The Conscience of the King
				Chapter Seven: The Lady's Not for Burning



"There's a club, if you'd like to go 
You could meet somebody who really loves you 
So you go, and you stand on your own 
And you leave on your own 
And you go home, and you cry 
And you want to die..." 
		-- The Smiths









	"Red or gold?"

	Scarlet turned around from the door of her closet, holding two
dresses, frowning at them thoughtfully. "I haven't worn the red yet. I
wore the gold two years ago. But we've had enough of a turnover since
then that I don't think anyone would really recognize it, and even if
they did, so what?" She held up the gold dress, shaking it a little.
"But everyone expects me to wear red."

	"Which is precisely why you don't want to do it," Tseng drawled. He
was lounging on the foot of Scarlet's bed, wrapped in an elegant robe of
sapphire silk. "Which is why you even asked the question to begin with.
I'm hardly a fashion consultant, but I do know you well enough to know
that you're more interested in doing the unexpected." His lips twitched.
"Which is, of course, quite expected behaviour."

	She turned around and scowled at him. "I'm being serious. Which
dress do you think looks best?"

	Tseng shrugged. "Show up in ashes and sackcloth for all I care. You
know my only interest in your clothes is getting you out of them." At
her irritated look, he smiled, pleasantly, that slow, sensual smile of
his that garnered him forgiveness for many of his transgressions. "It's
only the Yule Ball, after all. Who cares?"

	"I do," she muttered, turning back to her closet; she hung both
dresses back on the rack, frowning at her wardrobe pensively. 

	"That wouldn't happen to have anything to do with your escort, now
would it?" Tseng's smile widened in satisfaction as he saw her shoulders
tense, then forcibly loosen.

	"I don't know what you're talking about," she said, her tone just a
shade too bright. "It's only Rufus."

	"Only Rufus, who hasn't been at all amenable to your various
flirtations, and hasn't been for a long time. Only Rufus, who hasn't
touched either of us in months. Only Rufus, whom you still hope to
convince of your varied charms and maidenly delights." Tseng shook his
head. "You're out of your depths, filly. He's not interested. Face it."

	Scarlet chose another dress, apparently at random, and held it up,
inspecting it carefully; the dark lavender skirts spilled over one arm.
"He'll look at me tonight," she said, her voice low, determined. "He'll
have to. We're going to be stuck at the damn ball together. And I can at
least convince him that he doesn't need to avoid me."

	"Have it your way." Tseng rolled over, lithely, landing in a
semi-crouch on his feet; he held the pose for half a second, shook
himself slightly, and stood. "I need to go get dressed myself. Care for
a little wager, before I go?"

	She tossed a disdainful look over her shoulder. "What would that
be?"

	Tseng sketched a mocking bow in her direction. "Ten thousand gil
says he sleeps in his own rooms tonight. Without you."

	Her eyes narrowed. "There's no need to be snide, Tseng. Nor is there
any reason to be crude."

	Spreading his hands, Tseng radiated innocence. "Where is the
crudity? I simply proposed a wager. My mother taught me never to pass up
easy money."

	She crossed her arms over her chest, goaded on by his self-righteous
air. "You're on. I'll take that money from you tomorrow."

	Another half-bow. "With my best wishes and fond affection, filly, if
you do. But you won't. I'll see you at the ball." He turned, as if to go
-- and then turned back. "And wear the red. That purple makes you look
like an overripe plum."

	He took some small satisfaction in the *thump* that resounded as he
closed her door behind him -- the sound of someone throwing something,
small and possibly fragile, against the door.



				-- * --





	"I'm actually kinda looking forward to this," Reeve said, from his
vantage point sprawled across Rufus's bed. Behind him, the lights of
Midgar played over his half-dressed form.

	Rufus looked up and met his eyes in the mirror, fingers neatly
knotting his bow tie with the ease of long practice. "No, you're not,"
he corrected, absently. 

	"Why do you say that?" Curious, Reeve rolled over, propping his chin
up on his fists. "I've never been to one of the Yule balls before. I was
back home last year this time."

	The look on Rufus's face was sour. "Tell you what," he said, as he
stooped to scoop up the impeccably tailored white tuxedo jacket from
where it rested on the floor. "Why don't I ask you in about three hours
whether or not you're enjoying yourself? That should settle the matter
once and for all."

