Choking
"Sephiroth…"
"Stay away from him, Vincent."
I think I'm still asleep.
I might be dreaming, but I'm not certain.
All I do know is that I can't breathe. I feel like I'm suffocating, and then I wonder why it suddenly matters.
I haven't been able to breathe for over 30 years.
"Vincent!"
His voice echoes through me, resounding and distant—Tseng's. It's urgent and concerned. But like always, it's low and cautious, not wanting to be overheard by anyone that he might have to explain himself to as something constricts my imaginary airway, and I react by gasping.
"It's not possible."
I think I might be stuck somewhere between worlds, and I think I can feel someone dragging me somewhere while words of disbelief and concern are being muttered. All the while, something else has a hold on me in a place where I have no ability to make it let go. It's like the grip of death.
"Leviathan… Wake up, Damn it!"
All the sudden, a dull thud strikes the side of my face, sharp and forceful and I open my eyes like I'm in shock and I start choking for air as if I need it. And there, I see Tseng hovering over me on the bathroom floor, staring down at me like he's concerned or worried while mindlessly stroking my bang back and staring into my eyes like he's studying me.
Then I take in the irony of who we both are, and I note that he somehow managed to cover himself with a sheet while trying to wake me up and drag me into his bathroom, as naked as the day I came into the world. I wonder if he did it because he has quicker access to his emergency supplies even though it probably would have made more sense if he brought them to me instead of the other way around. But those thoughts disappear when he smiles at me with a strange relief and lightly rubs at my throbbing cheek.
"You hit me," I suddenly realize before I'm even aware that I say it, and he shrugs as if it shouldn't be surprising while flicking a stray strand of hair behind his ear and quirking his brow.
"You wouldn't wake up," he says, still on his knees and leaning over to check my eyes even though he's admitted before that he has no idea how to discern the state of my well-being, "I had to do something to get you to respond."
"You hit like a ton of bricks," I flatly mutter, no longer feeling the need to breathe anymore and no longer needing to breathe while rubbing at my cheek to try to rub the stinging after-effect of his hit away.
"It seemed like you were suffocating," he clinically answers. Then he leans back on his heels while ensuring the sheet keeps everything I already know about concealed and he curiously regards me with a clinical tilt to his head, "You were grasping at your throat like you were choking, or probably more accurately, being strangled by something and I couldn't very well let you die here. Imagine the questions that would arise."
Someone, I think. I don't bother saying it though because I know he's tired of hearing it, and I'm tired of him thinking that I need to get my head checked. Then his hand quickly grimaces and covers his gut like a sharp pain suddenly struck him. But he waves me away the moment I sit up to turn the table around by ensuring that he's the one that's all right.
"I'm more worried about you," he says, and he holds his hand against my chest to stop me from concerning myself, "My pains are ongoing, you know that." Then he lets his eyes fall to my throat and purses his lips, "And I don't think I ever thought I'd see the day that you would choke."
He remains clinical for a moment then, and he cups my chin to tilt my head upward and to the side while carefully running his fingers over my throat before he sighs and shakes his head like he's deep in thought.
"Did you just say you were worried about me?" I ask, somewhat playful and attempting to hide the fact that I really want to know if he is.
"It's not every day that a recluse gets to have his own mongrel as a stray," he aloofly mutters while remaining detached and inexpressive. But I know his humour by now and I decide that he's only joking, knowing that he doesn't like to show that he cares. He fears that it will come across as a sign of weakness no matter how grating and unthinking it is at times. Then he swipes my heavy bangs to the side where it only falls right back to where it was and he snidely adds, "And a dead one at that."
"It could be worse," I mutter, regretting it the moment the words leave my mouth.
But he only nods and darts his eyes away. Then he readjusts himself so that his legs are to his side and supports himself with his left hand, scars running up and down the carelessly exposed part of his forearm. All the while, I try my best not to stare at it, knowing that it's something that I can't get used to. Though my reasons lay more toward guilt than his do even though he insists that it's not my fault.
"It has nothing to do with you," he once told me, always sensing where my thoughts are even to this day. Then he went on to tell me that it would have made no difference if I'd attempted to use more than the restore materia on him. He told me it was more personal for him than it was for Elena, and I never pressed to ask him why.
"They casted enough cure spells on me to prolong things that it had already started to turn on me long before you arrived."
"So I only made matters worse."
"There was no way you could have known."
Of course his explanation didn't make me feel any better, and all I could do was wonder if I set the last nail in or if it had already been done before I arrived.
According to him though, and whether or not Elena knew it, she was the lucky one.
"They stopped the moment she passed out, laughing at her and deciding that she wasn't worth the trouble… Apparently she was no fun and nothing more than a rookie still."
