A Side that I Like
"Hm," Tseng mutters as they enter the room they're staying in and he looks around with disappointment while Elena takes off her hat as if she's relieved to do so and runs her fingers through her bangs, "one bed."
"Mm-hm," she nods as she rustles both her hands through her hair to fluff it out and he turns to stare at her as she does it, almost like there's something he finds fascinating about it when he tells her that she can have it.
"Sir?" she asks before innocently offering, "We could share."
"No," Tseng says with a humble shake to his head, "I'm afraid I've gotten used to sleeping alone."
"Well…" With a twist to her mouth, she makes it hard to hide the fact that she's hesitant about voicing her opinion but she builds up the courage and finally says, "Then why don't you take it?"
"Pardon?"
"Well, I've had it for every other mission. I think it's your turn... Sir."
"That's very thoughtful of you," he says as he comes up to her and places a brotherly kiss on her cheek, "but I'm afraid it wouldn't be proper if I were to take it."
Then he rustles her hair like he was looking for a reason to do it and walks into the bathroom while talking over his shoulder.
"Consider it yours."
When he comes back out, he's dressed more casual and looking relieved that he's not wearing the tasteless outfit he was wearing earlier. He even seems more comfortable than he was in the breezier cottons he was wearing even though he kept them just as concealing as everything else. But I suppose it's the look he didn't have a taste for as he walks across the room with a white dress-shirt, collar and sleeves done up, and a pair of black slacks to compliment it.
"You're not retiring?"
"No," he answers as he sits on the chair by the desk and puts a dressier pair of shoes on, "there are still some things I'd like to look into."
"I can go with you."
"I'd prefer it if you didn't," he tells her.
Then he sighs and walks over to the balcony to open it and steps out, causing me to step farther back while he smiles at something inward. Then he turns to lean against the rail and watches Elena go into the bathroom so that she can change into her night clothes.
After that, he turns around and looks directly at where I'm at and whispers, "I know you're there, Vincent."
And the next thing I know, I'm up on the rail of the balcony and standing against the wall that's hidden between the architectural designs of the building so he's the only one that can see me.
"How did you know?" I ask him, quietly as I crouch and conscious of being heard.
"Because you're weird like that."
Instead of retorting on the type of comment I'm starting to expect from him, I simply lower my head and ask, "How long did you know for?"
"I'm not certain," he admits, "but I suspected you were around when I made a particular purchase."
"And if I wasn't?" I ask, wondering if he would have said anything if he suspected otherwise, and he carelessly shrugs like his actions had no secret agenda behind them while he keeps his attention on the door to the bathroom.
"It would make no difference," he tells me. "You still wouldn't know any more or less." Then he smiles and looks at his watch, "Except for the fact that I make one hell of a killer drink."
"I was surprised he was still alive when you left," I admit, half-suspecting that Tseng was going to kill him at the time. But he makes no effort to make me believe that he's not as underhanded as I've always suspected.
"The agent is timed," he mutters. Then he rolls his shoulders and grimaces uncomfortably before confessing, "I wasn't going to chance him finding out the money was fake."
"Is that what Rufus wanted?"
"Not initially," he aloofly answers, "but due to the fact that he's the man we were looking for, and the fact that he had his hands into more than just real estate, I doubt Rufus will mind." Then he snickers and curls his finger over his mouth while looking at the stone platform of the balcony, "Not to mention it would be difficult to trace it back to me if he did."
"And if he did find out?"
"Then I suppose I'd have some explaining to do," he detachedly answers as if he suspects the consequences would be nothing of concern to him.
With a frown over the distaste for what he does sometimes, I crouch a little lower and watch him for signs of remorse. But he doesn't show any and I don't bother to ask what else the man had his hands into, even though I hope it would be enough to justify Tseng's actions. And I try to convince myself that the man probably deserved whatever fate he met or is about to meet since I saw the man, and scum is generally scum.
Not to mention, he's going to have his own degree of distaste for my own carelessness if or when Rufus and Reno decide to confront him on what they found and suspect. So I try to brush it off in hopes of not making things worse for myself, and I lower my head even more while attempting to change the topic.