	Reeve watched, drinking in the motion; it was still surprising to
him that he could take such pleasure in the movement of another, and
another man besides. But every casual gesture brought back the thoughts
of Rufus naked, Rufus leaning over him, Rufus --

	Well, enough of /that/, he thought, firmly, with an inner laugh. "It
can't be all that bad."

	"Tell me that in another three hours," Rufus repeated, smoothing the
lines of the jacket down around his sides and frowning at his reflection
in the mirror. "The annual Yule Ball is punctuated by hours of sitting
around and looking bored at each other, while a half-dead orchestra
wheezes its way through the four dance numbers it can manage to play,
attempting to summon enough functional brain cells to have anything even
remotely resembling an intelligent conversation and hoping against all
hope that you'll manage to get seated next to someone who can understand
more than 'See Spot Run'." He adjusted the lines of his tuxedo
fractionally, and scowled once more. "And those are the good parts."

	Reeve couldn't help but laugh, as Rufus's little micro-rants usually
made him do. "You sound thrilled at the prospect."

	"Terribly." The sarcasm dripped from Rufus's voice. "I live for
this. Really. The only reason I go is because if I didn't, I'd probably
be disinherited or something. This is supposed to be the party for
middle management and above, the way to recognize everyone's hard work
throughout the year. The problem is that middle management and above are
a bunch of fucking /idiots/, and there's nothing I hate more in life
than having to get dressed up in monkey clothes to sit around and be
bored for six hours."

	"You look good in that tux," Reeve offered, shyly. And Rufus did; it
suited him, somehow, the clean white lines of fabric. 

	That earned him a fractional smile. "Thanks. The problem is that
Scarlet thinks so too."

	"Ugh." Reeve flopped over onto his back, staring at the ceiling.
"Yeah, I'm not all that thrilled that you're escorting her, but what can
you do."

	An elegantly clad shoulder rose and fell. "Nothing. I've been
escorting her to these things since I was fourteen. And let me tell you,
if there was one thing more boring than getting dressed up to go to
these things /now/, it was getting dressed up to go to these things when
I was fourteen and much more interested in girls and computers, in that
order." Rufus turned around, then, eyes taking in the sight of Reeve
sprawled on his bed. "I'd rather keep you home all night and fuck you
until dawn."

	The words brought on the familiar blush, but by now Reeve didn't
even bother to try and hide it. "I can't say that thought is
unappealing."

	"But alas, impossible." Rufus ran a hand through his hair, scowled
at it, and turned away to pick up the set of gold and diamond cufflinks
that rested on his dresser. "Just do me a favor tonight, okay, Reeve?"

	"Sure." Reeve raised one eyebrow, not quite liking the weariness in
Rufus's voice. "What?"

	"Be careful." Rufus turned back, eyes serious. "There's an awful lot
of wine, and an awful lot of idiots, and I hate the thought that you
might step into something that you can't handle."

	"I've handled it so far," Reeve pointed out; and indeed, he had.
He'd kept his head high through the rumors, showing by his distinct lack
of care that either the rumors weren't true, or the rumors were true and
Reeve just didn't care who knew. He /did/ care, a little, but he knew
that to show such weakness would be to court disaster. And Rufus made it
up to him ... 

	"Yeah, you have." Rufus leaned back against the dresser, one corner
of his mouth curling up. "But be careful anyway. We're already in enough
hot water if anyone finds out for real, instead of just the rumors. It's
going to be ten times worse tonight."

	Reeve raised an eyebrow. "You think it'll be that bad?"

	"I don't think. I know." Again, that half-shrug. "I've been dealing
with it since I was ... younger than I want to remember. I just wanted
to warn you." He turned back to the mirror, gave himself another
once-over. "I'm off. Try not to show up too early; nine o'clock or so is
reasonable, for one of the execs. Any earlier, and you look too eager."

	He still wasn't able to read the corporate culture as easily as
Rufus was; he somehow thought that he never would be, that it was a
talent that needed to be bred into one, or instilled at such an early
age that it became second nature. "Sounds good," he responded, softly.
"I'll see you there?"

	Rufus stopped off by the bed for a brief, fierce kiss, before
stepping back. "Unfortunately, yes."

