III

"Sir, you shouldn't—"

"Shut up, Tseng. Now, we know that…"

Voices roused him from sleep, and Cloud rolled over to check the time. His hand encountered empty air instead of the bedside table, and he snapped awake instantly, one hand reaching for the Buster Sword. Sunlight hit him in the eyes and he blinked. Oh.

Junon.

"I want answers and I want them now." Strains of conversation could be heard from the next room, Rufus' voice raised in annoyance, and interspersed with the quieter answers of someone that Cloud couldn't quite hear.

"If necessary…" Rufus had lowered his voice, and the next words were lost. Cloud searched for his boots and started pulling them on.

"Sir, is that really necessary?" Elena said.

"If not, kill him."

Cloud froze. There was the sound of a door opening, and closing, and someone leaving down the hallway. Frowning, he shoved his foot into the boot and grabbed the Buster Sword. There was a confrontation to be had.

--

Rufus looked up when he entered. The President was propped up in bed, typing furiously on a laptop positioned across his knees. White bandages showed through the V in his shirt collar, wrapping up the shoulder wound obtained from the night before. "Good morning," Rufus said carefully, evidently uncertain of what to make of his mood.

"Who are you planning to assassinate?" Cloud demanded without preamble.

"No one." Rufus snapped the cover of the laptop shut. "I had merely ordered investigations into whoever was behind the attempt last night."

The frown on Cloud's face morphed into a full fledged scowl. "You ordered Elena to kill someone."

Rufus blinked. "Oh. That. We had a lead. I simply authorized her to use force to extract the information if necessary."

"You…" Two angry strides brought him to the side of the bed. "You haven't changed in the slightest."

Some emotion darkened Rufus' blue eyes. "Someone tried to kill me last night. I have a right to know who, or what. Preferably before—"

"—before nothing. You and your mafia games need to stop. People's lives are not for you to dispose of at a whim."

"Cloud—"

"You will ask Elena to stand down," Cloud growled, leveling the Buster Sword at Rufus' throat... a move that caused the President jerked sharply backwards, jaw clenching sharply. Cloud had the briefest glance of something unidentifiable – Fear, perhaps? – flashing across his face, before a gloved hand reached up to shove the blade out of the way.

Tseng. He hadn't noticed him, silently stationed against one wall, until then. The Turk angled the blade at the floor, turning to pin Cloud with a stare, anger boiling in his eyes.

"Kindly refrain from doing that," he said in a low voice. Cloud glanced back to Rufus, but the President wasn't looking at him. He was hunched forward, breathing raggedly, one hand clenching at the bandages around his neck.

"President," Tseng called softly, and Rufus seemed to snap back into himself, inhaling sharply, and dropping his hand back to his laptop.

"You were a SOLDIER," Rufus said, still not looking up. "You should know that there's no room for indulging compassion in war."

"You got that scar from a sword," Cloud said.

Rufus stiffened, and sat up straighter. "That… is none of your business. Neither are my methods of inquiry after would-be murderers."

"Or perhaps you might like to go with Elena," Tseng suggested softly as two pairs of blue eyes turned to study him. He shrugged. "Perhaps the heroes of Avalanche know methods of extracting information that we don't."

I highly doubt it, was the look that Rufus shot him.

"Or perhaps more humane methods," Tseng said blandly. "After all, they are the ones who liberated the world from the tyranny of Shinra."

The explosion of the Mako reactor in Sector 5 has resulted in extensive damage to the surrounding areas…

I calculated the components of that bomb to the T! It wasn't supposed to cause that big an explosion! What went wrong?

…at least 47 people were killed and hundreds more injured, not including reactor staff…

That Avalanche bunch is just as bad as Shinra!

…President Shinra was quoted as calling it "A great tragedy", and vowing to take all measures necessary to eliminate the terrorist group Avalanche…

Cloud shook his head sharply to drive away the ghosts of the past.

I have sinned, the thought sounded, unbidden.

I can't save anyone.

He glanced briefly at Rufus, who met his gaze evenly, but said nothing. With a scowl, Cloud wrenched the Buster Sword's blade out of Tseng's grip, pivoted on a heel, and headed out of the room. His footsteps echoed angrily down the hall.

--

"The Chief sucks." Most people would probably have asked why. And considering it was Rufus Shinra he was talking about, most people would either have agreed emphatically or been utterly appalled.

As it was, Rude just gave him a curious look. Or at least, he assumed it was a curious look behind those dark glasses.

"He's not answering his PHS," Reno complained, looking out over the sun-drenched beach of Costa del Sol.

"You were supposed to call him after we got to the Golden Saucer," Rude pointed out. Reno shrugged, wiggling his toes as a wave splashed over his bare feet and soaked the ends of his trousers.

"He's losing his touch. Forgot to specify a deadline. 'sides, the chopper's malfunctioning."

Of course, that has nothing to do with the fact that you've neglected to get it fixed, was what Rude's raised eyebrow told him.

He shrugged again, pausing to admire the plethora of chicks in their brightly colored bikinis scattered across the sand. "A feast for the eyes", some of the more seedy magazines called it.

