a&n
Don't worry, there IS some sex in these 9000 words to alleviate the droning narrative. :D Here's to those who've still got an eye on this story! I'm writing essentially because my mind is too full of crap these days so I have to splay it out somewhere, and somehow these lovely characters manage to develop and make sense of my own thoughts much better than I can. Ever wondered how weird that is? You're writing a dialog, and suddenly you realise it's become more like automatic writing than an actual fictional dialog between two well-defined characters. Anyway, all that to say I'm not really privileging speed when it comes to the narrative or the actual updates. Still, if you think it's dragging on too much, tell me - the next chapter is going to be a huge explosion of action anyway, but it won't really have much of an effect if everyone's gotten catatonic by then.
About the updates, I know I'm anything but consistant and I'd like to apologize for that, but, well you've gotten used to that haven't you, if you're still here? ;) Bless you if you are! Your words, attention, and simple presence here mean alot to me. :)
• 7 •
Zack stared around himself at the heartwrenching spectacle of the city being torn apart. The wind combed through the flames that exploded through the roofs, pulled down the magnificent carved pillars, cracked through the cores of the great ageless trees. He was with the group of First Class who had been sent in to assess the state of the reputed city, and he'd sent some of his friends up to the Pagoda to see if any men of state had lingered- they had decimated the troops that had bravely stood against them and now the streets were full of a hollow despair. ShinRa had set loose their manufactured hounds of war and there was an absurd ringing of screams and crackling flames and artillery in the air… he stooped to scrape at the delicate lace that had been melted into the wooden debris that lay at his feet. This was a massacre.
"Zack! Zack! Hey!"
Heavy clunking steps approached; backpacks laden with resources, shoulders slung over with glittering ropes of now-useless ammo, three of the guys who'd gone up to the Pagoda were making their way towards him. There was a whole string of Wutains behind them, tied together, heads down.
"Seems we ran into a few of their officials up there," one of them told him as they met in a crossroads, standing there amid the random crates and bodies and filthy rubble. "We're guarding the Pagoda till the general officers arrive to properly secure the place for the whole treaty business. No escape possible."
Zack nodded, then gestured towards the grim-looking, blood-spattered Wutains. "Where are you taking those?"
"We're not sure where we'll be holding the prisoners of war for now; we're taking them to base. Man, I hope this doesn't take long; these bastards are feisty." The Soldier's face was bruised and covered in a sticky mess of blood and ash; Zack nodded again, folding his arms and stepping aside so that they could continue down the road.
"Alright, good luck containing them."
"Hah!" The rugged Soldier slapped him on his pauldron as he went passed. Zack watched them go, trying to look into the face of each Wutain out of sheer morbid curiosity as they walked past him. Surprisingly, there were mostly women- though their rough hands and set faces made his surprise trickle away. He could only wonder at what was going through these hardened women's minds… then a face caught him off guard- she couldn't be over twenty! His lips parted slightly as he watched her walk past him, face as white as bone, dark eyes downcast as she passed him. Somehow he couldn't stop himself; intrigue gnawed at his self-control, and he reached out to her, albeit a little hesitantly.
Her eyes flickered up to his, a white disturbance in the foggy black of her gaze. Crisis, she could've turned him to stone with that look.
"Hey – hey, what are you doing, bringing teenage girls to base? Look at this one!" he called out to his comrades. They scoffed without even turning back to acknowledge him.
"That's your manhood talking, Zack. Just wait till she rolls grenades in your bed and kisses you with a mouth full of safety pins – then we'll see how eager you'll be."
"Aw, come on. I just wanted to interrogate her," he insisted.
"Zack Fair, if you really want to die, come down to base when she'll be properly settled in. You're no match for these Wutain girls, trust me."
Zack smiled to himself, before taking off down another road. He had to find his superiors; find out the exact situation. And, he wanted to see if Sephiroth had actually gotten dirty at all – he would really hate to see the man win their bet, especially as he hadn't had the chance to shave and there was still ash all over him.
• •
The General couldn't be approached till three days later; the Wutain city was occupied but the war wasn't over, so neither he nor the other officers could possibly laze around like the platoon that had been assigned to guard the city.
More and more Wutains were hauled in and kept as prisoners; lieutenants came to report about the situation on the outer plains and quite predictably ShinRa was raking in the victories. Soldiers would stroll by the city and replenish themselves before going back to fight; and when Zack recognized several of Sephiroth's 'veteran' platoon on that third day, he couldn't repress a smile.
He only found the man when night had fallen; the candlelight glowed with a warm persistence from inside the windows of Wutai's most frequented restaurant, and after a day of asking around for news and drinking with some fellow soldiers, Zack decided that if he didn't find the General in there, he'd look for a comfortable cot somewhere and snore away the hours.
As soon as he pushed open the doors, it couldn't have been plainer that the elite had invaded the place; there was much less noise, and an elegant odour was in the air, wafting lazily in great grey coils. It took away the shine of the gold that lined the tables and looped artfully in different depictions on the walls; though it intensified the red atmosphere given by the painted tables, tasselled cushions and expensive rosewood panelling… He inhaled greedily, feeling his lungs expand so much he half-expected them to swallow up his ribs. There was a mane of silver hair over by the far counter, dark limbs perched on a high stool, trench coat discarded; it was suffocatingly hot in here. Zack made his way between the low tables, stealing glances at the scarred First Class warriors who sat around beautifully crafted hookah-like devices, dividing their attention between drinks, sweet smoke, and each other – several noisy groups hooted as he passed, but other than that there was some kind of meditative mood in the air, permeated with a drug-induced serenity.
