(A/N: More tinkering, think it's better, but I can't quite seem to inject the more compelling tone that developed organically in the later chapters once I stopped denying my inherent urge to try to be humorous whenever possible, no matter how inappropriate it might be. The opening is still too flat, which is no doubt contributing to low reader retention, although the weird style will always fuel that… And, yes, this is my thinly veiled "IT GETS BETTER!" entreaty, something I scoff at and think, "You should make it better NOW". XD)
After emerging from the vast atrium of the front entrance, I nod perfunctorily at the few WRO soldiers who acknowledge my passing as I make my way through the twisting labyrinth of their headquarters, idly contemplating why, with the surging popularity and prestige that has driven funding into the organization, the interior is kept minimalistic and gloomy. The muted lighting glints off of the metal walls and convolution of exposed coverings for electrical and mechanical devices that facilitate the numerous inner workings of the building, creating a claustrophobic atmosphere better suited to cramped spaces where the lack of basic decoration is a necessity.
And it's completely at odds with the personality of the Commissioner. Does he actually enjoy walking these depressing halls? Or, does he realize just how fleeting any empire can be, capable of crumbling like a house of leaves with the right breath of wind, and sees it as a waste of resources?
I am well aware that I can ask the man personally when I reach my destination, and perhaps even receive an honest answer in return, but the musing and guessing at the reason for such an inconsequential matter occupies my increasingly drifting mind. My thoughts have always held a philosophical bent, but never to this degree, and while I am disturbed by the constant distraction within, it has the quality of drowning. The difficulty in preventing this mental wandering, and little significant consequences having come from it, has gradually caused my willpower to evaporate. Fortunately, I have trained myself nearly to perfection in terms of moving on autopilot and schooling my expression to confident neutrality unless I drag my consciousness back to the forefront. Only Reno has made an offhand comment that I seem more distant than usual, yet even my closest subordinate has little idea as to how true he spoke.
A cautionary voice inside whispers again that I need to address the issue, that I am a liability operating as I do now, and I press my focus onto the present with as much force as I can muster. The result is unnervingly transient with no danger to sharpen and hold my attention, and I surrender in the attempt until I arrive at the door to Tuesti's office, unadorned and appearing no different to any other in the sprawling maze. Due to the imminent threat of interacting with who is possibly the most perceptive person on the planet, I manage to reclaim some of the eroded aptitude of my concentration and stand at relaxed attention, studying the symmetry of my surroundings while I wait. I search out the positions of various slight glimmers betraying the presence of cameras, which I know to be merely backups, decoys, to present targets for those that might try to disable them, and the main lenses are completely hidden from visual detection.
The delay is not long and the door parts from the middle to retract into the walls with an inaudible sigh of warmer air from inside. I step through and approach the rectangular desk in the center of the room, ignoring the video feeds of the many monitors that cover the walls, and then fold my hands behind my back as I come to a stop directly across from the Commissioner. He lifts his gaze up from whatever has captured his attention on the laptop before him and offers a brilliant politician's smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, which is strange enough to immediately raise my interest. Normally, my former colleague, and now superior in all but official title, is one of the best at lying with his entire face. Something else must be wrong besides what has summoned me from the main Shinra bureau in Junon, where I conduct the majority of Turk operations, and I take in his careworn visage with detached critical assessment. We are of an age, but without the moderate Mako enhancements I possess, he appears much older, the lines of his face deeper, along with scatterings of silver through his immaculately trimmed goatee and at the roots of his stylishly wavy black hair. These signs of accelerated aging were not in existence only seven months ago during our last face-to-face meeting, and I feel a mild twinge of unease.
Inclining my head respectfully and curving my lips up in a more reserved manner from his own, I greet him smoothly, "Good evening, Commissioner."
"Good evening, Tseng. Thank you for coming, and I sincerely apologize for requesting your presence here when I know exactly how busy you are," he responds with a tone that is almost glib.
Does he know, from afar, how utterly bored out of my mind I am with the mundane tasks that fall to the Turks now? Given his voyeuristic tendencies, I wouldn't be surprised.
"You're more than welcome, Sir. Anything that I can do to aid the WRO, I am eager to," I deliver dryly with absolutely no sincerity and watch his eyes crinkle at the corners, amusement chasing away some of the tautness there. We both know my words are not true, that I still chafe at answering to anyone other than the President and will never fully accept the downfall of what was once the most powerful entity on Gaia or give myself over completely to this new world order.
"Excellent!" He actually claps his hands together and I fight back a frown at his exuberance, before he continues, "As you know from the report I sent, tracking down any concrete connections of whoever is responsible for the theft of master Materia from multiple vendors has so far been unsuccessful. Even Yuffie hasn't uncovered anything."
"Something I'm sure she's handling in a mature fashion," I comment in a faintly sardonic manner.
"Our head of espionage is the epitome of maturity and poise."
I narrow my eyes slightly, but Tuesti simply returns my stare with convincing earnestness that I don't believe for a moment, the very picture of innocence. The tension in my chest eases, and I am willing to file away his brief lapse of composure as nothing more than a symptom of too little sleep combined with a naturally stressful station, recalling similar behavior from President Shinra in the past. Even the changes to his appearance can be explained away with this, but I remain doubtful regarding the cause.
Rufus has always had us to confide in. Does this man have any real confidantes? AVALANCHE are supposedly his friends, but how much of his burdens does he share with them? They have never struck me as particularly close.
