notes: characters belong to square enix. set before advent children, so we're going to assume that Rufus has already contracted geostigma for purposes of this story. there is implied Rufus and Tseng if you look really hard for it. they're so cute :0)

There weren't many places to hide in Healin, certainly nothing that was beyond a three mile radius of the Healin Lodge. There was a single tavern somewhere on the edge of town, Rufus recalled, though it attracted little other than the scant number of locals that inhabited the nearby suburbs.

Still, it was better than nothing. He needed somewhere to work - anywhere, just not here, and he hadn't the strength to relocate himself to another town. He needed away from the prying eyes of his Turks, who adamantly insisted he do nothing besides lay in bed, and recover.

The get-away, now that all the Turks had gone off on some mission or another, was simple enough. Shielding himself from the prying eyes of the public was no matter either: an old, torn-up suit of Reno's, one of Tseng's old overcoats, ah, and the hood to cover the Geostigma that now infiltrated his face - once he had mussed his hair a little more, Rufus considered himself a different man. Never would the old Rufus Shinra step outside in an outfit so dingy, so ill-fitted for him. /I look... dirty,/ he thought, almost proudly.

He gathered up his paperwork, and started out the door, pulling his hood tightly over his head so that his eyes were concealed. He felt no guilt for leaving now, no twinge of remorse for the concern his men were soon to feel - /I've got work to do./

The tavern left much to be desired, of course, and Rufus would have preferred the noise level to have been quieter. But ex-Presidents could not be choosers, he decided, and quickly took to a table to spread out his papers in front of him. After repeat efforts of shooing the waitress away, he began to work.

The tavern's patrons grew in numbers as the day grew late. The waitresses stopped serving food, and began to instead tend the bar. Frustrated, Rufus looked to the source of the noise - the bar - and to his horror, discovered Reno and Rude occupying two stools, and two scotches occupying their grips.

Rufus quickly turned his head away, and pulled his hood back over his eyes. Both parties had their backs turned to one another, and he did not think they would take notice of him. Rufus realized, so long as he paid close enough attention, he was in earshot of them. Reluctantly, he looked to his unfinished work - despite his guilt for abandoning it, he focused in on Rude and Reno.

"How the fuck is it my fault, yo? What am I supposed to do, put the kid in a dog kennel? I mean, hell, he's not even a kid anymore, he's a grown man. He can do what he wants." Reno emptied his glass, and slammed it back on the table. The waitress quickly refilled it. "If Tseng's so worried about it, he can babysit him, yo. Get a stroller, strap Rufus in. Push him around all day. Little baby Rufus."

Rude shrugged. "Rufus has Geostigma. Highly contagious."

"Still not my problem. Hey," Reno tapped loudly on the table to get the waitresses attention. "You forgot the ice in my drink."

Reno's tone was off-putting, and ellicited the attention of the head bartender several feet away. "Please don't speak to my staff in that manner," said the bartender, moving closer toward the two Turks.

"I can speak to whoever I want, however I want!" Reno said loudly.

"Reno-" Rude's attempt to warn his partner failed, as Reno was already getting out of his seat, about to round on the bartender. Rufus turned only slightly to witness what he had expected to happen, eventually - a brief scuffle between Reno and the bartender. Punches were thrown, and glasses were broken. Reno was at the disadvantage, having already drank too much prior. Intoxication rendered him unable to stand up properly, much less fight.

It wasn't long before Reno found himself removed from the establishment at the bartenders's forceful insistence. Rude, silently, followed Reno's departure, and slammed the door behind them.

Rufus sighed, relieved. He returned to his work.

Only half an hour had passed before Elena walked in, wide-eyed and ready to work. Elena wasn't much of a recreational drinker, so Rufus could only assume she had come to do one thing: to find him.

She got right to work and took her place on the barstool. "Hi," she said to the bartender, "I'll have a whiskey sour. No ice please." He passed her the drink, though she barely took a moment's notice of it: "Have you seen a blonde man in here? Probably has some dark scars on his face, maybe his arms. He has Geostigma."

Rufus stiffened, and positioned his head far over his papers, as though to look completely entranced by his work. He hoped she would not give him away.

"Geostigma?" The people who sat at a bar were in an uproar. "He's going to get us sick!"

"I mean, I don't even know if he's in here! He's missing, and I'm looking for him. He could be anywhere." She barely took a sip of her drink before she began to talk again. "But anyways, it's very important that we find him. Obviously, we don't want anyone else to get sick! Seems like everyone is coming down with it these days." The upbeat demeanor she seemed to possess - despite the seriousness of the situation - seemed to dispel the uneasiness that had settled over the crowd.

"Nope, haven't seen him," said the bartender.

"Good. He shouldn't be out drinking, anyways," she said.

"Forget about all of that," said a man, sitting on her right. "How about I buy you a drink, pretty lady?" He winked at her, and ran two fingers through his ratty mustache.

Elena's nerves must have already been frazzled from having been out looking for Rufus, so Rufus was not surprised when her powerful fist met the man's face. "No!" she screamed. For an added measure, she threw the remaining drink on the man's shirt, and promptly stormed out of the tavern. The patrons gasped and the bartender sighed, relinquishing the mop to clean yet another mess left by a Turk.

Rufus ran his blackened fingers through his hair, and continued working.

Rufus had underestimated how quickly the Geostigma depleted his energy, and how tired it made him. But he knew his work would not finish itself, and it was a miracle in itself that the Turks had not yet come to relinquish him - try as they might.

He worked until he could no longer distinguish the black Geostigma on his hands from the ink on his paper. It was all beginning to blur together as one inky blob. Soon, he was asleep at the table, nose-first.

Tseng came through the door just as the waitress was beginning to dim the lights, and found the keys to lock up for the night. She brandished a look of exasperation before he met eyes with her.

"I'm sorry. I'm not here for drinks. Just looking for someone."

There was something soothing, yet somewhat intimidating about Tseng's voice that sent the waitress in some kind of trance. "Certainly," she said, dreamily. "Is it that man at the table?"

Tseng looked to where she pointed. There was a slumped over figure of Rufus, clad in Tseng's old overcoat and the familiar hood that hid the Geostigma on his face. He nodded. "Yes," he said. "Thank you very much."

"No problem at all..." she said, and returned to cleaning the tables, watching the dark-featured man from afar.

Tseng shook the man awake and removed the pen from Rufus's darkened fingers. "Time to go," he said quietly, as Rufus slowly opened his eyes.

"Tseng?" he said, as Tseng lifted the ex-President into his arms. "How did you find me?"

The waitress watched even as Tseng carried Rufus out the door of the tavern, and into the passenger seat of his car. She waved, smiled, and winked. Tseng reluctantly smiled back before disappearing into his car and driving away.

"I don't know," Tseng said, after some time. "I guess I have a way with women."