Zack slid onto a stool next to the General, who had his elbows on the counter; fingers of one hand pressed to his lips as he inhaled from a black Wutain cigarette, fingers of the other hand holding up a small frayed book.
"You're looking cheerful, General," the black-haired Soldier greeted his superior, nodding at the Wutain waitress as she looked over at him. Sephiroth exhaled slowly, hand vaguely drifting away from his mouth as if he was aware of nothing else but the images that the scrawled writing evoked in his mind. Zack was about to poke him somewhere inappropriate to get his attention, but it ended up being unnecessary; the General always knows you're there.
"Yes… very cheerful to have found all you First Class mongrels sitting on your backsides waiting for the war to happen." A thumb flicked over to the next page.
"Hey – what were we supposed to do, without orders? Go build bonfires in the mountains?"
Yes, Zack had heard of that. A muscle in the General's jaw seemed to clench. "Still more cheerful at finding that trauma hasn't armed you with a more sophisticated sense of humour," Sephiroth said quiet calmly, still in that detached way as if he couldn't care less about the world outside that little book.
"Trauma? Come on General, you haven't gone soft on me have you?" Zack smiled, receiving the goblet of hot wine from the waitress and cupping it in his hands. "I mean, that's the reason for our upcoming victory, isn't it? Minds of metal."
"And you would openly advertise that?" Sephiroth's eyes flickered upwards though Zack couldn't be quite sure if he'd really seen it; a subtle slither of green beneath a shadowed, silver brow. "I can think of a few specific people who wouldn't appreciate that sort of lack of moral respect."
"Specific people…? Oh, very nice." The tip of Zack's nose disappeared in his cup. "Way to go, telling me not to advertise my lack of moral respect, only to remind me that you frolicked with my woman for one night and now undeniably know her more than I do. Specific people indeed! If that's respect for you, then I apologize for being rude but you should follow your own advice before handing it out like a fucking good Samaritan."
"Don't make me sound like some good-for-nothing adolescent." Sephiroth was almost smiling. He knew that once that Zack found out about that strange night, he'd be looking for an excuse to have a go at his General- it didn't matter what he said, Zack was still going to find some relevance to the whole embarrassing affair. He sighed; justification was necessary if he wanted to keep the evening peaceful. "A woman never shows the same side to the different men she meets. If you're really going to act cheated, then try to consider the fact that I might not know the same Gainsborough that you do- I will never claim to know her better."
Zack stared at him oddly. "Man – you really think your arguments through, don't you? That doesn't change the fact that while I was off trudging in the bleak blackness of drunken stupor, you were with my girl. I don't care if a girl has a fucking personality disorder; you just don't hang around while her significant other is unconscious and sprawling over a nearby couch. It's just – you don't do that."
"It's not a question of personality disorder; it's a question of adaptation."
"No fucking difference. You just don't do that, man."
"Is that an order, Private Fair?" He still looked mildly amused, like he really couldn't give a two-pence for what the other was saying but was indulging in the conversation out of mere politeness.
"Damn right it's an order."
"Well then, when you obtain a higher military rank than me, I think I might just consider it."
"Wh - " The whoosh of compressed air that shot from Zack's lungs swayed a few wayward silver strands. He couldn't believe the nerve of that guy. "Oh, sod off."
"Alright, since you're intent on playing the cheated partner tonight, I'll let you in on something," Sephiroth said, and this time he sounded genuinely enthusiastic. Though there was something rather sadistic about his tone. Zack rolled his eyes, purposefully wedging his elbows on the counter to show he was only mildly interested. "Just to see if it's only me you're afraid of, or if you really doubt Gainsborough's loyalty."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"I was wondering whether or not to tell you, now that there's been a change of plans." The General took a long drag, the bare tips of his fingers pressing against those thin violet lips. He wasn't looking at Zack, but he edged a little closer on the counter, as if to establish some sort of intimacy. "You see, a journalist approached me with disturbing news about rebellion in the Midgar slums… naturally, the Turks were the best choice for an investigation. And your little woman there apparently got quite tangled up in the whole affair…"
Zack was aghast. "What the hell do you mean? You didn't purposefully - ?"
"No, of course not. It seems our flower girl has a knack of finding herself in all the wrong places at the right times."
"Then how do you know what's going on?"
"Well, now that communications are functioning again, I've been able to keep contact with my journalist, who's monitoring the whole affair."
"Call her," Zack barked suddenly, "Call her now. I don't trust you at all."
"Now there's a surprise," Sephiroth smiled that damned jagged mockery of a smile, taking his communications device out of his pocket and handing it to Zack. "If you're lucky you might get some live news."
A finger on the power switch, Zack gave his superior a smouldering glance before clipping the device to his ear.
"This is First Class soldier Zack Fair, comrade of the General. Do you read me?"
• • •
The bloody red petals uncurled among her delicate lilies, stigmata reaching out from the flowers' obscure hearts like the long, trembling feelers of some monstrous insect. They definitely looked out of place in this grubby little church amid her grubby little flowers and weeds, but somehow she liked the contrast; liked how they sprawled over the timid white and yellow of her own flowers in an ambiguous gesture; either protecting or smothering. She ran her fingers along the silky red of the petals, wondering just how further their petals would reach; they were still relatively young.
