Glimpses Here and There
It's hazy, like thick dust in the air. It carries a dank and musty smell to it like a grave. Then a misty image of a black-haired male, pale and naked takes a sharp breath as if it's his first, and it carries nothing but the reminder of pain along with it. As the air around him clears, the environment clears too. Everything looks like steel and silver as if I'm looking through a bluish wash.
Then it all goes clear.
Though still blue, and he lets out a terrifying scream when he suddenly realizes he's lying on a steel table with numerous tubes in violation of his body.
But there's no one around to hear him scream. The place is empty and he panics, throwing himself from the table and tangling himself in the tubes as he frantically struggles to remove them and break free.
It's almost counterproductive since his struggles tangle him more. But he eventually frees himself enough to fall completely to the floor with a lack of strength to stand, and he lets out a grunt that is the epitome of him holding back another agonizing scream when the last of the tubes are yanked from his veins as he falls. Out of nothing more than a stubborn will, he shakily grabs onto the enforcements of the table and tries to pull himself up while panting to relieve the discomfort and he takes a better look around through eyes that haven't adjusted from a heavily drugged sleep.
The room is empty, he realizes, as he looks at the tubes while feebly supporting himself, and the tubes are empty. There's no trace of what was injected or taken, no residue, no stains, and he grabs onto them to pull himself to the vessel they're attached to only to find it as barren and empty as the tubes and lacking of any controls that could offer a hint. Everything is void of evidence and traces as he begins to look dizzy and grimaces while his hand automatically presses to the front of the wound that should have killed him.
But it's completely healed and scarred over now.
Then a flood of memories, drowning and suffocating causes him to slump to the floor, landing on his knees in either disbelief or terror, and his arms fold across his gut as if it's the only comfort he can find while a deathly wail begins to escape him.
It's a soft whine at first, a semblance of the control he's always forced upon himself. But it's breaking before it turns into something outright terrifying, and he begins to rock before he completely breaks down.
Tears that no one has probably ever witnessed—save for the sterile walls around him—escape from a will that doesn't want to let them escape, and it only makes it more of a punishment before he tries to regain himself, convincing himself that he'll get nowhere by feeling sorry for himself.
It's the will of a survivor, strong and resolute, despite the feeble swarm that it constantly fights. Though it's enough to get him crawling clumsily across the floor, struggling with weak and stiffened muscles that haven't been used for a time that he has no knowledge of, and he trembles while he pulls a lab coat from a hook on the wall to cover himself up with.
Shivering from the lack of heat and looking around, he clings to the front of the white coat as if he can gain some kind of warmth from it. And with uncertain eyes, they wander while shaky breaths let out puffs of warm vapour and make it sound like he's having difficulty breathing. He's trembling as he struggles to stop his teeth from chattering before he spots the databases from where he's huddled with his knees pulled into his chest and he stares at them, focused and suddenly forgetting about the cold.
He knows Hojo always kept data—or any scientist for that matter—and despite the fear of knowing what was done to him, a sickening whirlwind of possibilities and abominations flood his mind. But he knows he's not going to get anywhere by trying to convince himself that nothing is real. Only, to confuse him more and put him more into a state of fear and uncertainty, there's nothing left behind.
There are no records, no notes, no fluids or samples. There isn't even any power to run any of the machines and he wouldn't know how to operate them anyway. They all seem foreign to him. Nothing is familiar and there is nothing left behind. There are no traces to let him know whether he was simply revived or tampered with either, or even how he wound up wherever he is. It's as if he's entered some kind of unexplainable void and was left for the sake of nature's course. He doesn't even recognize the lab to be one of Shinra's, or even Hojo's, and he begins to shake again, not knowing what's going on.
The moment he spots a cabinet with sealed syringes and vials, he licks his dry lips with a dry tongue and tries to swallow. Then he hangs onto the counter for support and half-drags himself over to it, still shaking. But the moment he goes to open the cupboard, something stings him in the side of the neck and something else covers his mouth.
