FicWad

Chapter Three

Rufus set Reno down and backed away slowly, growing pale even for him. The Turks watched closely, waiting for a command or explanation, but receiving only further, frustrating silence and obvious distress from their employer.

“I see.” Said the hag sagely, not looking up from the floor where she had planted herself. “Some lessons can be taught, and some must be learned. And since it is the best path for experience, ours shall be the hardest road.” She continued, weaving her fingers through the air as if she were twisting the very beams of the sun into an intricate rope. Indeed, the room seemed to darken as Rufus’ unsteady steps stilled.

The crone hummed to herself, continuing her work, her strange song occasionally interrupted by her continued speech. “There is doubt. You doubt that they would follow should they truly know the man you are and the man-child you were. It’s true; without understanding, trust is difficult. And without trust, there can be no progress. But the only way for you to know is to show them.” Mammy River continued, her melody crescendoing even though she was talking over it, her voice able to accomplish two things at once. “Then, they will decide your future.” Her attention finally shifting to the Turks, who now stood in utter darkness, their attention devoted completely to the only well-lit area of the room where Rufus knelt. “They will allow you to break from your past and present selves, for better or worse.” She whispered, disappearing into the black.

As if in spotlight, a very young Rufus lay, naked, crying, harried and tense, scrutinizing the shadows, awaiting the blow he knew was coming. A figure, expansive as a fog bank and seeming to the onlookers as corporeal as chartreuse mist, materialized before and over and around the boy, bearing down on him, extended extremities fastening onto the thin, white throat.

“Dad, please, you’re hurting me, please, why, Daddy…” Young Rufus yelped. Red marks spread beneath transparent digits, deepening into bruises before the eyes of the unseen onlookers.

But, Rufus began to grow, and as he aged transparent white fabric slowly spread from his groin until it covered the purple marks around his throat. His defense shifted from battering his father’s arms to clawing at the fabric which clung to his throat like a noose. But once his body matured, the fabric solidified, and his movements stilled. The tear tracks dried and a strange expression overtook his face.

He reclined under his father’s touch, a wild light in his eyes and a smirk twisting his lips. His father’s hands worked more feverishly to ring the life from his son’s now beat red, teenage face. Low, whistling pants could be heard dimly, the man’s labored breathing disclosing what his efforts at discipline cost him. His hazy expanse was shifting colors, from an intertwining of healing and sickly green to dirty grey. Rufus closed his eyes, crossing his legs, the smirk never leaving his blanched, icy blue lips.

Finally, Shinra faded in disgust, his copious translucence dispersing the light. The patches of mist that had made up Shinra senior remained fixed in the folds of Rufus’ clothes, darkening and spreading until they’d nearly covered him. His self-assurance slipped, the wild light in his reopened blue eyes turning desperate, but also despairing. He trembled, tears dimming his gaze, but refusing to moisten his now too-pale cheeks. His hands stroked the fabric, unthinking, smoothing the collar against his throat.

“What have I done? What must I do?” He asked, over and over, his clothes stiffening with shadows, constricting his movements. When he did move, it was carefully. Meticulously. Labored. He gasped for breath, but only pulled the fabric tighter against his white throat until darkness drenched the fabric grey. He was dying, they could all see it. Not from the Stigma, though; from within, not without. He clung to his turtleneck, revolution, terror, and barbarous satisfaction warring openly across his features. The more of himself he laid bare, the more he felt as though he was watching himself, the darkness around him deepening, the light upon him feeling brighter and colder all at once.

He finally looked around, somehow having become the man he was watching with such disgusted intent, and found that there were four of him. Or rather, that he was looking down at four of himselves, each of them kneeling, naked, and shivering. Each of the other Rufuses had a different binding looped gently around his neck. Rufus could feel them all, and began to sweat, wanting to rip them off, but knowing he couldn’t. Knowing they weren’t for him to remove. In order, they consisted of a fine chain, piano wire, black satin ribbon and barbed wire. And all that Rufus could do was wait. And watch.

“They can only see the you that is meant for them. That you will only see them when and if they will it. They could walk away. Leave you. Kill you. Torture you. They have seen all that you are, and all that you’ve been, and now they will pass judgment.” The hag spoke gently from behind him. He dared not turn around to face her. He fixed his eyes on his other selves instead, watching them tremble and sweat and display all the fear he so painfully felt. They even wept, something he’d long ago thought he’d forgotten how to do, as they held their backs so straight it hurt, too terrified of the ropes to bow and beg the way they wanted. The way he wanted.

The hag spoke again, but not to him. She spoke individually to his Turks as if the other three weren’t there, as if he wasn’t there.