"They seem to be getting on well."
She turned swiftly, braid sweeping off of her back as she glanced over her shoulder at the figure that was leaning against one of the church pews. Her heart bumped against her ribs fretfully, as it did each time they met; she let the nervousness pull her mouth into a smile as she stood.
"Ryu! You're out late," she stammered, absently crushing the dead flowers that she'd been scooping up.
The figure seemed to inspect his fingers. "Well, I must say I prefer evenings… though you can't really tell in this place."
She sighed, noting the sickly sweet scent that emanated from the crushed flowers and moving towards one of the broken windows to throw them out. "I wish you wouldn't be so harsh on the slums. They have their own beauty, if you look hard enough."
"I suppose I can't help myself when I've lived in a place that is the complete opposite of this one." There was a low sigh. "And when you consider that it's this foul place that is overtaking my beautiful homeland… you have a hard time noticing the small, redeeming aspects."
Aeris looked over at him thoughtfully, before making her way towards the church pew across the aisle from his, head bowed in silence. "You say that, but it's not like you had such a hard time noticing us," she said at length, curling her fingers around the rough pew wood. "The redeemers of Midgar, slithering up from her cruddy pits!"
He smiled. "Indeed… very noticeable."
She forced herself not to fidget as his eyes lingered on her legs, climbing up the buttons of her pink dress, one by one, before coming to the hollow of her throat, brushing past her lips and up to her eyes again in one tantalizing stroke. Her heart stopped its bumping- it had plummeted down and was hiding somewhere in her boots, leaving her to deal with this as she saw fit.
"I thought the Wutain had tact," she said with a raised eyebrow, inwardly applauding herself for the rare steadiness of her voice.
"And I thought the Midgarian weren't so vulnerable." He smiled again, small intake of breath breaking the tension as he let his eyes drop again. "But you mustn't so readily judge what may have been involuntary."
Involuntary, my ass, she wanted to yell at him in the most unladylike manner she could muster, but she checked herself, trying to stay in character according to this new Aeris she'd been trying to construct. He could be pretty creepy sometimes… but she knew he didn't mean anything by it. At least, that's what she told herself. He usually covered up his 'blunders' by politeness, and so she couldn't really tell what he was about- she smiled as she always did, turning aside and stepping down the aisle towards where she'd left her purse and coat.
"So where are we going tonight?"
"The Seventh."
She groaned. "Oh, another night with the collaborators? Why can't you find more women – there's hardly any negotiation or proper exchange when we go. Just all this absurd patriotism."
"Patriotism can be very useful when you're trying to rein entire crowds in to do your dirty business," Ryu smirked, and when she turned to throw a scandalized look at him he waved it off. "I'm just stating a fact. And rebellion is always dirty business, whatever the glorious reasons."
"Well I hope it won't get too dirty," Aeris huffed, "If there's anything the Uplanders are good at, it's negotiation, even if they'll twist their words around."
"Aeris, let's not have this debate again." Ryu was chuckling to himself. "I'm not taking you to a meeting."
"Then why are you taking me out?" She didn't need to ask that question. Her heart was back, pounding rhythms of distress against her ribs and using her lungs as punching bags as she felt her breath shorten.
Those black eyes gnawed away at the effort she was putting in holding his gaze; she felt her eyes falter when those slender lips of his parted.
"Just for a drink- unless you don't want to, of course. I don't scare you that much, do I?"
• •
"Tseng, I don't know if I can carry on with this. Wouldn't it be better if you just put an agent on me? I can't do this – really, I can't."
"Yes, you can. Where are you?"
"In the bathroom at the Seventh Heaven. He wants to spend time with me privately."
"Well, seeing how well-spoken and polite he is, that shouldn't be too much of a hardship."
"Tseng - "
"How did you think this was going to turn out?"
"I thought you meant fond as in, friendship."
"Aeris…" A sigh. "Sometimes I forget how young you are."
"Don't you pull that sometimes I forget crap on me. You could've been clearer!"
"Well I had an idea of how this would turn out, but it wasn't certain. I don't know the guy. What's important is that he gets close enough to you to share important information. I'm telling you, we've got you covered if anything happens."
"If what happens?"
"If he tries to kidnap you, drug you, hurt you in any way."
"And if he molests me?"
"If he's violent, of course."
"And if he's not?"
Silence.
"Okay, I quit."
"Oh no you don't. You must accept the fact that a man would tell his lover anything. But then that's just an option: you're capable enough of pushing away his advances without hurting the bond between you, aren't you?"
"Of course I am."
"Then do it. Tseng out."
"Wait, you damned – wait – "
• • •
"From what Tseng has told me, tonight the Wutain spy isn't at any meeting… he's taking Aeris out to Sector 7, sir. It seems unofficial." The journalist's voice crackled through to Zack's ear, loud enough for Sephiroth to catch what she was saying.
"Then perhaps this is the wrong night to listen in on," he offered almost meekly, lighting a new cigarette.
"You don't fucking say," Zack seethed, hand on the device shaking with rage. "Can you put me online?"
"I'm afraid I can't, sir, not without permission."
Zack looked over at Sephiroth, handing him the device. "Tell her."
The General gazed at him intently, cigarette sending a coil of smoke up in the already hazy air. "No."
