The Conscience of the King Chapter Two: Little Conversations "These little conversations You know I try my very best But you know, I never could say anything In twenty words or less..." --Concrete Blonde Whatever Reeve had been expecting from his first Shinra board meeting, this sure as hell wasn't it. The meeting had lasted two hours so far. The first had been taken up by the president's lecture, lots of company propaganda about "mission statements" and "grand ventures" and "quarterly expectations" and "boldly venturing forth." Split infinitive aside, the only thing that Reeve wanted to boldly venture forth to was the potty. The second hour had been scheduled for department updates, but had turned into some seemingly ongoing argument between Heidegger and Palmer about whose pet project was going to get the lion's share of the funding this quarter. Reeve occupied himself -- the amusement potential present in his clipboard and pen exhausted within the first five minutes or so -- by studying the other inhabitants of the room. The president -- well, who knew about him. He seemed to be content to sit back and rake in the profits, not really caring about anything -- or anyone -- else. Palmer and Heidegger, who could have been cut from the same cloth -- overweight, overly impressed with their own self-importance, and secretly hoping that no one would find out that they were really blithering idiots. As the meeting wore on, he began to suspect that they were once the same person, and had reproduced by fission, much like an amoeba. They certainly had both the brainpower and the spine -- or lack thereof -- of said unicellular creature. Hojo, the head of the Shinra science department, a man clearly of the president's generation but who somehow managed to still look -- /well-preserved/ was the only word that Reeve could think of to apply to him; well-preserved despite the frown lines across his brow, despite the hands that were beginning to become more gnarled with age. There was something /wrong/ with that man; Reeve could tell, but he got the feeling that trying to guess further would be hazardous to his health. There was the woman who had been introduced to him as Scarlet -- blonde, delicate, ripe with an aura of sensuality, and, for some reason, making Reeve nervous as hell. He wasn't sure why; perhaps it was the too-tight dress, the bright lipstick, the way she looked at the other men in the room -- as if she were starving, and they were a 12-course banquet. He felt those delicate blue eyes rest upon him again, and steadfastly resolved /not/ to look, not to give her the satisfaction of knowing that she'd managed to rattle him. She was the head of Weapons Development -- and that was another troubling fact, that this company -- this /energy/ company -- needed a whole department dedicated to weapons research. Not to mention, of course, the army. ~I should have listened when my professors tried to warn me that Shinra was known for being more than an energy company, dammit. I just saw the benefits package and the chance to actually get my hands on actual, live Mako reactors. I didn't stop to think of all the rumors I'd heard. The army was private Shinra security at one point; that much I knew. I didn't realize how much they really did control.~ And then there was Rufus. Rufus, who had been out with him until all the wee hours of the morning, leaving him hard-pressed to get to work on time this morning. Rufus, who had sat with him on the edge of the world and talked of old pains, of old ghosts. Rufus, who had offered an ear and a shoulder, and demanded nothing of him in return but the same. Rufus, who sat at his seat at the foot of the table, cool and distant, sapphire eyes turned hard and businesslike. Rufus, who hadn't said a word to him yet, just a distracted nod as he'd taken his seat and brought out the tiny laptop he was using to take notes. (And, Reeve suspected, noticing the way it was tilted away from all other eyes, play a few games of Minesweeper as the two amoebas argued.) Rufus, who was silent through the meeting, armor of ice drawn down around him like a shield. Rufus, who fascinated Reeve and terrified him all at once. And who, Reeve was utterly certain, was more than aware of the fact. He studied Rufus, out of the corner of his eye, attempting to be subtle about it. He wasn't quite sure what to make of this new facet that had been presented to him. "Yes, thank you, Ed, thank you, Clarence," the president interrupted smoothly as the debate reached one of its natural pauses. "If you will excuse me, we need to move on. Which brings me to our new arrival to the table." The president's voice snapped Reeve out of his reverie, and he did his best to look attentive as all eyes swiveled to him. "Folks, I'm sure you've all already met him in one form or another --" Was Reeve imagining it, or did the president's eyes rest, briefly and accusingly, on Rufus? "Allow me to introduce Reeve Brannon, who has taken over the care of Urban Development from Bob Warner. Mister Brannon has some firm ideas about how to run his department --" And this time Reeve wasn't imagining it; that sentence was designed to be a barb, one aimed directly at him. "But I'm certain that you'll all do your best to make him feel welcome here. Mister Brannon, your status report?" "Um," was all that Reeve could summon, for one terrifying moment. He could feel the tips of his ears on fire. He looked down at the papers scattered in front of him on the table, and for one brief, horrid instant, couldn't read anything that was written there. He looked up again, and this time caught Rufus's eye. Rufus nodded, slightly, just the barest incline of the chin. Somehow, it gave Reeve the strength to continue. He slid one of the papers closer to him. "We've identified a critical problem in several of the company's Mako reactors, one that could result in a rather nasty situation if it isn't corrected. We've spent the morning working doubletime to correct it." And the president, as Rufus had predicted, hadn't been all that happy with Reeve when he had brought the news to him before the meeting, but -- as Rufus had predicted -- hadn't given him an /overt/ chewing-out. "The repairs are proceeding nicely; we're taking the Midgar reactors off-line one by one to correct them. Six, five, eight, and one are all complete, and the technicians are working on seven as we speak." He took another deep breath. "Gongaga and Nibelheim are scheduled for repairs tonight at two AM, when the power drain is lowest and we should be able to get through on reserves. Um." He looked back down at his papers. ~Think, Brannon. It doesn't matter that you hate public speaking; it's all part of the damn job.