"I think you should take the bed."
"Don't be ridiculous," he tells me even though he seems just as happy to change the topic as I am, "I already told Elena she could have it."
Then he shakes his head at my ridiculous motion, just as the latch to the bathroom door warns us that it's opening and Elena calls out, "Sir?"
"Pardon?"
"I thought I heard you say something."
"Mm," Tseng mumbles before he smirks and steps into the middle of the balcony as if he were alone, but blocking the way if she decides to come out.
"I did. I thought you had already come back out."
"Oh. I'm sorry. I didn't hear what you said."
"I said there's a madman standing out here telling me that I should force you to sleep on the floor so that I can have the bed."
She doesn't say anything after that, and I have no idea what kind of expression she's wearing over the comment before I hear the bathroom door close again and Tseng quirks his brow like he's insulted.
Then he turns to me with a smirk and wryly mutters, "If looks could kill..."
"You like her, don't you?"
"In all honesty, Vince," he says with a retiring sigh as he steps over to where I am and places his hands on the balcony's rail to stare off into the distance, "I'm jealous of her."
Then he frowns as if the admittance bothers him as he looks over the grounds and subtly runs his fingers over the smooth edge of the rail without explaining further, and he quietly says, "I'd like to take you somewhere," like he wants to change the topic again.
"Where?"
"Somewhere," he repeats and lowers his head in the semblance of a subtle nod.
After that, he looks up at me with that stone expression of his and says he'd like me to meet him near the outskirts where I originally was before he answers my unspoken question.
"She won't get suspicious. I've been disappearing ever since I came back after the Temple."
"No one minds?"
"No one has the right to mind," he says, nodding again, "As you've had the opportunity to discover, I've had Rufus rewrite my contract to include certain privileges. I can do whatever I want."
"Why do you hide it then?"
"Because my business is no one else's business."
After that, he snaps his fingers and points in the direction he wants to meet me in as if I'm a dog that he's ordering around, and he walks toward the door to leave from the front entrance without looking back.
"Five to ten minutes. There's a small errand I need to run first," he mutters, and then he adjusts his watch as he grabs a black blazer and opens the door while calling out to Elena, "I'm leaving."
"When will you be back?" she calls, sounding muffled through the bathroom door.
"Fairly late," he tells her before encouraging her not to wait up for him. Then he quietly mutters to himself with his head down as he closes the door, "If I come back at all."
Uncertain how to take the last comment and shrugging off the fact that he's probably implying I'll kill him, or that either Rufus or Reno had already questioned him, I find myself hopping to the ground below and making my way back to the tropical forests of Costa Del Sol.
All the while, I'm wondering why I'm letting him bark orders at me without explanation, or even why I trust him enough to follow them at this point. Although it bothers me, I can't help but give into the curiosity that he constantly arouses and I follow the orders and wait for whatever he has planned, if anything at all.
He doesn't waste as much time as I thought he would though, and I'm even half surprised that he showed up at all, barely giving me enough time to lose myself in the hypnotic flow of the veil of the partially thin clouds above. I was half-expecting him to never show up at all, leaving me here to wait like a fool so he could be spiteful like he often is.
But I hear him approaching with that unmistakeable light step of his as if he's walking on air. Though he walks fast this time, despite the elusive sound of his steps, and his hand is in his pocket, fiddling while he holds a bag with the other and keeps his head down like he doesn't want to be seen or draw any attention to himself.
And to top it off, he doesn't even say anything as he walks passed me, and he doesn't bother to acknowledge me either.
Instead, he continues down the worn out paths of sun-bleached sand through the shadows of tropical plants, trees, and buildings that are within visible view—all taking on the colour of night—as he continues into the outskirts through the concealment of it all. I can only assume that he wants me to follow without being seen until he sends the signal that it's all right.
Cloak and dagger, I muse, and I begin to wonder if this is how it's always going to be with him.
It seems like a long journey before he finally turns toward a more private sector of the beach, despite the opening from the small forest that leads to it. But out of the strange and conflicting respect I carry for him, I remain in the shadows and crouch down, watching him as he approaches a heavily weeded garden that surrounds something that could have been an elaborate home or getaway at one time.
