Uh, hi… I'm in an emo slash angst-y slash 'don't-bug-me-unless-you-want-to-die' mood so… Read on and enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't own FFVII, the Turks, Shin-Ra or anything else like that… Unfortunate I know…
WARNING: suicidal themes, death contemplation… nothing too graphic however… and perhaps a light fatherly moment… between Rufus and Tseng… weird.
ONWARD!
A pale finger twirled around the outside of the water goblet, creating a mournful ringing that vibrated the very air. The glass was raised hesitantly to thin lips, the contents pouring forth slowly onto the awaiting tongue. The food that sat before the drinker on the table remained untouched, cooling steadily.
It had been like that for several days. Rufus had touched nothing but water, and only that when Tseng practically forced it down his throat. The young president refused to touch much else, but the long haired Turk had a feeling that when the blond was alone in his office, he took great advantage of the bar located along one wall. On more than one occasion, Tseng had found empty bottles discarded under the counter, and once or twice, empty sleeping pill bottles. He was starting to fear for the president's health.
"There, happy?" Rufus snapped as he set his goblet back on the table. "I drank some water. May I go now?" he hissed. Tseng shook his head and crossed his arms.
"Sir, you haven't eaten anything in days." The president narrowed his eyes at the Turk.
"That's none of your business. My personal diet is my own problem," he said in a dangerous tone.
"However, your safety is my business. As your bodyguard, I am responsible for your well being, meaning your health. If you do not eat, you will not stay well," Tseng responded in an equally dangerous voice. The two pairs of eyes met for a moment, both narrowed, one in annoyance, one in patient frustration. Why did Rufus have to be so stubborn!
Slowly, oh so very slowly, Rufus reached for his fork. At a painstaking pace, he began to place food in his mouth, chew, and swallow. Tseng released an inward sigh of relief. After a few long moments of silence, the president set aside his utensils and glared up the Turk.
"I ate. Now may I go?" he growled. Tseng nodded and made to clean up the dishes. Rufus threw down the napkin that was on his lap and headed for his private bedroom. Tseng remained in the dining room, clearing away the crockery and cutlery.
Rufus leaned against the bathroom door, sighing heavily. Finally… Finally he had gotten away from the Turk. He had to admit, he was a persistent bastard, but it was his job to keep the president safe.
The young man walked to his sink, resting his hands on either side of it, and looked into the mirror. The poor excuse for a human that looked back at him almost brought a chuckle out of Rufus.
"No where near close enough…" he whispered as he opened the medicine cabinet. With slightly trembling fingers, he reached up and grabbed the nearest pill bottle. He brought it down and glanced at the label.
Painkiller.
Mental or physical pain? Probably physical, just like all the others…
Six-hundred milligram dosage.
That didn't seem like it was enough to Rufus Shinra…
Limit: one every eight hours.
He shrugged kept reading.
Warning: Do not take with alcohol.
The president laughed dryly this. Like Tseng would allow anymore alcohol into the apartment anyway. He'd found the empty scotch and wine bottles under the writing desk and behind the couch. And Rufus being a minor didn't help much. And the bar at his office was starting to diminish as well, something that had never happened before.
Do not exceed recommended dosage. In case of overdose, seek professional help.
That brought a little louder of a laugh out of the young man. 'Professional help.' Did that mean a counselor for being stupid enough to take too many pills, or a doctor for being stupid and taking too many pills? Rufus didn't care. He stuck the pill bottle in his pocket and walked to the toilet. Once there, he took a deep breath, dropped to his knees and stuck his fingers into the back of his throat. Almost instantly, the little food in his stomach swelled up and spilled into the white bowl. He did this repeatedly, until his stomach ached almost beyond his bearing and his mouth, lips and chin burned from the acidic touch of his own bile.
Rufus straightened from the toilet and stumbled back to the sink. He turned the water on and began to wash his face of the vomit before snatching up a toothbrush and toothpaste tube. It took three cycles to rid his mouth of the taste, but he did four just to make sure that Tseng wouldn't detect anything. He then began to comb his hair, hoping that perhaps it would look more natural for him to have spent so long in the bathroom.