	Reeve watched as Rufus departed. It couldn't be that bad, surely?
Surely?

	Somehow, though, he knew, deep in his heart, that it would be.





				-- * --

				

	"Well, don't you look elegant." 

	Rufus bit back the first comment that came to his lips; considered
the second, discarded it, and went for the safety of formality. "So do
you." He proffered the flowers that he'd obtained from the flower shop
downstairs; delicate, hothouse blossoms that cost a month's wages from
the slums, blooms that would wither and die in the smog and dust of the
city air were it not for the cages of glass and steel that sheltered
them. 

	And indeed, Scarlet did; clad in a shimmering dress of her trademark
shade of red, a dress that clung to her every curve like a lover's
touch. Her hair was piled on the top of her head; twin chains of gold
snaked from each earlobe. She smiled at the gesture, or at the
compliment, abrupt though it might be. "Thank you. I had the dress made
particularly for me." She accepted the flowers, tucking one stem
casually into the complicated twists and turns that comprised her
hairdo. He knew that she must have spent hours on her preparations, yet
somehow, she looked as if she had just stepped from the shower.

	Or the bed.

	"I hate these circuses," Rufus grumbled, as tradition required; as
tradition required, she smiled back at him.

	"I hate them too. I'd much rather be in my workshop doing something
useful. But the golden children have been summoned, and so must appear."
She turned away, picking up the tiny, delicate purse that certainly
couldn't hold anything useful. 

	Against his will, Rufus felt his lips curving. He forgot, sometimes
-- particularly when all he could remember was the pursuit, the tension
-- how much he genuinely liked Scarlet, when she wasn't trying to
capture him for a life that he didn't want to lead. "Think we could find
two people who looked enough like us to pass, and send them instead?"

	"If we could teach them to smile prettily, and make no promises, and
dance with all of the aging executives," she parried, turning back, "I
don't think anyone would notice. "It's not as if we're needed for
anything more advanced than showcasing the old man's children. Child and
adopted child," she corrected herself, picking up her gauzy shawl and
throwing it around her shoulders. "You're there to show that the company
has a future, and I'm there to prove that he's not just a selfish old
bastard more concerned with his dick and his belly than with his image."

	"Which we all know to be a blatant lie." Rufus lounged against the
wall, watching her with a sort of detached aesthetic appreciation. 

	"Well, yes." She tucked the shawl a little more firmly and smiled at
him once more. "But we can pretend, can't we?"

	"We've been pretending for this long, a little longer won't kill
us." He extended an arm to her. "Unless we happen to choke on our own
lies and evasions, we'll survive another year. Unless this happens to be
the year that we both just can't stand it anymore, and in that case,
this tux is ruined, because you just can't bleach blood out of white
linen." 

	Scarlet laughed, a sort of low chuckle. "Which is I wear red, dear
brother; because one day, one of us /will/ snap, and I'd really like to
be there when it happens." Her tone was even, matter-of-fact; they'd
been discussing such potential since barely post-pubescent, never quite
realizing just how much it marked them as children of a different sort
of upbringing. "Shall we?"

	"Against my wishes and my better judgement, yes." He rested his hand
on the hand that was tucked in the crook of his arm. "I'll rescue you
from having to dance with Heidegger if you rescue me from having to deal
with the old man in a social setting."

	"Deal." 

	And together, they went to face the impending nightmare.





				-- * --

				

	"...said to him that there was no way I'd have that done by..."

	"...so wasted that there was no way we were going to get back to the
building, so I called a cab, and he lost all of his pitcher of
margaritas right there in the back of the ..."

	"...twelve percent from last quarter, and it wasn't good enough for
him, so I said..."

	"...last weekend was a total washout, so I put together a group for
this weekend..."

	"...a lousy fifty fucking gil, pardon my Wutaian, and then we were
just about ready to let the deal go down when he backed out at the very
last..."

	"...nevermind that the coffee and donuts were already ordered for
the meeting, she just cancelled without giving any kind of ..."

	The eddies of conversation shifted around Rufus as he leaned against
one pillar of the massive Shinra ballroom, drink in one hand, cigarette
in the other; he flicked ash onto the wood-paneled floor, watching all
of the perfect people move in concert on the dance floor, while behind
him the tables were filled with people lingering over dessert and
coffee.