No fun, he said, and it makes me fall back to when I found him. He was fully clothed. No tears or cuts were in his suit. But blood was soaking through and I never thought anything about it. I was still feeling sore over the fact that they were after Jenova's head and I didn't care enough to want to make sure that he was okay.
Too uncaring, I was, only seeing the Turk and not the man, and only caring about what I could find out for my own gain. But when I look back now, I believe that vengeance is probably a better word for what I was more focused on.
I never asked him about it though, guessing they had stripped him down before beating him, humiliating him by the exposure. But I still can't figure out why they went through the trouble to put his clothes back on when they were done. His tie and jacket were neatly done up, shirt cuffed, buttoned and tucked in, and again, I can't bring myself to ask.
"You're doing it again," he suddenly says to me, pulling me back to the present and staring at my own scars with an almost condoling look in his eyes.
"Doing what?"
"Wandering."
"Sorry."
Knowing that he's not fond of it, I make an effort to stop and sit up more. Then I pull him closer and place my arm over his shoulder while he snuggles up to me and stares at the floor.
"I'd feel more comfortable if I could find out more about you," he finally says before he strokes his fingers along my chest and walks them across it before appearing bored with the action. Then he returns to holding his sheet more securely and shivers as if he's cold, "Particularly your vulnerabilities."
"You've finally figured that there's a way you might be able to get rid of me?" I ask, dead in tone but meaning for it to come out more teasing instead of the cynical accusation that it sounds like.
He takes no offence at the tone though, knowing that we both have a tendency to come across the wrong way more often than not, and he sighs in defeat and taps me on the chest as a fake comfort.
"Killing you was never my intention, Vince."
Then he pushes himself up and away from me and stretches his back with a held-back groan.
"Nor will it ever be."
Of course not, I sarcastically think. I'm already dead. Then I watch him with an inability to hide my concern as he stands and holds out his hand to help me off the floor. But I don't take it and wind up upsetting him by refusing, mostly because he knows the reason. It has nothing to do with independence or stubbornness on his part though. Instead, it has to do with the fact that during the time I've known him, he hasn't gotten any better, if not worse, and I can't help but wonder if he's deteriorating.
"I'm not going to break if you take my hand," he tells me, the edge slightly hiding behind his even tone as he turns his back to me and walks back into the room while holding his back and proving that he still likes to lie to everyone, including himself.
When the morning comes, he assumes I'm still asleep and crawls out of the bed and grunts while grasping at his back. Then he throws one of his shoes at me when I try to help him by trying to massage the pain away.
"I don't need your help," he tells me, snidely and grumpily before he straightens up like nothing was bothering him and starts to get ready for the day like he meant it.
Then he makes us both breakfast, and when I try to help with the preparation, he does the same thing that he always does. He pushes me away and tells me that I don't know what I'm doing. According to him, I don't know how to cook and if I really wanted to help, I'd get out of his damn way.
"I burned dinner once," I tell him, feeling angry over the fact that he doesn't let anything rest and knowing the reason at the same time.
He'll shoot himself the day that he can't do anything for himself, and although I'll be there to stop him when and if he tries, letting me do anything for him is telling him that he can't do it himself.
But that's the way that he is though, and he's as likely to change as I am.
"Hm," he suddenly mutters, breaking the silence and stealing me away from my thoughts while we quietly eat breakfast. Then he taps on his watch and quirks his brow before wiping at his mouth with a napkin, and he illegibly mumbles as he gets up, "My watch stopped."
And before I even know what's going on, he's rushing out the door without even saying goodbye.
The rest of the day is as typical as any other day and I silently help him out by tidying up his home and wondering whether I should stay inside until he comes back. Though there have been times in the past where I've entertained myself by sneaking out and keeping an eye on things from a distance, and it never ceases to amaze me at how alert Tseng's second-in-command is. He always appears to know that something is near that shouldn't be, and I find myself executing extra cautions because of it.
It never surprises me that Tseng is the first person to pick up on Reno's sudden awareness either, and he usually grows sullen the moment that he does, knowing I'm the reason.
"Reno," Tseng calls, holding a case in his hand that I never get the opportunity to see the contents of, "Are you going to stand there all day or will you be joining me?"
"Yeah," he mutters, taking one last cautious look around the outskirts before joining his boss to the facility they set aside for their makeshift science division, hands in his pockets, EMR dangling carelessly from his wrist, and striding like he's taking a walk through the park. It's as closed as the other more private buildings and despite my sharpened senses, I can never hear or see what goes on in there.
I have my guesses though, and I'm assuming it has something to do with the mako residue I've seen Tseng and the other's collect from the old reactors, and assuming it also has something to do with what Reno powers his EMR with, particularly when Tseng often asks, "How's it holding up?" while motioning to his co-workers baton.
