"You're exaggerating." I purse my lips and frown at him in mild disapproval.

"I wish," he replies indifferently and then tilts his head towards the bar at the back of the room. "Would you care for something to drink?"

With a quick shake of my own in the negative, I otherwise ignore his frivolous question. "Tell me why your conclusion on the condition of the organization is so extreme."

"I assure you, it is not extreme. If anything, it is an understatement for the current state of affairs." He crosses his legs and begins to tap the fingers of one hand on his knee. The pattern of the quick movements seems vaguely familiar and I suspect it might be to the beat of a popular song, but I rarely keep up with music and fail to place it.

When it becomes obvious he is not planning to say anything further, I sigh. "Am I going to have to drag every bit of information from you?"

"You are distracting and I find that… my mind wanders when you're around," he murmurs absently, almost as if to himself.

"Please, I thought we were past that. Save your lies. There are more important matters to discuss."

"Why are you single? You're really very beautiful."

I mentally count to ten, and then growl out, "Tell me what is going on with the WRO."

"You are no doubt aware that any leader in a position of power such as my own is subjected to assassination attempts."

"Of course."

"Well, I have been receiving more than my fair share for quite some time, and I am beginning to believe I won't be able to successfully avoid an untimely end much longer," he says with simple aplomb.

The steady exhalations of our breaths are the only sounds I can detect in the room as I consider his words carefully, before responding, "I will have a secure location made ready for you. It won't take long."

"No."

"Commissioner-"

"No, I will not hide, and that is final."

"You're a fool."

He chuckles. "Probably, but I have been taking measures to ensure, as much as I am capable of, that the transition isn't too rocky."

"You call your death a 'transition'? And you won't take solid action to prevent it? Are you suicidal?" I can't keep the accusatory astonishment out of my voice. Even in my darkest meditations about the possible psychology of the man, that he might be fatally self-destructive had never occurred to me.

"I have been taking solid action to prevent it." The censor in his tone is unmistakable. "Everything I can possibly think of, except for leaving."

"Your pride is not worth dying over, Sir."

"It is not-" He breaks off and groans in annoyance, bringing a hand up to cover his eyes and rub at his temples in a slow circular motion. "There is little point in trying to convince you of my reasons, but my staying here is nonnegotiable. Believe what you will, but stop arguing and help me."

I want to keep arguing, but I recognize that I would get nowhere at the moment. Waiting for when he is more susceptible to persuasion is a better choice, and I start plotting potential methods, not excluding outright abduction.

He blows out an exasperated huff of air, rolls his eyes up to the ceiling in apparent beseechment of the deities, and then refocuses on me. "You can try to have me kidnapped, but if my attention is diverted by having to dodge you on top of what I already have on my plate…"

"Fine."

"Will you swear it?"

"Would you believe me?"

"Touché."

Willing to temporarily entertain other techniques, I ask, "What about your Reeve-alikes? Have they lost their effectiveness as decoys?"

"'Reeve-alikes'?!" he exclaims in evident delight. "You call my robotic body doubles that?"

"It's less of a mouthful than 'robotic body doubles'."

"Pity. I was hoping you enjoyed mouthfuls."

My expression becomes pained and I glare at him. "You need to get laid."

"I can't argue with you there. Are you going to help me out with that problem, too?" He presses an index finger to his lips and his eyes twinkle with far too much merriness.

"I haven't decided yet," I answer truthfully. There is something about his seemingly infinite deceit that prompts me to be more honest than I normally would be.

"Would you really enjoy it? Are you attracted to men?" He appears genuinely interested in how I respond.

"Gender doesn't matter to me."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"I don't find men unattractive."

"That still doesn't answer the question. Have you ever been with another man?"

"Have you?" I snap back, irritated by this inane interrogation.

"No, but I find the prospect intriguing."

"I don't believe you haven't."

"We've been over this. If you are going to accuse me of lying every time I open my mouth-"

I interrupt with, "You do lie every time you open your mouth."

"That was uncalled for. I'll have you know it's actually very difficult to tell a lie with every breath. I've played that game with Yuffie and I usually lose."

"This is ridiculous. Your robotic body doubles?" I inquire to change the subject back to the important issue at hand.

"Are being summarily executed at an alarming rate, and after I was unable to recover the remains of one, the detection of my real self has increased exponentially."

"Ah…" I trail off, my mind immediately spinning with rapid thoughts at the implications of his disturbing revelation, momentarily rendering me speechless, and my unease climbs sharply.

"Yes, 'ah', indeed. I have been working on improving their flesh and blood characteristics, including using actual flesh and blood, but I am only one person and the technology is already far more advanced than anything else that exists, so it is all experimental. Experimentation takes time."

"Time you don't have."

"Correct."

Silence falls over us as we both fall into thought.

"Have you had any luck determining motive?" I ask, not expecting an affirmative reply but wanting to hear his deduction.

"No, but there has been little attempt to destabilize the WRO, itself, so I lean more towards a coup over its destruction being the goal."

"So you've been keeping an eye on your nearest and dearest then?"

"I don't have any 'nearest and dearest'." I give him a flatly eloquent look at this, and he tacks on with absolute confidence, "They wouldn't."

I make a mental note to contact the bureau immediately after the conclusion of the conversation with the Commissioner and have surveillance increased on AVALANCHE. "And the measures you have taken in case of a transition?"

