couldn't watch the eye candy. No one had seen Scarlet all evening. That part worried Reno; he'd gotten Rufus off to the side and asked, earlier, only to get a shrug and a muttered, "She isn't coming. Said something about being too busy." /That/ part worried Reno more. He'd have to go and see what she was up to. Thoughts of Scarlet made him smirk as he flipped songs again. "No sex, I'm bored with anticipation, this love-song radio station. I guess you'll sleep - I'll count sheep and watch you dream." Rude's dance partner kissed him on the cheek and headed off to the bar; he made his way back to the DJ station. "Hey, hey, rocket boy, gotta lotta life behind you. Hey, hey, mockingbird girl, gotta fly, don't let him hold you down..." "Good party," Rude commented, with a smirk. "Quiet party," Reno agreed, and he didn't mean the music. "Nobody's tryin' to kill anybody yet." "Nice change." Rude looked over to the bar and blew a kiss when he saw that the girl was looking back at him. Reno laughed. "Yeah, kinda. You struck out with whatsername, didn't you?" One eyebrow raised over Rude's ever-present sunglasses. "Whitney, and no. She just wants to stay for the party." "Damn." Reno laughed. "Half the company's been tryin' to get into her pants, ya know." A little smirk crossed Rude's face. "I know." "Nice going." Reno shook his head. "I gotta bottle some of your aura. Hey, y'mind taking over the table for a while? I wanna go get a beer and talk to a few people." Rude shook his head. "No prob. Have fun." Reno nodded. "Thanks, man. Next few songs are already out. I'll be back in a bit." Rude just nodded, seeing no need for further conversation, and picked up the next disc. The heavy synthesized beat had everyone heading for the dance floor, and Reno had a hard time pushing through the crowd to get to the bar. "Shake your paranoia (can't stop the rock)..." He sang along, drumming against his hips and wiggling in time with the music, as he waited for his drink. He noticed, out of the corner of his eye, that Tseng had finally shed the over-robes, leaving only the tight black T-shirt and black pants he'd started wearing underneath them several years back; he grinned, knowing what /that/ meant. "Hey Reno," Reeve called, meandering over to lean up against the bar next to Reno. "Where do you /find/ this music?" Reno grinned. "I go clubbing a lot. Hey, you ain't gonna want to miss this." "Miss what?" Reeve held up a hand to catch the bartender's attention. Reno pointed out to the dance floor. "Rufus an' Tseng are startin' their competition." "Their ... what?" Reeve craned his neck to see what was going on, but the press of bodies was too thick. None of them were dancing, though. "Y'missed it last year. Shit blew up too quick." Reno accepted the scotch and soda from the bartender, dropped a few gil pieces into the tip jar, and pointed. "Usually starts up around 2AM or so. Half dancin', half sparrin', and half showin' off which one of 'em can wiggle better. If Rufus could risk headin' down into the clubs in the slums, he'd be an instant hit. Th'man can dance like you /wouldn't believe/." Reno grinned. "They'll be at it for the next forty-five minutes or so. Y'might wanna get a good seat. I should get back to the DJ table and babysit th' music if they're gonna do this now. Rude doesn't know the good techno stuff." Reeve laughed. Reno grinned back at him; Reeve was apparently in a good mood tonight, and had gotten in an even /better/ mood when he'd realized that Scarlet wasn't going to show up. "I supposed I shouldn't be jealous, should I?" he quipped. "Aw, fuck no. They ain't dancin' /with/ each other, they're dancin' /against/ each other. First one to fall over hasta pay the next month's bar tab." Reno pointed over to the DJ table's corner. "If y'want, c'mon up onto th' platform and help me find records; you'll be able to get a good linea sight up there." "I wouldn't miss it for the world." Reeve grabbed his drink. "Lead on." -- * -- "Ow." Rufus sprawled out over the bed, eyes open and staring at the ceiling, looking for all the world like a wet rag. "It's your own damn fault, you know," Reeve laughed, unbuttoning his shirt. "Nobody made you throw your body around the dance floor for an hour and ten minutes." Rufus laughed. "Oh, come on. You think I could let Tseng win? It's a matter of pride by now." He picked up his head to look at Reeve, winced, and dropped back onto the bed. "I just happen to feel like a wet noodle afterwards, is all." "Well, you won, at least." Reeve cast a glance over his