Title: All That Never Was
Chapter: 4 / 6
Characters: Rufus, Lazard
Rating: PG
Genre: Drama, Family
Summary: In the wake of Midgar's destruction, Rufus remembers a brother who was never truly his.
A/N: I think I've given up the idea that any chapter in this fic is going to be easy to write. Frankly, they're all giving me headaches. This particular one wasn't even part of the plan. Bits and pieces of it were supposed to take place in the last chapter, but honestly, I pretty much went in completely blind.
*presses post button, and then hides in corner*
Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core, Advent's Children, Before Crisis or Dirge of Cerberus, nor do I make any profits due to them.
There had been a time where he held the heavens between his hands and known they that they belonged to him. All those possibilities warm and yielding under his finger tips. Then he had pulled.
And they crashed down upon him.
And now what? His body aches. The stars are gone, replaced by the unceasing glare haunting his window.
And he can hear the gulls laughing.
Rufus had to appreciate the irony. Most nineteen year olds were more concerned about money or romance or cars. Bundles of emotions—ignorant, arrogant and naïve—that were easily distracted by anything shiny that crossed their paths. Nineteen was the first time most young men and women looked at their worlds and thought they could truly touch it. Possess it.
Most were not worried that those worlds might be snatched away from them.
The hard slap of leather shoes against the concrete floor seemed much too jarring to Rufus' legs. The sound of his pant legs brushing sounding too loud and rough to his ears. He had never really paid much attention to his body and now it was making its presence known.
Oh, he was fond of it. With blonde hair with just a hint of red in it, bright blue eyes, and the strong lines to his face, he was well aware that he was strikingly handsome. Even if he wasn't able to make this judgement, he'd seen too many women eyeing him to think otherwise. He was even more proud of his strength. Years of regular exercise had honed his once lanky figure into a strong, compact form.
But in the end, a body was just a body, little more than a tool. At the moment his seemed defective.
Every touch was jarring. Every sound was blaring. Every sensation bombarded him.
He finally arrived outside the office. The door was made of cold, dark steel only broken the large letters emblazing the words 'Director of SOLDIER' on it. Rufus barely glanced at it before pushing himself inside.
There sitting at his desk was Lazard, typing away at his computer. When he heard the hiss of the door sliding shut, he looked upward. His features were illuminated by the light of the monitor, making them seem pale and otherworldly. "Mr. Vice President. As to what do I owe this honour?"
Rufus found his gaze flickering around the room. The office was entirely streamlined, all metal, brick and concrete, barely a hint of colour. It was entirely impersonal—no picture or decorations of any kind—nothing that gave the slightest insight into the man who owned it. Or maybe that was an insight all on its own?
"Rufus?"
"I—" This was not the time for weakness. He viciously stomped down on the feelings that threatened to surface, and carefully shrugged as if he'd merely lost his train of thought. That much was true. "How are you doing, Director Deusericus?"
"Just the normal stresses of the job. I thought things would get easier with the War being over… I suppose that was overly optimistic of me," Lazard replied, the slightest of furrows on his brow. "And you?"
"Much the same. Father has me raising funds for his latest scheme—something about a new mako source. It's actually going easier than I thought."
"I'm surprised, considering the taxes on the Slums alone…"
"Well, Father has a saying about that: 'A man will give his change to a poor person. He'll give his life to a rich one.'"
Lazard laughed at this, the sound of it a touch too high. "That's definitely something he would say."
Rufus' hands quivered slightly and to preserve the illusion of control, he firmly clasped behind his back. "Ever wondered if he's right?"
The older man didn't answer, and looked up at him, pinning Rufus with a speculative gaze. He leaned back in his chair and said: "So Rufus, why are you here?"
This was his second chance and now Rufus was ready for the question, forcing himself to smile. "I thought since you've seen my playground, maybe I should see yours."
There was a long moment where Lazard did nothing, and then finally he laughed again. This time around, it even sounded amused.
A part of him regretted the request as they walked down the hallway containing the training rooms.
The air stunk of sweat. Salt, sour and even… cheese? Ugh. Consciously, he knew he was hypersensitive. His nose, on the other hand, seemed to disagree. It felt like the scents were clinging to the inside of his nostrils.
Even worse was the noise. From every corner of every room came a cacophony of noise. The echoing clashes of swords. The crackle of spells. The banging of flesh on flesh. These were the noises of SOLDIER. And like everything SOLDIER, it was big and loud. Normally he would've enjoyed the blunt honesty of it. Shame it felt like it was pounding on his head.
Unbidden, his right hand crept upward on its way to rub his temples. Rufus barely managed to stop it in time.
Lazard noticed anyways. "For what it's worth, it will improve. I've talked to contractors about getting the rooms soundproofed."