~ "Rental property income is up 20% this quarter, and the profits have been invested back into the company general fund. If growth continues at a comparable pace, it's likely that we'll have the proceeds necessary to begin construction of the two other reactors that have been discussed, at Corel and at Rocket Town, by the first quarter of next year." Rocket Town, once known as Rockton and slyly re-christened with the sort of humor that was found in engineers and computer programmers, was the home of the company's space program -- and what a power company needed with a space program was another question that Reeve couldn't answer, but Palmer seemed to think it was necessary. Reeve didn't understand much of this part of his status report, but Rufus had patiently gone over the economics of the department with him the previous night, telling him what to highlight and what to gloss over. ~Dammit, I was an engineering major, not a business major. I shouldn't be doing this job. I should be assisting the guy who's doing this job, but I shouldn't be doing this job. Please, Ramuh, let no one ask questions.~ Time for the next part of his status, the part that Rufus had warned him to tread most carefully about. "Next week's planned rate increase hasn't hit the datanets yet, so there are no updates regarding that. I should have some preliminary figures on usage pre- and post-increase in next week's meeting." There; he'd gotten through that without using any of the inflamatory words that Rufus had warned him about, and promised cold hard facts to back up Rufus's assertation that the rate hike was insane. ~Home stretch now.~ "We've nearly finished construction on the last wing of the West building, and should be able to occupy it within the month." Despite the fact that the Shinra corporate monolith spanned a good six city blocks, it still wasn't enough, between the office space necessary, the factories for automotive and weapons manufacture, the barracks for the army, and the company-sponsored corporate housing -- which was running at 99.98% capacity at any given moment, and which was why Reeve himself had a nice penthouse halfway across the city; there had been no executive-level suites for him to move into immediately. "Which will reduce some of the crowding in North One, and take some of the strain off the networking and telephone infrastructure. Human Resources, Networking and Procurement are already scheduled to move in; any other departments who want some more space can talk to my assistant to see what hasn't already been blocked in." There; that phrasing, also at Rufus's advice, was to establish that he was on equal footing with the rest of them, and not just a puppet who could be disregarded. And, abruptly, he ran out of steam, looking up from his papers. "Um. That's all I have." He couldn't quite meet the eyes of anyone else at the table. "Are there -- are there any questions?" Mercifully, there weren't. The president nodded once, noncommitally, and turned his eyes to the next department head to be on the hot seat, namely, Scarlet. Reeve breathed a silent sigh of relief. He couldn't shake the feeling that he'd been judged, and found wanting, but Rufus caught his eye again and once more gave him that fractional nod. ~Thank God that's over.~ He could just barely force himself to pay attention to Scarlet's words, something about alloyed steel and manufacture; he was sure that if he'd been able to listen more carefully, he would have found her report interesting, but he was too busy trying not to shake. ~I survived. I got through it. And I hope to hell I didn't sound like too much of an idiot.~ The meeting continued for another few interminable hours. Reeve couldn't help it; he tuned out again. At one point, he was aware that Rufus and his father were arguing -- sharp, pointed words that felt as if they could cut flying across the table -- and winced inwardly at the tone. He couldn't quite hide the sigh of relief that came when he heard the magic words: "Meeting dismissed." As the other executives filed out of the room, still talking, Rufus hung back -- perhaps to help him regain control of his temper, perhaps because he simply didn't feel like dealing with his father for one moment longer than necessary. Reeve didn't blame him; the two seemed more like sworn adversaries than father and son. It wasn't obvious, but Rufus was taking more time than was strictly necessary in tidying up his papers, shutting down his laptop and preparing for departure. The odd sort of defensiveness he'd radiated throughout the meeting was still present, and its presence still baffled the shit out of Reeve. Reeve hung back a bit as well, scribbling a few last notes in his notebook, sneaking peeks at Rufus. All he could think of was the single question: ~Who are you, and what have you done with Rufus?~ Rufus finally looked up from his notes, as if sensing the presence of another in the room. He blinked for a few seconds, as if taking the time to mentally shift gears, and offered up a little smile. "Terrible, aren't they?" he asked, wryly. "Yeah. I don't think your dad is too thrilled with me," Reeve replied, stacking his papers neatly and folding his hands together over them to keep himself from nervously fidgeting with his tie. "I figure I'm going to get called in to be raked over the coals any minute now." Rufus shook his head. "Nope." He flipped the cover on his laptop shut, that cool distance giving way to a dark sort of sardonicism. "He only does his coal-raking in the mornings. He's going to be heading right up to his office to get his coat and his wallet, and then he's going to walk right out of here, go to dinner in some restaurant that costs more than a month's wages for the people down in the slums, and head right on down to the Honeybee." He stood, then, and stretched, muscles audibly giving way. "Pay him no mind. He's an asshole. You did pretty well up there." The compliment, abrupt though it was, started up the blush again. "Th--thanks. I felt like a right idiot. And I still don't understand half of what it was I was saying. We have the profits; why can't we just construct those reactors /now/?" A half-chuckle. "I'll explain it to you later. It's got to do with margins, and profit flow, and expenditures. A very complex equation, and one that I don't feel like trying to explain on a Friday afternoon at --" Rufus checked his watch. "God, six-thirty, these fucking things are getting longer and longer. It's all politics. You have to look at it as some kind of crazy game -- one that you'll learn to play, in time." ~One that you've been playing since you were born, haven't you?