Clash of Egos
Sorry for the long wait. I've had the worst bout of writer's block and just couldn't make myself happy with anything that I wrote. So, here's version 4 of this chapter. Hope it's not too bad.
He sticks to the dodgier parts of town, walking through the back streets and alleys to keep out of sight and every now and then he glances at the flames over the rooftops with an almost bitter twinge in his eyes. He claims he doesn't trust Koerin to believe anything without proof, and I find myself musing over the fact that Koerin mentioned that he mentored Tseng and learned from him, making me wonder how complicated the situation has a tendency to become if he's remotely close to being like him.
When we finally stop, it's near a run down motel that we approach from the alley and he frowns as if he's disgusted by the area and the choices that we're left with. All the while, he stays in the shadows while I try to stay more out of sight than him and I'm uncertain whether I'm doing it more for his own sake than for mine. Though I'm unable to pinpoint the exact moment that I started to care less about being seen than I am about the thought that he doesn't want to be seen with me.
A strange sense of therapy maybe—that I've become more open due to his relentless need to constantly remain closed.
"We can't keep at this all night," I finally tell him, low enough to remain inconspicuous and growing impatient at the fact that nothing is ever good enough for him and that we can't keep roaming the streets as endlessly as he appears to want to do. He may have been healed but I can tell by the tightness in his jaw that he's in pain. He's also paler than he usually is, almost like chalk, and his eyes are heavy, tired, and darker than they normally are while he continues to catch my attention with the subtle shake to his nerves.
Almost feeble, he looks, as he subtly nods and brushes a soiled strand of hair behind his ear with torn fingers before sneering and grumbling that, "There must be something better than this…"
"You've said that about every single one," I remind him, growing as weary as I'm suspecting he is and noting how his hand unconsciously twitches near the spot where he kept Sephiroth's gift before he frowns at the fact that he's lost it to the mansion.
All he has left is the locket and the gloves that were in his pockets. His weapons were all taken when we were captured, along with what appears to be a large portion of his pride and I find myself musing over whether or not it's the inner bruises that were left that are what's making him so difficult right now.
"Imagine what kind of beds are in that place…" he dryly comments with a slight snarl that grows as bitter as his eyes suddenly are. "How stained the bedding must be…"
"Would you rather sleep outside?" I ask, willing to get him a tent at this point if it will stop him from finding fault in everything.
But he repines that, "It couldn't be much worse…" before he sarcastically snickers and mutters, "according to what we can afford, perhaps the ground would be a step up."
Then he pats on the pocket where his wallet was, neither of us knowing the exact moment or location that he lost it and he grumbles again at the small amount of jewellery either of us is wearing and fully aware that I have no intention of parting with the chain around my neck. All we have besides it is the gold watch around his wrist and whether it's in spite to my own refusal, he makes no attempt to hide his reluctance to use it as currency.
Nor does he make any effort to hide his attachment to it as I watch him pull back his sleeve and toy with it like he's been doing since we left the lab, allowing the gold to catch the light of the old street-lamps before he sneers as if he's disappointed.
Then he takes a deep breath and sourly comments that, "I assume this place meets your standards."
"My standards…"
"Don't take it personally, Vince," he says, sensing the injury from his insult and bitterly snickering at his success as he pulls his sleeve down and stares at the back of the Motel, "But you can hardly disagree considering the dive you were staying at when I first met you."
And you're so much better, I mockingly think, while staring at him through my bangs and wondering why in the hell he wants to get under my skin when he seemed so willing to want to make progress when we were back at the lab.
But trying to figure him out is about as easy as trying to answer the meaning of my life and my mind is quickly taken from it when out of nowhere, a Bandit comes from the shadows and aims his gun at Tseng. However, he doesn't appear to see me while demanding that he wants Tseng to give him all of his money and Tseng starts to laugh at him like he's genuinely amused.
"You have got to be kidding," Tseng responds before the laughter ceases and he sneers at the man in disgust while he counteracts with whatever insanity seems to be taking over him, "I think you should give me all of your money."