"I am alright. It's just a headache. Frankly, I'm more interested in your work than the contents of my head. You've done an incredible job." They entered the weight room. "This for example," he said, gesturing to one of the machines. It was a bench press but instead of weights, it featured a system of levers and pulleys. "When Heidegger was in charge, the machines were the regular kind." He snorted derisively. "The skinniest Third could easily press the heaviest weight."
If it wasn't a headache yet, it would be soon. Between that and the bizarre, almost frantic energy engulfing him, this conversation—simple small talk—was taking up all his concentration. He couldn't afford it. Not now.
It was a relief when he finally got to the room he'd been looking for, the VR room. They slipped into the observation compartment before the main chamber. The ventilation was better in here and this part at of the training area, at least, had been sound-proofed. It was empty and dark, only lit by a giant monitor adorning a wall.
Lazard cast a lazy look at it. "It seems the room is taken at the moment. If you'd like I can halt the session."
"No, this is fine. I'd like to see Reeve's masterpiece in action," Rufus said. He focused on the screen, the glare of it burning into his eyes. But instead being a further distraction, the pain brought concentration. Clarity.
On it, Sephiroth was facing off against twelve SOLDIERs, all Second Class. The background was a simulated city, the detail was exquisite. If he hadn't know better, he would've thought it was Midgar.
"Quite impressive," he said. "Shame it still has a few kinks in it. I'm sure you've heard."
"Of course, I have. Reeve is constantly trying to smooth them out. I've had to drag him out more than once so the men actually have a chance to use it. He can be remarkably stubborn," Lazard said. "Thankfully, it's nothing that interferes with the machine's performance."
The SOLDIERs were nervous, their body language screamed of it. Their swords, in guard position, twitched as they prepared for the General. Rufus had to give them credit. For all their fear, they stood their ground.
"I've heard that there's one particular kink that might be seen as annoying. I gather it interferes with external tech," Rufus mused. "Cell phones, radios, cameras… A rather interesting one, don't you think?"
Lazard cast a considering look his way. "Ah, that one. As far as I know, it hasn't been advertised. The Turks wouldn't like it. They've been on especially paranoid since you accused Veld of treason."
"'Accused' is such a finicky word. 'Revealed' is much more appropriate."
He resisted the urge to glance back at the man to check his reactions, instead concentrating on the sight before them. Sephiroth wasn't bothering to take the offensive. Masamune still sheathed, he gracefully slipped between the blades of his opponents.
"Veld has been with the company since the beginning. I would've thought he would be given the benefit of the doubt before assuming anything," Lazard commented.
This scepticism was part of the problem. The information concerning Veld should've been enough. Whereas his father had removed Veld from his position, the rest of the Turks were proving difficult, tearing through documents and chasing down leads until the rings under their eyes were as dark as their clothing.
"Assuming what? His daughter is the leader of a terrorist organization." When looking into Veld's past, it had proven an unexpected bonus—a very useful bonus at that. "An organization is that has been receiving massive amounts of funding. An organization that has been receiving information known at the highest level of ShinRa."
It was frustrating that people couldn't simply accept this. Veld's child was a terrorist—there was no shadow of a doubt when it came to this fact. One way or another it made him a problem if not now than later. It was inevitable.
There was a twisting feeling in his gut when he thought about it. So many people willing to look past such a glaring weakness. His father would never approve. A part of Rufus almost…
He was getting distracted again. Now was not the time.
"ShinRa is hardly a group of saints, Rufus. I wouldn't put it past some of our more ambitious executives to try something," Lazard said, his tone was laced with a degree of sarcasm. "You may be aware of this."
And there it was—the meaning clothed in so many layers of politics that it could barely be recognized. Nonetheless he could distinguish it for it was: Lazard knew.
The fact didn't particularly bother Rufus. If anything it made things easier.
"So how is General Sephiroth doing?" Rufus said, changing the subject. "I imagine Genesis' disappearance is hitting him hard. I gather they were friends."
"All things considered, he's handling things quite well. At the end of the day, Sephiroth is a professional. He's well aware that friendships can be temporary in our line of work."
"And yourself? How are you doing?" Rufus asked, preparing himself.
"The same as I was a few minutes ago."
"I mean about losing Genesis," Rufus elaborated.
"Pardon me?" There was a hint of confusion in Lazard's voice at the comment. He really was an excellent actor.
"You waited nearly a month longer than normal to list him missing in action. Were you two close?"
"No, I simply don't underestimate the capabilities of Firsts, especially one of Genesis' calibre. They can certainly take care of themselves."
"Undoubtedly. But you didn't list him a deserter either? It seems odd, especially considering the number of your men that disappeared with him." In fact that was what had caused him Rufus to investigate in the first place. It had been an interesting challenge, prying into a person's activities without the aid of the Turks. A satisfying one at that.
"With his history? Genesis has proven to be one of our most exemplary officers, time and time again. To say he's a traitor without further investigation would seem rash, no?" The words left Lazard mouth and met dead air.
