We didn't really need the wine I'd left chilling in the fridge, since we both already knew what we had in mind, but we both downed a glass to handle some nervousness. We probably wouldn't have had any at all, if I hadn't thrown in the silk shift or nightie or whatever it was, and the candles, thereby turning this into a big deal on some level. But he did appreciate the silk item, whatever I chose to call it, though he didn't seem inclined to leave it on me for long.
"Ggk. Why don't you let me take off the tie?"
"Well eventually I have to learn how to get them off you, unless you're planning a change of uniform, and obviously that way didn't work, so I'll just try this."
"Some would say men need to learn how to cope with bras, too, but I know my limitations."
He had a tattoo. Two of them, actually. The one on his arm was a Shinra logo, and he had what looked to be a dragon on his back, but I didn't get much of a look at it. I decided I'd have to give him a backrub later and get details on his misspent youth.
"I understand how you feel about it, but can we discuss it later?"
"Okay, but... seriously. A company logo? I mean, Shinra aside... I know you guys were serious about your jobs, but a tattoo?"
"Lockhart, don't. Please. Later. Okay?"
"It's just... I mean, what were you on?"
"Will you let it go if I say it was Reno's idea of a hazing ritual?"
"Yeah, that'd explain a lot."
We were both masses of scars. One, a set of four long parallel marks on the lower part of his chest, almost invisible but obvious to the touch, I'd probably given to him. I tried not to look at it. He noticed the long diagonal on my chest, of course, and traced it lightly. "Sephiroth," I explained, and he nodded, kissed my earlobe, the inside of my wrist, the faint beginnings of the scar at my collarbone, and I let my fingers linger at the one I'd given him.
"Ow!"
"What? What'd I do?"
"You're on my hair!"
"Oh. Sorry."
Once we worked out positioning, he also appreciated my hair. I'd meant to pull it back, since when I got sweaty it'd stick to me and itch, but it was worth leaving it loose it for the look in his eyes while it fell around us. It did itch, though.
There was something like reverence when he looked at me and touched me, an intensity that surprised and slightly frightened me, hovering behind the jokes and awkwardness and all too visible when we both turned serious. I tried smiling at him, and the look on his face in response hit me almost like a blow, the realization that he loved me more visceral than words could make it. I kissed him so I could close my eyes, kept them closed.
I'd wanted to settle into contentment, curl up in love like a comfortable armchair, but when I got my turn in the bathroom afterwards, I just found myself staring at myself in the mirror – still kind of flushed, some whisker burn, a bite mark on my collarbone – and listening to the thoughts bang around in my head for so long that he finally knocked and asked "You doing okay in there?"
"Yeah," I said, shaking my head and going out to meet him. "Sorry."
"What's wrong?" he asked, as I flipped the bathroom light off.
I hoped he couldn't see me any better than I could see him. "I just..." My voice caught, and I felt like an idiot even before I started to speak the words. "I could just hit myself for ever trying to kill you."
He sounded bewildered, and looked it, as my eyes adjusted to the dark. "Well, uh, that was a long time ago."
"Yeah," I said, and it came out a bit like a sob. I sat despondently on the side of the bed.
"I forgive you?" he said, and attempted to touch my face – he overshot a little, landed his hand on my ear instead, but then he got his bearings and managed to kneel in front of me, put his hands on my shoulders. "If I were you I'd have tried to kill me too. I mean, we were following you around, trying to kidnap your friend, all that."
"But you weren't trying to kill us! Just stop us or whatever, steer us in the right direction. Until that last part, and then you just told us and let us go, and—"
"Well, yeah, but you were a lot prettier than me." He sat next to me, tried putting his arms around me. I leaned against him, feeling my throat tighten. I hadn't expected floods of emotion like this, had thought maybe I'd outgrown them, left them behind with obsessive love I'd had for Cloud. The happy kinds were okay, but leave it to me to get depressed after sex. "Tifa?" he prompted, and I wrapped my arms around him.
"Just hold me, okay?" I finally said, trying to keep my voice steady.
"....Sounds like a plan," he said, softly.
We did shift around enough that we were both lying down, which was more comfortable for me though I guess he was at risk of his arm falling asleep. Somehow, we both managed to fall asleep entangled like that, but I woke when he tried to extricate himself. "Just need some water," he explained, and I made some noise of acknowledgment. Without even reaching full consciousness, I'd managed to steal all the covers and doze off again by the time he came back.
I woke to some tugging, and his voice saying, "No wonder you don't want to move in with me. Just can't stand to share the bed."
"Damn straight," I replied, grumpy and trying to cling to the covers. "It's your fault I'm cold."
"It is?"
"Yeah, I wouldn't be naked if you weren't here." He'd managed to get a little bit of sheet, enough to climb under it. I gave up a few inches of quilt, grudgingly.
"I guess I can't put my feet on your legs, then."
"I'll go back to trying to kill you if you do that."
He was actually nice enough not to warm his feet on me. I considered telling him that just for that I'd have to stay with him forever, but I managed to drift off again before I got around to saying it.
I woke again at three in the morning, by my bedside clock. My cat was curled in the crook of my legs, but no Rude. I heard voices in the living room and muzzily concluded he'd invited the other Turks over. By the time I pulled on a shirt I realized it was the TV. I pulled on a pair of loose pants, too, the kind I used to use to fight and now wore as pajamas. "What's going on?" I called, quiet for no good reason.
"Election coverage," he called back.
"Oh, I'd forgotten about that," I said, coming out to join him. My cat galloped after me, pulled ahead at the entry into the living room and stopped dead, almost tripping me. I stumbled but managed not to step on him, and he began washing his face with a smug air.
