Diclaimer: I do not own FF7 or any related characters, places, etc, etc. Those are all the work of Square Enix. This fanfic is written by me.

Warnings: yaoi, implied yaoi, mentions of alcohol, cigarette smoking, language, etc, etc. M for a reason? If you don't like any of the things listed, this fic is not for you. Please run away now.

Author's Note: My muse is hungry, and it is craving reviews. Wow that was corny. Ok, please read and review. As stated before, this story happens during the same timeline as The Memory of Falling, and there will be some cross-references, as could definitely be seen in the last chapter. And, as a last point…. Don't hate me. You'll see why as you read.

LYING IS A DANCE FOR TWO

Chapter II: Functioning

The alarm started roaring its awakening trumpets far too early, Lazard opening his eyes to slits, a blurry rendition of the bedside table coming into view, but not focus. Vaguely he could make out the time, 4:00am. It was that time already? Reaching over, a heavy hand landed on the top of the alarm clock, clumsily smacking it to snooze.

It was warmer than usual in bed, beneath his thin sheets, the cool temperature of his dark bedroom all the more daunting because of it. He remained where he was on his stomach, head turned to the side, bloodshot eyes open, watching the smudge that was the clock, as it ticked over to 4:01. He needed to get moving. A nice long shower was in order, so…

The bed shifted beside him.

Despite the low throb of a headache racing through his head, despite the momentary grogginess, the fatigue of too much alcohol and not enough time to sleep it off, Lazard's first instinct took control, right hand reaching onto the bedside table, beneath the lip, and he turned on the bed, pistol in hand, pointing it. At the same moment as the end of his barrel touched something, the cold tip of another barrel was right at his forehead as well.

Taking a deep breath, he tried swallowing back the sudden lump in his throat. His eyes were wide, trying to focus, only partially managing without the corrective lenses of his glasses. There was a cascade of black hair framing a somewhat light skinned face, dark eyes narrowed dangerously at him. Who looked like…

They both said each other's names in unison, shock and revulsion tainting both.

Hand shaking, Lazard pulled his gun back first, placing it slowly on the bedside table, grabbing his glasses and pushing them on. He blinked a few times as Tseng withdrew his own gun. The Wutaian's hair was loose, falling like an obsidian fan around his face, those brown eyes as keen as ever despite the fact that he had been asleep just moments earlier. A detail Lazard hadn't noticed before was the dot on the Turk's forehead, the mark seeming exotic for some reason.

Tseng quickly slid out from under the covers on the other side of the bed, standing and cringing for a moment. There was a purple hicky just above his left collarbone, a reddish-pink ring of flesh next to that from a hard bite. Now that Lazard was stirring, he could feel the nail marks on his back, his arms, and he glanced, seeing them.

The worst part of it all? He couldn't remember anything. He did not even remember leaving the Goblin Bar, much less getting home and then… fucking Tseng.

Lazard flopped onto his back, staring up at the ceiling, letting the erratic drum of his heart, the adrenalin, die down. Having a gun pointed at his head was not a good way to wake up, though he had returned that favor to Tseng; it was more of a tandem act, actually.

The Wutaian Turk walked around the room for a moment, every movement fluid. His hair was still in a chaotic halo about his face as he looked for his clothing. Tseng picked up his tie, which had been tightened enough to bound together wrists; at least that was what Lazard thought when he saw it synched down like that. It had been a rough night, to say the least. Tseng's porcelain, chiseled body was sleek, muscles rippling with every movement. Those muscles were not formed like those of a SOLDIER would be, but were still strong, though agile. The agility was what made him such an effective Turk, no doubt.

Quickly, he turned his gaze away as Tseng turned back around, catching a view of the front on his way to staring at the clock again. The alarm started again. Lazard reached over, fingers pinching the knob and sliding the setting to off. Sitting up, he ran a hand through his oily hair, cringing. The sheets slipped down around his waist, and he had to fight not to pull the cloth back up around his shoulders.

"You don't remember it, do you?" There was a dark smile on the Turk's lips. From that taunting look, Lazard knew in a moment that Tseng definitely remembered. That made all the color, at least what little was left, drain from his face. "Don't you have a job to be getting to?"

"Don't you?"

Tseng pulled on his pants, doing the belt quickly. Circling the room, he found his dress shirt, which was crinkled. His angular black brows dipped together as he buttoned it up. The tie was a different matter all together, taking a while to loosen out of its tightly knotted state. By the time Tseng was focused on retying the crumpled silk, Lazard was up, grabbing a towel and slipping into the palatial bathroom.

He needed a hot shower right now. Or maybe a cold one. Either way, he needed to wash off the night's sins.