Suffocating him, he thinks. Though he has no strength to struggle as he grows even weaker and his eyes grow heavier and roll back into his head while slowly falling and being guided to the floor.
"Shhh," is the last thing he thinks he hears.
But he was never sure.
I'm dreaming, I think, struggling to see things clearer and pull myself out at the same time. But it's like I'm stuck in the same situation and I can only see and hear what he sees and hears, wondering how much of it is real. Then I remind myself again that it's only a dream when I suddenly think, 'He's lied to me again.'
But the moment the thought crosses my mind, I hear that familiar low and purring voice that I can only imagine belongs to one person, Sephiroth. But he isn't threatening me in an obvious way this time.
"It's not what you think, Vincent… Valentine."
Instead, it's almost soothing, even though that soothing quality doesn't appear genuine and the moment I sense something about to grab me, my eyes snap open and I wind up being more confused than I was to begin with.
It's snowing, I think, as I look up and see white flakes falling from a monochrome sky. Then I lift my bare hand in front of me and watch the flakes melt when they touch my skin, leaving faint streams to run down before I look around and realize I'm in the middle of a snow-field. There's nothing but white for as far as I can see. Snowdrifts that look fresh and untouched hint at a storm that might have recently passed and I suddenly sit up with a strange sense of panic.
Then I look down beside me where Tseng would have been sleeping if I were still where I think I should be. Instead, I see a figure laying several feet away from me. He's covered in the snow and he's not sleeping.
It's like the last time I was pulled through the window to his past. Only this time, there is no Sephiroth to warn me or tell me to stay away. This time he tells me something else that I can't decipher.
'It's not what you think…'
Then I wonder how much of what I'm seeing is Tseng's past, suddenly not so certain about anything at the moment, or even how disoriented time is here—wherever here is—and I look back over to the form a few feet from me.
His eyes are closed. Blood stains the shirt beneath his open blazer that's been frozen into a stiff form as if he'd been there for a while, and there are stains across his bloodless face and over his eyelids as if a bloodied hand had touched him and closed his eyes.
They must have been bare, I think, as odd as it is to think it before I lift my own hand when it suddenly feels wet and I stare at the thick and red liquid on my fingers. I'm not sure if I can be more confused than I was a moment ago, and I remind myself that dreams are like this before I look back over to see that the stains on Tseng's face could very well be from my own hand.
But if that's the case, why was he left there alone?
"Kjata," I mutter before I stumble to my feet and attempt to run to him, only to be stopped by an invisible barrier that I can't see. Then my eyes dart open in a state of panic to stare at the ceiling in Tseng's modest home and a sleepy groan comes from beside me before he curls more tightly into a ball, and I almost thank the gods for the fact that he's grumbling about his aches in his sleep.
About the best I can do is try to convince myself that it was only a trick of the subconscious mind, images and thoughts brought on from what he told me before we fell asleep, and maybe even a residual effect from whatever happened when I touched him outside of Gongaga. But that only stirs more questions when I wonder if it's him or me that's surfacing whatever it is that's between us.
He's the first person I've been in close contact with since I was first tampered with, and I suddenly wonder if I've discovered another side effect as I sit up and lean over him. Then I think that there had been times when I could have sworn that I heard Lucrecia talking to me in my dreams—from the other side, if that's where she is now—and I begin to wonder if it was real and if that's what is happening now.
But Tseng's not dead, I remind myself as I lean closer and falter before moving his hair from his face, thinking that my hand still has his blood on it. It doesn't though, and he's definitely alive. The reminder comes when he grimaces and mutters something illegible in his sleep. However, Sephiroth most likely is, and according to Tseng, he may have been as well.
For how long though, he says he doesn't know, and I wonder again about how much of what he said was true. He seemed genuine, I think, finally combing his hair back with my fingers and staring at the faint glow of the side of his face in the dark, and then I wonder if what I dreamt was the same dream he told me about.
