Through the Barricades

Rating: Hard-R (M)

Warnings: M/M

Pairings: Reno/Rufus, Rude/Reno

Summary: Reno, Rufus, and a Turk's philosophy on failure. Part I is set after Shinra 26 impacts with Meteor, while Part II is set post-Meteor and pre-Advent Children. Yaoi.

Spoiler warning: AC-spoilers and in-game spoilers.

I: As our hearts go to their graves

"Get me a team. I want Shinra 26 repaired."

"We've run the simulations as you ordered, sir. Even if we packed Shinra 26 from top to bottom with C4 explosives, it wouldn't be able to eliminate Meteor…"

"Divert it, at least?"

"It's not an asteroid per se, sir. It's a directed spell. We could possibly blow off about a third of the surface, but that might have adverse consequences of its own as the debris hits…"

"The alternative will be having all of Meteor plunging into the surface of the Planet, Lieutenant."

"Sir! We have a Weapon surfacing near Junon Harbor!"

"Damn. You, get Shinra 26 repaired. I'll find a solution."

"Yes sir."

The world was always red, these days. The burning fury of Meteor, that angry eye in the sky staring at them with a dead man's wrath. The red as hellfires bloomed when the heavy artillery flung everything they had at the approaching Weapons. The red as emergency lights went off at Weapon's counterattack and Elena was dragging him to the helicopter the shield is breached we have to evacuate, sir!

The red of blood seeping from his knuckles as he drove a fist into the wall when the operator signaled, over and over again, "Shinra 26 has impacted with Meteor. There have been no discernible effects."

He dug his gloves out of his pocket, pulling them over the wounds. No one ever saw Rufus Shinra bleed or cry.

"Sorry chief, shouldn't have let them get away with the sub…"

The world was the red of Reno's hair, as the Turk stood before his desk, looking slightly discomforted.

The world was the red haze of anger before his eyes as his strained temper snapped.

"How do you deal with failure?" he heard himself biting out, each word directed not so much at the one in front of him as himself. "How do you face the next day knowing that you've incontrovertibly screwed up and that, not far in the distant future, there may not be a next day?"

The sky will fall, and blood will rain from the Heavens.

He wasn't aware that he had buried his face in his hands until he opened his eyes to black.

"Chief… Rufus…"

He lashed out at the hand that tentatively brushed his shoulder. "Don't touch me." He had to work. He had to come up with another solution. He had to find a way to stop the Weapons. He had to…

Shinra 26 has failed, and all our hopes with it.

All the people he had to face. His people. The ones who looked to him to save them from the crises from land, sea, sky.

And to think that once, he had thought to rule them with fear.

The city you inherited isn't just metal and stone…

"Give me time," he was whispering. "Give me a chance to turn the clock back and undo it all…"

He'd remove the plate. He'd find something better than mako. He'd rebuild Midgar upon the high hills, under the clear blue sky.

But there wasn't time. He had failed, and the taste of it was bitter acid in his mouth, twisting through his stomach.

There was the quiet hiss of shifting fabric, someone fidgeting nervously in front of him. He looked up, marshalling a glare. "What are you still here for?"

"You didn't ask me to leave," Reno said. "Plus, you asked me a question."

He growled, slumping back in his chair. "You're dismissed."

"Don't think about it," the Turk said instead.

"What?"

"Don't think about failing." Reno had evidently overcome his hesitation, and now he sauntered forward, shoving files aside to settle on the edge of the desk. "One thing you learn in the slums? You don't even think about failing. Or dying. You don't have time to be scared."

Rufus warred between curiosity and the desire to order the Turk out. Curiosity won; and he steepled his fingers under his chin, elbows propped on the chair's armrests, and regarded that clash of burning fire over black and white before him.

"Don't think ahead, yo. There's no point. You gotta live in the present."

"My job is about thinking ahead."

"Yeah well, but asking rhetorical questions about whether you're going to make it or not, dwelling on failures after they've gone and past… sorry, Chief. They ain't gonna help you in any way. Tseng would tell us to shut up and just follow orders. But since you're the Chief, I suppose you just have to shut up and figure out what orders to give."

It turned out that what the Turk had to say wasn't as new or interesting as he'd hoped it would be. It was something that Tseng would have said, perhaps, or Reeve, although Jenova knew that Reeve took his own failures harshly too. It was something he could have figured out himself.

His arms came down, fingers reaching for the keyboard. "Thank you. And I do believe I asked you to leave." He turned his eyes on the report, a frown growing on his face. The Huge Materia had been stolen, Rude's report said. Shinra 26 had been nothing but an empty shell.

Those Avalanche bastards.

Something choked up inside of him, cutting from heart to throat like a knife. Something crunched in his right hand, splinters driving through his gloves and lacerating his fingers. Pain blossomed, white hot, but it was merely a dull throb compared to the sheer force of despair and fury that was strangling him.

"Whoa, Chief!"

Reno's hand was on his wrist then, locking it and carefully prying the ruined mouse from his grasp. "You sure get violent when you're pissed…"

"I asked you to leave," he growled.

"Yeah. So since I decided I didn't have any additional orders, I decided to come right back. And since I was coming right back, I decided it was easier not to step out in the first place." Reno looked up at him from where he was still perched on the desk, bright green eyes contemplative. He tilted his head. "You need to relax."

Anger turned his usual cultured tone harsh. "I'm the fucking President of a world with Armageddon hanging over its head. I don't have time to relax."

"Oh yeah?" Reno's intent stare was locked on his face. "You're no President."

Anger turned ice-cold and stilled, settling on his shoulders like a cloak. "What did you say?"