Though it has broken windows now, and the exterior hasn't been taken care of for years. Some of the outer walls have become victim to the native plant life that's claimed it for its own, and he stops at it before almost bowing in a strange form of respect to it. Then he pulls out the key I recognize as the one he obtained from the man he was dealing with earlier that day and he waves his hand at me to call me to his side.
"This area is private," he mutters, once I'm close enough and he pushes the steel gate open with a loud and grinding complaint.
"Needs to be oiled," I mutter back, not knowing why I bothered to state the obvious, or even why I feel uncomfortable all the sudden.
He doesn't seem to notice though. His mind seems to be occupied by something else instead, and he only responds with a mild, "Mm," before closing it after we both step into the concealment of high walls.
Then he stops in the middle of the pathway and looks down, like he's uncertain about something as he pulls a chocolate out of his pocket and I notice that he doesn't bother to offer me one this time.
"I hope I'm not making a mistake," he admits before biting his treat in half and refusing to look around, and I wonder if he means a mistake by buying the place or a mistake by taking me here. Though either possibility leaves me with little explanation over why he'd do either.
I don't say anything though. Instead, I only study him and his sudden melancholy mood, and I wonder why he's more concerned about staring at his chocolate and eating it as slowly as he can instead of paying more attention to what he'd falsely overpaid for. I also frown at the fact that he's toying with his locket again, and I take another look around, wondering what this place means to him.
"I just can't let it go," he mutters before he looks over at the home and scans the overgrown garden that's home to a crumbling fountain that probably worked at one time, and he sets his focus on it with a look of loss as his voice grows more quiet and dead-sounding, "It belonged to us."
"Us…"
"Mm," He replies, not really answering whether he meant Shinra or him and someone else.
Then he walks up to the door and notions for me to follow while telling me that, "I stayed here before I started looking for Rufus," as if he's trying to take his mind off of something. Then after that, he turns around and faces me while toying with the key and confesses, "I don't really know why I'm bringing you here, Vince, or even if this is a good idea."
Instead of asking for clarity though, I only wonder if he's going to change his mind while I simultaneously wonder what it is that's making him so hesitant all the sudden.
"I haven't had a chance to clean the place or fix it up."
With an awkward snicker, he waves the key at the grounds and then abruptly turns to place it in the door.
"But I don't know where else to take you," he says with his head slightly turned, "and maybe a part of me wants to show you."
After he unlocks the door, he holds his hand back to tell me to stay while he takes a quick look inside with a small flashlight. Then he lets out a heavy breath as if he'd been holding it and reluctantly nods to reassure himself before he motions for me to follow him inside.
"We bought this place about a year before he died," he distantly tells me as he walks into the middle of the room and takes a lantern out of the bag he was carrying.
Then he places it on the coffee table that looks like it was smashed apart with something and then clumsily put back together before he lights the lantern and tells me, "When I came back, it was after meteor. All the locks were changed and I had to break in... I didn't know why at the time." Then he holds up the key and sarcastically snickers, "But I guess I do now."
I can hear him. But his voice seems like it's far away as I take a look at the broken picture-frames and shattered glass along the walls, like someone had deliberately trashed the place. Then I look back over at him and wonder if he was the one who did it.
To erase his memories, I think, before I study him while he stands next to the coffee table.
He looks at everything like he doesn't see the same things I'm seeing, and I wonder if maybe he just doesn't want to.
"How long did you stay here?" I ask before I pick up a turned over picture and study the broken glass and torn photo of him and Sephiroth—an old one, I assume since Tseng has his hair in a pony tail that I'd seen from some of the other photos in his home. It might have been on the beach or somewhere else. It's hard to tell because the scratches on it are too heavy, making it difficult to make out.
"About a year," he answers, still not moving and staring at me like he's not even seeing me.
And I nod while scanning the walls in the low lighting and I set my focus on a large map that looks like he drew it himself. Rough lines, almost frenzied in their depth, and markers placed about it in several random spots that I don't recognize at first.
