"It is nice to sit in the front seat for a change."
I flick my eyes briefly in Tuesti's direction, and then return my sight to the street I am guiding the rental car down, scanning my peripheral vision constantly for any sign of danger. It wouldn't do to have my charge injured on my watch, even if I am not officially guarding him and I have already spotted two tails that he has confirmed are WRO security.
"You could sit up front whenever you wanted to, Commissioner," I admonish, stressing his title in the manner I once employed for Rufus when he was young and still adjusting to his growing authority.
"True, but it makes my drivers uncomfortable when I do," he replies breezily, as if stating the obvious.
My grip on the steering wheel tightens, but my voice is devoid of inflection when I tell him, "You coddle your operatives too much. Force them into situations they are uncomfortable with and they will adapt and become comfortable."
"I am aware of that, but I have no wish to make their jobs more difficult than they already are."
"Ever the conscientious public servant. Have you sacrificed everything for the WRO, even deciding on simple choices that you have every right to make?" My tone is caustic and the surge of bitterness that wells up catches me off-guard. I tamp the unwanted sentiment down viciously and quickly amend neutrally, "I'm sorry. That was out of line."
"You do have my permission to speak freely, you know. This is, after all, supposed to be a date."
There is a wry smile in his voice and I want to turn towards him fully to read his body language, taking notice that he makes no attempt to deny my accusation with his gentle chiding, but I hit the turn signal instead and ease the vehicle around the corner of an intersection. I have little doubt that he regrets accompanying me now, as a torrent of excuses for why he could not go to dinner had started tumbling from his mouth back in his office until I firmly took his arm, pulled him up out of his chair, and escorted him to the underground garage of the complex. I am still in my standard blue suit and he in his long, zippered trench coat. Hardly romantic attire, but I had not been willing to risk his refusal or subsequent evasion had I managed to secure his agreement to a rescheduling.
Coercion is not a good start to any kind of relationship, except those based on fear and mistrust. Is this absolutely necessary or am I letting impatience override prudence?
I am not able to accurately judge the best course of action to follow because it has finally dawned on me that I don't know the man well at all, merely the surface facts that are readily available to anyone with access to the internet. I can list where he grew up, where he has ever lived, every member of his family going back several generations, his extensive record of various technical degrees, the occupations he has held, but I cannot name a single thing as straightforward and casual as what he likes to eat or the music he prefers, nor the type of books he might enjoy reading for pleasure and not knowledge.
"What is your favorite food?" I ask and wince slightly at the banality of the question, but I fail to think of another way to begin the process of learning who he is as a person underneath his projected façade.
"I have many."
"Such as?" I press when he doesn't elaborate, unsure on whether he is deflecting or believes it an idle inquiry that doesn't require any further explanation. "And you're allowed to speak freely, too."
He chuckles quietly and I can see the drumming pattern of his fingertips on his chin from the corner of my eye. "Am I? Hmm… The Bagnadrana Stew of North Corel is delicious and has such a unique array of spices I couldn't even begin to describe the taste. There is a small diner in Icicle Inn that serves…"
I let his cultured cadence wash over me and memorize the dishes he mentions, which seem to flow endlessly from him, and if I had any uncertainty regarding his loneliness, it has vanished at the guileless joy he exhibits. I find myself wondering how long it has been since he last spoke of his personal interests to someone else. When I pull into the parking lot of the restaurant, he cuts off midsentence in his indulgent recollections of the food he has eaten, along with greater details about the places it was served at, which he had started adding once I began making quiet wordless cues of encouragement. The location he had suggested is nearly the entire length of Edge away from the headquarters, and I have the suspicion it was selected strictly because of its distance, with much of his previous reasoning for canceling centering on that fact.
I find a space, park, and then turn off the engine. After a brief scan of our surroundings, I direct my gaze to Tuesti, who is staring back at me with nonchalance. "I'm going to inspect the lot and walkway to the entrance. Wait here."
"Of course," he concedes with no hint of argument, and then murmurs the next under his breath, but my hearing is excellent and I can make out the words. "You probably wanted to throw yourself out the window listening to my inane chatter."
"No, I like listening to you talk," I reply and immediately exit the car.
Once I am satisfied that the area is secure, I approach within view of the Commissioner in the shadowy interior of the vehicle and beckon for him join me, my eyes sweeping the rooftops of the buildings around us as he does. If it bothers him that I am on alert, he gives no indication of it and we do not converse while we walk side by side at a brisk pace to the double front doors of the modest eatery.
Upon entering, one of his earlier objections is proven correct in hast. Silence ripples among the booths and tables in a wave, spreading out from where we stand as the patrons become aware of our presence. We endure the blatant stares, he with an amiable smile and I with cool indifference. A visibly nervous waiter steps up to us hesitantly and then begins to lead a trail through the aisles after receiving my request for a two-seater.
"Do you always get this much attention when you go out to eat, Tseng?" Tuesti asks softly.
I huff out an amused breath. "Yes, it is me they are looking at," I say as we arrive at a booth that is decently secluded and I make a mental note to tip the waiter generously.