~ Aloud, all Reeve said was, "Thanks for the advice last night, by the way. I wouldn't have had any idea what kind of things they were looking for if you hadn't told me what to say." Into the leather carrying case went the laptop. "No problem. If you want, I'll sit down with you and go over all of your department org charts and mission statements, and help you get up to speed about what it is that you're going to be /doing/, besides just supervising the reactors. There's a lot that's rolled up into Urban Dev, and a lot of it has been lying neglected for a while. I think you'll be pleasantly surprised at some of the projects that you own now." Before Reeve could answer, Rufus's cell phone rang; he tossed a look of apology in Reeve's direction and fished it out of his jacket pocket. "Yeah." Pause. "No, we just got out -- yeah, of course you knew that. I bet you could hear Heidegger stomping out six floors down." Pause again. "Of course we're on for tonight. After that meeting, I could use a stiff drink. Or three." Feeling out of place, trying not to listen to Rufus's conversation, Reeve wandered over to the window and looked down at the city below. It was a grey day, the perpetual cloud cover that seemed to surround Midgar as thick as usual. Sixty-five or so floors below them, cars moved, people walked, and lives were lived. Behind him, Rufus laughed at something that the other half of the conversation had said. "You wish, old man. Oh, and I'm bringing someone with me. Name's Reeve." Pause. "Yeah, the new head of Urban Dev. Sixteen /billion/ times better than Warner could ever be, and a damn fine drinking partner. What do you say we meet downstairs in about fifteen? Think you can get Reno to put his clothes back on by then?" Pause, and this time it was threaded through with a chuckle. "Bullshit he isn't. Downstairs in fifteen, and you're buying the first round." Rufus flipped the phone shut, stowing it back into his pocket. "You up for another night of carousing?" he asked Reeve, and Reeve turned around, trying not to indicate that he'd been listening. "God, two nights in a row? I'm out of practice." Reeve laughed. "It's been a long time since my hellraising days. What's up?" "We'll whip you back into shape in no time," Rufus said, with a laugh of his own. "That was Tseng. Head of the Tarx. We usually go out on Friday nights; they're some of the people I wanna introduce you to." It took a second for Reeve to connect the name. "Department of Administrative Research, right? What the hell do they /do/? I've heard that they have a pretty scary reputation." "They administratively research things," Rufus replied, and then laughed a little. "Sorry, old private joke. They do a lot of things. They're kind of the company's jack-of-all-trades. It's ... a little hard to explain." He picked up the laptop case and slung it over his shoulder. "We're heading back over to the place we were last night; you up for joining us?" "Sure." Reeve wandered back to the table and picked up his own notebook. "Great. I wanna run up to my office and drop off this shit; I'll meet you down in the lobby, too." -- * -- And whatever Reeve had been expecting from Shinra's "Department of Administrative Research", it sure as hell wasn't what he got. Oh, the stories of the Tarx had made it to the university -- babykillers, thugs, murderers, in general just People To Be Avoided. It was almost anticlimactic when he met them. There was Tseng, who watched everything around him with the eyes of a hawk -- or a killer. Perhaps he was the closest to what Reeve had expected; there was an aura around him that seemed to indicate that this man would do anything, anything at all. Reno, however, with his crazy red hair and his sloppy uniform, was someone who could have fit into his old fraternity without a second glance; he even acted like an overgrown college kid. Out of all of them, Reeve found it hardest to read Rude; the man was about as quiet as a stone monolith, but there was something hidden behind those ever-present sunglasses that seemed to hint that still waters ran deep ... if alcoholic. They'd swept him up in the lobby, a miniature whirlwind of corporate manners run wild, and he hadn't been able to catch his breath until they were firmly ensconsed in a U-shaped booth in the previous night's bar. It was clear that this small group had a lot in common, and even clearer that Rufus was part of them but standing apart in some indefinable way. Reeve didn't normally consider himself someone who noticed things -- not that it took hitting him over the head with something, but he didn't just pick things up, either -- but even he could notice that small little bit of distance between Rufus and the rest of the drinking party. Reeve was tucked away in the center of the U, watching the others as they sprawled comfortably around the booth and argued about just who had suffered through the worst stupidity that week. It had the feel of a regular bitch session, and Reeve got the impression that this was Rufus's /true/ weekly meeting -- the one where he learned a lot more about the pulse of the company than in the officially-sanctioned meeting. Tseng was currently holding forth, gesturing wildly with his second glass of brandy. "I swear, the next time that man decides that it's annual catch-up-on-paperwork day. I think I'm going to shoot him. You'd better not mind, Rufus, because he's going /down/." A dark, sly humor threaded through Tseng's voice. "Who?" Reeve asked on a laugh, reaching for the pitcher of beer in the center of the table and refilling his glass. "Heidegger," the Tarx chorused, in near-perfect unison. Reno continued, "Y'know, the 'main man'. Th'one who signs our paychecks, an' so, we hafta listen to what he says." Rufus chuckled, his eyes flicking back to the table from wherever they'd been focused. "By all means. Shoot him. Please. If we get rid of him, then the only ones we still have to worry about are Palmer and ..." He shuddered, comically. "Scarlet." "She still botherin' ya, chief?" Reno asked, slyly. "Why don't ya just palm her off on one of the file clerks or somethin'? Or Reeve." He nudged Reeve a little, and grinned. "Hey, Reeve, ya want a girlfriend?" Reeve could feel his cheeks beginning to pinken, just a little. Tseng choked a little on his brandy and interrupted whatever Reeve would have said