"What d'you mean, no? I have a right to know!"
"I decide who has the right to follow this affair. And I'm afraid your reasons, consisting purely of emotional attachment, are insufficient and wholly inappropriate."
"What the fuck do you - " Anger had the better of him; he leapt, leaving the device somewhere on the counter as he pulled Sephiroth to the ground in a clatter of stools and goblets. There was a collective hiss of metal as several elite warriors drew their swords, prepared to break up any violence that might arise; but they stayed their hands when they saw the assaulter and the assaulted. Smirking, they watched to see just how the General was going to deal with this one weak-minded fool.
"You arrogant PIECE OF SHIT - "
Sephiroth was laughing from beneath the enraged youth. "What are you going to do, Private Fair? Beat me to a pulp?"
Several of the elite laughed with him; Zack gave a bestial growl and sent a fist towards the General's lean face. A normal human being would've had their skull smashed inwards under such an impact, but Sephiroth caught the wayward fist and wrenched the entire arm to the side, getting back up and dragging the Soldier up to the counter, slamming him down against the soaked surface with both hands on the youth's collar. White strands wafted down, surrounding them as the General bent over the black-haired rascal, not even panting.
"You had better walk out of here and rethink your priorities," Sephiroth hissed, "Stop holding onto that ridiculous masculine pride of yours and get your head on straight. There are more important things at stake here than your little personal loyalty issues."
"If you think they're so little, why the hell did you go and meddle in them?" Zack hissed right back.
"I wasn't the one who assigned this task to Gainsborough. The Turks did. And you had better keep your mouth shut. I'd expected a reaction, but not one so infantile and dangerous to the secrecy we want to keep." His fingers tightened on the rough cloth of Zack's collar and he lifted the youth up a little from the counter so that their noses were almost touching. "Can I trust you, Private Fair?"
Zack would've wanted to rip the man's goddamn jaw right off right then and there to stop the flow of snide remarks, but that 'infantile' comment seemed to melt over his rage and crystallize it, making it seem like he was containing himself when his anger had only dropped from the surface and was now glowing coldly in some dark pit of his being. He nodded, glaring into the General's grave eyes, before being dropped rather rudely back down on the counter – he got himself together and marched out of the restaurant without further ado, feeling a blind fury climbing up his spine and crawling along the bones of his hands.
Just because he wasn't such a goddamned intellectual as the General didn't mean he couldn't understand all the facets of a given situation. He was so sick of there being 'more important things at stake'; he was sick of all the categorizing, of how every little thing that happened to him or that he reacted to had to be classified according to their importance in everyone else's eyes – whose job was that, anyway, to decide what to prioritize? If he'd been given a choice he would've flagged down a helicopter straight away and flown back to Midgar to kill the sodding fool who clearly was up to no good, instead of just hanging back and watching him, watching as he rallied all the slums and seduced all the good women. What was he saying – there was only one good woman in the slums, and she was his to protect. Or had been his.
His fist sailed to a nearby wall and broke away a chunk of bricks; passing Wutains and Soldiers looked at him oddly, and he turned a corner partly to get away from them, partly to stop himself from pouncing on the nearest Wutain man and gouging out his eyes. Gods. Gods.
His hands were shaking. He couldn't even think. He could only imagine the flawless white of Aeris' body, the dark moles here and there amidst the snowy plains of skin, and how strange hands would soon be travelling down the paths that he knew so well…
He sat down on some debris of a house, hands still trembling as he fumbled for a cigarette. He couldn't believe this. Even if he knew he'd told Aeris that she shouldn't count on his loyalty, he never expected to be so unsure about hers. There was the old 'you get what you give' phrase circling in his mind as he pondered the ridiculous irony of this situation; his eyes glanced blankly off of the mutilated bodies that people were dragging off the streets, his heart only capable of aching for what was close to him. Maybe he was a man of no morals who expected everything of others, whilst purposefully living up to no one's expectations. Or maybe he was just a selfish bastard? That seemed plausible.
Blue silk was in the corner of his eye, and when he looked up the sunlight fragmented in his eyes – he squinted, taking a drag as he held up a hand to shield his gaze. There was a woman standing on the ruined veranda of the house on the other side of the street from him, lithe form hugging the last standing pillar like a blue caterpillar clutching to a last living stem. She had an unkempt look about her, like royalty stripped of all dignity and cast down into the ashes with the rest of the populace. Her long hair tumbled way past her shoulders, cutting her flesh into pale diamonds and squares, and when she looked out at him it was from behind a tangle of windblown strands. Those eyes… fierce as any solitary being who has known everything and been sundered from their old, cherished life.
His cigarette left his lips.
• • •
A man will say anything to his lover.
Is it mentally possible to force wantonness onto yourself? To create the state of abandon and push yourself into it? Aeris seemed to be searching for the answers on the blue-lit paving stones that they trod side by side, hands deep in their pockets, breaths foggy before their faces. She hated chopping herself up like this, analysing which facets she could allow herself to show, holding back those that were inappropriate… not to mention all this tedious business seemed to be half-unconscious, so she was deathly afraid that she might stay in this state of analysis-paralysis even when being around people she was usually comfortable with, like her mother, or her friends… or Zack… or the General… well, not really him. That had just been a one-time thing, and she'd been half-drunk anyway so there was no way of knowing if her actions had been in accordance to her natural personality.