I plopped down on the couch next to Rude, and he slid his arm around my waist. "Didn't have to get all dressed," he said. He was just wearing boxers, and I was not about to complain. I might have fallen slightly out of shape, but he looked like he was still at his fighting weight, and it looked good on him.
"I was cold. Should have gotten socks," I said, and pulled my feet up under myself. "Speaking of clothes, didn't you bring any luggage?"
"It's at the hotel," he said. "Left it there before I went looking for you. I'll get it tomorrow."
"Just checking. How's the election going?"
"The blue's Reeve, the white's for Serval," he said, indicating the map on the screen with his head. I squinted, the lights still hurting my eyes. The map was mostly blue.
"What's the black for?"
"Not done reporting. Should be done soon, it's... what, ten there? Left my watch in the bedroom."
"About ten, I think. Nine, ten, eleven, something like that. I knew this when you were in the hospital. Why don't you need to be guarding him?" I asked. "Not that I don't like having you here, but it seems like the time to keep an eye on him, doesn't it?"
"Everyone needs a day off sometimes. I had this one requested months in advance. Right after we went back." He wrapped his arms around me, tugged me half onto his lap.
"Why?"
"Was hoping we'd still be together so we could spend Florian's together. Didn't get the date exactly right, is all."
"Oh, that's so sweet! I forgive you about forgetting it, then." I scootched the rest of the way onto his lap, slipped an arm around his neck. There was light stubble at the back of his head, and I rubbed it, fascinated. "Feels like sandpaper. I could file my nails on you."
"Please don't. I won't forget it again."
"We aren't talking claws, here. Have you noticed my fingernails? Stubby little things."
"You did enough damage to my back."
"Did I really?" I peered over his shoulder, and he leaned away from the couch obligingly. "You wimp. I didn't even break the skin."
"Do you normally?"
"What do you mean normally? I don't get out much, remember?" I hadn't slept with anyone since Cloud. Something told me I should stay away from that revelation. "I just figured there'd be some major gouges if you're complaining about it."
"Ssh," he said, and seemed to be paying intent attention to the TV, though as far as I could tell nothing new was showing. Just some announcer with a bad toupee. He probably just wanted me to stop picking on him. The map showed again.
"Why are those four in a chunk there white?" I asked, figuring he could shush me again if he needed to, and slightly offended that they'd vote against Reeve. Just then it switched over to a bunch of lists – prefecture names – over a background of the Asgard flag. With percentages. Which, it looked like, were heavily in Reeve's favor, though I yawned, relaxed against Rude's chest, and decided not to read them all.
"Sectors three, four, five, and six. Reeve's said he'd evacuate the residents until the plate's stabilized there. They don't like that much. He's right, though," he added.
"Good that you're loyal," I said, nuzzling into his neck. "Is this a winner-take-all thing?"
"No, they're just showing majorities." His hand was on my side, slightly under my shirt, just rubbing the skin absently. I kissed his neck, and the hand travelled higher.
"Okay, no groping, Reeve's looking at us," I said. It looked like footage from the campaign, with an announcer speaking over it.
"You started it. You do know TVs aren't two-way, right?"
"Yeah, but... eyes. It's creepy." He pulled back a bit, quirked an eyebrow at me. "It is!" I insisted. "I don't like magazines in the bathroom, either."
"Do a lot of drugs, Lockhart?" he asked, and then we were seeing the tape from the shooting, and I wrapped my arms tighter around him. "I manage to look terrible on camera even when I'm taking a bullet for the boss," he said.
"That's not funny," I said, and rested my head on his chest where I could hear his heartbeat. He just held onto me. He's good at that. We sat in silence for quite a while.
"What was Asgard doing for a government up to now?" I asked, finally, just trying to break the silence.
"You lived there, Lockhart."
"That doesn't mean I kept up with the news."
"I— hey, wait."
"They just said something about conceding, didn't they?" I asked, and he just nodded, sat forward as best he could with me in the way.
The anchors started droning, and I got up to get a drink of water. Rude barely seemed to notice, but he was sitting forward a bit more when I came back. Elvis had hopped up next to him and was giving himself a very thorough bath. I sat down at a slight distance from them both. Reeve was giving some sort of speech – I caught something about "as president" and grinned broadly – and Rude reached over without looking, fumbled for a second until his hand landed on my knee, and squeezed triumphantly, or reassuringly, something like that. I covered his hand with mine, then leaned my head against the back of the couch and just watched him look happy. It's amazing how much a perfectly ordinary face can come to mean to you in really not much time at all.
I wasn't not paying attention to Reeve, but I wasn't really listening, either, so I was taken half by surprise when it ended, when I noticed Elena, in a tailored navy dress and with her hair pulled back, amongst the other people in suits and dresses who'd been in the background during the speech. Her mouth was dark with lipstick and she was beaming, looking not just proud but actually joyful, and Reeve hugged her a bit longer than just plain civility demanded. I realized I was smiling, a bit mushily, and Rude was looking at me, his whole face quirked into that lopsided smile of his. I squeezed his hand.
"We made it," he said, suppressed excitement in his voice. "He's president. Can you believe it?"
I was smiling too much for my response, "What do you mean 'we'?" to sound like anything other than a joke, even if he'd wanted to misread me. I knew exactly what he meant. In some way all of us were in it together, Shinra and Avalanche and whatever Reeve had been, or the others like Bugenhagen, or Cid. No one else even really believed in a lot of the things we'd been dealing with.
"You know what I mean," he said, happily, and reached across the cat to hug me. Elvis took offense, jumped off the couch, and I wrapped my arms around Rude, nestled my head against his shoulder. The TV was showing balloons and cheering people, and I felt quietly buoyant, as though I could float away myself, as though I'd just realized at that moment how happy I was.