shoulder. "And you should probably take a shower before you go to bed, or you'll be miserable in the morning when you wake up and all of your muscles are screaming at you." "Good call." With a superhuman effort, Rufus picked himself up to sit on the bed and start stripping. "Enjoy yourself?" Reeve tossed his shirt on the dresser; he'd get it later. "Yeah, actually," he said, surprised to realize it was the truth. "I'm glad I stuck around for it this year. I was gonna head back home for the holidays." "I'm glad you didn't," Rufus said, pausing while getting ready to pull his undershirt over his head. "I missed you." Reeve tried to keep control of his face as he looked back over his shoulder. "Did you? I missed you too." Rolling his eyes, Rufus stood and slipped out of his pants. "Junon is miserable. And /boring/. And /lonely/. And I have to go back in a week." It was the perfect opportunity to ask what he'd been wanting to ask since Rufus showed back up. Reeve tried to keep his voice casual. "Couldn't find anyone to keep you company?" "Hm?" Rufus's attention had been caught by the view out the window again; he looked back at Reeve, distracted, and then smiled again. "Didn't look. I'll be back as soon as I'm clean." ~Well,~ Reeve reflected as Rufus slipped off into the shower, ~that's one way to get an answer.~ -- * -- Gongaga was a ruin. A Mako reactor was designed to generate enough power to supply not only the town it resided in, but enough of the surrounding area to make it worth Shinra's economic outlay. A Mako reactor was designed to safely corral that power and direct it through the electric power grid, dealing in millions of volts of electricity at any given time. A Mako reactor was not designed to contain the explosion, should that power grid become unstable in its old age. The few buildings that were left standing after the explosion -- part of the high school, the firehouse, a supermarket -- had been converted into emergency shelters for the few survivors and the numerous Shinra personnel and volunteers that had arrived to clean up the mess. The town had been declared an official disaster area, and Shinra's PR people were doing their damndest to put a positive spin on the situation -- or at least a spin that didn't make them out to be ignorant, negligent, or just downright cruel. The worst part of the cleanup had passed; now the realization that his mother and the man he'd come to think of as a father were dead had begun to settle into Reeve's mind. At least, he thought, sitting on a large chuck of masonry that had once formed the corner of the house belonging to his sixth-grade teacher -- at least the man who had made the first eight years of his life a living hell had gone with them. He stared at the pile of rubble that had been Gongaga's prison, a tiny corner of his mind wondering at the vehemence of the thought. Maybe now he'd stop hearing the man's voice surfacing in the back of his head to torment him every time he almost managed to get his life together. Maybe now -- "Hey." The greeting that broke into his thoughts was soft, spoken by an all-too familiar and welcome voice. Reeve looked up and over his shoulder to see Rufus standing behind him, looking ... worried? Saddened? Reeve couldn't tell, but it didn't really matter. Right now he couldn't think of a single person he'd rather see there, and damned if he knew how Rufus had known but he wasn't thinking clearly enough to wonder. "What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice roughened from the thick layer of dust that coated everything. Rufus sat next to him on the chunk of stone; it was a tight fit, but somehow they both managed to squeeze enough to sit comfortably (if a bit too closely) on it. "I heard about what happened, and grabbed the first flight that I could find. I came to see how the cleanup was going." His voice was soft, serious. "And I was worried about you. ...I wanted to see how you were holding up." Reeve sighed softly, and shrugged. "I'm okay." After a moment, he forced himself to elaborate. "At least I'm okay right now. I'll probably freak out later, but right now I'm just kind of ... numb." He reached up and passed a hand over his eyes, eyes that were red with fatigue and swallowed tears. They sat in silence for a few more moments. "I'm so sorry you had to see this, Reeve," Rufus finally said, his tone barely above a whisper. "Maybe you shouldn't have come..." Reeve just nodded, once, slowly. "I had to," he answered, his voice matching Rufus's. "I was the one who didn't fight