Apparently I am set on obsessing over a single innocuous gesture, but my intuition is usually sound and my annoyance is low at granting more deliberation of the man than is typical. I do consider Tuesti a friend, of sorts, or at least someone I respect. He leans back in his chair and I abruptly realize I have again lost track of time, the quiet stretching out between us and highlighting my failure to take advantage of an obvious setup to criticize my rival in the intelligence field.
I try to cover up my negligence by complimenting the ninja with unexpected praise, as though my thoughts had been centered on her, "Kisaragi has improved considerably in her conduct and professionalism."
There is no noise in the room except for the whisper of cloth as he shifts his posture and examines my face closely.
"Are you alright?" His soft tone is colored with concern, and I bristle, angry that I have betrayed myself so soon or at all.
"I'm fine," I snap, then heave a small sigh and let fabricated fatigue etch into my features. After a pause, I amend, "Tired. It's been a long day." I offer what I hope is an appropriately commiserating expression as I finish, "I'm sure you know that feeling all too well, yourself."
He hums noncommittally, his gaze uncomfortably shrewd. "Yes, although I think we could both say that we have had long lives," he replies ruefully.
I raise an eyebrow at him. "Are you implying we're old, Tuesti?"
Laughing softly, he shakes his head. "No, not you."
There is no emphasis on 'you', but the wording is too blatant to ignore and I tease mildly, "Are you having a midlife crisis? Beginning to worry about your age and the encroaching specter of death?"
He laughs a bit harder but there is a sharp edge to it, and then he gestures imprecisely at himself. "It certainly shows, does it not?"
An unpleasant idea occurs to me, and I drop the pretense of humor, asking seriously, "Are you ill?"
"What? No, no, I am not ill."
"Have you been receiving proper checkups on your health?" I persist.
"Yes, I have. I assure you that I am physically fit, but your concern is quite touching." He presses a hand dramatically above his heart.
"Blood work? EKGs? A colonosc-"
"Tseng!" he exclaims with a wide grin.
"Such tests may be uncomfortable, but it is important to-"
"I know!" he interrupts again, then buries his face in his hands, and his shoulders shake with his muffled laughter.
As I watch him, my smile is faint but genuine, and I wait silently for him to calm himself, resisting the urge to point out that what I had said was not amusing enough to provoke this strong of response. When he finally raises his head back up, his warm eyes are shining with mirth and there is a becoming flush chasing away his pallor, a sight that causes my breath to catch unexpectedly. He appears a decade younger, at least.
"Thank you for that." There is an openness to his countenance that I have rarely seen, revealing a deep weariness, and he drops his gaze from mine, as if ashamed, but does not draw one of his many masks back into place. He seems to be grasping for words, eyes darting aimlessly over his desk, and I hold my peace. Eventually, he glances up at me, then back down, and states softly, "I'm really glad you're here, Tseng. I haven't had much to laugh about recently, to be honest, and I always have enjoyed your company."
And now another idea surfaces at his simple admission.
No, surely not.
Rumors have swirled rampantly around the leader of the WRO for many years, of course, as they always do when someone with great power and wealth is not married, nor has any significant other, but I had dismissed talk regarding his orientation, given its lack of importance.
"You work too hard," I observe without preamble and his look is instant, direct, and incredulous at the pot calling the kettle black, but I don't give him time for a verbal retort. "It's getting late and we can discuss business tomorrow. Have dinner with me, Reeve."
This effectively silences anything he had thought to say. His mouth closes without any utterance forthcoming, opens, and then closes once more, and I manage to keep from smirking, but only just. The number of times I have addressed him by his first name could probably be counted on one hand, and the significance is not lost on him, yet his puzzlement at my intentions is clear.
Something clicks into place in my mind as his confusion slides away and his expression becomes carefully impassive, and for the first time in longer than I would like to acknowledge, I feel a sense of purpose. This man is currently the cornerstone of the planet, the people, and all of the extensive plans in play for restoration would falter without his leadership and compassion. He has risked his reputation and fledgling foundation with his continued support of the Turks and the gradual reintegration of the Shinra Corporation, which he must suspect remained a threat. The gratitude I have for him is foreign and unwelcome, but undeniable in its strength.
I will not let him fail... If he is being assailed by more enemies than I know, I will find and neutralize them. If he requires something as simple as friendship, I will offer it. If he needs to unburden himself, I will be his secret keeper. And if he wants more than that… I am no stranger to seductive manipulation. Such attentions might give him strength.
My somewhat absurd internal declarations, which I would suffer significant torture before speaking aloud, mercifully don't disrupt my focus on the present. Only the space of a few seconds has passed, and my surroundings stand out in sharp, startling clarity with the clean sensation of an overdue return to reality.
"We could discuss business over dinner," he finally answers casually, the aristocratic charmer reassembling like armor.
"We could, but I would prefer more… pleasurable topics." My insinuation leaves much to be desired, and I want to grimace at how rusty and trite my attempt is, but it does not seem to matter, if the way he inhales suddenly is any indication.
Even unbalanced, he doesn't delay his reply and jokingly remarks, "That does sound good. It's a date, then!"
I bow my head down slowly, as if in prayer or deep consideration, until I feel strands of my long hair come slithering from behind my ears. As the dark curtain frames my face, contrasting with the paleness of my skin in a way I know to be striking, I tilt my chin up to the side and cast a penetrating stare askance at him. His reaction is immediate and gratifying as he appears to stop breathing while his eyes widen and his lips part. Mingled sparks of both desire and alarm run down my spine, but I allow only the former to show.
"It is," I confirm firmly with an absolute confidence I don't feel.
When he swallows hard in response, seemingly at a loss for words, predatory anticipation begins to coil through my body.
There is no reason I can't enjoy the mission, as long as I don't lose sight of the objective.