“He is in your hands now. You see what he is, and what he is not. You are not bound to him by contract or obligation any longer. You can leave. And you can cause him as much or as little pain in that parting as you choose. He has taken your life for all these years. Now, you may claim his, if you wish. He is just a man, now. Not Shinra, not sir, not Mr. President, just Rufus. And you are no longer a Turk. You are just Elena, Tseng, Reno, Rude. And Rufus, be he your tormentor or your savior, is at your mercy, or lack there of.” As soon as she finished speaking, she disappeared.

The ropes around Rufus’ necks, which had ended at darkened barricades in open space, now extended into each of their hands. Rufus watched as they saw the other self meant for them, even though those same other selves could not see beyond the barricade. Rufus closed his eyes, no longer able or willing to see beyond the barricades, and fell to his knees to await the inevitable betrayals. The necklace was the first to… disappear entirely!

Elena ran through the barricade, flinging herself onto her Rufus, tears streaming down her cheeks as she clung to him, unable to form coherent words. He fought down the panic of having her cling to his neck before returning the hug fiercely. The next thing either of them knew, she was beside the fully clothed, kneeling Rufus, needing to be caught before she toppled over. Rufus wiped her cheeks gently, holding her to himself, waiting for the three remaining verdicts.

Tseng finally dropped his barricade and his black ribbon. Rufus above and Rufus below stared in shock as the man approached, his clothes draped over his right arm. The other Rufus’ mouth worked, as he kept his eyes on Tseng’s placid, neutral expression, but only strangled sounds came out. He felt his legs being coaxed out from under him, finding himself unable to move of his own accord.

“Tseng…” Rufus sputtered as the Turk’s pants slid into place, followed by the man’s shirt, which Tseng carefully buttoned most of the way and tucked. The black jacket slid on last, but Tseng’s tie he placed across his own thighs, covering nothing.

“The proper order of things is that the servant be laid bare before the master, not the other way around.” Tseng bowed his head in submission, baring himself to his boss. When Tseng’s gaze lifted, Elena was beside him, as was a fully clothed Rufus. He looked down at himself to find his suit on, but his tie still across his lap. He quickly met Rufus’ gaze before smiling as Shinra’s hand clamped cordially upon the Turk’s shoulder.

Finally, Rude stepped through the barrier, the piano wire fading as he did so. He refused to look at Rufus as he slipped out of his jacket and handed it to his boss, shifting his weight uncomfortably and adjusting his tie and gloves.

“This ain’t right.” The larger man summed up before looking around to find… no, looking down to find Rufus, Tseng, and Elena. Rude took a step back, checked around him, then snapped his neck back to the other three quickly. Rufus shook his head, asking Rude not to ask. There was one final test the the blond had to undergo, after all. And it would be the hardest, he knew.

The barbed wire remained in place, just grazing the skin. Reno wrapped it around his hand, reenforcing the bond with his own blood, as he attempted to saunter but only managed to limp towards Rufus. His trademark smirk was playing with the corners of his mouth as he painfully knelt before Rufus, sliding his left hand up the metal until his skin touched Rufus’ collar bone.

Rufus squirmed while Reno slipped long fingers under the wire and around Rufus’ throat. Pale hands fluttered against exposed, darkened arms, until Reno’s hiss of pain forced Rufus’ hands back down to his side. Rufus closed his eyes, taking deep, unsteady breaths, trying to calm himself despite the warm, gentle pressure. He knelt, sweating, weak and exposed, not daring to breath because he knew he would scream, or sob, or fight, and he needed, desperately, to be still. Because this was Reno.

Reno slipped the blood drenched wire up and over Rufus’ head. Rufus’ eyes shot wide with surprise, relief and terror all at once before he gasped as Reno’s hand slid back into place, almost caressing Rufus’ weeping neck.

Rufus whimpered, contorting Reno’s face with confused concern.

“Please… Re… Reno… please don… please t… oh, god, tiemedownfirst… I can’t… I don’t want to fight…” Rufus pleaded, forcing himself to lean into the touch. His hands were clenched around his ankles so hard he was fairly certain he’d break something. The last thing he wanted was to be helpless again, to leave his throat exposed, but he would die before he used the strength Reno had given him against the Turk. Rufus had taken everything from Reno, and no matter his cowardice, this was only fair.

“You don’t want to fight, huh?” Reno’s voice was cold and sarcastic. “No, that’s our jobs. We give you our dreams, our hopes, our lives, our deaths. What if we want you to fight? What if I want you to fight? To fight these damn dreams that are messing with your mind and turning you against yourself? To fight these stupid phobias that have no business with your pretty little fucked up head? To fight for yourself? What about what I want, huh? I want you to make me let go.” Reno sneered, his grip tightening a hair’s breath, but still not anywhere strong enough to so much as blanch the skin.

“Reno… No, please, I’m responsible…” But Reno leaned forward without changing his grip, cutting Rufus off.