hard enough to let the old man get out here and let me upgrade this reactor. I just ... I don't know. I don't feel much of anything right now, but ..." His eye was caught by the ruin of the prison, and he sighed. "At least now I won't have to worry about /him/ getting out of there and hunting me down." Rufus winced, barely perceptibly; it was only Reeve's long familiarity with his expressions that made it visible. "Reeve ... this isn't what you need to hear right now. But it's better that you hear it from me, and before..." He drew a deep breath and let it out in a sigh; his tone was flat as he said, "They shut this prison down about three months ago. All of the inmates were moved to the one at Midgar." What little color was left in Reeve's face drained away, and a cold wave of dread washed over him. He looked up at Rufus, eyes wide and filled with absolute horror. "Wh...what?" was the only syllable that he could force through suddenly bloodless lips. "Reeve ..." Rufus let out another sigh as he reached up and rested his hand on Reeve's shoulder. "He's still..." "No." Softly, at first, and then stronger, Reeve repeated, "No." Tears began to sting the corners of his eyes /don't you cry don't you DARE cry/ but he blinked frantically, gathering that last bit of self-control just like he always had. "Oh, /shit/." The expletive came out half-sobbed, and Reeve's head dropped into his hands, which were beginning to tremble violently. Rufus's hand slid over just a bit, so that his arm fit snugly around Reeve's shoulders, and he noted with dismay that the trembling in Reeve's hands was beginning to spread to the rest of his body. "I'm sorry," he said, and then repeated the words, offering up that one small comfort. "I'm sorry. I just didn't want you to go on thinking that he's dead and then ... I don't know, get a letter from him or something..." Reeve didn't seem to hear it. "Who is it," he began, a little too calmly, a little too rationally, "that hates me so much that they have to make everyone I love die and then leave HIM alive!?" He didn't see it, but his words brought forth something from Rufus that might have almost been a flinch. "Who could I have POSSIBLY pissed anyone off enough to make this happen? WHO!?" Another small, choked sound tore itself free from his throat, but he still didn't let the tears that threatened to strangle him free. Under the almost-protective curve of Rufus's arm, his body shook like a strong wind could blow him to Nibelheim, and Rufus was almost afraid to hold him too tightly lest he shatter like glass. But he tightened his grip on the other man anyway, responding to some barely-understood instinct. "I didn't even get to say goodbye -- didn't even get to see them at Yule, didn't even fucking /write/ since January --" "Shit, Reeve..." Rufus tried to draw Reeve closer, but stopped when he felt the other shrink back with instincts that he'd barely begun to conquer. "There's nobody here you need to impress. It's just you and me ... you can go ahead and let yourself cry --" "I CAN'T!" Reeve's voice, to his shame, cracked, as he jerked sharply out from under Rufus's arm and slammed his fist against the side of the foundation they were sitting on, the pain at least temporarily overwhelming the unshed tears. "I can't -- you don't know --" "You're right, I don't know." Rufus's voice was gentle, but the words seemed to carry the weight of a slap in the face. "But I can guess. It's something he put in your head, isn't it?" Carefully, making no sudden moves, he slipped his arm around Reeve's shoulders once more. "Reeve. Whatever he might have done to you ... you're safe now. He's locked up in prison and he's not getting out any time soon. And when he does come up for parole -- -if- he does come up for parole -- I'm personally going to go down there and explain to the board exactly why he should rot in that cell for the rest of his life." The faintest hint of a feral note crept into his voice. "And if they don't believe me, I'll damn well take care of the problem myself." It wasn't the words that Rufus spoke; Reeve was almost beyond hearing them. It was just his presence, his arm snug around Reeve's shoulders, wordlessly offering whatever he could, that began to gently unlock the chains Reeve had kept wrapped around his emotions for so long. He made another soft sobbing noise, one tear slipping free from his eye before he caught it with the back of his hand. He did not want Rufus to see him cry. He did not want ANYONE to see him cry. And most of all, he did not want to hear the voice of the man that should be dead hissing dark things in his mind about what would happen to him if he -did- cry. ~Keep him talking.