But when I step closer, I study the pattern and I realize that most of the markers are placed over locations of known laboratories around the world. I can only assume that the ones I don't recognize are marking the same types of facilities and I catch myself frowning at the obsessive nature I'm picking up on by looking at it before I look over at the torn sofa and note the old pillow and blankets thrown over it, realizing he'd slept in front of his map.
He's obsessed, I think to myself as he nods and steps up to me. But I'm not sure if I can blame him for being so. I may not have known the extent of the experiments that were done to me, but at least I knew where to start.
"Laboratories… All that I could find," he tells me, and adds while standing in a still, almost ghostlike stance as he stares at the map behind me, "I've travelled to them all."
Then he fiddles with his locket again and takes an elegant step forward.
"I literally ransacked every one of them."
"Why don't you ask Rufus to help you?" I wonder aloud while he slowly shakes his head and lowers it.
"It's complicated."
Without elaborating on his thoughts, he steps forward again and lightly runs his fingers over the papers he stuck together to create his chart and taps them over a spot as he mutters, "I couldn't find any in the North."
"What about Gast's place?"
"No. I looked there. I even went through all of his records in hopes that I could find the location of something I didn't know about, but there was nothing."
With a wary nod, I look back at the rest of the room and I can almost see him losing it in whatever way that he did. Angry at the world, it seems, and not just himself or Sephiroth. Then I lower my head and step behind him to place my hands over his shoulders, attempting to offer him some form of comfort by massaging them while he continues to run his fingers over his map as if he's in a trance.
"Mm," he mumbles before he leans forward and lowers his head, letting me know that he doesn't want me to stop as he closes his eyes. "You have no idea how good that feels."
"I have an idea," I tell him before I pull him back to rest him against my chest and stare at his map with him, wondering if there's anything I can do to help.
"Do you?"
"Mm," I mutter while hugging my arms around him and attempting to take his mind away from his heavy thoughts, "judging from the fact that you seem to like it."
With a mild snicker, he sighs and mutters in an almost illegible breath, "At times, I almost wish I could keep you forever."
"What would your friends say?"
"That's the problem," he confesses.
Then he stands straight and walks over to the bag to take it into the kitchen that seems to be in better condition.
"It's not so much that I've managed to keep my preferences from everyone but Rufus, even though I highly suspect that Reno has a good idea of where I stand."
He snickers at the irony before he pulls what looks like a pastry box out of the bag and two bottles of water, and I lean against the doorframe with my arms crossed, watching him.
"Nor is it the fact that you worked against us with Avalanche."
"I was hoping you would have forgotten those things by now."
With a subtle smile, he catches my weak attempt at a joke and I suddenly wonder when the last time it was that I made a similar attempt.
"I like that," he says with a nod as he pulls a pastry out and walks over to me. "You do have a sense of humour." Then he playfully adds, "Dry as it may seem," before he motions for me to take the pastry and confesses, "I bought two."
"I'm not hungry."
"That's irrelevant," he answers with an impish glint in his eyes. "It's the taste that's appealing; not the ability to satiate a hunger."
There's more than one kind of hunger, I note silently, and I take it from him while I watch him walk back to grab his own piece while he licks his fingers from the one he handed to me. And I wonder what type of hunger it is that he's trying to satisfy before I take a chance and bite into what he's given me.
"I always get these when I come here. They're just right," He tells me, looking off into space and taking in the scent before he takes his own bite. Then he turns to me and tilts his head as if he's confused about something before he broadly smiles and snickers, almost satisfied, and takes another bite.
"What?"
"Nothing," he answers before he grabs both the bottles and walks passed me, back into the living room, and I wonder if he's always walked that way.
"I wouldn't want to spoil it."
Even when I assume he's being flirtatious, he lets out no physical hint and moves as if he feels no need to draw attention to himself.
And at that moment, I think I finally realize what it was that made him smile like that. Though I didn't even notice it at first until I catch myself watching him with a physical interest that the corner of my mouth had turned up slightly, and that he must have caught it.
"Now, as I was saying," he starts before he puts the bottle on the coffee table and walks over to a small cupboard near the bedroom door, "I fear the problem would be Rufus."
"Rufus?" I repeat, wondering why I still don't react to him the way that I do to Reno.