"You're no President," Reno continued, and there was something quite unreadable in that gaze now. "You're a little kid who's taken over the job you've been training all your short life to fulfill. And now it's fallen on your lap way early. You're not ready for it. You get whacked with a crisis. Two. You're as scared as fuck." A finger snapped out, jabbing at his chest, just over the heart. "This part of you doesn't think it's the President. Not yet, at any rate."

"You—"

"You know how I know," the Turk was asking, pressing in so close that Rufus could feel the breath that punctuated every sentence. "You're not out there on the bleeding edge. You're not fighting back with everything you've got. You're looking over your shoulder waiting for your resident miracle to appear and save all our asses."

Years of careful diplomatic training flew out of the window in an instant. The calm demeanor shattered under those accusations, those words that hit just a bit too close to home. "I've been fighting the damn Weapons for a week now!" he snarled.

"And this is the first time you've actually had to fight for your life, isn't it?" He saw the Turk's eyes light, as the unreadable expression morphed into a smirk. And the remaining distance between them had abruptly vanished, and there were lips on his, Reno's teeth coming down hard on his lower lip and his tongue ruthlessly shoving its way into his mouth.

He bit down, and there was a hiss of breath before one of the Turk's hands was clutching at the back of his neck, fingers burying painfully into the nerves there, and the other hand was on his chest and Reno was shoving him backwards, kissing him with enough force to bruise.

"You—" he snarled around Reno's mouth, and Reno broke away, breathing harshly.

"Tell you what happened when I first signed up," Reno said, his voice a low, throaty rumble that Rufus had never heard from him before. "Tell you what happened when I first signed up. 'I'm a Turk,' I told myself. Part of the elite. Henceforth, Reno-sama will kick ass. Not more being kicked around."

He leaned in, and his breath was warm on Rufus' cheek, his tongue leaving a wet trail as it circled his ear lobe. "You know what? On my first mission, I got my ass kicked so hard that I was in medical for a week. That's Shinra medical, mind you. With shitloads of materia and the most advanced medical equipment known to man."

Rufus was frozen, caught by the soft words being whispered into his ear.

"And I'll tell you what Veld told me, when he hauled my ass up on the carpet and kicked it for the second time running.

"He told me: You little dipshit. You're not a Turk. You're not a Turk because you're too busy prancing around in your brand spanking new suit saying: "Lookatme! I'm a Turk! I'm a Turk! Shoot me!" You want to be a Turk? You have to act like one. Stop thinking. The title doesn't rely on its reputation to get the job done. It makes its reputation. No one's going to bow down just because you're a Turk, until you actually pick your scrawny ass off the floor and actually back that name up with some firepower. Got it?"

Rufus snapped into action then, jerking away from Reno's ministrations and one hand coming up to lock around Reno's wrist. "So I have to be more aggressive, is that it?"

"You miss the point, kiddo." With almost casual grace, Reno broke his grip, leaving him with a hand stinging and going rapidly numb. Another move and Rufus found himself pinned against the black cushions of his chair, arms locked above his head, blood mapping a path down from his lacerated right palm

"You made one helluva Vice President because you weren't thinking: I'm the Vice President. The Vice Prez has gotta to be just so," Reno said. "Hell, no. You were busy running undercover operations, keeping the company alive, and don't deny it – trying to find the quickest, neatest way to off the old man." Something flashed across his face. Some sort of anger, something that was quite definitely lust. Reno's hand trailed down his front, unbuttoning his suit jacket as it went, brushing aside layers of fabric.

"You're the Prez. You don't need to think about it. You don't need to wonder what he would have done in your shoes. You don't need to sulk about screwing up. You just gotta keep going. Roll with the punches. Shinra 26 fucked up, thanks to that Avalanche bunch that nipped off with the Huge Materia… well, stop thinking about it and start coming up with a new plan."

And suddenly Reno's palm was hovering the button of his pants, warmth pooling against his abdomen.

"You're the brains. We're just the brawn, you know."

Harsh breathing in his ears that had to be his own, because Reno seemed to be holding his breath, frozen to stillness as if the victim of a Stop spell. Red, so much of it, spilling in through the windows as the sun headed towards the horizon; spilling backwards from Reno's head, and he had the sudden urge to tear away the restraining rubber band, to see those flames spill free.

He snarled, fighting against Reno's grip, even as he felt the button fall away and damnit, he wasn't arching up into Reno's hand, he wasn't—

--"People won't stop screwing with you… and screwing you… just cos you're the Prez. You gotta stop them from screwing with you because you're Rufus Shinra." And Reno leaned in to capture his lips.

Clothes went in a confusion after that. His jacket was the first casualty, then he'd somehow broken free of Reno's grasp, and fingers shoving his jacket off, cursing as it snagged on slender shoulders. Reno's smirk as Rufus found himself shoved up against his own desk, both of them moving with an urgency that bespoke of the desperation of those who know their time is almost up. He marked Reno, teeth and nails leaving red streaks down neck and back, even as Reno pounded into him, no time or thought for preparations, for taking it slowly, riding on the knife edge of pain and pleasure.

The last thing he saw before he tumbled over that edge was Meteor, burning angrily against the evening sky.

"I could fire you for that," he gasped out, later, as Reno flopped bonelessly into the chair – into his chair.

"You didn't hear a word I said, did you?" Reno said, rummaging through his discarded jacket for a cigarette.

"You…" he allowed his eyes to drift close for a moment, and hung in the darkness, listening to the pounding of his heart. It was alive. He was alive. Staring death in the eye was a long way away from dead. His eyes snapped open.

"Get the chopper ready," he said, standing and reaching for his clothes.

Reno raised an eyebrow. "Whatcha thinking of doing?"

"Dismantle the Junon cannon. We're going to fall back to Midgar." He tugged the turtleneck over his head, turning to stare out of the tall glass windows. "And then we're going to give them Hell."

Reno's grin was acknowledgement enough.