When he finally exited the room, Tseng was seated on the couch, reading the newspaper. He looked up over the print when he heard Rufus enter the living room. Being the Turk that he was, he almost instantly noticed the bulge in the president's pocket.
"What have you got there Rufus-sama?" he asked in a monotonous tone. The blonde's pale eyes widened for a moment before he regained himself.
"Just tissues for my room. I've had a bit of a cold you see…" with that he even added a little snuffle to make it seem real. Tseng didn't answer so he figured that the Turk had bought the lie. The older man nodded slightly before turning back to his reading. Rufus gave a silent sigh of relief and headed for his room, wincing at the almost silent, but still audible clink! that his pocket made. Tseng snapped the paper down and stood from the couch, walking to his employer.
"Sir, give me whatever it is that you have. I will not allow you to harm yourself anymore than you have. And purging your body of what little food you have eaten is most defiantly not healthy," he said sternly. Before Rufus could ask how he knew that he had been vomiting, the Turk answered. "You didn't clean the collar of your shirt…"
The president looked at said collar and his face flushed. How could he have forgotten that? As Rufus mentally slapped himself, Tseng used lightning quick hands to reach into the younger man's pocket and pull out the painkillers. He read the bottle quickly and looked to the Shinra, disappointment covering his face.
"Sir…" he murmured. "Rufus…" No -sama at the end of that sentence. "What have you been thinking lately? The empty bottles of wine, not eating, purging an empty stomach… and now this? What's wrong?"
The young man tried to turn away, but Tseng caught his arm.
"Rufus…"
"It's none of your business…"
"Actually, it is… Why have you been doing this to yourself? Acts such as these kill people. You're going to end up dead," the Turk said. Rufus rounded on him, eyes glistening strangely.
"Maybe that's the point!" he practically screamed. "Maybe I don't want to be on this damn Planet anymore! When my father was alive, I was a paper-signing poster boy! Now that he's gone, everyone wants me dead anyway, and those that don't, are only kissing up for the money! Nobody cares whether or not I die!" By this time, tears were starting to stream down his cheeks.
It was then that he saw it. Tseng's gun, in its holster, just inside the Turk's jacket. With fast hands, he grabbed the pistol and held it to his chin.
The tears flowed around the barrel before sliding down his neck. Rufus looked up at Tseng, who had frozen on the spot. He backed away, shaking his head slowly.
"No one cares…" he whispered. The Turk raised a hand.
"Rufus, people do care…" he murmured carefully. This only enraged the young man.
"Liar! No one does! No one knows me for who I am!" he screamed as he backed against a wall. Tseng shook his head.
"I've known you since I was seventeen. You were four. No one knows you better than I do…" He took a hesitant step forward.
"No! Just… Just stay away! Let me be!" the boy screeched. He squeezed his eyes shut. "Forgive me!"
He then pulled the trigger.
Blood splattered the wall, and a white-clad body slumped to the floor. A pool of crimson swam out away from the corpse, staining the carpet. Lifeless eyes stared into nothingness, never to see again, glazed over in death.
Or at least, that's how it should have gone.
Instead, a loud click! echoed through the room. Rufus' eyes widened in surprise and horror as he realized that the magazine to the gun was empty.
"N-no…" he gasped. Tseng stepped forward and pulled the pistol from his fingers. It dropped to the clean floor and a pair of muscled arms wrapped around the thinning president.
"Rufus, no matter what you think, people do care about you… I care about you… Suicide is not the answer..."
The young man suddenly began sobbing again, leaning against the Turk's chest. He stood there for a moment, whimpering out all his worries, strains and responsibilities to Tseng, listing everything on his mind. And the Turk didn't interrupt nor respond except by the gentle stroking of Rufus' hair. It may have only taken minutes, or hours, or an eternity, but when the president finally quieted down, Tseng had lowered him to the couch. In minutes the young man, no, boy, was asleep, finally at peace. It was in that moment that the Turk realized how much was expected of his charge. No one of seventeen should ever be expected of so much…
FIN
Yeah… I had a weird day the other day… I was friggin' suicidal! THANK YOU ROYBOY! I FRIGGIN LOVE YOU!