"Mm," he mutters with a slight nod while he finishes chewing and pulls out some folded blankets that appear to have been saved from his destructive outburst, "I'm afraid that if he knew about my relationship with you, he'd want me to persuade you to work for him."
"I wouldn't."
"I know that," he casually says as if neither of us really needed to point it out, "but Rufus can be a real pain—as Reno's already found out."
"Reno?"
"Yes. Apparently, Rufus is under the impression that Reno has some kind of arrangement with Cloud, and he constantly harasses him over it."
"Arrangement?" I ask, unable to hide the slight surprise in my voice.
"Yes. We haven't been able to prove it, but Rufus suspects Reno may be using Cloud to deliver parcels to his brother."
With a quirked brow, Tseng takes another bite of his pastry and closes his eyes for a moment as if his dessert is far more interesting than what he's telling me. And maybe it is. But to me, it's not, and I find myself interested in it for some strange reason.
"Prove it?" I mumble before I pick at my own pastry, almost not wanting to admit that it tastes as good as it does, and I wonder why there'd be a need to prove anything if all Reno's doing is hiring Cloud to deliver parcels to his own brother.
"Mm," Tseng mumbles again as he tosses the blankets on the floor in front of the fire place and kneels down to spread them out with one hand, "it's old news."
Then he quirks his brow again and sits back on his heels as if he's just had a thought.
"But I suppose it isn't to you."
"It's the first I've heard of it," I admit while I kneel down at the opposite end of the blankets, assuming what his plans are, and I help him even them out.
"It's really quite juvenile, but when it comes to Shinra's image, no mistakes can be made."
"Mm," I mumble, agreeing and remembering how often I'd questioned the nature of the cover-ups I was involved in. Many seemed like they were nothing worth covering up, and others were just questionable.
"So, what's the scandal?" I ask with my head down before I take another bite and sense him staring at me like he's wondering if he should say anything.
Then he takes a moment to savour another bite and gets up to grab a heavy picture frame with a large portion of the picture still hanging out of it and pitches it into the fireplace. It's a painting of him and Sephiroth, and he pitches it like its only fire starter; nothing else, and I say nothing about it.
"Reno's brother is a criminal," he says as he looks around for more memories to fuel the fire I'm imagining he's about to start, "mostly petty crimes, but he made the mistake of committing murder when he was quite young."
"Mistake?" I ask, wondering when murder ever became a mistake.
"Hm," he muses before he frowns and slicks his hair back, "I say mistake because until that point, there was never any record of him partaking in a violent act."
"I see."
"Mm."
"So he's guilty by association."
"Yes. President Shinra, and even Rufus, felt and feel that one of their Turks socializing with a criminal in Corel Prison would tarnish the image they strive for. As a repercussion, Reno isn't allowed to speak to his brother, let alone send him gifts that would suggest a manner of affection."
"Do you think he is?"
"Let's just say," he says and pauses for a moment to mutter out, "fire," to get the fire started, "that if I did see or hear anything that could prove Reno has been keeping in touch with his brother that I would be obligated to say something to someone."
After that, a devilish smile and glint in his eyes light up, suggesting that someone could mean anyone to him.
And I probably would have smiled at the thought if it wasn't for him doing his best to hide a sudden discomfort.
"Sit down," I tell him before I stuff the rest of the pastry into my mouth and finish it off quickly while scooting onto the blanket and leaving enough room for him.
Then I boldly ask him after I finish swallowing, "What hurts?"
"Nothing," he answers, and I frown over the fact that he should know better than to lie to me by now.
"Don't lie to me," I tell him as I push him back and tilt his head to stare into his charcoal eyes, soft and almost hypnotic right now, "Just tell me where it hurts."
"Everywhere," He tells me, clearly but low. His features are unmoving as he states it as a cold fact. No bitterness, hatred, or even desire is carried on his breath, "But if you're referring to when I was standing, it was my leg."
"Do you really think you can hide this from the others forever?" I ask while I gently guide him to lie down.
"It's been working so far."
"Do you believe that?"
"Leviathan," he mutters, sounding frustrated all the sudden, and then he quickly pulls his leg away when I go to pull his shoe off, "You don't need to take my shoes off."