But this day is different, Reno's not very talkative this morning and he only grunts his illegible answer out. Then he grunts again when Tseng asks him if it's been fairly stable before Tseng roughly grabs him and slams him into the outside wall of the building, asking him what his problem is.
"I think ya know," is the only response before the redhead retaliates and pushes him away from him so he can straighten up, and naturally my mind wanders to places it shouldn't, fingers unconsciously toying with the handle of my gun and my greater awareness is telling me that I should find something else to entertain myself with before I wind up doing something I'll regret.
"Are you saying that I should be able to read minds?" Tseng coldly asks, insensitive and unfeeling like always before he sneers at Reno and outwardly tells him, "Because if I'm right in my assumptions about why you're behaving the way that you are, I'm not going to apologize."
"'Course not," Reno spits back while Tseng clinically looks him up and down, "Sorry ain't a fuckin word in yer vocabulary."
"That's something a woman would say, Reno," Tseng mockingly tells him before smirking at him and deciding that it's time to enter the building. Then he lowers his voice in hopes that he won't be overheard by anyone in proximity and explains his actions in a manner that almost seems consoling, "You know I won't say anything if you don't give me a reason. Now tuck in your shirt and do up your blazer. You're a disgrace to the outfit."
Reno doesn't do as he suggests though. Instead, he sneers at Tseng's back as he walks ahead and glares at him with a dark look in his eyes while undoing an extra button on his shirt, proving that he's nothing more than a pure nonconformist as they enter the building and he lowly mutters, "I'll show ya a fuckin disgrace."
It's not the first time that they've gone at each other's throats like that and I doubt it will be the last, considering the nature of those two, and I decide to scout the outskirts after convincing myself that there's nothing to concern myself with. They'll settle down in a day or two—the moment one of them has to side with the other and I can return to being unexplainably agitated over how close they both appear at times.
But until then, I'll do as I always do. I'll bide my time until Tseng's day is over by studying the other people that he works and lives with, like Rufus' personal maid who likes to sneak around with the head of their makeshift weapon's department, or Rufus who acts like he wants something from Reno and then he changes who he seems to be interested in the next day.
Nothing changed within the time I stayed away, except that Elena appears to be showing an interest in somebody other than Tseng for a change. He's a chocobo trainer who's just as private and mysterious as Tseng, only not as cold, and I'm beginning to wonder if it's the mysterious side that she's attracted to since the man bares no physical resemblance to Tseng.
He's more built, not as tall and his hair reminds me of Cid Highwind's, short and unkempt. Though his hair is a darker shade of blonde than Cid's, almost a honey-coloured brown, and his eyes are lighter and more golden than Tseng's, making him appear warmer and more inviting.
"I certainly hope he asks her out," comes Tseng's sudden voice from somewhere behind me, startling me a little and causing me to wonder how he managed to sneak up on me like he did. But I don't ask him. Instead, I only nod in agreement as he sits beside me and rests the small binoculars he was looking through onto his lap, "I see you've found a new perch to watch us from."
"Reno doesn't get as suspicious when I'm this far away," I answer, looking through the thick of the trees and turning my attention to the gold and orange hues reflecting on the trees from the sun setting behind us, and listening to the serenity of the leaves rustling in the slight breeze.
"Hm," he mutters while curling one leg under the other and clenching his jaw as he does it. "Well at this distance, you might as well be in another town." Then he mildly snickers and leans back to get more comfortable, "Tell me what you see."
"Everything," I flatly tell him before turning my attention back to the farm while simultaneously cursing and thanking that fact.
"Sometimes, I'm not certain whether I should envy you or thank the gods that I'm not you."
"Thank the gods."
"Mm," he thoughtfully mumbles while accompanying his silent thoughts with a short nod. Then he brushes a loose hair from my cloak and crookedly smiles at me, almost awkward and flirtatious at the same time, "I'm afraid my eyes aren't as good as they used to be… Not that they were ever as good as yours."
"I'd like it if I could only see what you see," I tell him, wondering if he understands that I see more than what's in front of me and more than I want to see at times, and wondering if he understands how envious I am of those that grow old, or how I fear that I might be trapped in this world forever, an eternal limbo where everyone and everything that I care about eventually fades.
"Hm," he mutters again before he lays back, elevates his knees and stares at the sky to watch the clouds, or just the bare blue that hosts them like distant shores of white sand with a warm glow blanketing over it.
"But then you wouldn't be able to tell me what you see," he says, almost sighing and placing his hand under the back of his head.
I only nod before sitting more forward and leaving Tseng to admire the vast dome above us, and I take a more focussed look around until I see something that seems peculiar.
"I see…" I start, before my brows knit together with a mind of their own and I suddenly wonder if I'm seeing things as clearly as I think I am, "Reno sneaking up to Rufus' back door."
"Seriously?" he asks, not believing me and requesting in his own way that I attempt to quit playing around.