with, "Leviathan, Reno, don't scare the man off. He hasn't done anything to deserve that yet, now has he?" "No, he hasn't," Rufus agreed. "Then again, neither have I. I /really/ wish Daddy dearest would stop trying to convince her that it's a match made in heaven, for Ramuh's sake. For /my/ sake." "Oh, come on," Reeve laughed, recovering his composure a bit. "She can't be /that/ bad, is she?" "She is," Rude confirmed, in that deep bass rumble that passed for his voice. "You've never seen her going after the chief, here." Rufus closed his eyes for a moment, in a give-me-strength gesture. "And please God may you never be on the receiving end of that determination," he said, ruefully. Tseng smirked. "You know you secretly like it, kid," he said, unbuttoning one of his shirt-sleeves and rolling it up, then repeating with the other. "Having that beautiful specimen of womanhood trailing after your every command..." Before Tseng could continue, Rufus leaned across the table and cuffed him. "Yeah, /right/," he said, with a smirk. "She may be cute, but it's like having a kid sister and a preschool crush all at once. Dear /gods/ is it annoying." Easily avoiding Rufus's swat -- and giving the impression that he could have done much worse than avoid it -- Tseng just shook his head. "You'll come to appreciate blind devotion sooner or later, kid," he said, a mischievous glint in his eye. "It's so easy to /manipulate/." Reno laughed. "I'm sure ya know that, don'tcha, boss?" he asked, and then fluttered his lashes at Tseng. "Since you've got /us/," he simpered. Tseng fluttered his eyelashes right back at Reno. "Oh, Reno, /darling/, don't you just /know/ it," he agreed. Reeve couldn't quite hide his shock; he wasn't sure if they meant it or not, but it was definitely the first time he'd ever seen two men flirting, even in jest. That sort of thing just /wasn't done/, and to make it worse, neither Rude nor Rufus was treating it as anything more than the usual. Rufus, in fact, was smiling one of those little amused smirks of his -- Reeve didn't know whether to be startled, chagrined, or disturbed to realize that he could already read Rufus's expressions -- as he added, "May you one day find out what it's like having a woman dogging your heels like a puppy, Tseng." Tseng dropped the act. Mostly. "Oh, there's that secretary of Scarlet's, whatsername, Elena. She's firmly convinced that I walk on water and can feed the masses. Does that count?" "No." Rufus smirked. "She isn't convinced that you're Destined To Be Together." The capital letters were audible in his voice. "Besides, Tseng..." His voice turned low, teasing. "You /know/ that you and /I/ are the ones that are /destined/ to be together..." Reeve could feel the tips of his ears on fire. Tseng just chuckled. "In your dreams, brat," he said, affectionately, and knocked back half of his drink in a single move. "So what's your story, Reeve?" "Um." That seemed to be his word of the day, as he picked up his beer and took a gulp. "Not much to tell. Graduated from Midgar U, signed on with Shinra a few weeks ago. I've mostly been trying to figure out what the hell is going on around me." He gave the table a wry smile. "And I'm not succeding all that well." "Bullshit," Rufus announced, cheerfully, and picked up his glass of whiskey. "Reeve here has already managed to outmaneuver the old man once." Ears perked in sudden interest all around the table. "No shit? What'd you do?" Reno asked, reaching for the beer with a long arm. "Well, I, uh." Reeve looked down at the table again, and then decided that it couldn't hurt. "I did an end-run around him to fix the reactors. He wasn't gonna let me make the repairs, so I just went ahead and did it anyway, and then told him about it." Strangely, that seemed to earn him a new modicum of respect. "No shit?" Reno repeated. "Good for you, man. It's about time someone stood up an' told the old man that he was full of shit." "In such a way as to still have a job afterwards," Tseng added, smoothly, lifting two fingers to the waitress and gesturing to his own and Rufus's nearly-empty shot glasses. "Which is, you must admit, the hard part." He picked up his glass, lifting it into the air lightly. "To Reeve. May he have a long and profitable career of outsmarting the brass. Without them noticing." Despite the slightly mocking tone that was present in Tseng's voice -- that always seemed to be present in Tseng's voice -- Reeve laughed. "Hell, I'll drink to that," he said, and did. The empty glasses clicked back down onto the table just as the waitress arrived with a fresh round. "And you know what? It felt damn good. It felt /good/ to get something done, instead of just cleaning out my office and trying to figure out what the hell all the people I'm supposed to be in charge of are doing. As a matter of fact, I think I'm going to do something else this weekend. I don't know what, but I'll find something." He was aware that the beer was probably talking for him, but he didn't really care. A hint of the Gongagan accent he'd worked hard to rid himself of crept back into his voice. "I sure as hell ain't gonna be one of these fat-assed, good-for-nothing, brain-dead amoebas." A quick glance passed around the table again, and then Tseng smiled, slowly. "I think you'll do just fine around here, Reeve. You wanna come down and help us throw Heidegger out of the window on Monday?" The sudden vehemence left as quickly as it had come. "Aw, shit, I don't think I could manage to pick him up. Probably drop him on my foot or something. Besides, isn't that a termin -- term -- isn't that something that'll get you fired?" A low rumble from Rude, the sound that served him as a laugh. "Only if you get caught," he said, and topped off his own beer. "Nobody ever found out about Warner." Another quick silence. ~Did I just hear that right?