But… what was natural, for her? It was becoming harder and harder for her to perceive just what came to her naturally, and what had become habit or automatism. Self-conditioning. She shivered. Was there even a difference? Was it because of these long, tiring days of trying to adapt herself as best she could to this strange man of the like she'd never encountered before; or had she always been teetering on the edges of different kinds of personalities, always unsure as to which to definitively pick?
"Your thoughts are starting to churn a fog into the air," smiled the Wutain at her side. "Look up; we've arrived."
They'd strolled out of the Seventh Heaven somewhere around 3am, and whilst he seemed to be still perfectly conscious, she was far from it – her heels scraped at the cracks between the paving stones, shoulders swaying a little as she let her thoughts run, eyes always on the ground.
What was so hard about this, anyway? She smiled over at her companion, wondering if he was just as deceitful as she was; she wondered how it would affect a double-agent to meet another. It would certainly prove quite ridiculous if he had other plans, too.
She watched her own arm loop itself around his elbow, following the movement and leaning against him a little. To hell with plans. Why couldn't she make some of her own? What was stopping her, really; if the Turks were even bothering to stick their noses into this it probably meant it was important business, and that these were forces to be reckoned with. Should she really fear the threat of captivity, after all, if she chose her own side?
Still quite unsure as to whether or not these thoughts issued from a conscious, rational part of her mind, she still found herself weighing the pros and cons while Ryu stood beside her, fumbling for his keys with his free hand.
"Can I say something?"
She snapped back to life, eyes flicking up to his from beneath her smoky lashes.
"Of course!" She gave a tired laugh, "I'm sorry, I don't usually stay up so late." Well, without counting the recent days, though it wasn't like she'd gotten used to it yet.
The Wutain's strangely puckered lips stretched into another of his appreciable though utterly neutral smiles.
"I was wondering," said he as he inserted the key in the lock of his front door. "Where do your roots lie? Are you really… how to say it… a pure-blooded slum girl?"
"Pure-blood slum-dweller!" She laughed. "Now there's a noble title for such a raggedy band as us. But why do you ask?"
They crossed the threshold, Ryu's hand coming up to flick the lights on just inside the entrance.
"Your way of being… of talking. Your opinions. There's some underlying thing that doesn't feel native to me, if you get my meaning." His eyes were vague as he sought the right words to nail his impressions; he stood with his back to her in the small kitchen they'd just entered, automatically going to a specific cupboard. "What will you be having?"
"Oh – you mean dinner?"
"I have rice, some canned vegetables, buckwheat pancakes…"
"Uh… it's… 3 o'clock in the morning?"
He looked over his shoulder at her with a mischievous grin. "Ah. Yes. You mustn't be accustomed to late meals. Beverage, then!"
"Ah - " She sighed. "Frankly I'd rather have pancakes than wine." Pancakes don't twist your mind up and set loose your tongue and wipe away your consciousness; and she definitely needed complete control on those things tonight.
So when they were comfortably seated at either side of the tiny round table, she gathered her mind and went back to the first question he'd asked.
"I'm not a native here, you guessed right," she said between mouthfuls, half pondering if he really didn't know her origins or if he was only trying to trick her into lying about herself in order to see where her allegiances lay. She felt herself mentally drooping as she cast around for a neutral answer, hating this uncertainty all the more. "But my roots have shrivelled. I've lived here most of my life precisely because there's nowhere I can go back to."
"How sad," the Wutain put in, though judging from the queer glint in his eyes, he seemed to be keeping his main impressions to himself. "So you have no kin?"
"I don't need kin," Aeris said quite confidently, having thought the matter over many times when the loneliness would become acute. "Blood means nothing to me." Heritage, however, meant the world to her. But it wasn't like she was going to spout, 'Doesn't matter, I can speak to the Planet! Isn't that jolly.'
"So you would give the importance of a blood-brother to any man with whom you'd bond?"
"I don't think so," Aeris smiled, cheeks plump with mushrooms and pancake. "To a woman, the importance of a blood-sister, maybe. But to a man… I don't know. Down here there's always a second side to the relationship when you befriend a man."
"What do you mean?"
She gave him an exasperated look; she knew he understood perfectly well, he just wanted to make her say it. "I mean a blatantly sexual side that they can't hide even when they swear that friendship is all that's intense between you."
His eyes sparked. "I'm sure that sort of thing can be controlled."
"You mean, you actually believe that every woman has enough authority to control a man's lust?" She scoffed. "I don't think so. It's more a question of trying very hard to ignore the man's unconscious reactions to you."
"What about the conscious reactions?" He was plainly having fun, here.
"What, you mean like when you very conspicuously sweep your eyes up and down someone?" He grinned as she spoke, knowing very well to what she was referring. "Well, that depends on the man, if he's willing to keep his eyes and hands to himself." She swallowed her pancakes a little nervously. "Lovely, these."
"So you attest to having no control over a masculine partner if he so decides to take advantage of you," Ryu summarized, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms with an expression of purely childish amusement.
"Just as you would have no control over a feminine partner," she shot back, mirroring him and leaning back in her chair.
"Oh? Are the women so savage down here?"
"You have no idea," she grinned while her mind whirred, hardly keeping up with the words she was letting out. "That's probably why you weren't so hasty in rallying the women to you, after the men."
