Disclaimer: FFVII and all respective characters belong to Square Enix
Fic summary: For a DrabbleFest over at Livejournal, prompt list #2. Not sure if this is how it works, first prompt list writing ever. I think I did it wrong... in my defence, I'm ill and should be in bed. Anyway, enjoy! "Reno and Rufus struggle with Geostigma in their own ways." (Also, I want summary writing skills this Christmas.)
Shattered
A fist slammed into the mirror, a web of cracks spreading out over the surface and a small stream of crimson liquid trickled down to the floor in a zigzagged pattern.
The man's sharp and handsome face scrunched into a scowl. What had he done do deserve all this? He may not have been an angel, but to have everything ripped away from him… One after the other. His company, his fortune, his house, his health. As if the Planet herself had declared him to be unwanted.
In that case, she was not the warm and loving mother people made her out to be. No. Even if he had committed some horrid and unforgivable crime, what ever had the other victims of Geostigma done? Most were nothing more than children. If the Planet was a mother, she was cruel and unkind.
"That looks painful." a voice behind him said. The blond man glanced into the cracked mirror and saw a kaleidoscope version of his redheaded Turk. The man lazily shifted his full weight from one leg to another while leaning backward. One hand was tucked away in his trouser pocket, the other carried a cell phone by its strap and a bottle of rum.
"Didn't I tell you not to drink on the job?" Rufus bit back.
The redhead shrugged. "I need it. And so can you if you ask me."
The former president of Shinra Company slowly turned his head, but did not take his fist from the cracked surface. Reno held up the bottle, and something in his face changed from nonchalant to torn. "Please, let me help you."
"With what?"
The Turk shrugged again, though different. "Anything." he said. "…what if I start with that?" Hesitant, he gestured at the cuts on Rufus' hand and the ill-wrapped bandages around his arm.
The former president straightened up, defensive, and said: "I don't need help."
"I understand." the redhead nodded, but approached the man nonetheless. "Here." Gently, he took the blond's arm and grabbed the end of the gauze strip, while the man glared at him and readied himself to tear away his arm at the slightest hint of pity. Reno sighed. This was how things always went between them – whether on the job or in bed. The redhead always wanted more than he would ever give, but somewhere the Turk seemed to have accepted that. Their relationship was unconventional like that. Unconventional and out of balance. But that was how things were.
Reno pushed up the black and white sleeves of his lover's suit and unravelled the badly applied bandages. Fortunately, the black marks hadn't spread onto his upper arm yet, but it wouldn't be long before they did.
"Tell me." Rufus started. "Why do you still bother? There's nothing left here for you, for none of you."
The redhead looked up, his aquamarine eyes meeting harsh blue ones, and shrugged again. "Things may be less than perfect, but that doesn't mean I'm gonna give up at the first hint of trouble. Ya know?" He tried to offer him a smile, but only half succeeded. "And neither should you."
"Who said I do?" the blond protested.
"I can see it in your eyes." Reno softly said, avoiding eye contact now by focussing on reapplying the bandages.
"You're mistaken." Rufus said, offended, before he turned his gaze to the door opening.
"I guess I must be…" he replied, still wrapping the white cloth around the marred arm with skilled precision. "So, what about that picturesque place you said you always wanted to visit? The one in Nibel?"
"What about it?"
"Why don't we go there? It'll do you good?" Reno suggested, trying to lighten the mood. "I'm sure Tseng and the others can handle things around here in our absence."
Rufus gave the other man a long look. The redhead knew he hated it when he brought up these subjects. Sharing a bed was one thing, but anything other than that…
"Or not." the Turk muttered, and tied up the last bit of white cloth. "Well, we'd better do something about that hand of yours now, okay? Hey! What are you---"
All of a sudden, the room had started to spin and Rufus had to do his best to grab onto something, before his body fell to the floor in an extreme mixture of agonizing pain and absolute dullness, numbness. The feeling was a familiar one, but he couldn't deny that the seizures were getting worse by the day. This time, there were even strange kinds of images and sensations cutting through his mind and soul that he'd never experienced before.
The last thing he saw was Reno hunching over him, an expression of horror evident on his face, before he was sucked into a restless slumber.
* *
The mornings were always the worst. He'd had his share of hangovers, but none were as brutal as the ones caused by Geostigma. The worst part – other than knowing Death was on its way – was that coffee had little effect on this kind of hangover. Little did in fact. Not even painkillers did what they were supposed to do. That was why the Turks were always extra cautious around him after a seizure. They knew it left him more irritable than usual and none of them wanted to end up a firing target.
Still numb, Rufus turned his head on the pillow and glanced down his infected arm. No traces of black ooze. The blond man smiled faintly. Reno must have redone them again. He really kept him busy, didn't he?
Weakly, he pulled up the other arm and inspected the hand he'd injured. Not a trace. The cuts were thoroughly cleaned from shards and then mended with Cure.
"You approve?" a voice asked, tired. Reno stood left of his bed and leaned against the closed door. How long had he been standing there? Not all morning?
"Reno?" the blond man asked, his voice at first hoarse.
"Hmm?"
A strange, but undeniable feeling had made itself master of him. He was tired, and the seizures were stretching him thin. "Will you…" For once, he could not fight off the desire to do what he'd wanted for so long. It was a recipe for disaster, for pain, but with Death breathing down his neck, his mind lost the battle from his emotions. "please hold me?"