“Don’t. You. Dare.” The redhead menaced, his smirk twisted into a snarl. “You gave the orders, but we chose, damn it, I chose to carry them out. You have no right to take that away from me. Because if you strip me of the wrongs I’ve done, you take away the good you’re having me do now. For the first time in my Cetra-forsaken life, I’m proud of what I’m doin’. I’m proud of being what I am. And that has nothing at all to do with your ass of a father. That’s because of you and you alone, Rufus.” Reno’s voice grew softer, and his hand fell back towards the blond’s collar bone before green eyes rolled and narrowed playfully. “How long have you known me, anyway? ‘Cause we’ve got a serious problem if you can honestly look me in the eye and tell me you thought for one instant that I could even squeeze you any tighter than this, much less squeeze the life out of you. I would have to rip out my own throat around a hundred times before I lost enough blood to be that brain-dead. I gave my life to you freely after your father died. As long as you have use for me, I’m pledged to your side and your safety. So, if you feel so torn up about it, than here’s what you can do for me…”

“Anything.” Rufus breathed, still shaking, tears streaming down his face.

“Enough with the martyr crap, yo, I’m talkin’ here!” Reno spat, exasperated, before both men began to laugh. “Look, I know I’m a pain in the ass, I pride myself on that particular winning quality, but please, keep me around, eh?” Reno’s eyes met Rufus’, and they were no longer on the stone floor of Rufus’ dreams, but surrounded by the other Turks.

Reno looked around, a little stunned, but Rufus nodded, crying as he caught the collapsing, exhausted redhead and carried him gently to Rufus’ abandoned wheelchair, easing Reno into it as carefully as he could, painfully aware of what even his ginger attentions were costing the man in his arms.

“Rufus… Sir…” Reno corrected with a smile, though his eyes were dark with confusion.

“Just returning the favor, Reno.” Rufus assured, stepping back once Reno was in place.

The hag materialized behind the other three Turks who were watching the scene play out, lost in their own thoughts.

“I am sorry this was so cruel a test,” Rude charged her as she spoke, but while her form dematerialized into dark green smoke in the shape of a great bird, her voice remained. “But a soul with so much potential, in the middle of so great a metamorphosis…”

Elena and Tseng fell back to flank Rufus, but he put a hand on each of their shoulders to calm them, while Reno glared daggers at the smoke that hovered in the rafters.

“You cannot complete such a journey alone, young man. You will need these four, your anchors, your supporters, your subordinates, and your friends, if you are to survive yourself. I want to see you succeed. I want to see what you do with this world you once so eagerly destroyed and now so fervently seek to fix. You must be its prayed for hope, as I have failed to be…” The smoke drifted out through the window frames and above the doors sluggishly.

“Thank you, ma’am.” Rufus called, cutting off Reno’s no doubt very nasty string of retorts. “I am grateful for the opportunity you have given me.” Rufus assured.

Elena and Reno looked at him sharply, mouths gaping, while Tseng’s face quickly reset from shock to a tense, little used, smile that resembled a facial tick. Rude shifted uncomfortably as he lumbered behind Elena to Reno’s side. Rufus looked each of his Turks in the eye in turn, and laughed, albeit sadly, for the first time.

“I don’t have to live in fear of who I was any longer. That is a great gift, even if the giving was painful. I’ve been…” Rufus stopped, looking down at Reno before kneeling to continue. “I’ve been given new life. Thank you, Reno.” Rufus placed a hand on the man’s shoulder, squeezing ever so gently a patch of skin that he remembered having been healthy.

Reno blushed, looking for a way to melt through the floorboards to get away, but Rufus stood and turned, letting Rude wheel his partner out of the room.

………

On the balcony outside, Rude put the break on the wheelchair and walked forward to look over the railing.

“So, can you do it, or do… do I have to?” The bald man asked, swallowing down his emotions.

“None of the above, partner. I’ve been given a reprieve. I asked him if he could keep me around until he changed the world. Then he can kill me, or you can kill me, or you both can throw me to Avalanche as a sacrificial offering, or whatever, but not before I live to see that happen. I know I won’t be able to do it myself by then, I can barely even clench my fists anymore. I don’t know how he lived being this… weak. He’s a stronger man than the rest of us. But, then, he’s the President, yo! Why else would we bother saving his ass?” Reno barked out a laugh before pain streaked through him from the attempt.

Rude spun on his heal, searching Reno’s tight face in concern.

“Chill, partner. I’ll get used to this. I was goin’ this way, regardless, right? So I might as well get on with it. Better ‘an waitin’ to die little by little, anyway. Now I can kick back and enjoy the show; a proper Turk vacation.” Reno smiled, leaning back with a yawn before letting his fatigue get the better of him and dozing off.

Rude’s lips twitched with what would have been, on a normally functioning face, a bitter smile, before he went in to fetch a blanket for the redhead. For himself, he settled on the bench behind the wheelchair, watching the sun bleed out onto the mountains before slipping into that painful double helix of memory and imagining called dreams.