	Dinner had been excruciating. Social settings with his father were
one thing; social settings with his father in front of nearly a thousand
people, having to smile and laugh and pretend that everything was fine,
was another thing entirely, and exponentially worse. 

	"...see the dress she's wearing? I wouldn't be caught dead..."

	"...second time I played it, and this time there was no..."

	"...left her right there, no shit, just sitting out there on the
edge of the fucking curb..."

	".../fifteen fucking donuts/ he ate, sitting right there at the
meeting, and then said that since none of us had touched them we
couldn't have the leftovers..."

	At least Scarlet had been cooperative. He hadn't realized just what
a strain it was, fending off her advances at every turn, until it had,
quite simply, stopped for an evening. Something about the hated Required
Appearance declared all wars to be off for the evening, so that they
could stand back to back against the common foe. It had been like this
for years; no matter how badly they had been feuding, it would end the
moment they walked through those giant double doors, and not be picked
up again until well afterwards.

	He smiled a minute into his drink, remembering the year he'd been
seventeen; they'd spent the entire night before the ball alternately
fucking and screaming at each other, and once or twice fucking /and/
screaming at each other. He'd had to resort to theatrical makeup from
his time at school to conceal the furrows she'd left on his cheek with
her nails; she'd had to wear a different dress than she'd planned, one
that wasn't as low-backed, to cover up the bruises he'd left on her. Yet
they had presented a united front for those short hours, before
returning to her rooms and picking up exactly where they'd left off. The
dress had been ruined.

	Rufus wasn't quite sure when their strange dysfunctional
half-sibling, half-lovers relationship had changed. She hadn't changed,
that much was sure; the fault was entirely with him. Had it been when
he'd returned from school, to take up the burden of the Vice-Presidency
and all of the bullshit that it entailed? Had it been when he began
seeing her every day, began having to face up to the fact that, if he
didn't do something to change matters, he would be bound to her for the
rest of his life? 

	Had it been so late as when he had met Reeve?

	"...last time I do anything for /him/, the bastard, after he sent
that email around the entire company I got called on the carpet so badly
that..."

	"...can't believe she's leaving the company, I mean, where the hell
is she going to get another job like this, though I suppose that the ...
other job requirements are getting to her..."

	"...no shit, no shit, there I was, stoned out of my brain, and I
couldn't find my pants..."

	Rufus took another sip of his glass of wine and watched the
interplay on the dance floor. The object of his ponderings, Scarlet,
waltzed gracefully with a departmental vice-president who was nearing
retirement age, the two of them laughing at some casual remark as they
passed. Reno, surprisingly enough clad in a tuxedo, though
unsurprisingly looking precisely as if he'd just rolled out of bed,
stood at the bar and gestured wildly with one hand as he tried to hit on
a girl. Rude, in the clothing he'd had to have custom-made for his bulk,
held up a pillar on the other side of the dance floor; he met Rufus's
eye as Rufus scanned the crowd, giving him just a fraction of a smile.
Palmer and Heidegger, unsurprisingly, had just returned from another
trip to the dessert buffet; the table they'd sat at was littered with
empty plates and coffee cups. 

	The old man was no doubt -- ah, yes, there he was, maneuvering his
bulk across the dance floor with his secretary, that poor woman looking
insanely put-upon as the old man doubtlessly stepped on her foot yet
again. Tseng, dark and graceful in his formal Wutaian robes -- something
that made Rufus smile; he knew damn well that the man only wore those to
piss off Heidegger -- led Scarlet's secretary, Elena, through a dance
that was not quite a waltz, though it drew many elements of inspiration
from one. Even Hojo had made an appearance; the man cleaned up
surprisingly well, Rufus thought, watching as Sephiroth and Hojo sat at
a table in the back, discussing something with animation that no doubt
no one else in the entire ballroom would understand. As Rufus watched,
Sephiroth made a face and grabbed one of the linen napkins, pulling out
a pen to jot down some complex equation; Hojo studied the napkin for a
moment, frowned, and tapped the fabric, saying something heated. The two
of them would, no doubt, spend the entire evening arguing physics; it
was always interesting when they put aside their differences long enough
to converse.