'I think I woke up in a lab…' I recall him saying, and I think that maybe he wasn't lying to me. Then I think about how much of what I witnessed was a dream and how much of it was a reality—if any of it was—before I remember what sounded like Sephiroth's voice purring at me like he was toying with me.
'It's not what you think.'
None of it makes sense and I think I might be starting to drive myself as crazy over it as Tseng's been driving himself crazy, before I wonder if I'm not the only one that hears Sephiroth's whispers in the land of dreams.
I hope not, and I find myself curling up behind him, wrapping my arms around his waste in a protective way and brushing away the nagging sense that makes me feel like I'm holding a lifeless corpse.
You're real, I think to myself. It's a reassurance that seems unnecessary while I remind myself that he's just as alive as he is real.
Sleep is only broken and restless after that, and dreamless too. Nearly every small ache and muffled complaint of his wakes me up to the nagging thoughts of which one of us is the bridge to the unknown and which one of us is walking over it, if not both of us. And for the first time since I've lost everything that I thought mattered, I'm realizing that I don't want to be sleeping.
I want to be standing guard.
I must have fallen into a deeper sleep than I thought at one point though, because when I wake up to the small crack of light through his heavy curtains and what sounds like birds singing outside, Tseng isn't lying beside me anymore. There are no sounds to suggest that he's even inside the small house. The most natural reaction would be to call out his name and I almost do before I remind myself that he wouldn't be happy if someone were to hear it.
So instead, I sit up and drape my legs over the side of the bed and take a look around through my heavy and unkempt bangs before I grab my headscarf from his bedside table and put it on to help me see more clearly.
It's possible he could have already gotten ready for the day and left, I tell myself, remembering that he has a legitimate job to go to, unlike myself. But it doesn't help with the nagging and residual thoughts from dreams I'm wishing I wasn't having. Nor does it help with that strange sense of loss I can't seem to shake as I push myself from the bed and start to look around, knowing I'd feel better if he were here.
He's nowhere to be found though, and he's left the obvious signs of him preparing for the day. There are empty bottles of potions in his trash, a damp towel hanging to dry, and drops of water still sitting in the old porcelain tub and sink, and when I walk out of the room, there's a note on his table telling me where breakfast is.
I only snort when I read it though, still feeling those mixed feelings and signals that I constantly receive from him even though I feel more comfortable about his whereabouts when he leaves the proof that he's only gone to his office or training, or both.
And like the other times, he's put more effort than I would have expected into what he's made.
Once I'm done and I finish removing the evidence of my presence, I find myself drawn to the papers he left on the coffee table from the night before and frown over the fact that I believe I know what he's looking for. It isn't business, and he hasn't come up with any hints or answers. He thinks as much as I do that the lab in his dreams might be real, and he's been researching nearly every one that he's been able to locate in hopes of finding it.
It might be out of the same curiosity I have for myself that causes me to sit down and go over everything he's gone through so far, and I begin to think that it could do no harm to see if I can help him, knowing that a fresh pair of eyes can sometimes catch what's been unknowingly missed. Though it looks like he's been through everything more than once, and there's nothing that he's missed. All I can do is come to the conclusion that he just hasn't found his answers yet.
But those thoughts and concerns are quickly replaced with the need to get out of sight the moment I hear voices approaching and notice that the day has already passed. They're the voices of Tseng and Rufus, and Tseng is insisting that he doesn't need an escort while Rufus insists that there's still something Tseng isn't telling him.
"I don't see what the problem is. It's not like you haven't slept with a woman before," I hear Rufus sing, and I wonder what the hell he's talking about as I hear their steps on the lightly gravelled pathway to the front of Tseng's home. "Besides, you only have to share the room with her and you've never complained about that in the past."
"Forgive me, Sir. I was just stating that I'd prefer to stay in a separate room."
"Ah. Well, I'm afraid that wouldn't be very convincing for the cause."
"The cause…" Tseng mutters. Then I hear keys clanging like they're being fiddled with as I hear them walk up the old wooden steps and onto the neglected porch. "Personally, I don't see why the cause requires it."