~ Suddenly, no one wanted to meet his eye, until Rufus said, softly, into the silence, "Warner slipped and fell down the stairs while he was drunk, Reeve. Don't look so scared." Reeve caught just the tail end of a glance that Tseng shot Rufus; it seemed to say /if that's the way you want to play it, fine./ "Seemed like he was headed for it for a while," Reeve forced himself to say. "I went through his bar this afternoon on my cleaning spree, and I've never seen so much booze in one place. And considering the frat that I belonged to, that's saying a lot." "Hey, anything good?" Reno's ears perked up at the mention of booze. "Not really." Reeve leaned back against the cushion of the booth, rotating his shoulders to try and dismiss the sudden tension. "You're welcome to come down and take a look at the remnants if you want. There's maybe one bottle of brandy I'd like to keep." Reno's eyes lit up, and Tseng laughed. "You've just made a friend for life, Reeve," the older man said, slyly. "Feed Reno, and he'll follow you around for a while. Give him free booze, and you'll never get rid of him. He's like termites." "Or crabs," Rude said, with a hint of a smile. Reno scowled, good-naturedly, but couldn't resist the chance to get a dig in at himself. "Or in-laws." The three Tarx shuddered, in unison. Tseng laughed and took another sip of his drink, and then snapped his fingers in front of Rufus's face. "And what /are/ you looking at so intently over my shoulder?" Reeve followed Rufus's eyes with his own, looking to see just what /had/ been keeping Rufus so distracted -- not that he'd really noticed it, not until Tseng pointed it out. Reno chimed in with, "Cute girl?" just as Rude shifted in his seat next to Rufus, ever so slightly. "No," Rufus said, quietly, all hints of the teasing leeching slowly away from his voice. "I think that drunk over there's deciding to be an asshole." The mood at the table altered, instantly. Reeve was almost shocked at the subtle tension that took its place; each man seemed to shift, somehow, taking on a strange sort of gravity that made Reeve shiver. "Where?" Tseng asked, lowly, casting a glance over his shoulder. "Right next to the bar. He's been harassing that poor waitress for the past half hour, but I think she just decided to take offense." Rufus's voice was equally as low, and the tone to it made Reeve's skin crawl. Here, finally, was the man who'd been present in that meeting. Tseng turned, slowly, to see the tableau Rufus described. The last little bits of humor slowly faded off his face, to be replaced by a bleak sort of coldness that Reeve had never quite seen before. "Idiot," he growled, under his breath, and it wasn't certain if he was talking to the man who was even then standing up to confront the waitress, or the waitress who looked like she was about to slap him. "Can't a man just have a drink in peace?" Reno laughed. "Y'gonna do something about it, boss? Chief? Or are y'just gonna sit here and hope th'carnage doesn't spread?" Rude grunted, just a little. "I say we go do something about it," he said, laconically. "We do have a reputation to maintain." Ignoring the mild surprise at hearing a full sentence out of the normally taciturn Rude, Reeve just held up a hand. "Uh, folks, what are we thinking of doing here? That guy is /big/, and he's got a /lot/ of friends at that table..." Rufus flashed a grin at him, and it was /not/ a nice grin. "I make it nine to four," he said, his eyes sweeping over the rowdy men on the other side of the bar. "That is, if you don't want to play. Now, the day that the Tarx and I can't handle nine to four odds ..." "Is the day my old masters back in Wutai start rolling in their graves," Tseng finished for him. "Not like they already aren't. Come on, boys, let's go do our job in keeping the streets of Midgar safe for its drunks and assholes." The sarcasm in his voice was perfectly matched by the feral smile that touched his face. Reeve tried again. "Uh, guys, do you /really/ think --" But it was too late. Almost as one, the four men stood from the table, sliding out of the booth smoothly. The bar got very, very quiet when the other patrons saw them moving; Reeve could see more than a few people gulping nervously and edging well back from the table in question. The men by the bar, however, didn't move. ~Ohgodohgodpleasedon'tletthemdoanything~ was the only thing that went through Reeve's mind. It was obvious, however, that neither Rufus nor the Tarx were proficient in mindreading, because Rufus strode right up to the table -- displacing the waitress, who seemed to be half relieved that the situation was being taken out of her hands, half worried about what might happen. Rufus leaned his palms on the table right in front of the drunk who'd been provoking the incident and drawled, "You know, when a lady tells you that she's not interested, it usually means that she's not interested. I wonder where you come from, that it means that she's interested if you just pester her a little more?" The man in question looked up, as if realizing for the first time just /who/ else was in the bar. To his credit -- or perhaps against it -- he didn't cower in fear; instead, he just looked at Rufus, perhaps too drunk to notice. Behind him, the Tarx filled in; Reno produced a long, slender telescoping rod from the inside of one pocket. The other two, perhaps more frighteningly, just cracked their knuckles. Reeve was torn between sinking underneath the table or getting the /hell/ out of the bar before the mayhem started ... but yet, he couldn't quite tear his eyes away from the potential destruction at the other end of the bar. He couldn't help but notice the look on Rufus's face as he leaned in a little more, that look of barely concealed anticipation ... the little smirk on Tseng's face that seemed to taunt the drunk, the way Rude just /stood/ there, expressionless, the way Reno tossed that stick back and forth and grinned like a jack-o-lantern. Something that he barely recognized as fear skittered along the ends of his nerves, though fear for what he couldn't quite tell -- fear for Rufus, fear for himself, fear for the others in the bar. The drunken man, serene in his alcohol-induced courage, just laughed in Rufus's face. "'N who d'you think YOU are?" he slurred, pushing his chair back and standing up, breathing fragrant fumes into Rufus's face. It was almost as if something in Rufus's face tightened at that moment, an old ghost taking flesh and voice. "Didn't your mother ever teach you some /manners/?" he snarled, his hand shooting out to grab the other man, around the throat. One of the man's table-mates stood, at that, and moved as if to protect his friend; within half a second Tseng had him in a headlock, the other arm wrestling the man's arm up and behind his back. "Aw," said Reno, his tone disappointed, "y'never let me 'n Rude have /any/ fun. Isn't that right, Rude?" Rude just raised an eyebrow at Reno as they both circled the table, keeping an eye on the other seven members of their opponent's party. "I think this is about right," Rude rumbled, quietly. "One for the chief, one for the boss, seven for us." Reeve felt like a deer in the headlights. The only thought that he could recognize, running through his head, was ~deargodthisisgonnabeugly~, drowned