	He was actually beginning to believe that, just perhaps, this year
wouldn't be all that terrible. Boring, yes; dull, lifeless, of course.
That was not likely to ever change. Yet no metaphorical blood had been
spilled, and the evening was already far along.

	"Well, there's always the real party," he muttered, into his drink,
and crushed out his cigarette beneath his heel.

	"The what?" came Reeve's voice from beside him, and Rufus turned to
smile at the other man.

	"The real party. You wait and see; at around midnight, everyone over
the age of 40 clears out of here and leaves the rest of us to our own
devices. It's the only thing that makes these events even remotely
bearable." He let his eyes run over Reeve's frame, briefly, the sight
sparking a hidden fire deep within his eyes before he reluctantly tamped
it down. "We've got about another hour and a half left of the boring
part, and then the fun starts."

	Reeve laughed and leaned against the pillar next to Rufus; he fished
out a pack of cigarettes from the inside pocket of his tux, lighting
one. "Sounds great."

	"My gods, man, you're actually enjoying yourself, aren't you?" Rufus
asked, incredulously. "Don't tell me that you're enjoying yourself."

	Reeve pushed a lock of hair out of his eyes, his cheeks flushed by
the dancing, and grinned. "It's an interesting experience, I'll give you
that. And I think it's better that I wasn't stuck at the table with you
guys. What were you talking about? You looked like you were going to
strangle your father a few times."

	Rufus rolled his eyes and polished off the last of his wine. "I was
trying to keep the conversation civil, but all the old man wanted to
talk about was the quarterlies, and all Heidegger wanted to talk about
was the war in Wutai, and all that Palmer wanted to talk about was the
space program, and all that Hojo did was sit there and smirk at
everyone, and it was all I could do not to burst out laughing every time
I looked at Scarlet and could tell exactly what she was thinking. You
should count your lucky stars that you didn't get stuck at the table
with the rest of the brass."

	"I'm counting, I'm counting." Reeve grinned. "So are you going to
dance, or are you just going to stand here and prop up this wall?"

	Rufus glanced out at the dance floor. "I think I'm going to have to
save Scarlet from having to dance with Heidegger in about another ten
minutes or so. It's about that time."

	"Ugh." Reeve shuddered. "You know I'm not all that fond of that
woman, but I wouldn't wish that fate on anyone."

	"She's not that bad, really," Rufus said, with a little inner sigh.
"And tonight's a truce. It always has been. That's just how it works."
He set down his empty glass on the nearby table. "And I'd better start
moving, lest the gossips get a good look at us and decides that the
rumors are true. I'll catch you at the real party. Things are a little
more ... lenient then."

	He strode off without waiting for a response from Reeve, not
trusting himself to look back. He was a little disturbed by how hard he
found it to pretend that Reeve didn't affect him; it was just a casual
fling, dammit. It happened to be with one of his friends, it happened to
be with one of his good friends, but it was just a fling. 

	And maybe if he told himself that enough, he'd start to believe it.

	He made his way across the dance floor to where Scarlet was leaning
against a table, eyes bright, cheeks flushed with the exercise and,
Rufus suspected strongly, the wine. He tucked his hand underneath her
elbow, fingers wrapping around tender skin, and steered her off to an
area that was slightly clearer of her admirers. "Are we having fun yet?"
he murmured into her ear as they walked.

	She laughed, brightly, and looked up at him. "It's not that bad this
year, 'big brother'. I've actually only wanted to strangle one or two of
them."

	Rufus chuckled back. "I think that's a record, actually. Which
ones?"

	She made a face. "That jerk from Accounting, and the VP of Building
Maintenance. I had to remove the hand of one of them from my rear, and
the other is just, simply and solely, a total bore." Idly, she twined
one of her hands with one of his, a gesture that had been born years ago
and just somehow never altered. "But I've only been cornered by the old
man once, and I haven't had to dance with Palmer at all, and that's a
successful ball in my book."

	"I'd count that as pretty successful," Rufus agreed. "It's been
quiet tonight. I think that people are too tied up by the fact that
we've just won a war to really be all that pissy. Not that I'm arguing."

	Scarlet lifted one hand to tuck a strand of hair back behind her
ear. "I won't argue either," she said, though honesty forced her to add,
"though things have been boring since we lost that source of weapons
orders. Still, we shouldn't have been there in the first place."