"I don't see why it's suddenly bothering you," Rufus retaliates as Tseng's key enters the lock and I warily back up into his room while keeping my head down and my hand instinctively readied on my gun.
Then I hear Rufus lower his voice and imagine that he's leaning closer to his lead Turk as he slyly assumes, "Unless you've actually decided to give up on your celibacy and found someone that it might bother."
"Sometimes…" Tseng starts with a wry sounding tone to his voice that's just as low and smooth as Rufus' suddenly is, "I think you guys are more interested in what goes on in my private life than you are in anything of actual relevance."
Rufus only snickers before the handle slowly gives way on Tseng's door. Then he playfully answers him in a contrastingly serious way.
"Mystery, Tseng, I believe is what keeps us going," and after that, the door slightly opens and I see Tseng's hand inconspicuously slip through the crack as if he has his back to it and something small and round falls from his sleeve and rolls directly to the base of my feet.
"Mystery?" Tseng flatly asks, almost mockingly while I silently curse that bastard for being born when I realize what the hell it is that he's tossed at me and that there's nowhere for me to go to get away from it fast enough.
"Yes," Rufus answers. "Perhaps if you weren't so insanely private about who you are and what you do when no one is looking, you wouldn't be half as intriguing as you are."
"I was under the impression that you already knew who I was," Tseng answers as the Impaler object at my feet silently bursts and a fine green mist escapes from it and moves toward me as if it's an entity needing to become one with me as I warily back up, not caring to look behind me.
"Hm," Rufus mutters. "Perhaps… At one time…"
Then he pauses for moment while I back into Tseng's dresser and grit my teeth as a tingling sensation enters my pores and searches for a way to bond with the molecular structure of everything I'm holding and wearing, as well as myself so it can alter everything as a whole.
"I haven't changed, Rufus."
"Yes you have," Rufus answers. "You're more secretive than you've ever been and more determined to frequently disappear, as well as prove yourself."
Then Rufus' voice lowers again and I catch a glimpse of fingers against the doorframe. They lie as much as Tseng's do. They're well-manicured, cared for, and tended to like appearance matters, despite the calluses that belie it all.
And all the while, everything grows larger as my form starts to shrink at a rapid rate.
"It's almost like you're afraid of something, Tseng…"
"I believe you've been reading too many novels, Rufus."
"Perhaps," the man agrees before his spidery fingers tap on the frame, almost impatiently, and I have a feeling that he's moved even closer to Tseng since his own fingers that have wrapped around the door grip in slightly. "But I do have to admit that you've been extremely suspicious lately…"
"I'm afraid I don't see how the fact that I prefer not to be badgered and under a permanent microscope makes me suspicious."
"I see," Rufus muses before he moves back enough for me to see the side of his overcoat. "Well if there's nothing suspicious…. Perhaps you'd like to open your door?"
Without an answer, Tseng lets out a scolding snort before his door swings open and he walks straight to his kettle to heat it up. All the while, not bothering to take a look around as if he's trying hard to behave the way he's expected to behave.
"Ah," Rufus breathes out as he casually clasps his hands behind his back and looks directly at me with narrowed eyes and a slight smirk. "There's a toad in your house, Tseng."
"I'm aware of that, Rufus," he answers while the young President steps in with an uncharacteristic uncertainty that if I didn't know any better, could pass as respect for his Turk and his home. "It seems to keep finding its way back in."
"You and your strays," Rufus mutters, shaking his head like it's an ongoing issue. Though he says it low enough that Tseng doesn't hear him and is asked to repeat himself. But instead, he only cocks his brow and runs his eyes over his Turk before he appears to try to cover it up by turning questionably jesting.
"Perhaps you should kiss it," Rufus jokes before Tseng shakes his head with a mild irritation. Then the younger man snickers at his own joke while adjusting the sleeves of his coat and walks toward Tseng's table while chidingly adding, "it could be the prince of your dreams."