"What the hell are you doing?" I ask, low enough for only him to hear while I remain in the shadows behind him, hoping that the darkness can be used to my advantage if the situation gets out of control.
"We need money," he quietly answers, inconspicuously through the corner of his mouth while barely moving his lips. Then he takes a daring step toward the Bandit and I wonder if I should be paying much attention to the fact that I think he means what I think he means to do, and if I should intervene.
"You can't seriously expect me to believe that you're going to shoot me."
"What?"
"You're clearly inexperienced," he calmly says before setting his attention on the cigarette hanging out of the man's mouth and smirking at him, "and you reek of alcohol… I highly doubt you're capable of even shooting straight."
Kjata, I think, wondering what kind of death wish Tseng is suffering from while I quietly reach for my gun without drawing attention to myself. All the while, the chemicals in my body recharge as if they were nothing more than adrenaline and I quietly cock the safety back on the gun while closing my eyes and trying to pretend that he's not planning on taking on a drugged and armed Bandit in the condition that he's in.
But I should know by now that he's not as predictable as he likes to pretend to be. The appearance is nothing more than an image that keeps him alive and the reality is the proof when the man becomes irate with Tseng and Tseng continues to mock him, ignore him, and act as if he's having nothing more than a casual conversation while appearing to accurately label the other man's emotional problems from birth to childhood, to now while telling him exactly what he thinks of him and daring him to shoot.
"Do you honestly think you can justify your actions simply because you're an idiot?" he calmly asks and takes another step forward like he genuinely doesn't care if the other man pulls the trigger or not, and I fight the urge to intervene and end the madness.
For whatever reason though, I don't know.
"You're pathetic," he says, and snickers at him. He almost looks like he's about to start circling the man as he takes another step toward him while continuing to dispassionately tell him what he thinks of him and appearing to be completely harmless in an act that appears to be nothing more than an egotistical dance.
"Shut up and give me your money!"
"No," Tseng answers, stopping and growing empty in his expression, and before anyone knows it, he strikes.
"Tseng!" I yell out, more out of an automatic reaction than anything else when the Bandit's gun goes off and the bullet misses, and Tseng tells me to "Shut your fucking mouth, Vince!" while slugging the man across the face and angrily stating that he doesn't want any attention drawn to him. Then he goes for the gun after initially knocking the wind out of the man by ploughing him in the chest with that steel-like hit of his.
But the Bandit's a struggler, stronger than he looks and giving Tseng the fight that he seems to be yearning for. And I'm suddenly wondering if that's what this is about. He's angry, agitated, and itching to have someone or something to take it out on, and he's dragging it out for all it's worth.
None of it sets my mind at ease though and Tseng seems to be playing more with the man than anything else, practically running circles around him before he finally knocks him out with the butt of the gun he took from him and I put my gun away with a growing distaste for the Turk right now.
"What the hell is the matter with you?" I testily ask as I step from the shadows and Tseng starts frisking the man before hitting him at the base of the skull three more times when the other man stirs.
"What are you talking about?" he carelessly breathes out, sounding overexerted as he goes through the Bandit's pockets and takes whatever money, jewellery, and other keepsakes he can find.
"He could have shot you."
"After everything that we've been through today—or the last couple of days, I hardly think being shot would have been the worst thing that could happen to me," he mutters, sounding agitated again and nearly grinding his teeth while he talks.
All the while, he continues to dig through the man's pockets as if he's making sure that he's leaving the man with nothing and I wind up shaking my head at the fact that I have no idea why he's been getting moodier since we left the clinic.
"Ah…" he finally breathes out while I keep watch and wonder why neither of us heard the Bandit in the first place, or why no one heard the struggle between him and Tseng, and I ignore the fact that we're in a questionable part of town where most people are probably accustomed and unconcerned with the signs of a dispute.