	"I don't think there's a single person under the age of forty in
this room who wouldn't agree with you," Rufus said, lowly. "It's funny,
isn't it, how it's always the old men who start the wars, and the young
men who die in them?"

	"And the young women who just watch and wait for men to come home,"
she agreed, softly.

	He gave her a dry look. "Scarlet, you've never watched and waited
for anything in your entire life."

	She laughed. "That's not true. Remember that night in Costa del
Sol?" She gave him a sly look, one that conjured the image of twisted
sheets and dark sensuality.

	He couldn't help but laugh in return. "That doesn't count. You were
too drunk to move."

	"I could move," she corrected, primly, and picked up an abandoned
wineglass from one of the tables nearby, draining it with little thought
to its original owner. "I moved when you were done with him."

	"Details, details." He tugged lightly at the hand that was still
entwined with his own. "Is it time to head out onto that dance floor and
show all of them that we're still the most lithe and nimble people in
this company?"

	"I think it might just be," she said, smiling up at him brightly.
"Let's go." 

	As they moved towards the dance floor, she stopped, for just an
instant. "Rufus?" she asked, almost hesitantly.

	He turned around to face her, raising one eyebrow. "Hmm?"

	She just looked at him for a moment, and he began to feel a bit
uneasy, perhaps at the look in her eye. "...Never mind," she said, after
a moment, and wrapped her fingers around his own again. "Let's go."



				-- * --



	Reno looked around the ballroom. "Crowd's thinnin' out. Must be past
the farts' bedtimes," he observed, mildly, and took another sip from the
beer bottle he held in his hand.

	"Yup," Rude agreed, laconically, and bent a knee to prop his foot up
against the wall they leaned against.

	"Think it's about time to start the party?"

	"Dunno." Rude fished a cigarette out of his pocket, contributing to
the general haze of smoke that clung around their corner. "You see the
boss and the chief?"

	Reno looked over the dance floor. "Over there, by that pillar. I
think the chief's been propping up that wall most of the night."

	"Smart man."

	Rufus was, indeed, propping up a pillar; he'd done his duty, danced
once with all of the important women present, danced once with Scarlet
to show off, and had finished off a whole pack of cigarettes, in the
meanwhile, while waiting for something interesting to happen. The "real
party" usually qualified; if nothing else, seeing what kind of
situations sprung up in the absence of the company's 'aristocracy' was
worth hanging around for. 

	Rufus smiled a little. He had to admit, he was one of the people who
usually made the office gossip a little more interesting for the few
weeks after the party; there was something to be said, after all, for
the freedom from care that was born from total and complete job
security. Almost against his will, his eyes sought Reeve on the dance
floor, and his lips curved, just a little. 

	Maybe it was time to change a few traditions, he thought.

	"I know what you're thinking." The drink was lifted from his hand,
and Rufus turned, not quite surprised to see Tseng standing there,
darkly elegant in the folds of cloth, stiff with embroidery, that seemed
almost natural on his frame. Tseng took a sip from Rufus's glass and
continued, smoothly. "You're thinking of messing with tradition. You're
thinking of opening the party by dancing with him, and not with me. And
that's the stupidest thing that you could do."

	Rufus just raised an eyebrow. "Is it." It wasn't a question. "And
why is that, Tseng?"

	"Because when you and I walk out there on that dance floor and dance
the tango to kick off the fun, everyone knows that it's tradition and
alcohol talking. They already think that we're fucking, and they've
thought that for years. We've spent this long denying the rumors and
just, in general, acting like the gossips don't have a leg to stand on.
And it's worked this far. But if you walk out there on that dance floor,
looking at him the way you look at him, and lift one hand to touch him,
you're going to destroy all these years of pretending. Because you can't
look at him and pretend that it's innocent. It's not. And you know it
isn't." His voice was low, even; they could have been discussing the
weather.

	"I don't know what you're talking about." Rufus's voice was flat.