"I highly doubt that," Tseng dryly answers as he grabs a teabag out of his cupboard and places it in the small vessel he uses to serve his tea with.
"Judging from your tone, I'd say that its presence bothers you."
And for a moment, Tseng turns around and stares blankly at me before his attention snaps to Rufus pulling his gun out of his holster, and he nearly falters even though his tone remains steady.
"What are you doing?"
"Getting rid of your problem."
"Are you going to clean the mess?"
"Are you mad?" Rufus asks as if he's serious about the question and shocked by it just the same, making me realize that he really is nuts, if not excessively spoiled. Then he chuckles when Tseng merely continues to stare at him with a growing seriousness that even bothers me.
"No," he deadly answers before the wrist he carries his blade on twitches and Rufus' attention snaps directly to the action, taking note of it. "If you kill it, you clean it."
"You're serious," Rufus notes before he stares back at me and sneers like he's been put out. Then he sighs as if he's already bored by my presence and puts his gun back in his holster. And sadly, I'm not surprised that the threat to make him clean up was all that it took to get him to change his mind.
Although I'm sure Rufus read more into it when Tseng's hand twitched.
I have to admit that I'm surprised Tseng made the effort as I take advantage of my temporarily transformed state and move closer to the sofa in Tseng's adjoining living room, keeping in mind that I can easily scurry under it for cover if the need arises.
"You expect the same from us in your own home," Tseng reminds him as he pulls the kettle from the heating element the moment it starts to whistle and pours the water into the pot.
"I believe that's because I'm your boss," Rufus reminds him before he cocks his brow and brushes his bang from his eyes.
"Perhaps," Tseng agrees. "But I also believe that I'm off the clock at the moment and that you're nothing more to me than a spoiled and rich little brat when I'm not working."
"Oh?"
With a feigned sounding surprise, Rufus smirks like he's amused instead of insulted. Then he walks up to Tseng and places his hands on the counter on either side of the Turk, closing him in and almost purrs to him from behind. "You certainly do have panache for flattery."
Tseng only snorts instead of answering while I fight the sudden urge to pull out my non-existent gun and put a bullet through Rufus' head for standing that close and appearing to flirt. But Tseng manages to keep things under control by merely turning around with two cups of tea in his hand and hands one to Rufus.
"I believe if I was attempting to flatter you, I would have lied."
"Ah," Rufus responds as he accepts the tea and takes a sip. Then he backs up and watches Tseng with a near disgust at the amount of sugar the man adds to his own cup.
"Speaking of lies… Perhaps you'd like to tell me what this insatiable need for sugar of yours is all about," the President says before he moves to Tseng's side and leans his back against the counter so he can watch his expression. "And don't tell me it's because you're trying to sweeten up."
"Are you saying I don't need to?"
"I'm saying it's not possible," Rufus answers before he looks at Tseng with an admiring glow to his eyes and they both start snickering while stepping away from the counter. Then Rufus stops when he spots me again and knits his brow while noting, "There's something unsettling about your familiar, Tseng."
"My familiar?" he asks before he turns around and notes where Rufus' attention is and nods.
"Ah," he muses after taking a sip and distastefully sneers at the fact that he thinks it needs more sugar while continuing to add more. "Don't tell me you're afraid of amphibians, Rufus."
"No," Rufus mutters, slowly before he shakes his head and stares a moment longer with narrowed eyes. "It's just that I could swear the little thing is listening to us."
Then he turns around and looks over his slender Turk while Tseng ignores the obviously understated intonations and I move under the sofa to make myself less conspicuous.
"Are you sure it's not of the Touch Me species?"
"If it was, I'm sure I would have noted it by now."
"I see," he muses before he turns his attention back to my direction. "It's been here for a while then, I assume."
"Mm," is all that Tseng offers in reply, and he looks at his watch. Then he looks over to where I am with a warning gaze and pulls out a chair for his boss before seating himself at the opposite side of the table. "If you want us going right away, I suggest we get started."