Reno called it boring. He had seen better. He saw better every time he looked into the mirror in the morning. This lot… this lot was merely passable. And they were taking up all the available space. A small smirk spread across his features as he turned back to Rude.

"Hey, this beach is too crowded."

"We could go back to the inn," the other Turk suggested.

"But I want a tan. And you need to brush up on yours." There was a sparkle in Reno's eye as he leaned in closer to his partner and entwined his fingers in his tie. Rude simply looked vaguely amused.

"And, of course, we can't tan properly if we're all suited up…"

The beach emptied itself rather quickly after that, except for the curious and the impervious. Someone called the local police complaining about two men and grossly indecent exposure and unnatural intercourse on the beach. Reno didn't mind. The police knew better than to interfere with Turk business.

--

Gentle hands landed on his shoulders, which Rufus hadn't realized were still trembling. He forced himself to relax: taking a deep breath and exerting the iron control that he had learnt a long time ago. Tseng's thumbs moved, idly tracing circles along locked muscles just below the shoulder blades, and with another breath, Rufus could feel the tension draining out of him.

"Are you alright?" Tseng asked.

He tore his gaze from the laptop still clutched between his hands to look up. The Turk was hovering over him, concern etched in his face.

"Fine," he replied shortly, inclining his head at the doorway through which Strife had departed. "Please close the door."

Tseng did as asked, quietly, efficiently, and then returned to his side.

"That was fairly pathetic," Rufus said, running a hand through his bangs.

"It was understandable."

He shook his head. "Phobias and ghosts of the past are perhaps acceptable in people who don't have enemies. But…" his hand came down to trace the bandage around his throat, fingers unconsciously following the line of the scar concealed beneath. "…those who play mind games cannot afford such weaknesses." He sighed, mood flashing from critical to impatient to resigned. And reached up to wrap a hand around Tseng's neck. "Sit down. You're way too tall."

He could never hide anything from Tseng. Not when they were separated by all the miles between Midgar and wherever his father had chosen to exile him to, with only the static filled telephone line to connect them. He certainly couldn't hide anything from Tseng when they were this close, skin to skin, mouths crushed on each other's, or lying limbs entwined, breaths shuddering as their heart beats slowed.

So it was no surprise that Tseng sensed his unspoken apology. Perhaps tasted it in the bitterness on his tongue, or felt it in some discordant break in their rhythm. Perhaps Tseng just knew, in that inexplicable way of his.

"You're thinking of Strife," the Turk murmured softly into his collarbone.

He didn't try to deny it. Tseng propped himself up on his elbows, dark gaze searching his face. "May I ask why?"

Rufus looked away. "I need him on my side. Shinra needs him on its side."

"And for no other reason?"

"None."

"If I may venture a blunt question…"

"You have always had that privilege."

"Do you harbor feelings for him?"

"No."

"And you would…"

The question hung in the air, poised like a double edged sword between both of them. Like a sword, perhaps, that would forever hang between them.

Rufus closed his eyes and sighed. "I would do whatever was necessary."

A hand running through his hair, and Tseng's lips brushing, feather light, across his brow. "I would not have you prostitute your honor for this."

He laughed at that, a short, bitter sound. "We are all whores, Tseng. Didn't the old man tell you that? We sell ourselves out to the highest bidder for whatever they can give us in return. Fame. Money. Influence. Power."

"For the sake of a company?"

"For the sake of the world," he said sharply.

He knew that Tseng didn't understand. Different backgrounds. Different cultures. Different gut level reactions, for all that they had been together for years now. For all that they shared a bed and a life. Tseng might have left Wutai, but Wutai had never quite left him; its concepts of honor and its lure of a simple life unconcerned with the outside world still buried somewhere deep within his heart. Impossible, then, for him to understand a world built around power and money and little else; impossible for him to envision, let alone comprehend, the gut level reaction to consolidate, network, interact… to draw all potential resources to oneself before they became potential enemies.

He needed Strife, hero of the new world… this haunted boy who was far, far more important than he thought he was. The world looked to Cloud Strife for direction and inspiration, sheep looking to their shepherd to point them in the right direction, to tell them what was good and evil… no, to wring those stupid, bigoted concepts from a world in which they did not actually exist. And if Strife declared Shinra Company to be evil and damned it to hell, then the world damned Shinra Company to hell, and Rufus Shinra with it.

And if he went down, so would Tseng, because a Turk's loyalty was absolute.

His shoulder throbbed where the assassin's bullet had found its mark.

This is not merely a fight to rebuilt Shinra Company. This is a fight to survive.

And that much Tseng could understand. Could probably understand better than he could. Survival was paramount. Honor and love were useless luxuries. Impediments. He had abandoned those notions a long time ago.

"I'm sorry," he said again, because Tseng deserved better than this. Because, once upon a time, Rufus Shinra had had his chance, and he had blown it completely. Because Tseng, as well as Rude and Reno and Elena, had said no word of blame, merely picking up the pieces behind him and standing by his side even after his fall from grace.

"No apology necessary," Tseng murmured.

Because damned if he was going to let them down a second time.

-