FicWad

Tseng finds himself in the Turk lounge, fingers idly brushing the buttons of his cuffs, eyes vague. A cup of coffee fresh from the vending machine cools in front of him, and continues to cool as the grey Midgarian sky warms up to night. Strange fact of the city that only the neon glow seems to make it come alive.

It's late by the time Reno checks in, but they have none of them kept regular hours. A shock of red hair appears in the corridor - another flouted regulation, but they are the Turks, and their word is always so close to being law - and he taps his magrod on the floor, regarding Tseng through eyes that the world has been fooled into seeing as anything but shrewd. 'Looks like Veld tore you a new one.' Reno's voice rings through the almost deserted room.

Tseng does not so much as start or give indication of his distraction. He turns from staring into nothingness to passing his gaze over Reno, a clean and elegant sweep of the room as he gathers himself. By the time a second has passed there is close to nothing of a Tseng who could have been worried, disappointed or denied. 'Reno,' he acknowledges. 'Another -'

'- exciting day, yeah,' Reno follows up, pushing himself away from the wall he was resting against and moving towards Tseng, the searchlights from outside and the dim office lighting catching the green of his eyes; some have called it a crazy glow. 'It's our job, we do it. That's all there is.'

The magrod comes up to tap Tseng on the shoulder, uncharged but heavy, the cold metal tracing a slow line down across Tseng's chest. His voice is serious, underneath its slum slang. They know each other so well.

Tseng's lips quirk upwards at the corner, barely but it's there. 'Yes,' he says, reaching over for cold coffee, left hand easily pushing the magrod away; /no/. He brushes the lip of his cup with the barest edge of his fingernails. 'It is, isn't it? Without question, for the interest of Shinra.'

Reno shows his regard for Tseng's philosophy with an eloquent roll of the eyes. 'Whatever the chief said to you must have been pretty harsh. Haven't heard you speak so much in a single seating for a while.'

'There hasn't been reason for chatter in a while.' Tseng's coffee is easily swallowed down, the length of his throat moving underneath the still perfect knot of his tie. Reno shoots him a look of distaste; coffee at this hour, all suited up? 'Missions have gone so far as to being aborted, interfered with and falling out of organisation,' Tseng elaborates, relenting and reaching fingers up to pull the black tie down. 'Field work has been disorienting and unproductive.'

'And you're gonna take responsibility for all of that, now, all of a sudden?' Reno quips, lounging easily. He shakes his head. 'Veld looks out for the best, for all of us. Well,' he exhales noisly, standing. 'That's what you get for being the director's boy. Night.'

He comes, and then he goes: fast as lightning and silent. That's how they tend to slip, in and out of each other's lives with a concern so sparingly brief it's hardly there. Tseng is alone with himself and his thoughts a moment later, until from his pocket comes a vibration, and the telltale ring of a PHS line in from Junon.

Tseng does not flip it directly open. You will, after all, cease your calls to Rufus Shinra.

Blond hair and intellect sharpened beyond belief. What Rufus Shinra does not have in terms of lethal capability with weapons or materia he makes up with with a blade of calculativeness as does not befit a man-boy of his age. Tseng has been hard pressed to see the boy in the Vice President for the longest while, but unlike others who disregard his age in favour of his material status there are still times when he hears Rufus' voice and detects a petulance, a drive and a spirit that is singularly childish.

Those comments he keeps to himself. Rufus Shinra has been Vice President of Shinra Company so much so that few remember how little time he has spent in that position. The tabs he keeps and the contacts he has have expanded exponentially over a few short years. Tseng now included, as a man who has seen enough days in Junon, guarding, following - and guarded and followed also in return. Let no one call Rufus an unprepared individual.

He's what Tseng, were he not a Turk for the company of Rufus' namesake, would have called a dangerous man.

The phone rings a third time. Tseng would normally have picked up on the second, but he wastes the extra moment to recall past conversations.

Rufus inquiring about the department of Administrative Research, about Tseng's co-workers, about Veld. Tseng had taken that moment of almost casual conversation to speak about Veld and the mentorship he'd come under, tone so familiar that in him, a man some saw as ice, it could almost have been warm.

'Veld is fully loyal to the President. As a Turk, and as we all are, following in his wake.'

A pause, almost pregnant. Rufus' voice is strangely harsh. 'Are you telling me this because walls have eaers, and can hear you even now?'

'No, Vice President.' Tseng returns evenly, from a thousand miles away. 'I am telling you this because it is the truth, and because you can hear me.'



Why had Rufus' tone changed?

Fourth ring and Tseng wavers between Veld's orders and the instinctive attention to Rufus Shinra a Vice President.

There had been a time when he'd followed company regulation blindly, not knowing yet what being a Turk had meant. He'd woken from a hospital bed to see Veld with scars down his face, and Tseng had never forgotten that sacrifice.

Fifth ring and Tseng flips the shell of the phone open, but it not to say, as he would have, "Tseng".

The screeching, monotone beep of a disengaged line rings bitterly sharp in Rufus Shinra's ear as he sits, halfway across the world, alone in Junon.