"Oh, I'm content in rallying those I wish to me," he told her, eyes never leaving hers. "And women are less eager to cooperate... they always need a deeper reason to indulge in something."
"A deeper reason, huh?" Ka-thump, went her heart behind her casual words.
"Yes." His eyes sparked again. "I'm sure you know what I mean."
• • •
It was like murder, only very drawn-out and rather more pleasurable than what Death was thought to be like. Her nails dragged down his flesh, carving lines and coils of dark pink along the rugged skin – legs hooked around his waist, she pulled him down to her like a spider, lips catching his in a stinging bite, hair tumbling over them both like so many threads of a dark web. His hands were on her hips, each one curled over the rounded bone as he thrust into her slowly, violently, locking her to him – she uttered no sound, only low breaths, and his lips were hot against her slender throat as he moaned with pleasure, lashes dark against his cheekbones as he let himself fall into the whorls of sensation that opened like a chasm in his body. And then she sank her teeth into the taut muscles of his throat and shoulders, biting down so hard that there was blood trickling from her open mouth over the hard domes of his flesh – without flinching he returned the treatment, and she gave a strangled yelp of pain as he pierced her delicate skin. She hated him, he knew that; this was some strange form of revenge, or suicide, he couldn't tell – nevertheless she was proving to be an adequate companion in self-destruction. His mouth wandered down her collarbone, and he bent his head as he flicked his tongue at the hardened nipple that rose against his chest, taking it between his teeth and hearing her trying to repress another cry of pain or pleasure – there was no longer any difference. It wasn't rape… well, it had started that way, but then their attack had become mutual. In any case it was very, very far from love. It was some delectable species of hate. Revenge. Confusion.
There were tears sliding down her temples, shimmering like jewels in the dim light of her room, and though neither of them could think, they were sharing this absurd pulsation of despair, and his tears mingled with hers as he knocked his forehead against her own again. Hands travelled up her waist, down his back, along her ribs, across his thighs, between their bodies, groping at the sheets around them… everywhere. And he pressed the burning length of his torso against her cold, cold body, and there was a blinding light on the inside of his eyelids as he felt her pulling at the strings of his very soul- something was building, or escaping, he couldn't tell- and then suddenly it was cold because she'd pulled away, only to bring him down on the bed and climb onto him… Her torso unfurled as she bent back, straddling him, and he threw back his head, biting savagely at his own forearm as she pulled him to the brink of consciousness, mind imploding, sensations fizzing in his veins and setting his entire body aflame. She moved against him just as violently as he'd moved against her, grasping his waist and thighs, lips parted and hushed moans seeping between her breaths every now and then. Both their eyes were closed.
And after a few moments she seemed to slow down, leaning over him, hair falling in two dark halves past her shoulders so that her knobbly spine emerged from her back as she curled over his heaving chest. Her hands came up to his face, grasping his jaw and turning his head so that he faced her. She was… looking at him. Her hips stilled, thighs coming to press against his sides as she gazed at him with those deep black eyes.
Long lashes stirring, he let the artificial blue of his eyes seep from beneath his eyelids, not having the energy to open his eyes any wider. He found himself mimicking her, hands coming up to cup her shadowy face – their lips met, blood and sweat and tears mingling in a salty cocktail as they bit and pressed and pinched and nipped at each other. Then that, too, became slower and less violent, even tender, and she took his lower lip into her mouth as languidly as any lover would; he broke the kiss, looking up at her and realizing finally that she was not a being of unadulterated hatred as he'd deluded himself into thinking. She sat up again and he followed her movements with his eyes, taking in how the light glanced off her slight bosom and trickled down the line that divided her abdominal muscles; how the black of her hair framed the bruised white wonder of her body. And she slipped off of him, sitting on the edge of the bed and reaching down to the floor – there was a sound of snapping wood, and he heaved himself up onto his elbows, watching as she straightened again, a nude beauty in the dim light. There was something dark in her hand; when she turned around he saw that she bore an orb of black light in her hand, abstract tendrils of magic wafting from its centre.
It was materia, the kind that allowed you to deal death on the weak.
She looked down at him with a grave expression, shifting so that she sat against his thigh. And then she offered the orb to him.
He stared at her, brow creased in a frown, mind still recovering as he continued to consider that perhaps her own individuality was just as complex as his (probably more so). There was suddenly something very real about the whole notion of self-destruction; granted, there was nothing more appropriate in this situation than an exit such as the one she was offering. But it was ridiculous to consider doing it to her… just - just like that. He took in the black orb, and considered. Tried to think of her position past his own wretchedness. Tried to realize just how serious she'd been in their insane embrace. Tried to realize… just how very real she was.
He found himself shaking his head.
She frowned at him, taking his wrist and pressing the orb into his palm; it was cold and heavy, dreadful to behold, and he knew he shouldn't have accepted it but by now he was too numb to act on any impulse or moral reflex. This was a different situation; she had an alien mind, in comparison with his, and he couldn't apply his own codes to her actions. Which made everything so goddamn complicated and what the hell, he couldn't just do this!
She was gazing at him steadily, and he let the orb roll out of his palm and onto the mattress before reaching out and taking her by the shoulders.
"Why?" he asked her, and though his tone was gentle his eyes were bewildered. "Why?" Why had she lain so passionately with him? Why was she entrusting her own passage to the other world to an enemy? Why was she being so blatantly careless of factions and hatreds? She surely had a dead lover out on the plains, like every woman here. So why…?