out by a half-felt sense of memory, memory he'd tried to learn how to /ignore/. He barely noticed Rufus's other hand, the hand that wasn't holding the man's throat, flash forward in a quick blow that broke the man's nose, but the scared five-year-old child in his mind was gibbering in fear at the barely controlled violence in Rufus's expression. Perhaps it was the control that made it more frightening... the thought that if this man was capable of this cruelty while under this control, what would he be able to do if he ever really lost his temper? As if that was the sign for the battle to begin, all hell broke loose. It all happened in a few seconds, of that much Reeve was sure, but it felt like it took years to complete. The world seemed to narrow to that one section of the bar, and a few crystalline images -- the blood pouring from a broken nose, the sounds of blows landing, the sickeningly ugly <> of a broken bone and the sound of a man hitting the floor. Tseng whirled, his hair flying loose, to dodge a blow that Reeve knew he himself never would have been able to sense coming; Rude bodily picked one of the other men up and /threw/ him into the bar, his missile landing with a soft thud and a groan. Reno proved, in those few seconds, just what lingered under that casually sloppy exterior, as he jabbed his stick into one of the men who was just beginning to lunge towards Rude; the sound of an electric shock somehow managed to penetrate even the din of the fight, and the revolting smell of burning flesh turned Reeve's stomach. The frightened child within him, the child that still remembered this sort of violence directed at him, was screaming at him to /get out/ ... but he found he couldn't move. And above all of this, somehow visible through the chaos and tumult, was Rufus. Gracefully whirling to one side and slamming his original opponent's face against the table, hard enough to cause permanent damage, he ducked and came up to sweep the legs of the man who was rushing him. The few quick blows it took to incapacitate each of the men who rushed him seemed to come naturally, fluidly. And it was the look on his face ... the terrible, beautiful, deadly look on his face, the look that was halfway between mildly bored and enjoying himself entirely too much, that almost pushed Reeve over the edge. And then it was over. As if nothing had happened, the four men halted almost in unison, as soon as the last opponent hit the floor and didn't get back up. Rude adjusted his sunglasses, which somehow had survived the melee intact. Reno collapsed that odd little weapon of his, sticking it back in a pocket. Tseng tucked a flyaway strand of hair back behind his ear. And Rufus casually picked up one of the bar napkins, cleaning the blood off his hands, and then dropped it again. They headed back to the table, where Reeve was still just blankly staring, positive that he was shaking like a leaf, trying desperately to control the terrible fear and adrenalin that was pouring through his system. Rufus was laughing at something that Reno had said; the four of them looked like nothing else so much as a bunch of schoolchildren let off on holiday. "Come on," Rufus said, still chuckling, as they stopped off beside the table. "The place gets a little annoyed at us when we do something like this; we should probably leave before there's another scene." Reeve wasn't sure that his legs would hold him, but he slid across the seat anyway, doing his damnedest to appear as casual as the others were and positive he was failing. "Do you do this /often/?" he managed to ask, inwardly kicking himself at the quaver in his voice. Rufus laughed ... and then something seemed to cross his expression, almost a hint of the softer side that Reeve had seen before -- and was desperately trying to remember now, after having seen that little bit of casual violence. "Hey, why don't you guys go on ahead?" he said to the rest of the Tarx; Tseng studied him for a long, long moment, something seeming to cross his face that was a blend of concern and vague amusement, and then nodded. "Sure thing, kiddo. We'll be back at my place; catch you there." Slapping Rude on the back -- having to reach quite a distance to do so -- Tseng just said, "C'mon, boys, let's leave Junior and the newbie. I've got a bottle of Scotch back at my place that's just screaming our names." Reno laughed, and Rude smirked; they both gave half-salutes, and turned to head out of the bar. Tseng turned back to Rufus for half a second, his eyes seeming to flash a warning, and then left himself. Rufus turned back to Reeve as soon as the other men left; his voice softened. "You okay?" he asked. Reeve's head bobbed up and down a couple of times, and he gave a soft, shaky little sigh. "Yeah," he finally replied, in a voice that seemed miles away. "Just a little rattled." He knew it was probably pretty obvious how much of a grand understatement this really was, but he didn't really care. Rufus studied him for another moment; there was honest concern in his face as he flipped a few locks of hair out of his eyes. "Not used to barfights?" "Not really ... no ..." ~Not ones like that, at least ... Ramuh and Ifrit, they could have killed someone. Or been killed. Or --~ But he knew, studying the instant replay that his mind's eye was unwittingly offering up to him, that there had really been no danger of that. The four men had used exactly, /precisely/ as much force as they felt was necessary. Not one blow more. And somehow, that made it more terrifying. "I just -- no, forget it. I'm okay." He ran a hand over his face. "I'm okay." With a little bit of a frown, Rufus reached behind him -- to one of the tables that /was/ still intact -- and snagged a pitcher of water, ignoring the inhabitants of that table. ~Not like they'd dare to protest, anyway,~ Reeve thought, and had to suppress the sudden hysterical laughter. Rufus picked up one of the glasses from their table, filling it with water and handing it over to Reeve. "Here. Drink this, and let's get you out into the air. I'm sorry you had to see that." Reeve reached out carefully and got a good grip on the glass, more than a little afraid of dropping it as he drank. "Yeah," he agreed, slowly taming his voice to the point where it no longer cracked and wavered as it came out. "If you don't mind--I'd like to get out of here." Rufus's eyes were concerned, almost caring, as he pushed his hair out of his eyes again. ~God, how can he /look/ at me like that?