~ Answering that inner prompting, Rufus asked, softly, "How old were you when he started hitting you?" "Four. Five. I don't know." Reeve's voice was dull. "And how old are you now?" Rufus persisted. Reeve caught another tear as it escaped, scrubbing it away as he had done the first. "Twenty-three. You know that." Ignoring the last sentence, Rufus continued, not letting Reeve stop to think. "How many times have you just gone back to your place and let go? Let yourself cry until it all came out?" The question startled Reeve, and he just blinked. When he thought about it ... even after his mother had remarried, even after all the encouraging words his stepfather had given him, even after the shrink he'd been sent to talk to when he was nine had /insisted/ that yes, real men /can/ cry if they need to ... "I don't know. Twice ... maybe three times..." Once more, Rufus's arm tightened around Reeve's shoulders; once more, Reeve's trembling body seemed to him to be too fragile, too much like a bad copy of the original. "Then you've got about sixteen years' worth of shit bottled up inside you. It's eating you away, Reeve." He sighed, heavily, and overrode his fears, drawing Reeve closer. "It's time to let it go. If you don't ... you're going to lose it..." The last chain snapped free, and Reeve broke with it. He sobbed into his hands, quietly, and his body still shook violently against Rufus's. It was apparent that he was /still/ holding back even as his tears began to trickle from between his fingers and slide down his wrists, cutting narrow tracks through the thin layer of dust and soot clinging to his skin. Everyone who had ever meant anything to him, who had ever loved him, who had ever given a /damn/ about him was gone. Or were they? The man sitting next to him on the chunk of stone had dropped every last shred of his dignity and simply held Reeve, as tightly as he dared. Reeve didn't understand, not quite. He'd only seen Rufus this human once before, when Sephiroth had died, and that had been quickly overridden. He looked up, then, his eyes still adrift with grief and fear; he was only able to make them meet Rufus's by sheer force of will -- will that was rapidly draining from him as the horror of what had happened here finally began to hit him full-force. Rufus's eyes were dry, of course. They always were. But somewhere in their sapphire depths, Reeve could see traces of something ... sorrow, perhaps? Shared pain? Whatever it was, that one small glimpse of it was enough to shatter the last remaining shreds of Reeve's self-control. As the dam burst, his body went limp in Rufus's strong grasp. He collapsed against Rufus's shoulder, the anguished tears coming in body-wrenching sobs that bordered on screams. Rufus's other arm slipped around his waist, pulling him closer, murmuring wordless syllables of comfort and rocking him back and forth. "I'm not going to tell you it's okay," Rufus finally whispered, one hand rising to brush damp locks of Reeve's hair away from his forehead, "because I know it isn't, and I'm not going to tell you I know how you feel because I don't and I can't imagine it ... I can't imagine having a family like yours and then losing it like this..." His hand slid softly down Reeve's cheek, two fingers slipping under his chin to tip it up, gently. "But I will tell you this ... you don't know how much it hurts me to see you in this much pain. I wish I could ... take it away for you, I wish I could lift a hand and have it magically disappear..." Gradually, Reeve's sobs tapered off into sniffles, and then soundless tremors that still shook his body. His mouth opened as if to let words out, and then closed again as he collapsed against Rufus's shoulder, his body and spirit completely exhausted. Rufus just held him there, one hand still stroking the hair at the back of his neck, willing to bear the burden for as long as it took. [Reno's party music tastes come courtesy of my massive MP3 collection, and the songs mentioned are, in order: Pink Floyd, "Learning to Fly"; Marilyn Manson, "Rock is Dead"; The Magnificent Bastards, "Mockingbird Girl"; and Apollo 440, "Stop the Rock". This chapter was written before the events of September 11th, and we mean no disrespect, offense, or pain to anyone who was touched by that tragedy. Our thoughts and prayers are with everyone who lost a friend or a loved one in that disaster.]