"Right," Rufus agrees before he grabs the base of his coat to keep it from creasing as he takes the seat Tseng offered and pulls out an envelope from his breast pocket.
All the while, Tseng watches him with a clinical detachment.
As it turns out, Rufus has his own set of insecurities and he doesn't like competition, and as things would have it, he has just that. Or at least it's what he thinks he has, and he wants Tseng and Elena to go to Costa Del Sol as a married couple to investigate.
"And you're positive he's never seen either of us before?" Tseng stresses, showing a cautious and methodical side as he goes through papers that I'm suspecting Rufus didn't share with Elena.
"Yes," Rufus answers before he stiffens up slightly and tells Tseng that, "he's originally from Gongaga."
"Gongaga," Tseng hesitantly repeats with a tightened sound to his voice before his darkening eyes slowly lift to Rufus in suspicion.
"It has nothing to do with him, Tseng. I even took the liberty to ensure that there's not even a relation between this man and your… him," Rufus quickly answers, though it's not due to the threatening glare Tseng has because Rufus doesn't look intimidated by it.
For an awkward moment, Tseng only stares at Rufus with an empty study, eyes still hard before he sucks in a tight breath and returns his attention back to the papers and photos.
"Tell me about his history."
His voice is almost dead, flat as he inquires about the man and his jaw remains subtly clenched in distrust while Rufus explains the situation. From what I can gather, Tseng and Elena are to meet with the man in Costa Del Sol to assess the level of threat this man might pose to Rufus.
"So are we supposed to act like we're newlyweds?" Tseng finally asks, like he feels the whole façade is unnecessary.
"You can be on the verge of divorce for all I care," Rufus dully answers before he looks back over at me and then turns to watch Tseng take a sip from his tea with a disgusted sneer. "In fact, that might make it more believable."
"Mm," Tseng nods before he leans slightly forward and coyly smiles. "Happy couples are definitely suspicious."
"Mm," Rufus agrees while nodding back with a coy smile of his own before he sits back and crosses his legs while letting out a sigh. "Perhaps we should have fought more then."
Suddenly quiet, Tseng stiffens and takes a sip from his tea while Rufus continues to watch him with a mild curiosity before he cocks his brow and returns to the papers in front of them.
Then his Turk places everything back in the envelope and lets out an awkward sigh before standing and muttering, "I think Elena and I should be able to handle this."
"You think?"
"I know," Tseng corrects, stiffening again when Rufus gets up from his seat and walks over to him with a sceptical look.
"I really do wish you'd let me pay you for this."
"I told you residence is all I require."
"Yes, the arrangement…"
"Mm," Tseng mutters, cutting Rufus off. "I told you I'd rather you split it up for the others."
"Yes. And if I choose not to give them your share, you're gone," Rufus responds as he detachedly adjusts the cuffs to his coat. Then he cocks his brow again and stares at Tseng's back as the man takes the cups over to his sink. "However, I do believe I've told you if it's their monetary well-being you're concerned with, I'm willing to give them whatever you want."
"Residence… No questions… and the—"
"Freedom to come and go as you please," Rufus finishes for him. Then he brushes his bang out of his eyes and steps closer to his Turk. "But I don't see why it's necessary. If there's something you need to find out…"
For a moment, Rufus pauses when Tseng purses his lips, subtle as it is and making it obvious to his boss that he doesn't want to discuss the details of his side of the arrangement. But Rufus appears determined and simply clears his throat before continuing.
"I'm more than willing to help you out."
"That won't be necessary," Tseng tells him before he walks to his front door and opens it as a silent statement to say that whatever they're discussing is over.
Taking the hint, the President nods and takes a deep breath before muttering as he abides by the man's wishes and mutters as he walks passed him, "You're not fooling anyone, Tseng."
And as a respectful way to avoid commenting back, Tseng only bows to the man and closes his eyes for a moment before returning to blankly stare at the man who's blankly staring back at him. Then he closes the door and leans on it for a moment as if he's completely forgotten about my presence.
