Notes: Forgive my bizarre association of Rufus with Klytaemnestra, hence the title. Some allusions to previous events in our arc of stories.

Oresteia

Tseng finds the slim silhouette of his lover outlined against the mako-lit skyline, fingertips pressed against the cool glass. It is not the first time he has found Rufus this way, ever searching for something beyond the horizon to make sense of all this they call life. It had been a trying day; the reactor explosion in sector one has left much of the city in an uproar. The conference President Shinra called that day had done nothing to quell the fears and doubts of its citizens, and only served to weaken the corporation from within. How Empires fell.

'He humiliated me, Tseng.' Rufus murmurs, swirling the vodka in his glass, knowing that Tseng has likely already heard; word spread quickly throughout the corporation.

'I know,' is the even reply, Tseng moving behind his lover; a reassuring shadow at his back.

They had been loaded questions, carefully worded to ruin his reputation and credibility as successor. Rufus could have sworn he had seen a barely concealed smug leer behind the displeasure. 'All of Midgar must think me incompetent …' he sighs, and Tseng swears he had never heard such defeat in his lover's voice.

'Rufus, in a few days no one will give today a thought,' he offers, masking his seething anger toward the President, and he cannot help but wonder briefly what Rufus would be like had his father treated him more like a son and less like an investment.

'They're all vultures dressed in expensive suits. They turned him against me,' Rufus rests his head against the glass. 'My own father hates me—'

Rufus' growing instability was becoming of dire concern; ever since his return from Junon a handful of days before he has seemed distant, lost to apathy. Tseng finds himself wondering if President Shinra has finally snuffed out the small spark of passion within his lover, leaving him to be the cold, hollow boy he has shown to the world for so many years.

'He'll take it all for me. Midgar, everything I love—' He raises slender fingertips to brush along the convex glass, tracing along the twinkling skyline, mapping out the city he loves so dear. 'Even you.' For a moment he looks as though he might shatter beneath the weight of this prospective loss, and then he turns with a defiant toss of his head. 'I want to see him on his knees begging for his life as I take it and everything he's denied me.'

'His days are numbered, Rufus. A man cannot continue as he has without repercussions.' The recent terrorist activity is proof enough of that. Poetic justice. The old bastard would get what he deserved; he only feared that Rufus would pay for the great many wrongs his father had committed.

'Either he or I,' Rufus tosses back his glass, and closes his eyes as the alcohol burns down his throat.

Tseng fears the outcome of a coup d'état. The President still had much of the corporation's support, failure would likely result in a cleverly disguised assassination. Even he wasn't foolish, or arrogant enough to outright kill his only son and heir, however helicopter crashes were an unfortunate thing indeed, easily covered up without a thought to the fact that the victim had likely been dead long before.

The Rufus of past had been considered harmless in his naïveté, now the threat would not so easily be overlooked, with a swift reprimand and a watchdog set on him—if only the President had learned of just how close an eye his loyal Turk had been keeping. After all these years, he must suspect something for all too often Rufus smells of cloves and Tseng's cologne, and a deeper musk that comes only from having been with the Turk.

'I would you bide your time, Rufus. But, if you are determined to do this, I will do whatever you ask of me.' Loyal to the end, he is willing to overlook the madness, prepared to play the part of the scheming lover if it will save the boy's sanity.

Rufus' laugh is hollow, and he stumbles a few steps before he is caught within his Turk's embrace. 'You're drunk.' Tseng states the obvious, having suspected all along that Rufus was well beyond sobriety—for one who prided himself in self-control he let his emotions get the better of him after too many drinks.

There is no denial as Rufus rests his head against the Turk's shoulder. 'I'm going to kill him, Tseng,' his words are barely more than breathing, and then he looks up, clear blue eyes strangely hollow. '… and myself.'

The words seem foreign on those lips, to hear such resignation. Tseng catches Rufus' chin before he can look away, dark eyes burning with barely concealed rage. 'You listen to me,' he commands. 'What is all been worth if you let him win? What's become of you?'

'I'm so tired of it all. I'll go as mad as Sephiroth.' The words have barely registered before Rufus winces, a hand touching his stinging cheek where Tseng's trembling hand has struck him in grim parody of what passed between them over half a decade before.

'No.' Tseng's look is haunted, the word firm, laced with regret. 'I won't let you.' His lips brush against Rufus' cheek, the gesture apologetic and possessive at once. He has seen ShinRa steal away enough sanity; they would not have Rufus'. If it meant treachery, so be it.

Perhaps, in the end they were all mad.

fin