But Tseng takes me away from my questions when he complains about the amount of Gil the man was carrying while sounding like he's talking with something in his mouth as I continue to look around. But at least he sounds happy when he mentions that he won't have to sell his watch before I hear the sound of a match being struck and the sudden smell of smoke from a cigarette.
"What the hell are you doing?" I ask, unable to hide the disdain when I turn around to see him take a heavy drag from one of the man's cigarettes and let it out like he's disgusted by the taste even though it doesn't appear to be the first time he's done something like that.
"What the hell does it look like I'm doing?" he responds and takes another drag before keeping the cigarette in his mouth and putting the Bandit's gun in his own holster. Then he puffs on it a couple more times while looking like he's put off by the taste as it hangs from his dry lips and he tucks his shirt in with both of his hands before pulling it out of his mouth.
"I'm stressed. I can't drink… nor would I choose to drink from something this vagrant's had his mouth on and there's nothing else for me to do to relieve the tension… So… Either deal with it or leave."
"Deal with it…?" I mutter, mindlessly repeating him before I wonder how many other bad habits he's going to slowly reveal if I remain with him any longer, not that the wonder is ever anything new. Then I shake my head to clear it out and my bangs fall farther into my eyes when I ask, "How long have you been smoking?"
Despite the physical facts though, he manages to continuously live in a world of unbelievable denial and casually states that, "I don't smoke," after taking another drag from it and flicking the ashes on the ground with his thumbnail like it's nothing new to him.
"What the hell do you mean you don't smoke?"
"Oh don't judge me on that, Vince," is his answer that comes out aggressively defensive before he suddenly becomes accusatory. "Of all the faults you've chosen to ignore, you're going to choose to focus on this one?"
"What's gotten into you?"
"Fine!" he unexpectedly spits out, practically hissing at me and confusing me about what's triggered his reaction that strikes me as irrational and unprovoked, "You want me to put it out…? I'll put the damned thing out then!"
Then he throws it at the ground and angrily stomps on it while I stand there, staring at him and trying to figure out what the hell's going on. After that, he wipes at his upper lip as if he's sweating with a shake to his hand that he can't seem to control while his other one instinctively reaches for the spot where Sephiroth's weapon was again, and I find myself suddenly uncertain whether I should be feeling sorry for him or sorry for myself while he tries to calm himself down.
"I've worked under cover," he quietly says, appearing to try to regain some of the stature that he normally carries, "And sometimes… I would do it to fit in…"
"Okay," I say, strangely hoping that we can end a conversation that seems to be bringing out the worst in him, "I wasn't accusing you of—mph!"
The next thing I know, my back is suddenly against the stone wall of whatever building we're standing near and the stale taste of nicotine and tobacco has invaded my mouth in the form of Tseng's strange behaviour. Invasive, it feels, with his fists clenching into the front of my cloak to hold me in place while he openly violates me with a dominating kiss in a place not too far from the public eye.
Then he goes limp and buries his head into my shoulder when I push him back while attempting not to hurt him before he mutters that he thinks he's tired. He doesn't know what's gotten into him and he has no idea why he's acting the way that he's acting.
"I know," I mindlessly reply before resting my arm across the back of his shoulder in a sympathetic way and scouting our surroundings again, aware of the fact that I'm suddenly wary about someone seeing us together while I subtly stroke his shoulder with my thumb.
"Perhaps I need some sleep…"
He snickers then, shallow as it sounds, and he steps back before looking at me with a scrutiny that makes the uneasy feeling that he's been making me feel all night return. After that, he tilts his head and strokes the palm of his hand along the lower strands of my hair before stepping back farther and looking at me like he's suddenly thinking of something he's never thought of before.
"You know…" he coyly says before he pulls my cloak shut at the front, lifts my collar higher, and starts brushing my bangs down with his tattered fingers, "In this light, you could pass for a woman."
Then he steps back to get a better look at me and curls his finger over his upper lip before insultingly musing, "Perhaps not the most attractive one… a little too tall… but it's still a pass."