"No," I mutter, and I tilt my head forward, "I'm serious."
And at that, he sits up as if rising from a coffin and lifts his binoculars to his eyes so he can see for himself, "What the hell is he doing?"
"Knocking," I say, knowing he can see it for himself but feeling strangely entranced at the moment and wondering why.
"I can see that."
"Then don't ask."
"Leviathan…" Tseng mumbles with a misplaced snicker while sitting more forward as if he needs to lean in closer to see better, "Why is he being so secretive?"
I don't know. Nor do I really want to know, and I find myself hoping that Reno is just being the common queer and trouble-making vagrant that he usually is, or that Rufus merely doesn't like people using his front door. Of course, I also doubt both as I watch Rufus answer to the redhead and lean against the frame in his usual quirky way, almost provocative like he does with Tseng while Reno pulls something out of his pocket and sports a cheese-eating grin like he's got something of superfluous value to show him.
"I was hoping you wouldn't forget," I hear Rufus say to him as he steps out of the way to walk back into his house while Reno follows and starts to squirm out of his blazer as if he can't wait to take it off. Though it's almost hard to make out what they're saying at this distance. But their volume is fair enough until the door closes. Then neither of us can see nor hear what they're saying or doing and I suddenly wonder if I should be thankful for that.
"Hm," Tseng mutters as he returns to lying on the ground and stares at the sky again, slightly darker than it was before he got up. Then he sighs as if he's bored, or it would probably be more accurate to say that he's already seen enough in his day to not be affected by much of anything anymore, and he calmly states his thoughts, or lack of them in an oddly serene manner. "That was odd."
Yes, I think, still staring at Rufus' house and ignoring Elena who's flirting with the chocobo trainer again, and Rude who's on his way to work off some steam in their makeshift training facility. It's only routine for him and none of it seems as curious as watching what may or may not transpire from something that could be nothing more than ordinary.
But Tseng seems to have lost interest in what's going on or not going on and he bends his knee while keeping the other one straight. Then he pulls a hard candy from his pocket to keep his cravings at bay and mutters, "I've booked a couple of weeks off."
"Where are you going?" I ask, still fixated on the same spot while the strong scent of strawberry escapes from the package that he opens.
"We are going to Nibelheim," he answers. "You, and I."
"What for?" I flatly ask, hoping that he's still not fixated on the thought that there's something curably wrong with me. Though I doubt it at the same time and I consider his stubborn and obstinate nature and the fact that nothing ever goes my way when it involves a decision he's made.
"I want to go over the records I found there again," he says, "and I want you to go through them with me."
"There's nothing wrong with me."
"I'm not going to argue with you about it," he states in a tone that can't be argued with. Then he sighs and sounds agitated when he adds, "People don't choke for no reason."
People, I sarcastically think, probably don't, before I add to the thought that there was a reason for it. But the only problem is that I can't tell him about it because I know that he doesn't want to hear it. He'd accuse me of being harebrained and superstitious again like he's done every other time that I've brought it up.
Then he breaks my thoughts by also saying, "Then I'm going to Wutai to see my mother."
"Wutai," I mutter as if it's not really registering and I continue to stare through the windows of Rufus' house as shadows of the two of them move around from the living room to the kitchen and then back to the living room where they've been for a while now. Nothing seems abnormal about their movements or actions though, nothing suspicious either. It's as if they're only friends paying a visit to the other and I have no idea why I'd expect otherwise.
"Yes. But you can't come with me."
"I didn't think that I could," I lifelessly respond, figuring that my presence was no longer welcome around her the moment I slept with her son, and knowing how much the idea of her even suspecting what he does behind closed doors causes him a great deal of stress. But I can't help but wonder if she does suspect something, being his mother, and I also can't help but wonder how in the hell she has no idea that he's a Turk either.
I suppose it's all irrelevant though as the shadows of Reno and Rufus make their way over to a window and they both sit down opposite to the other at a small table and Rufus opens the window for fresh air, and Reno gets up and closes it on him. Then Rufus gets up and opens it again, this time, telling the redhead to leave it the hell alone or he'll shoot him somewhere where it matters.
"Whatever," Reno defiantly responds, being as disrespectful as he always is before he kicks the foot of the table and calls Rufus a spoiled little bitch.
"Hm," I mutter, not meaning to but muttering it just the same.
"What?"
"They're playing cards," I say before I lean back and stare at the fading light of the sky reflected from Tseng's face. "Then later, they're going to play chess."
"I had no idea Rufus played cards," he says, still sounding bored and staring upward. Then he snickers and turns to me with a sly grin, "But then again, I had no idea that Reno played chess."
"I guess that's why they're keeping it a secret," I sarcastically add before I lie down beside him and stare at the same sky, wondering if there's a chance in hell that I can get out of going back to the mansion at Nibelheim.