"Not here."

"Then where?"

He shakes his head repeatedly as he speaks, "I don't know. I wish I did, but I don't." With a sudden laugh bearing no amusement, he thrusts his hands into his hair and curls them into fists around the strands, a frantically frustrated gesture I have never seen from him before. "I am in way over my head, Tseng." The gaze he directs at me is pleading. "Honestly."

So am I.


Tuesti had excused himself shortly after his admission, and I had left the headquarters to conduct further investigation about the missing Materia and to cast out more nets to catch even the slightest whiff of discontent regarding the organization. It is impossible, with how many would have to be involved, for there to be nothing out there to find. People always talk. The only sure way to prevent slips is to dispose of all witnesses and there have been no recent mass disappearances.

It has to be someone regarded with unshakable and widespread loyalty, and if he wasn't the target, he is the only one I would suspect was capable of this.

It is now late in the evening, and I stand outside the door to the residence of the man currently occupying my thoughts, pressing the intercom button repeatedly, as the first several polite pushes and waits had garnered no response. I am certain he is home; the intercom is also linked to forward to the countless personal communication devices he possesses. He would be able to respond no matter where he is, and I don't like to be ignored.

Finally, his voice issues from the speaker on the wall next to the door with a terse, "Go away."

I press and hold the button, replying, "I'm not going anywhere. We can do this the easy way or the hard way, which may possibly include explosives but definitely very angry, very nosy neighbors."

The door wrenches open and the sight I am greeted with makes me seriously question the wisdom of my decision to seek him out here. He is utterly disheveled, likely more so than he was right before he answered my summons, wearing a pale blue shirt that is only half-buttoned and framing a delicately toned chest with a dark fan of hair over the pectoral muscles that leads down his sternum to his waist. A trail I am following involuntarily with my eyes and I jerk them up to his face, which is of course smug.

"You didn't ask if I found you attractive," I murmur softly and his expression briefly flashes with uncertainty before he steps back and presents a sweeping motion with his arm to beckon me in.

He closes the door behind us and I study the interior of his living room intently. It is modest in terms of space and decoration, the furniture I deem to be of the plain Gongagain style, with a smattering of potted plants and small sculptures spread about on various surfaces. The main draw, which is likely the same in each of the outward facing apartments of the building, is the floor to ceiling window that takes up the entirety of one wall and offers a breathtaking view of the city. I walk up to the glass and look out at the sprawling glitter of lights and sharp angles unfolding into the horizon, and against my will, I am awed, but not because of the beauty.

He built this. All of this. Maybe not with his bare hands, but in every way that matters, he built it.

After several minutes of consideration of both the vista and the recent past, which causes bittersweet passion to well up within me, I deliberately pull my darkened gaze from Edge and direct my attention unerringly at its creator. The strength and nature of what I am feeling must be plainly visible, judging by Tuesti's reaction. His eyes are wide, staring at me as though he has been struck, and the lost, drowning hunger that radiates from him speeds my pulse. I take a measured, predatory step towards him and he immediately backpedals before turning away, his shoulders hunching defensively.

Is this really an act? Is he really that good? Does it even matter?

"Don't do that." I barely recognize the husky rumble that emerges from my own throat, so long has it been since I last heard it.

He is buttoning up his shirt. He should NOT be buttoning up his shirt.

He breathes deeply, seeming to steel himself, and then faces me again with an apologetic quirk to his lips. "I am sorry for giving you the wrong impression."

"'Wrong impression'?" I grind out and take another tense step forward, which he mirrors with a step back. "There is no wrong impression here."

Running a hand through his tousled hair, appearing more attractive than he has any right to in his rumpled, informal attire, he looks at me with contrite embarrassment. "I didn't think you would actually be interested."

"You thought wrong."

"I see that now." He holds his hands up, palms facing outward in a placating manner. "And I am sorry. I…" His eyes jump away, to the ground, to the sides, furtively, and then focus back on me. "I don't want… a physical entanglement." A short pause and he continues, "With anyone. It has nothing to do with you, Tseng. It is… something I can't afford right now, and… I don't think you can, either."

I am briefly thunderstruck by the claim, but the confusion is quickly replaced with anger and I embrace it. "Don't you dare presume to speak for me, Tuesti," I threaten with a growl to my words and stalk towards him, gratified when he retreats swiftly and collides hard with the wall behind him, flinching from the impact. I am able to loom over him aggressively, even though my height is not much greater than his, as he shrinks back further in response to my fury.

"Please don't," he sighs out scarcely above a whisper as he stares up at me, but the fear I expected to see is not present in his expression.

I reach up and trace my fingertips along his jaw with deceptively gentle pressure, lightly teasing the roughness of his facial hair, watching his eyes slide close with pleasure, and then I grab his chin forcefully and squeeze until he makes a soft, pained noise.

I want… I want…

I release him abruptly and back up several paces, my chest heaving with harsh breaths while I search franticly for control inside of myself. I find it, tenuous but there, and my voice holds a believable facsimile of steadiness when I say, "I didn't come here for this. Compose yourself and then we'll talk."

He remains slumped against the wall, but the punch-drunk glaze over his features gradually clears as his blinks owlishly at me. He struggles and fails to speak a few times, before managing a faint, "Alright."