Rufus had never said Genesis was a traitor.
Meanwhile, one of the Seconds—face obscured by a helmet—apparently had a brain in his head because he started barking out orders, rallying his fellow combatants. Bit by bit, under his instructions they regrouped. Five of them attacked Sephiroth head-on, but as soon as the General's blade rose to meet them, they dashed backward. There was a crackle as a Bolt spell rushed through the air towards Sephiroth. The flash of the lightning caused the view to obscured by smoke.
Turning to face him, Lazard gracefully plucked a pair of silver-rimmed glasses from his breast pocket.
"I haven't seen you wear those before," Rufus noted.
"They're new. One of the more subtle scars of age… I've been avoiding using them. Living in denial, I suppose. Quite silly of me really." Lazard produced a small swathe of white cotton and gently cleaned the lenses of the glasses. He brought them up to eye level, and apparently satisfied, casually slipped them onto his face. Then he looked directly at Rufus, his glasses reflecting the glare of monitor, flickering red, yellow and green. "So… what do you really want, Rufus?"
The smoke cleared away and there Sephiroth stood unharmed, emerald-green eyes lazily assessing his opponents. Then he attacked.
"An alliance of sorts," Rufus replied. He unabashedly watched Lazard now, trying to get some insight into what the other man was thinking. "You need money for your agenda and I have that in surplus."
"I have my ways of getting it."
"Yes, I've noticed," Rufus said. "A bit here and there. I've noticed how you've been using Slum workers and contractors for a number of improvements in the ShinRa training facility, like this one for matter of fact." He gestured grandly to the VR room. "On paper, you pay them as much as much as you would above-Plate ones. I imagine they're so desperate to get the business that they don't question how much money they receive.—Quite impressive, I must admit."
"And if it's so impressive, why should I need you?"
On the screen, the Seconds were sprawled across the floor, scattered like leaves to the wind. Only one remained upright, the helmeted one.
"There's a good chance if you keep it up someone other than myself will eventually figure it out. You said it yourself: the Turks are on alert. I can provide more money through less… conspicuous channels."
"And what would you want in return?" Lazard asked, idly tugging at the base of one of his gloves.
"Only your influence. Veld may have been removed as commander of the Turks, but he still remains at ShinRa. Considering his connection to his rebel daughter, it would be preferable for him to be retired. Convince my father to do so and have him make the rest of the Turks stand down their investigations into the matter." Rufus considered something for a moment, and then added: "Retired in the literal, not the metaphorical, sense just to be clear."
He watched Lazard and silently applauded. There was no tightening of his hands, nor sweat on his brow, and his face sported a carefully neutral expression. However it was a something of a nuisance to Rufus, reading Lazard's body was like reading a puppet in an attempt to figure out what the puppeteer was thinking. Or maybe the poorly lit room was hiding such reactions. After all, the darkness of the venue was appropriate place for creatures such as them.
Rufus stood there, waiting, his shoulders squared and his hands clasped behind his back as to hide their trembling. Utterly annoying that he was unable to control his own body's reaction. He felt a trace of envy when comparing it to the older man's control.
Helmet was falling back with Sephiroth closely following. He was attempting to draw him away from the other SOLDIERs, desperately trying to give them time to recover. It was working too. A few of the other Seconds regained their feet and seeing their comrade in trouble, preparing to attack while the General's back was turned.
"I suppose Veld's absence could be…" Lazard said quietly. "It would take time for a replacement to adjust to the job."
Lazard was still a touch taller than him, Rufus noticed. A little bit wider in the shoulders as well. He gazed down at Rufus, and finally Rufus got a chilling insight into the other man. The tilt of Lazard's head, the press of his lips together, the way his ice-blue eyes examined him as if he were a mildly interesting object, not a person at all.
Rufus distantly wondered if Lazard realised how much he resembled the President at that moment.
One way or another, it made him not the least bit surprised by what happened next and Rufus watched silently as Sephiroth noticed the approaching Seconds. Where once the General had stood, now there was a whirlwind of black and silver.
"No," Lazard said.
And just like that the energy that had been aggravating Rufus drained away.
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure."
"This conversation will stay between us?"
"Certainly." Each knew too much about the other for anything else.
The screen no longer seemed to glare as much. The smells and noises coming from the training area more muted. It left a sort of hollowness in its wake.
The battle ended quickly enough after that. Sephiroth strode through the observation chamber, giving the slightest nod towards the executives before leaving. A little while later, the Second Class SOLDIERs stumbled out as well.
He spared them no pity. They would have been foolish to expect any other outcome.
"Rufus?"
He turned to look at the older man. "Yes?"
"Stop trying to be your father. It doesn't suit you."
Lazard's expression might as well been a doll's for all the insight Rufus could glean from it.
To be continued…