~ one scared corner of Reeve's mind gibbered at him. "Sure thing. You just lean there for a few minutes, okay? I'm going to go settle up with the bartender." Pulling his wallet out as he moved through the wreckage -- and stepped over the body of a man who would no doubt need a visit to the hospital, at the very least -- he didn't spare a backwards glance for Reeve. Reeve finished his water and slowly eased back onto his feet, testing the strength of his legs. They held to his satisfaction, and he tried not to look too hard at the broken and unconscious (maybe worse) bodies on the floor. He wanted to get out of there. Now. And as much as he wanted to leave with Rufus, the thought of being alone with him frightened him. Across the room, Rufus took a handful of bills -- large bills -- out of his wallet and tossed them on the bar in front of the owner, saying something that made the man's teeth flash white in his face. It was clear that this was not the first time something like this had happened, and Reeve didn't know if that thought scared him even more. Rufus headed back to the table, all signs of the predator vanished as if they never were ... yet Reeve couldn't forget. He couldn't forget this, nor could he deny that the whole ugly scene had dredged up thoughts he really didn't want to think. As Rufus approached the table again, Reeve found himself unable to meet his gaze directly; he sort of stared at the top of Rufus's head. "We're square," Rufus said, picking up his shotglass -- which had survived the fracas unharmed, mainly because the battle had been confined to that one small section by the bar -- and draining it. "You gonna be okay to get out of here? C'mon, I'll walk back to the building with you." A pause, and another concerned look. "On second thought, maybe we should call a cab." "No! No, I mean -- I'm okay. You don't have to --" God, God, how could he be so /nice/, not five minutes after beating a man so brutally that he'd be lucky to get out of the hospital without needing major corrective surgery? "You can go ahead and go back to the party. I'll just -- go lie down. I'm not feeling all that great..." A hand reached out to take Reeve firmly by the elbow, and Reeve closed his eyes, fighting the instinct to pull away. "Bullshit you're okay. I'm sorry; I didn't think. I should have known. Come on, let's get out of here." The fingers on his elbow were firm, and Rufus watched him as if to make sure that Reeve could walk. Reeve could. He was putting a little too much thought into setting one foot in front of the other, but it worked. "I'm sorry," he finally sighed, once he caught up to Rufus. "I guess I just don't deal with this stuff very well." Rufus shook his head, a little bit of a frown creasing his brows. "Don't apologize," he said, lowly, as they reached the door and he held it open. "It's my fault; I should have thought before I ... Well, I should have warned you, at least. I should have known ..." ~After last night.~ The words were not spoken, but they could have been. Reeve swept through the door, glad to be out of that place. He sat down on the curb and with trembling fingers, pulled a cigarette out of a pocket, and searched for a lighter. "It's okay," he sighed, finding the lighter and touching flame to cigarette. "That guy was a jerk." ~don't know if he deserved /that,/ but...~ Rufus sat down on the cub next to Reeve, still watching him -- though this time out of the corner of his eye as he fished his own cigarettes out. Amazingly, they were undamaged. "Yeah, he was. Better'n some of the ones we get sometimes, though -- the ones who want to start something just because of who we are..." Abruptly, he turned to face Reeve. Something in his tone brooked no arguments as he asked, "We scared the shit out of you in there, didn't we?" "Yeah," Reeve replied in a small but steadying voice. Rufus looked away, a rueful expression twisting his face. "I didn't mean to," he said, softly. "I just didn't think." Reeve pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. "I know," he said. "It just...kind of freaked me out. I'm okay." Tentatively, hesitantly -- almost as if he was afraid that Reeve would shy away, and for some reason hoping that he wouldn't -- Rufus brought his hand up to rest it on Reeve's shoulder. "No, you're not," he said, lowly. "And I know why, and I wish it hadn't happened." Reeve jumped--just a little--then slowly, he relaxed. "I just want to go home," he finally said, sounding very much like that scared five-year-old. "Yeah," Rufus said, with a soft sigh. "Are you sure you're going to be okay alone, though?" He fished his cellphone out of his back pocket, waiting for Reeve's answer. "I--" ~no god please I don't want to be alone~ Reeve shut his eyes for a moment, the forgotten cigarette finally slipping from between his fingers and dropping to the pavement. "I'll be okay," he finally sighed. Somehow, Reeve knew that Rufus heard the answer that he did not speak -- heard it, and let it pass, out of some impulse of compassion or dignity. "All right," he agreed, softly, and called for the cab in a low voice. Behind them, sirens began to echo through the streets. Reeve shut his eyes and rested his head on his knees. ~how can he do--that--and then act like this with me--I don't understand...~ Rufus's hand absently traced small circles on Reeve's back as he spoke with the dispatch manager, as if he didn't even know what he was doing. "He said five minutes," he said, as he hung up the phone and replaced it in his pocket. "Look ... I know I scared the shit out of you in there, and I know you're probably wondering whether or not I've got a few important screws loose right now, but ..." He stopped, then sighed. "Nah, nevermind." Reeve lifted his head up, just a little. "What is it?" he queried, finally bringing himself to look up to Rufus's eyes. Rufus's eyes showed nothing but concern, all hints of the lethal killer gone as if they never were. "I just didn't want you to think that ... that I made a habit of this, okay? I ..." He sighed, and dropped his eyes, letting his hand fall from Reeve's shoulder. "I don't know," he confessed, awkwardly. With a sigh that might have been a small release of tension, Reeve settled his head back against his knees and shut his eyes again. Not knowing quite what to say, not knowing how to reach over the breech between them, Rufus just sat next to Reeve, smoking his cigarette in silence, until the screech of the cab's tires blended with the sirens of the ambulance. -- * -- "So where did you turn that one up, Rufus?" Tseng asked, leaning his elbows on the counter of his kitchen. Rude's snores echoed