Another Chance
"Get off of me."
His voice is chillingly calm. But the tense feel of his body tells me that whatever's beneath the surface isn't, and the next thing I know, I'm flying backwards from a fierce kick before the back of his hand strikes me across the face. I don't do anything to defend myself though, because I doubt there's anything I could do without unnecessarily hurting him in the process.
Instead, I lower my head, curse silently, and watch through a black veil as he grabs his clothes and throws them on as quickly as he can while skipping the buttons. Then he starts for the front door.
"I didn't mean it like that."
"Save your breath," he tells me, forcing the calm and stoic approach as his features turn to the stone of the first day I met him before he brushes his damp hair behind his shoulder and moves for the door again.
"Let me explain."
"No," he calmly says when he opens it and hesitates. Then he turns around, fiddles with the blazer draped over his forearm, and starts to do up the buttons on his shirt with his free hand, hiding the scars before he steps outside, "And this time, Vincent, when I say stay the hell away from me, I mean it."
And to prove his point, he pulls out his gun the moment I attempt to lunge at him in an attempt to keep him here long enough for me to justify what happened, and he pulls the trigger. Then, ignoring the pained growl that I can't hold back as my hands rush to the infliction, he notions the gun to the wound hat he managed to get dead-on into the same spot that he stabbed me the last time and coldly says while bowing in dismissal at me, "Dig that one out yourself, Vincent."
Then he disappears with a windless slam to the door and footsteps that quickly fade as he disappears into the night and leaves me there, wounded and naked over something that never should have happened in the first place.
However, the part of me that I'm beginning to think is sick—like he keeps pointing out—reminds me that the shot he fired wasn't fatal. It tells me that he's left an opening for me to try to work it out as if a part of him wants me to explain.
Whether it's hopeful thinking or simply unhealthy obsession though, I haven't figured out, and I hop over to my clothes before dumping the water that he brought with him into the flames in the fireplace, and I stare at his map while wincing as I look for a potion in the pocket of my pants. It almost looks like its glowing in the north, and I catch myself snorting at how the light outside must be playing tricks until I realize that there isn't any light outside.
There were clouds coming in before we arrived at this cursed place, and I limp forward to grab the rest of the clothes and get closer to the map, noting that it's still glowing, although where I'm standing would block wherever the source of light would be coming from.
Then I take another step forward and tilt my head, feeling uneasy over the fact that it's the northern part of the map, unmarked, and not searched by him. Though I admit that I'm relieved to see there's no relation to the Northern Crater, although it seems close and I take note of the location while nodding once to myself as I put my pants on and head for the door while throwing the rest of my clothes on in a careless rush.
But just as I'm about to run after him with a reason to stop him from storming away, I remember the visions of the snow and I suddenly hesitate, faltering over the knob of the door and second guessing whether I really want to tell him something that could be nothing, or something that could mean the difference between whether he lives or dies.
Either way though, I don't get to make a decision because the moment I decide to leave, regardless of whether I'll go after him or not, something uncommon happens and I pass out.
"Ngumph!"
The light turns hazy and bluish before a white halo washes over everything like a wave as Tseng falls to his knees and immediately covers his stomach with his hand. He shakes like he's in shock and he tries to steady himself with his other hand as he fumbles, blood pouring between the fingers over his stomach.
"You've lost your mind," he whispers, choking as he turns his head away when the sight of the blade with his own blood on it is shown to him. Then the sound of cruel and slow chuckling echoes in a dizzying vibration as if it's resounding in an open cavern before black leather boots and the bottom of a long black leather coat comes within Sight.
"I believe a thanks is in order, Tonberry," Sephiroth says, hollow sounding before he kneels in front of the Turk and tauntingly wipes his blade on the front of his suit with slow and deliberate movements. Then he grips his hand into the back of Tseng's hair with a painful hold, pulls him forward with a sharp tug, and leans closer so their cheeks are touching and his mouth is resting against the Wutian's ear, and he quietly purrs something at him that I can't make out.
It doesn't end there though, and Sephiroth comes back to drag Tseng out of the temple by his wrist. With a cruel grip, he continues to drag him into the tropical forest where no one will find him, ignoring the grimacing complaints of his lover and almost seeming to take a sick sort of pleasure in it. Then he lays him down on the ground and spreads his hair out across the uncomfortable rocks he laid him on, and with a sickly admiration, he watches his lover gag while choking for breath.
