So you see, MR is indeed back in the TsengReno business.
I've been trying to keep back a barrage of ideas but they've buried me alive. Geography examinations tomorrow, but I, oddly, don't care.
This was actually a challenge for myself. Write a story with a start and an end in under 1000 words, that will impress one of the nicest people you've met on this site. Toughie...
Enjoy this look into a more contemplative and sentimental side of Tseng.
Title: A Week from Tuesday
By: Moiranne Rose
Summary: Because missing someone means that your whole life is thrown out of whack and you spend all your time trying to convince others and yourself that it hasn't.
Dedicated to: Aimed Mischief, the most wonderful reviewer that e'er lived.
Tuesday
"Do you understand?"
He nods quickly, in a way that makes me suspect he wasn't really clear what he was affirming. I hope he does. I wish he wasn't so sure of himself.
As he turns and leaves the room, I touch his shoulder lightly.
"I'm counting on you."
I meet his eyes, glad for the slight height advantage. The green, Mako-infused irises dance with careless glee. I'm suddenly impatient to get my point across.
"Don't mess up."
He smiles, that easy grin that comes every once in a while. I feel like wiping it away so he'll just be more cautious. Wutai was no place for ShinRa officials during the war, and the tension is still high.
"What, you don't trust me?"
That was not what I meant. Frustrated, though not knowing why, I pick my words more carefully this time.
"Don't disappoint me again."
He looks at me queerly for a moment, reconsidering the dark enigma of "Boss-man", turning it over and over to find some new slant he'd never seen before. Shrugging, as if giving up, he mock-salutes me and leaves the office, with the door banging on its hinges. Another mark of defiance I will rebuke him for next time.
No goodbyes, because that's just the way it is.
-
Wednesday
Rude asked if I'm okay. He said I've been walking around like a ghost.
Why do they all ask that?
Of course I'm okay.
As they walked off, Elena muttered something about a missing piece in our office. I didn't know what they were talking about.
-
Thursday
Come to think of it, "Don't mess up." really was a lousy way of saying goodbye.
-
Friday
Elena came in before clocking out officially today, stack of papers in hand. After putting it carefully on my table, right at the edge, as if I was in a thin, fragile, glass bubble. Straightening, she chose her words conservatively.
"We were going out to have a drink." Her brow furrowed as she tiptoed the line between formality and friendliness. Almost like an afterthought, "Care to join us?"
"No." My voice sounded oddly suppressed, struggling out from my constricted throat.
She pressed her lips together into a tight line, one of the things she does when she's frustrated. But she knows not to question my decisions, whether in work or outside of it. She nodded slowly, although she wasn't entirely satisfied by my answer, and backed out of the room without so much as a goodbye. They stay for another five minutes outside, looking in and whispering amongst themselves.
Funny. He always says yes.
True.
Maybe it's because Reno is...
Persuasive?
Yeah. And I think Tseng's...
Maybe.
I ignored them and they soon walked away.
-
Saturday
I've hated my phone ever since Reno somehow managed to procure it from my pocket and set the ringtone to some annoying ditty that gets itself stuck in my head every single time the President or Rufus calls me up.
In the quiet of night, with untouched paperwork laid out in a fan on my table, I somehow find myself (already considered off-duty despite my presence in the office) staring at the screen and willing it to ring.
-
Sunday
Turks work on Sundays too, because we know no such thing as holidays or religion.
He was in front of me. A threat, a threat, my mind get screaming. My eyes darted from his blue-green eyes, young despite his hard stare, his blond bangs wet from the chase and his damp shirt sticking to his back. He brandished a small handgun, though I could tell that he did not know how to use it. I kept mine trained on him, but somehow, my hand refused to obey my mind and just pull the trigger.
The colours began to run and blur together, smudged and unfocused. He looks more familiar the more I stare. Especially that smile, that self-assured smirk that curls upwards at the corner. This is outside of my rational mind to think like this. He's far too young to be caught in a war like this one, where there will only be one winning side and everyone already knows who it is.
The sound of the gun firing broke through my thoughts with the shattering of breaking glass. Oh. Shoot. I could hear Reno's voice making some lousy joke like that in my mind. It clipped my knee, but due to the boy's shaky hand and even shakier aim, it only gave me a skin-deep gash.
Ignoring the pain, I used the moment of clarity to shoot the boy down to the ground, uncaring how many bullets I wasted when the first one already got him. Funny...I don't think I've ever done that before. He sank the hard earth, choking on his own blood, cursing me with his last breaths. I stepped over his body and had to wake myself from a five-minute reverie to call ShinRa and report my success.
-
Monday
Come Monday, I've realised that I'd fallen behind on my work. The paperwork for missions finished last week have not been handed to the President to sign and stash in some forgotten document box that will be burnt anyway. My "In" tray is two inches thick instead of empty.
This has never happened in my last 12 years of service.
-
Tuesday
It's still dark outside when I get the phone call.
"Rise and shine, Boss. Your best Turk is back."
Stifling a yawn, I check the clock next to my bed. 3.16 AM.
"Was the mission a success?"
"Whoa. Whoa. Hey, didn't you miss me?"
"You haven't answered my question."
"Yeah it was but why so formal yo?"
"Goodbye Reno."
"Hey wha-"
I find myself rolling my eyes and putting down the phone with a firm, final click. Letting out a deep breath I didn't know I was holding, I feel the pieces of my messed-up week putting themselves back together and things start to make sense again. Turning over to face the wall, I try to get back to sleep, all the while suppressing the urge to smile foolishly.
A/N: 929 words that took me an eon to write. So very sorry Mischief!
MR