She wouldn't speak. She only gave him the sort of grin a Reaper would wear upon hearing the pleas of the condemned. Then she reached for the orb, and gave it to him again.
• • •
He woke with a start – the covers fell from his legs where they had been precariously hanging for the past hour, crumpling to the floor and tripping him up when he tried to get up. The phone wouldn't stop ringing. An acute pounding seemed to be knocking a lump into his skull as he groped blindly down the corridor, grumbling to himself - indeed, even men as classy as Tseng could have their dried-drool, static-hair moments.
When he got to his mobile in the living room, he let himself fall into the mushy depths of his sofa and answered without even glancing at who was calling.
"Reno, you're fired," he growled, "I warned you against binge-drinking, so don't come whining to me when you're sober – this is the third time you've deprived me of sleep here. I'm not having it."
There was no answer, only a strange sort of snuffling sound, as though someone was trying to stifle sobs. Tseng opened his eyes a crack, surprised and feeling a little dumb.
"Who is this?"
"You bastard."
His eyes opened wider. "Excuse me?"
"I don't know why I'm calling you," It was a woman's voice, thin and trembling. "But you can rest assured that you won't be hearing from me any more after this."
"Aeris? Is that yo - " Of course, of course. "Where are you? Why are you calling so late?" Early, rather; it was nearing 5am.
"How does it feel, Tseng?" she hissed, plainly ignoring his questions, "How does failure feel to someone like you? Have you ever won anyone's trust, I wonder? And has anyone truly won yours?"
He frowned, before jumping up and going for his bedroom, putting her on loudspeaker. This was not good.
"Aeris - are you alright?" he asked as he rummaged for some clothes.
"Oh, yes, of course," she said in a sing-song voice, "You went offline at 3am, and I can assure you that since then things have been going very smoothly for me. According to your plans, I mean."
His heart plummeted upon hearing that ghastly tone of voice. He'd never heard her speak like this before… if he hadn't recognized her voice, he surely wouldn't have thought this was the girl he knew since childhood.
"What do you mean?"
She sighed, and while she gathered the appropriate words he was locking his apartment door and rushing down to the building's garage.
"I wish I could've kept a diary, all these years," she pondered out loud as he raced down the flights of dimly lit stairs. "It's like putting a lock on your personality, isn't it? Writing your thoughts. Why you choose this over that. Why you allow this, and not that. Why is it that our minds are so fickle? How can we know if we have a hold over them? How can we trust our own actions, when we can't trust ourselves?"
"It's what everyone wonders at your age, and afterwards."
"At my age, not everyone is a bloody double-agent," she snapped. "Do you like how your own mind has developed? Do you sometimes wonder why you've let yourself become such an ass?"
"Not really," Tseng smiled, ducking into his car and turning on the GPS, typing a code that would direct him towards the phone signal. "My mind's adapted to my current situation. That's all that matters."
"Is it really?" He wondered if she could hear the car engine revving; maybe she didn't care as much as she said she did about coming into contact with him after this dreary conversation. "Then again, I'm talking to someone who hasn't had to adapt their minds in order to open their thighs before any given target."
"Oh, it's about that again, is it?" Tseng replied, "And if you're speaking figuratively, I have opened my thighs to a lot of people." He couldn't believe he was saying this – but if it could comfort her… "Everyone who's in a high position has done a bit of mental prostitution, you know."
"Prostitution," she echoed, her voice cracking. "That hurts."
"I did say mental."
"I know." She sighed. "I'm nowhere near a high position, and yet I've done every kind of prostitution there is – and for what? For what?"
There was a slow, pensive intake of breath, followed by an equally languid exhalation.
"I quit, Tseng," she said shakily, "I quit. I don't want to hear from you again. I don't want you to monitor my movements, or keep me safe, or whatever."
"I told you, 'Ris," Tseng said calmly, "You can't quit. Not if you value your life."
"And you can't threaten m- "
"I'm afraid I can," he said almost sadly, "What's the worst thing the authorities can do to me? Fire me, maybe – give me a hefty sum to pay them back. Now, what's the worst thing the scientists can do to you, do you think? ... "
Silence. One thing was certain - he had never felt more wretched.
"Wait for me, don't hang up," he suddenly found himself saying; he was nearing the signal (which was, strangely, coming from the Upper plate), and the silence was going on for too long. She gasped softly on the other end of the line as realization hit her, and he could've slapped himself for the blunder; the connection died quite abruptly just as he came to the train station where she was supposed to be calling him from.
He parked messily near the entrance and ran to the iron-wrought fences; they were closed, and a figure could be seen among the slender rungs of coiling black. He rushed to the lock, found that it wouldn't budge, and then went to the figure on the other side of the fence.
She was leaning against the iron, skinny arms hugging her chest, chin on her collarbone as she kept her eyes on the ground. She was like an apparition; there was no one else around, and the train station seemed queer and unsettling in the darkness.
"Aeris, what the hell are you doing here?"
"I don't know," she whispered, so quietly he had to press himself up against the space she occupied to hear what she was saying.
"Open the gate."
She shook her head.
"…What happened?" He slid his hands between the iron bars and she didn't even flinch when his fingers brushed her shoulders. "Why did you come up?"
"I couldn't stay down there," Aeris sighed, "I couldn't bear it."
"Why?"