"There's something uncommon about you," he tells him while gently wiping a trail of blood from the corner of Tseng's mouth as Tseng stares blankly ahead, suffocating and blind, and seeing nothing but shadows. Then Sephiroth runs his gloved finger over the tattoo above the centre of Tseng's brows and adds in distaste, "Worshipper of the Ancients."
He stands then, takes a look around as the slight breeze catches the silver strands of his hair, and he let's out an empty sigh. Then he bows his head, turns his back to Tseng, and pulls out his sword to plunge it into his lover's abdomen again.
No emotion is in his eyes as he violently twists the blade with an abrupt motion, ensuring that the man he once loved is no longer, and he shows no sense of remorse as he walks back to the collapsing temple, never looking back and never showing regret as he leaves the remainder of the other man with nothing but the insects and the suffocating humidity to keep him company.
Only, it appears that Tseng's remains aren't alone. A figure appears from the shadows, quiet and ghostly as if it was watching, maybe even waiting. It's almost glowing from the strong light behind it, appearing angelic as a white haze surrounds it, making its true form and intentions indiscernible.
I almost thank the god's when I open my eyes and realize that the snow hasn't come. But I'm left wondering how long I was out for as I shield my eyes from the uncomfortable light shining through the stained and broken windows, blinding me as it glares through the paths it follows. There's no way to gauge time here, no clocks, and I sit up to look around, wondering if everything was just a dream—not just the visions.
The pain in my leg tells me different though. It healed too fast and the bullet remains under the surface, causing my body to fiercely complain about its presence. Then I look around, regretting everything and wondering what he has regarding something sharp. All the while, the map keeps my attention, although there's nothing strange about it in the blinding daylight.
I almost convince myself that the only reason I thought it was glowing is because the area seems more faded than the rest of the map, as if Tseng had been compulsively running his fingers over the same spot, probably wondering if there's something there.
I shake my head at the thought though, reminding myself that I could have been out for days if not hours, and I limp over to the kitchen, constantly fighting with my hair as it continues to block my vision and I search for something sharp enough to cut the bullet out, although I'm not looking forward to the task.
By the time I find everything and make my way back to the hotel, I discover that Tseng and Elena have already left. Then I follow the trail, along with taking note that I've been out for over a day when I catch the date of a paper a young man is reading on the ship to Junon, and I start to wonder if whatever happened to me is the same thing that happened to Tseng outside of Gongaga.
I doubt I'll find any answers though, if ever, and I doubt I'll ever find out why it's happening even though I'm starting to wonder if it has something to do with Sephiroth's restless spirit. But it's a selfish thought if not bordering on madness, and I try to brush it away as I approach the farm, far more humble than I was the last time I came after him. Then I find an obscure spot in the forested hills nearby, watching and wondering why I can't leave him alone like he wants me to.
But I keep my distance and suffer the growing heat as the summer starts to become stifling. Whether it will make up for anything or not, I don't know, and a day turns into two before it turns into three, and the heat turns into an overwhelming wave, and he turns back into the man that I met back in Kalm, nothing but an impenetrable shield over the secretive depth that hides underneath.
Only now, I understand the subtleties better. His shifts in mood are almost like an open book as I begin to take note of how out of place he feels, wondering if it's something that was brought on by the circumstances he's suffered or if he's always been that way.
He keeps his conversations short and to the point, never inviting anyone to step inside, and he continues to prefer his own company, or more accurately, no company. It makes me wonder if it's because he doesn't feel like he fits in.
To top it off, he seems agitated over Reno and Rude constantly being sent out to look into their evolving problem with the ex-Turks and not him and one of the others. It only seems to add to the feeling of uselessness and frustration that stirs beneath the surface.
But nobody around him appears to pay it much mind, and maybe it's because he hides it better than either of us realizes. They leave him be and take his sharp and uncalled for comments with a grain of salt.
However, they seem to know something is wrong, and the whispers lead to speculations that range from when Sephiroth was alive and how the two of them were friends, to when the remnants tortured him and Elena, and surprisingly, to the death of Aerith, among several other scraps of speculation that help them fill in the gaps of Tseng's private life that he never speaks of, and why he's more closed off than he was before some incident involving a man named Dr. Hollander.