0 0 0 0 0

Stepping into the back elevator, Tseng straightened his suit jacket, pressing the button he needed before looking into the reflective surface of the glass. His hair was still slightly damp from his shower, pulled up into its usual ponytail, as neat and perfect as always. He was wearing a fresh suit, already having dropped his one from last night off at the cleaners. Everything was as it should be…

The elevator dinged sooner than it should have, Tseng looking angrily up at the numbers before the glass doors slid open, revealing his destination. Taking a step with his usual gusto, he flinched, having to adjust his walk without being suspicious. His walk ended up being slow and fluid, taking him at a leisurely yet certain pace. He knew exactly where he was going and why; no one had any reason to question that.

"Heya, Bossman. I left that report on your desk." Reno passed him quickly, obviously trying to get away as fast as possible.

Glancing down at his watch, he confirmed the time. "It's ten minutes late."

Reno turned around, walking backwards now as he cupped his hands over his mouth to yell. "And so are you!" With a snicker, Reno righted his direction, scurrying around the corner before Tseng could do anything.

Shaking his head, Tseng turned right, going straight down the hall to his office. The door was open, unsurprisingly. He normally left it open, any files of a classified nature kept in the hidden back room, under lock and key. Flicking on the lights, he gingerly sat down, trying not to make too much of a face at the feeling.

He'd had worse before. He had too many scars to count by now, smattered here and there on his fair skin. Why was this such a problem?

Flicking on the computer, he groaned as his ass rubbed against the firm leather of the chair. It was going to be one long, long day.

And the worst part? Despite his bluffing, he didn't remember any of it.

0 0 0 0 0

Lazard glanced down at his watch, blue-grey eyes lazily taking in the sight of the time. Reaching down with white gloved fingers he pulled out the pin, winding the gears so that they had enough tension to work for a while yet. The watch was a beautiful thing, an antique. Normally he would not wear such a thing, especially not at work, but he needed something to distract him. This one did it precisely on the hour, every hour, needing another wind.

Leaning back, he drew his leg up so the heel rested on his other knee. It was a comfortable position, and a comfortable chair. Running his hands back over the leather arms, he forced a smile, eyes fluttering to slits behind his glasses. Already, an impression of himself was being left upon the cold office, warming it up a bit. There was still work to be done, but that could wait.

The official announcement of his new position as the head of SOLDIER had gone without any problems, far smoother than he had been expecting, actually. The Turks who had briefed him, a bald man of few words and an over-talkative redhead, told him that anything could happen, and that there had been a few believable threats placed concerning his head.

Luckily, he had yet to see Tseng around. The elusive head of the Turks was off doing something or another, Lazard did not care to know what, and that was perfectly fine with him.

Right now, he had his very first executive board meeting to be attending to.

Standing smoothly, straightening his pinstriped blazer, he walked for the elevator, pulling out his newly modified keycard to swipe it. The green light was given, and soon he was powering upward in the ShinRa Tower, just as he had been powering upward in the ShinRa ranks. That top level was so close, just above his head; he could almost reach up and brush it. Right there, and yet, he was still not close enough.

His gait was leisurely as he came through the wide double doors, posture and half-smile screaming of confidence. Faces turned to see him, take in this new comrade who was joining them. Lazard recognized them more by reputation than looks. Scarlet was impossible to miss, with her appropriately colored dress and swept up blond hair. Some men might have found her pretty. He was not among them.

Heidegger let out a deep, long laugh, Lazard quirking a blond brow, though continuing closer to the table. He knew that he had to keep a calm, resolute face. This was his first day amongst them, and thus, they would all be susceptible to first impressions. He let his gaze rake over the others, including Hojo, whom he nodded at, and Reeve, who was staring straight ahead with drawn in brows. That man always had something on his mind.

The brat, Rufus ShinRa, was a while down the table from him, which was a relief. Lazard did not want that kid any closer. The only person Lazard offered a smile for was the man at the end of the table. He was in a red, double-breasted suit, blond hair slicked down, blue eyes piggish. He offered a smirk back. Lazard had never seen something so slimy in his life.

A chill ran up his spine. Lazard knew someone was watching him, and knew immediately that he had been looking in the direction of President ShinRa too long. Turning his head just slightly, he could see a form mostly concealed in shadows, just a little light hitting that face for a moment, before it was gone again. Tseng. Lazard's eyes narrowed as he sat in his newly appointed seat.

"You'll get used to the Turks soon enough." Scarlet purred this, glancing towards the shadows before returning his gaze to the stack of papers before her.

Lazard fought the urge to roll his eyes. He didn't lean back in his chair, like he might have. The scratches across his back and arms burned a little still. He was only the Director of SOLDIER; he could not heal like them himself.

Everyone was at the meeting now, no more waiting to be done. Lazard was mildly surprised to see the proceedings begin early, though he was impressed all the same. This was one more step up the ladder. He would just have to get used to the Turks—Tseng—being around.