"What?" I suddenly ask, not really knowing what else to say and wondering why I'd even encourage him by asking before I brush my bangs back and open my cloak to state that I'm not going to go along with whatever kind of questionable scheme he's got going on in his head this time.
"Humble yourself, Vince… Your ego gets emasculated too easily."
My ego…? I suddenly think, telling myself that his is no better and wondering if this is another one of his harebrained attempts to drive me away because he's got nothing better to do, "And yours doesn't?"
"Not quite like yours. I'm afraid that I can play whatever role I need to… But there is no complacency in your world."
And all the sudden I'm beginning to wonder if it was Tseng all along and not Jenova, or the truth about who or what he was that drove Sephiroth mad.
"I think you're mistaking me for yourself," I growl back at him, keeping my voice down when I hear a group of people walk by and hoping that he's not going to do anything else unpredictable in regard to the company that isn't too far away.
But he seems to want to remain as invisible as I do and he keeps his voice equally low, quiet, but more clear than the sound of a whisper, "Hardly… complacence is often required for what I do for a living, Vince… a little humility goes a long way…"
"You say that like you know how to be humble," I accuse, knowing damn-well that he's the most egotistical and arrogant man that I know.
"Oh," he casually says and adjusts the cuff on his torn shirt before sneering at the frays in the sewn edges, "I believe I know how to be more humble than you do… In fact, I'd hardly call becoming a martyr over my own mishaps humble."
"Thirty Years…" I growl, unable to stop myself while suddenly clenching my fists to stop myself from throttling him to death. Thirty years of my life lost and imprisoned does not make me a martyr, I tell myself while biting back on the urge to say it to him since I suspect he'd find a way to mockingly retort and probably wind up dead over the matter. But I can't hold all of my thoughts back before I forget anything that I like about him and tell him, "You're a miserable; empty shell of a man, Tseng."
"No," he casually says as I push myself from the wall and start walking away from him. Then I stop with my back to him when I hear him mumble to himself in a retiring way, "I'm afraid it's the other way around."
And all I can focus on is his pompous arrogance while I hear him sigh and take a few steps toward the motel in the opposite direction from where I am and I listen to what sounds like him nudging the Bandit with his foot to ensure the man's still unconscious while he toys with the locket that he carries.
Then he whispers something under his breath and starts to walk away with a steady and casual pace.
"I don't constantly remind you of your losses…"
"Stop," I mindlessly say while focussing on what he said as it rings through my head like a sharp echo, and all the while, I keep my back to him and listen to the halt of his steps without knowing what it is that I want to do or say. All I can seem to focus on at the moment is the sting that his words carry despite the numbness that I hunger for inside.
I'm not certain. But the best I can come up with is the fact that I frequently call Lucrecia's name—the mother of Sephiroth and the woman I still love—and I struggle against the reflex to grab at the chain when her name floods my thoughts.
Then I try to convince myself that it's not what's eating away at him. He's not the type to be jealous over something that he considers superficial. Nor is he the type that would hold my feelings for someone as a reminder over his losses, and I continue to stand there, numb, before I suddenly wish I could be as ill as I suddenly feel from the only other reason I can come up with while avoiding the urge to simplify things by asking.
"Kjata…" I mutter, not even caring that it comes out uncontrollably and no louder than breath when I wonder if the theory I've concocted in my head is a possibility, "I remind you of him…"
Then I turn to see him staring at me, cold and wraithlike, unmoving like the hardened stone that he often is. Eyes like charcoal hold no feeling as he stares at me deadpan, expressionless, and all he has to say in return is, "Don't be ridiculous, you're far more unkempt than he ever was and your hair is black."
"My hair is…?"
That's the best he can come up with for a distinction—That's my interpretation, and I react completely on instinct when I head straight for him and grab him by the arm to roughly escort him to the motel while grumbling without being able to hide the fact that I'm grumbling, "I'm nothing like him."