Apparently, they all agree that he started to grow more distant when Dr. Hollander turned on the company and took someone named Genesis with him. He was Sephiroth's best friend, many of them say, and often times, they don't notice that Tseng is sitting quietly, unseen and within earshot when they speak about him, and the more I hear, the more of myself I see, and the more I want to be with him.
But now is not the time, if there is such a thing as a good time, seeing as he's on his way to Rufus' office, looking frustrated again, and I can only assume that it has something to do with Reno's stories about his and Rude's continuing investigation. He was just listening to them a few minutes ago, and given the dire look that subtly grew as the story went on while Tseng darkly watched and listened, I'm assuming that whatever's bothering him has something to do with the story.
"Ah… Tseng," Rufus stammers, mildly surprised as he opens his door to nearly walk into his Turk, not expecting him to be standing there and ready to knock, "What brings you here?"
"A minor concern," Tseng tells him before he motions his hand to Rufus' seat, encouraging the younger man to nod and return to his desk.
"May I ask what this concern is?"
"By all means," Tseng tells him before he sits himself down in the chair opposite to Rufus and sits there like he literally intends for Rufus to ask, like its some form of discipline that Rufus immediately picks up on and cocks his brow at.
"Very well…" Rufus says, deciding to play along while quickly swivelling his chair and staring out his window at the redheaded Turk before he shakes his head and returns his attention to Tseng, seemingly wondering if Reno has something to do with Tseng's dismal mood, "What is your concern, Tseng?"
"I'm concerned about why you refuse to send me after Koerin."
With an irritated sigh, Rufus brushes his bang from his eyes, slightly damp from the heat and leans forward. But before he has a chance to reply, Tseng cuts him off with an afterthought and purposefully interrupts.
"In fact, the only time you send me out is when it involves a petty crook that Elena could handle without any aid."
"That's not entirely true," Rufus tells him, seeming tense all the sudden as he stands and straightens his coat. Then he walks over to a cabinet against the rear wall and pulls two glasses out before putting some ice in them and grumbling about not having air conditioning.
"Of course," Tseng answers with a slight bow to his head and a cool collective as he sits, relaxed, and folds his hands over his abdomen, "But considering the last time you sent me out with any real risk was when you wanted Jenova's—"
"Water?" Rufus suddenly asks, appearing to want to stop Tseng from talking while Tseng catches on with a mild irritation and stares at the back of Rufus' head while quizzically cocking his own to the side.
"Water?" he dryly repeats, and quirks his brow in question.
"Yes…" Rufus answers, still keeping his back to the Turk and obscurely tapping his fingers on the counter, "It's hot in here, I'm thirsty, and I thought I would offer you a drink." Then he turns around, cocks his brow and holds the glasses in clear view, "However, if you would prefer, I have some iced tea I can offer you."
"Water will be fine," Tseng answers with an irritated shake to his head as Rufus looks him over in a contemplating study and shakes his own head.
"I have no idea how you can't be bothered by this heat."
"I was raised in Wutai," Tseng answers before letting out a stressing sigh like he knows the topic he started isn't going to go anywhere.
"Yes. But Wutian's don't wear heavy suits," Rufus answers before looking out his window again and running his eyes over the open shirt on the redhead, the damp bangs on Elena, and the beads of sweat running down the bald head of his largest Turk. Then he turns his attention back over to the cool Wutian that shows no sign of even being warm, and shakes his head.
"Perhaps you should order uniforms that breathe better then," Tseng casually responds and accepts the glass that Rufus hands to him.
"Perhaps," Rufus muses as he stands in front of Tseng and stares at the other Turks through his window again, seeming uncomfortable from more than just the heat.
During that time, Tseng stares at Rufus with a slightly disturbing shadow in his eyes as if he's less than impressed with the direction the conversation has taken, causing him to silently stew over the matter as he takes a sip and uncomfortably straightens up in his chair.
After Tseng quickly finishes his water and leaves with an unimpressed air, he walks over to the stables and casually grabs a handful of gysahl greens to feed to the chocobos while strolling through the facility. It's almost like he doesn't want to be alone, although he doesn't appear to want any company either.