She took a breath, and then turned around; he watched as the moonlight trickled down her cheek and along her throat as she moved, fingers like molten silver coming to close around the iron bars just below his. Her eyes were downcast, wisps of hair coming to accentuate the rounded lines of her cheekbones.
"But it's not like being up here is any better," she whispered as though to herself, "I have all the information you need. And I have all the information he needs, concerning ShinRa's security systems, thanks to you and Zack. And I have no idea why I'm telling you this…"
"Shh." He slid his fingers over hers; their faces were so close, on either side of the gate. "It's because you don't know in which direction to go, isn't it?"
She still wouldn't look at him, though her hands didn't budge, snuggled as they were in his warm palms. "Why didn't you just arrest him? Why all this sneaking around and toying with each others' allegiances?"
"Can't you see what I'm doing?" Tseng replied, inching closer so that their foreheads could've touched. "I'm giving ShinRa a reason to consider you as something more than just a runaway specimen. If you help them in this crisis, who knows what freedoms they'll grant you?"
She looked up at him sharply, green eyes stinging him. "And then you say I'm naïve."
"This sort of action has weight, Aeris."
"I don't need a ShinRa-stamped approval to obtain some degree of freedom."
"I'm afraid you will, when I won't be around to protect you any more."
"And when will that be?" she whispered. "Are you tired of all this yet?"
"I'll never be tired of this," he told her in the same hushed voice, "It's up to you."
•
He gazed at her, curled up in his bed as she was, warmed by the light of the morning. The poor thing was clearly sleep-deprived and her reasoning was affected by it, but she never seemed to lose that glaring innocence of hers. He wasn't sure if she was asleep yet; they'd talked of the information that the Wutain spy had given her, and then he'd refused point-blank to let her journey all the way back down when she couldn't even stand properly without swaying like a drunkard.
She stirred when he sat on the edge of the bed, his back to hers.
"What are you going to do now?" Her voice was groggy.
"Well, I would really hate to let the matter go, since it seems pretty extravagant now but it might escalate into something more serious and organized if we give it more time." She'd told him that the Wutain planned to infiltrate the slums with secret exterior troops. "We don't have enough guards to keep an eye on all the Sectors, at the moment. I think the logical solution would be to bargain with the slum-dwellers themselves."
"What, give them guns?" The grogginess of her voice prevented all other emotion from expressing itself in her tone.
"Well, something like that. Promise them a bit of land on the plate, money, well, essentially just bribe them, really – sorry if I sound crude but I'll not dampen terms with you, now that you're in the business." He smiled at how absurd that sounded. Aeris… his Aeris, tremulously peeling away her innocence. And him, the cause of it all. No. Focus. "And yes, arm those who are willing. Get in touch with the gangs and the crime lords. I'll send some scouts out to see if his words are founded, too; now that the war is practically won, I'm sure they'll strike soon, just when our minds are bent on festivities instead of vigilance."
He was so concentrated on his plans and what the Wutain's actions could possibly mean that at first he didn't notice the feather-light hand that curled around his forearm, as discreetly as a rare caress of sunlight. But then as the comfortable silence settled, he looked down to see her clutching his arm loosely, having turned around to face him though her eyes were still downcast. Something seemed strangely off… she'd never succumbed to this degree of melancholia, or at least he'd never witnessed it. She was strangely… grey. As though all that buoyant energy that usually inhabited her had seeped away in the night.
"He has rallied a good number of slum folk to his cause, you know," Aeris mumbled, as though it was a thought that she was letting out only with difficulty.
His hand came down to press hers and the warm, slightly sweaty contact seemed to tug bitterly at his heart. "Rising against the plate is folly, Aeris. It's suicidal. And I'm sure the slum folks will prefer the offer of money and pleasantries rather than the offer of a heroic death."
"What makes you so sure?" Flawed green coiled questioningly around his gaze.
"They've had nothing to savour for their whole lives. Please correct me if slums don't make you yearn for a better life, rather than the best of deaths."
"I don't know," she answered him after a pause, still gazing at him with an indecipherable something glinting in her eyes. "I think most would have a hard time choosing between the two. And don't forget that cooperating with the Wutains feels better than cooperating with ShinRa."
"I know." He sighed. "This is such a mess."
"You should've just removed the guy," Aeris commented, still with that strange, neutral tone.
"Probably." His fingers came to knead his forehead. There had to be some ulterior motive; this guy had to know that his actions wouldn't win him a military victory. Then what…?
He got up, gently removing the girl's hand and heading towards the kitchen to make them both an adequate breakfast; it had been so long since he'd abandoned any type of sane eating pattern that he almost caught himself smiling wistfully. Just when he had so many important matters at hand, the girl just had to come and sleep at his apartment for the first time. No time to hoover, no time to buy proper food, no time to put away his vagrants pants and other forgotten things… ugh. Well. Peanut butter would have to do.
•
Her limbs came inwards as she curled into herself, pulling the sheets up over her head. Eyes squeezed shut, knuckles white, brow knitted in a rush of anxiety. She could still feel the tingling warmth of his palm on her hand, of his tender eyes devouring hers. Just as surely as she could still feel the possessive grip of the other man's hands around her wrists, the throbbing between her legs, the ache in her chest as she chose between the two. All the tragedy of a double-agent's situation, really - reason, or impulse? Love, or opportunism?
What am I doing? What am I doing? What am I doing?
•