through the room from where he'd passed out on the couch; Reno was equally unconscious, draped half-standing, facedown over the back of the couch. As Tseng watched, one lock of his hair fell over his shoulder to tickle Rude's bare feet. It was just Tseng and Rufus left, as it all too frequently was. "What do you mean?" Rufus asked from his position in one of the comfortable, over-stuffed easy chairs, watching the low light play through the glass he held, still half-full. "Reeve? Oh, found him in the cafeteria the other day ... poor guy hadn't figured out yet that only the desperate and the poor eat there." Tseng smirked, his usual professional demeanor left far behind. "That's not what I meant, kiddo, and you damn well know it. Why'd you bring him out with us? I thought he was gonna bolt like a scared rabbit when that fight broke out." "Yeah, well." Rufus sighed, listening to the way the ice clicked in the glass as he swirled it, slowly. "I didn't think he'd be that scared. I guess I've been hanging out with us for so long that things like that just seem normal." Tseng nodded in agreement. "You didn't think. Didn't we teach you better than that?" Rufus looked up, his expression unguarded in that one instant before the mask settled down around his features again. "Huh?" was all he asked, perhaps a little more drunk than he'd care to admit. Tseng turned to take a glass out of one of his cabinets, filling it with water from the tap and adding some ice. "You're gonna be running this place someday, kid --" "Tell me something I don't know," Rufus interrupted, lowly, with the usual hint of bitterness in his voice. Tseng ignored it. "Well, you sure as hell don't act like it sometimes. Your father's the one who doesn't think about the people he employs; I thought you'd decided that you were going to do better than that." Tseng's grey eyes were cool as he regarded Rufus. The <> of the glass hitting the table echoed through the apartment like a shot. Rufus's eyes were dark and stormy as he hissed, "Don't you /ever/ compare me to my father, Tseng." "Then stop acting like him." Tseng took a few steps forward, watching Rufus like a hawk. "You're better than that. I should know. I trained you. Out of everyone I've ever taught, you have the most potential, and I'm not talking about fighting style. But if you don't straighten out and start paying a little more attention to what's going on around you, you're never going to do anything with it." Rufus choked back the first words that came to mind -- ~don't you start, too, Tseng, I get enough of this shit from everyone else, don't you realize that despite all you want to do to help all you're doing is taking me one step closer to snapping and I /really/ don't think you want to see that~ and just nodded, slowly. "Yes, sir," he just said, the sullen teenager showing through those words. Tseng's face relaxed. "Hey, don't worry about it, Ruf," he said, taking out another glass and filling that one with water as well, then bringing them both over to where Rufus was sitting. "You'll get the hang of it sooner or later. Don't worry about it too much." He handed over one of the glasses of water, dropping into the other chair. "On the whole, you're pretty good, kid." ~If you only knew.~ -- * -- A blanket was drawn over Reeve's form, curled into a little ball on the couch of his office, and then the soft footsteps retreated -- paused for a moment, turned back, and then retreated again, the door of the office clicking lightly shut. -- * -- As the Saturday morning sun began to stream merrily through the windows of Reeve's office, he uttered a single syllable. "Urgh." That pretty much summed up his current state of mind. Even the hellacious head-pounding bowl-hugging hangovers of his college days could not compare to this. This was the Mother of All Hangovers. His entire body was one angry throbbing aching nerve, and his tongue was clinging to the roof of his mouth like Velcro. Memories of the previous evening, nebulous and fuzzy at the edges, floated up to the surface of his consciousness. He hadn't even had that much to drink; that much he knew. Well, except for the glass of brandy he'd had when he came back to his office, sick and shaking and unable to face the prospect of driving himself home. And then, when that had proven insufficient -- when he kept seeing the blood, hearing the sickening sound of bone grating against bone, when he kept hearing the /noises/, the goddamn /noises/ -- well, he'd had another. And then another, because, well, there wasn't all that much left in the bottle, and there wouldn't be much point in simply letting it get capped back up and stowed back in the bar. All right, maybe he /had/ had too much to drink. He dragged himself up to a sitting position and groaned; his office seemed to be doing the hula before his eyes. And on top of that...he'd had the /oddest/ damn dream. He'd been lying there on the couch in his office, face-down, drowsing through the haze of alcohol and old ghosts, when the footsteps had sounded. He'd passed them off as a hallucination, because he /knew/ damn well he'd locked the door when he came in -- it was an old habit, and one that he had learned in such a manner as to make sure that he never forgot. Yet someone had come into the room with him, gently removed his fingers from the glass lying on the floor, and tenderly tucked a blanket over him before leaving again. A blanket that had still been there when he woke up. ~Hallucination,~ he thought stubbornly. ~That's all it could have been. You grabbed the blanket before you passed out, and your head just built some sort of weird crazy dream for you. Of what you always wished someone had been there to do for you.~ But there had been something else, as he had been lying there passed out. He'd felt something brush his forehead. Something gentle. Like maybe a moth had lit there for an instant. Or maybe like someone had kissed him. Someone like Rufus, maybe. ~What the HELL am I thinking!?~ Reeve gave himself a mental slap across the face. He needed food. The thought made his stomach do backflips, but he forced himself to pick up the phone and call out for a sandwich and something non-alcoholic to drink. He had learned early on that no matter how much the thought of eating made him want to hurl when a hangover had him in its clutches, it would always ease the pain (if only long enough for him to drag himself to a respectable bed). In the meantime, he made do with a glass of ice water, and began to think, unpleasantly, of the long, painful drive home that awaited him.