It's a dead look that he carries as he slips his hand into his pocket and toys with his locket before stepping out of the barn and staring at the dusky skies near the woods I'm concealed in. His features are softened from the pastel shades of the clear sky above, emphasizing the forlorn look in his eyes, deep and brooding, and abysmal while he appears lost for a moment.
But his attention is drawn to the sudden disturbance of the other Turks as they walk passed the front of the barn, not seeing him and appearing to be on their way to unwind. He looks down then, contemplating something as he toys with the locket again. Then he walks toward the shooting range with the same relaxed and confident walk, which makes it seem like he's walking on air and giving no hint to the weight of the silent burdens that he carries.
All the while, my gauntlet scratches into the tree I'm crouching near and my gloved hand reaches for Lucrecia's chain while I silently chastise myself, wondering why, "Sorry," is the best I can come up with.
Lying isn't an option though, and days turn into weeks before I finally build enough courage to leave the woods to seek him out, hoping that the time has lessened the weight and realizing that it's only making it harder. He's returned to the man he was when I first started watching him, empty, lifeless, and dead. The only spark he has is for his job, and he does it all with a chilling perfection that makes nearly everyone around him seem incompetent, and the only charm he carries is his wit, biting, sarcastic, and bordering on cruel.
"I thought I told you to stay away, Vincent," Tseng calmly says, holding his tea between his hands while he sits on the steps to his back door and stares into the distance with an observant eye. He makes no effort to acknowledge me beyond what he says, and he takes a sip from his cup while I focus on the tattoo in the middle of his forehead, remembering what Sephiroth called him in my dream.
"Vince," I humbly mutter, not intending it as an argument this time before I almost step out of the concealing bushes by his door and decide not to.
"Hmph."
With a bitter-sounding snort, he taps on his cup with the nail of his forefinger. Then he sneers while continuing to stare into the night inspired darkness and narrows his slanted eyes.
"I'll call you whatever I feel like calling you."
After that, he gets up and brushes a thin film of dust from his pants before he turns around, reaches for his door, and releases a small crumb of whatever's built up inside.
"Just like you do."
And that's where I decide to tell him my conclusions, unable to take the burdening lack of discipline that he labels me as having, and I wind up telling him about the dreams, the concerns I have over them, and the fact that I believe him and Sephiroth are still tied more closely together than he thinks, and surprisingly, he doesn't say a word the entire time.
He only stares at me with an unreadable expression, dully blinking as if he's bored. Then he unexpectedly grabs me by the collar of my shirt, roughly, and literally pushes me inside, causing me to lose my footing and stumble backwards before he closes the door and remains outside. At first, I wonder what the hell is going through his head and I'm about to try to find out, but I meet a resistance when I try to turn the knob as if he's holding it.
He knows I can easily overpower him though, and I'm about to until I hear Elena's small voice greet him as her light steps crunch on the gravel while she walks by.
"Good evening, Sir."
"Elena," he acknowledges, and then he waits until she's completely out of sight before letting go of the knob, quickly opening it, and pushing me back as he walks in.
"You've had all this time, and the best you can do is come up with some deranged story about Sephiroth?" he asks before shaking his head in distaste and finishing the remainder of his tea off.
Then he licks his lips and walks into the kitchen to rinse his cup out while telling me not to follow him because his curtains are open.
After that, he falls back to his original accusation while stating that, "That's not even an excuse," as he walks back into the room and shakes his head again. "For Leviathan's sake, Vince. Do you have any idea how insulting you are?"
"No more insulting than you," I fire back, angered at his unwavering ignorance and angered at myself for firing back the way that I did.
Then with a cool collective, he slicks his hair back and quirks his brow while obstinately stating, "I've never insulted you."
He sounds sincere about it too, like he really believes it, and he starts to walk to the back door after grabbing my arm and clarifying what he means by insulting, "I happen to know what your name is."
"Kjata," I grumble while prying his fingers from my arm and grabbing him to stop him from escorting me out. Then I push him against the wall and hold him there while growling, "I'm not confusing you with her."
"Of course not," he coldly says, low and almost chilling as those charcoal eyes stare at me, dead-on and fearless, and the sarcasm drips from his tongue like venom, "Because Sephiroth is forcing you to do and say all the mindless and disturbing things that you do and say."