"True," he mumbles while trying to slow me down as he adds another distinction to falsely set my mind at ease. Or as I'm reading it, to mock my denial, "He liked to read."
"Sorry for not being as perfect and educated as your precious Soldier."
"What?" he asks as if he can't understand what could possibly be setting me off. Then he practically digs his heels into the ground and starts laughing at me when he slips out of my grasp.
"Goodness, Vince… All I wanted was for you to cover yourself up so I wouldn't have to check us into the motel as the two men that Koerin might be looking for if he returns, and you go completely insane!"
"What?"
"You went completely mad the moment I told you that you could merely pass as a woman…"
"I went mad?" I sarcastically ask, wondering what the hell it was that he was doing when he attacked the Bandit, smoked the man's cigarette, flipped out when I reacted to the surprise, and then tried to make out with me where anyone could have seen him do it.
"Yes, you started going on about how pretentious and insolent you think I am simply because I said that you needed to learn a little humility."
"I never said that."
"I wasn't born yesterday, Vince," he says before he subtly clenches his jaw and releases it from what I'm assuming is another sharp pain. "There are plenty of things that you think of me that you don't need to say."
"So you think you can read minds now…?"
"I don't need to read your mind when you spell it out in everything that you do."
Then he starts to go on about how he at least has the decency to let me know what he's thinking and how he at least has the decency not to call out some other woman's name during an intimate moment, or any moment for that matter.
From there, he trails off to how he's at least willing to let me know when something's bothering him and how he's not afraid to tell me that I'm an idiot, a harebrained imbecile, and a controlling egocentric maniac when I'm acting like one, "Just like him."
Him…
And suddenly I'm trying to think of a way to get out of this conversation while focussing on the fact that he had the nerve to call me an egocentric maniac when it's more than obvious that he's the one who has the denial issues.
Then I rack my brain over it, replaying everything so I can find some kind of ammunition—something to put the focus on when I dumbly conclude with the most useless of mannerisms that he started acting crazy when…
"That's what this is all about?"
"What are you talking about?"
"You've been acting crazy ever since we came to the last motel in this town," I steadily say, despite the underlying accusation in my tone when I add, "You've been looking for faults with every one that we've come across and now that you're out of options, you start acting like a spoon-fed impudent because you can't come out and say it."
"Say what?" he indignantly asks, contradicting the obvious fact that he doesn't really want to know the answer.
"That you don't want to check into the motel as two men."
And I know I'm right because he suddenly reacts as if I'd mentally slapped him before he snickers at me and sarcastically muses as if he's feigning the impression, "You are absolutely brilliant, Valentine—Did you come to that conclusion entirely on your own?"
"Stop with the rhetorical bull shit, Tseng… You were reluctant to sell the watch. You almost seemed relieved when you were held at gunpoint and when that didn't last long enough for you, you decided you'd try to drive me away by acting vulgar and repulsive in any form that you could come up with, and when that didn't work, you resorted to mindlessly rambling about humility to try to shame me into playing dress-up for you—"
"Rest it, Vince," he says before shaking his head at me like he thinks I'm an idiot, like he always thinks. Then he sneers at me to act as though he's disgusted by the fact that I'd come to such a ridiculous conclusion and he evenly tells me, "That's the most idiotic deduction you've come up with yet."
After that, he shakes his head again and turns to the motel so he can add more insult to the injury, "You'd be so homely of a woman that I'd be more embarrassed to check in with you dressed as one than if you were simply yourself—Not to mention that you lack the audacity to pull off such a feat in a convincing manner."
"Insolent prick."
Whether I'm playing into his manipulative hands or not no longer matters, and I grab him by the arm to drag him into the damned building against his will if I have to. All bets are off at the moment and I angrily brush my hair over my face, pull my cloak across my chest to hide the masculine form beneath it, and I lift the collar to hide the remainder of the features that could reveal my gender…
He's been playing me since the beginning anyway.
And I'm beginning to wonder if it's something I look forward to.