"Relax," I tell him, and try again before telling him that I think the others already suspect something is wrong with him and ignore the fact that I don't tell him what else they suspect.
"That's only suspect," he argues back. "Without proof, they don't have any concrete evidence."
"You sound like a Turk."
"I am a Turk, Vince."
"Vincent," I mutter, not meaning for my voice to trail off the way that it does when I remove his sock and stare at the bottom of his foot.
"I used to be very vain," he says, staring at the ceiling as if it will help him pretend that he's not exposed again.
"You still are," I tell him.
In an almost sick sort of way, I feel like I need to help him escape from himself before I run my thumbs along the scars that run along the bottoms of his feet, wondering why they even bothered to spare him his hands and face when they spared him nothing else.
"Maybe," he says, "but I meant physically."
With a mild snicker, he hooks his finger underneath his collar and lets out a deep breath before he looks down at me with that cross-eyed effect he sometimes has.
Then he quirks his brow and confides with a slight embarrassment, "I shaved my legs once."
"You did?" I ask, more so to encourage him to take his mind off the fact that he's exposed than to the fact that I find it mildly interesting to hear.
"Yes," he tells me while nodding before he turns his head and looks at the broken glass along the walls. "Of course, only Se— ... certain people knew about it. It would have been embarrassing if word got out about the head of the Turk department shaving his legs."
"So I take it you didn't go swimming or wear shorts until it grew back" I say, almost teasingly while trying to take my mind off the fact that he nearly said Sephiroth, and the fact that it bothers me before I kiss his toe and he tries to pull away, stretching his toes in the process like a cat.
"Don't do that."
"You don't like it?"
"No," he says before I try it again and watch him do the same thing.
"You're ticklish," I muse, almost surprised and loud enough for him to hear the accusation. Though I have to admit that I'd never seen anyone stretch their toes the way that he did.
"I can write with them," he tells me, catching where my focus is and I find myself almost smiling at the thought while he catches it and stares at me with a dreamlike glaze over his eyes, "It comes in handy when you're strapped to something and need to grab something that will help you out of a bind."
"I imagine it does," I admit while I take the risk to massage the bottom of his foot with a deeper, yet careful touch.
Then he lets out a moan without meaning to and smiles again.
"Leviathan... I think you missed your calling."
"What's that?"
"You would have been a fine masseuse."
After that, he stretches his arms out and arches his back before mindlessly muttering, "Maybe if you'd done this more for Lucrecia, she would have married you instead."
"I never did," I say, trying to brush off the feelings and memories he's suddenly stirred before I put his foot down and start taking his other shoe off while ignoring his inquisitive stare when I try to get off that topic, "I wanted to be a scientist, like my father."
"Ah," he muses. "That's right. Dr. Valentine was an outstanding man for his time."
Then he curiously looks at me again as I pull his sock off and unintentionally frown again, wondering how in the hell he was able to walk.
"Didn't she work under him?"
"She did," I tell him before I kiss the bottom of his other foot and he does the same thing.
"Stop it."
"You're not my boss," I tell him before I test his endurance and do it again, finding an odd satisfaction out of his reaction.
"Technically, I'm no one's boss anymore."
"But they still view you as one."
"Yes," he admits when I start massaging that one as well, and he moans and curiously asks, "Do you think that's why she chose Hojo?"
"What do you mean?"
"I don't mean to be insensitive, Vince."
"Vincent."
"Mm… But maybe she liked your father."
"She respected him," I tell him before I stop and drift off to the memories of finding the records that she kept. And I remember her blaming herself for his death, thinking it was all her fault even though no one ever blamed her.
"I was only curious," he says, taking me out of my memories and wondering how long I was there, now that he's sitting up and putting his socks back on.
"Sorry," I mutter.
"No need," he tells me before he crawls over to the fire and stokes it, "I didn't mean to stir things up."
Then he looks down as if he's regretting something and mutters, "Perhaps I should go."
"I don't want you to," I tell him before his PHS rings and he answers it, causing me to shrink back the moment I hear Reno's trouble-making voice on the other end.