He gives a considering hum and then a deliberate, probing stare the glides along my face and down the length of my body, before leisurely trailing back up my form to meet my slightly stunned eyes with heated intensity. I am trapped, motionless, beneath the weight of his gaze, but the moment shatters suddenly when he smiles brightly at me and murmurs, "They definitely are."
Cheeky bastard. I'll have to make the tip large enough to bribe the waiter to keep his mouth shut.
My companion for the evening, who has now proven himself to not be above playing my game with a skill that raises my apprehension, slips into his seat, automatically leaving the side offering a wider view of the rest of the building open. The familiarity of the gesture, so similar to the smoothly operating dance of working with my fellow Turks, tightens my jaw. This is only one of many such actions that have happened in a short period, but I am focused inwards enough to register my emotional reaction to the behavior for the first time.
"Was that too forward?" he questions tentatively and I realize that I have remained standing when I glance down at him, my jaw still clenched.
"No," I answer curtly, and then mentally kick myself and sit down across from him while loosening the rigidity of my features.
We order drinks and the waiter scurries off to fetch them. I study the faint traces of wariness behind Tuesti's cheerful countenance and feel a baffling, nearly overwhelming urge to swear to him that he has no reason to fear me, but it would be a lie and I pick up the menu instead.
The conversations from the neighboring tables has resumed to that dull susurrus of overlapping voices and our attempt at small talk in the din is stilted at first, but soon grows into an enjoyable exchange of a less guarded nature. By the time the meals arrive, the Commissioner is speaking animatedly about a drunken escapade of his, and as I have never witnessed the man intoxicated, the story engages my interest far more than I had anticipated.
"And so there I was, completely naked except for Vincent's cloak, staggering about vanquishing imaginary monsters with a makeshift Cerberus fashioned from duct tape and cardboard-"
"Please tell me this was caught on tape."
"And he comes striding in, looking a bit less dramatic without his cloak, I must say, with murder in his eyes. Someone with a sense of self-preservation would have ran, as Yuffie did immediately, but I tripped over a bar stool and sat there on the floor giggling like a madman. Giggling! That was the exact moment any respect he held for me died," he finishes the tale with a decisive nod and a sip of his water.
"That's not true," I insist mildly after a brief span of silent contemplation.
"I swear it is, every word of it! Unfortunately."
"No, that Valentine lost all respect for you."
He clears his throat uncomfortably and shrugs. "Perhaps, but I think he is still traumatized to this day at discovering that I was wearing his cape without a stitch of clothing underneath."
We lock eyes for a few beats and then break into laughing mutual glee, and although the low rumbling issuing from my chest has a rough, disused quality to it that is almost painful, the sincerity in the outburst of mirth is refreshing.
"My new goal in life is to get you drunk."
"No, oh no, you will never get me drunk. Ever. Over my dead body," he states with finality.
"Over your dead naked body?" I ask absently, and rarely have I wished to shove words back into my mouth more fiercely than I do right then. I rush on to explain, "I didn't mean that. I don't know why I said that. I shouldn't have said that. Pretend I didn't say that."
The nonplussed look that had stolen over his face begins to crumble and he covers his eyes with a hand. His voice is strained as he says, "I'm happy to hear you didn't mean that. I try to be understanding of… proclivities, but I draw a line at necrophilia." And then laughter crawls up out of him in a hearty eruption that causes nearby heads to turn.
I scoff lightly and take bites of my food, watching the storm across from me lessen into chuckles before fading into hiccupping breaths. He calmly and neatly wipes his streaming eyes with a napkin, places his elbows on the table, and then abruptly drops his head into his hands.
"Reeve?" I address him sharply, alarmed in spite of myself.
"Hmm?"
"Are you alright?"
"Yes," he responds but shakes his head 'no' at the same time.
I wait, thoroughly confused now, and eventually he lifts his head from his hands and rests his chin to be cradled in his palms instead, sparkling brown eyes canting up to meet my own. With his uncharacteristically ruffled hair and reddened cheeks, the only description that easily comes to mind is 'adorable', but I force it away impatiently, because there is much more on display here, flickering emotions shifting too rapidly to be read.
His expression settles somewhere between wistful and pleased, and he asks, "Do you believe you will ever find happiness?"
"No." That at least is a simple question to answer, if nonsensical.
He nods as though I have uttered a profound secret and not merely an inevitable truth of life. "I don't think I will, either." His gaze is distant and dreamy for a moment, before focusing back on me. "But this is pretty close, isn't it? Sharing laughter and a good meal with a friend?"
I don't like the look in his eyes, but I agree. I then pose the question I had been searching the right opportunity for, and this seems the closest I will get, "Let's do this again soon?"
He hums in that affirmative way he is fond of and quirks his lips up at one corner in a crooked smile, before replying in a tone dripping with unmistakable insinuation, "I plan to do many things with you soon, Tseng."
It is my turn to swallow hard and return his stare, which is now direct, confident, and more than a little wicked.
Just exactly who is manipulating who here?
(A/N: Yes… YES. MUAHAHAHA- The revisions are coming easier now, but they're likely just the first of many, as I am never, EVER satisfied with anything I write.)