Disturbing? I think, knowing that he doesn't believe me and almost agreeing with him if that's the case while I suddenly start to realize how sick I must be sounding to him. But I can't think of anything else to say to rectify the misunderstanding that only seems to be growing worse by the second.
Little thought goes into much else though, because before I get the chance to waste anymore time thinking about what the hell I can say to save myself, he knees me in the groin, hard, causing me to immediately let go of him as I double over with a growl and cup myself.
"Sonuva… bitch…" I mindlessly mutter, unable to recall the last time I said something like that before I literally see stars when he backhands me across the head and hisses like a defensive snake.
"You will never refer to my mother in that manner."
Great…
Of all the things I could have said, I had to top it off by giving him the opening to accuse me of insulting his mother.
Although I know I should probably give up at this point, and despite the fact that he's making it more than clear that he wants me to leave as he starts to drag me across the floor with the obvious intention of throwing me out like garbage, I wind up struggling with him while trying to attempt not to hurt him. But what's more concerning is the fact that he doesn't appear to care if there's anyone out there to see him do it, and I gain my second wind and lunge at him, toppling us both to the floor in a heaping mess.
"Get off of me, Vincent."
"Vince," I growl at him before shaking him and stopping when he winces, suddenly realizing that I'm not liking it when he calls me Vincent. It sounds cold. Then I mutter, "Sorry," and I practically drop my weight onto him like I'm desperate. "Give me another chance."
The last part comes out dead while I mindlessly hold him down with my hand covering his mouth, softly kissing the side of his face like I can use it to beg him as I whisper, "Please," into his ear.
Maybe it's because I've lost so much already that I've become desperate to hang onto whatever I think I might have, or might have had, despite the damage that I'm causing in my reluctance to let go. But I can't seem to stop myself from hurting us both in the process.
Maybe he was right about Hojo and Lucrecia damaging me more than just physically, and I slowly remove my hand from his mouth, giving him the chance to defend himself and dreading it as I hang onto him with a less threatening hold, although I'm still not willing to let him go.
He doesn't do anything though, and I'm almost thankful that he doesn't say anything either, regardless of the fact that I should probably take his stillness and physical indifference as a concern. But the only thing I can focus on at this moment is the fact that I don't want to let him go, as I bury my face in his neck and breathe in the calming effect of his cologne and his hair.
It seems like a long time, enshrouded in silence, and with the anxious feeling of not knowing what will happen next, only hoping, before he lets out a weighted breath as if he'd been holding it, and he moves his arm to rest his palm on my shoulder.
Then he lightly rests his cheek to the top of my head and calmly asks, "Are you done?"
Yes, I think. But I resist the urge to say it while assuming that he'll take it as his cue to escort me out of his life again. But he takes my silence as an affirmative and nods before carefully pushing me up and grimacing. Then he stops when he's free of my weight and my face is just above his, and he rests his palm against my cheek while rubbing his callused thumb over the spot where he hit me in a few thoughtful strokes.
"I must be a fool," he admits.
Though, to what, I don't know.
Then he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a potion to hand to me while letting out a regretful sigh and sliding out from under me. But he's not going to let sleeping dogs lie, and he stiffens up as he stands while keeping his back to me.
"And for the record, Vince…" he starts. Then he pauses as if he's expecting me to correct him again and nods when there's nothing but silence, "You're the only one I was thinking of."
After that, he looks down and adjusts his cuffs, making me feel lower than I already did before walking to the phone by his bedside and smoothing his hair back as he does so. Confused for a moment, I only watch him pick up the receiver, let out another regretful sigh, and start dialling.
"What are you doing?" I ask, but low enough to keep from stepping on whatever ground he's giving me while I open the bottle and pause in confusion over his response.
"You're not staying here," is his answer, and he says it like it's not open for debate. Then the person on the other line answers, and he sits on his bed before saying, "Yes… I'd like to book a room… Your best… With a kitchen, please."
"Yes, Sir… How long will you be staying?"
"It's not for me…" he answers before placidly looking at the floor and adjusting himself more comfortably, hiding the inner complaints of his discomfort as he does it and answers, "Indefinitely."