	"Don't play the fool; it doesn't suit you. You know damn well what
I'm talking about." Tseng's lips curved, in a thin, patrician smile.
"You forget that there are people out there who can read you, Rufus, no
matter how much you like to think that you're an enigma. You look at him
like you're a starving man, and he's a ten-course banquet, and it
doesn't matter how old that analogy is, I've never seen it be more
appropriate." He rested Rufus's drink on the table behind them. "And if
you walk out on that dance floor and look at him like you'd rather be
dancing horizontally, no amount of fast talking or artful dodging can
ever help you. So you can just stop thinking what you're thinking, and
keep your hands and your eyes to yourself, and get out there on the
dance floor and pretend like hell that nothing's changed, because if you
don't, no amount of backsliding and coverup is going to work."

	Rufus didn't take his eyes from Tseng's face, even though he could
see, out of the corner of one eye, Reno walking up to the band leader
and gesturing, wildly. "Make your point, Tseng."

	Tseng's smile widened, just a hair. It was not a pleasant
expression. "I have. I don't give a flying fuck who you sleep with,
Rufus; man, woman, chocobo. It's your life, and you lead it the way you
want to. You would no matter what." He tilted his head to one side. "But
if you don't stop reacting, rather than acting, you're going to wake up
one day and find that things got fucked up around you when you weren't
looking. And there won't be a damn way for you or for anyone to fix it." 

	"I'll keep that in mind," Rufus growled. Behind them, the
hastily-set-up PA system crackled to life.

	"Good evening, Shinra executives! We'd like t'welcome you t'the
party. Our party. Anyone who's gonna be offended had better go on home
and pull th'covers over their heads, 'cause we've all been having a
little bit too much to drink." Reno's voice rang out through the room,
brightly. 

	"So, what do you say to that, Rufus?" Tseng's gaze did not waver.

	"Th'official evening's over, folks. Time to take off the ties and
the high heels an' start the /real/ fun..."

	Their eyes locked. Rufus said nothing.

	"We're tellin' you to /go home/, people. It's gonna get crazy in
here... Not you, Sephiroth. I see ya tryin' to sneak out. Get back in
here."

	Nothing at all.

	"Anyway. I'm Reno. I'm your DJ for the evenin'. Aw, come on, will
someone keep an eye on Seph? Chain him to the table or something. ...Not
literally, Dana."

	Rufus finally broke the stare, eyes flicking up and down Tseng's
form, desultorially. "I say fuck you, Tseng," he gritted, through
partially clenched teeth, and turned around towards the dance floor,
shedding his tie and his jacket as he went, opening the first two
buttons of the tuxedo shirt.

	"If y'all will clear the dance floor, it's time for the traditional
opening tango."

	The smirk still on his lips, Tseng followed him, flowing into the
opening poses of the dance in anticipation of the music. "Whenever you'd
like, Rufus," he purred, looking up at the other man. "Whenever you'd
like."				

				

				-- * -- 

				

	"You haven't moved from this seat in the past two hours," Rufus
said, his tone mock-accusing, as he dropped down into the chair in the
corner. His new table companion gave him a long-suffering look.

	"Was I supposed to?" Sephiroth asked, picking up his glass of
mineral water and sipping from it. "I don't dance. And I've been
injured."

	"...Six months ago," Rufus said, with a laugh. "How long do you
think that you can ride this gravy train?"

	"Hush," Sephiroth said, with a scowl. "It makes a good excuse, and
after that embarrassing incident with the young lady and the
undergarments that happened last year, I think that a good excuse is
needed."

	Rufus shrugged. "She was cute. I don't see what your problem was."

	Sephiroth sat up a little bit straighter. "My /problem/, as you so
eloquently put it, was the fact that her architecture was clearly not
naturally supported."

	"You wouldn't have noticed that two years ago," Rufus teased, as he
reached out for the water and drained half of it, then looked at it and
sighed. "What is /with/ this sparkling mineral shit?"

	Sephiroth closed his eyes briefly in a give-me-patience look. "You
know full well that I am allergic to nearly everything else that's
available in this entire room. I don't know why I bother to come to
these things." He reclaimed his glass, the scowl never quite
dissipating.

	"Command performance," Rufus quipped. "You have to show up and look
pretty for the masses. And you come for the gossip, of course. Everyone
comes for the gossip."

	"Except me," Sephiroth corrected. "I come because if I didn't,
Heidegger would spend the next three weeks lecturing me about duty,
responsibility, and the importance of never passing up a free meal."

	"Even if there weren't any nuts and berries on the buffet," Rufus
said with a smirk, fishing out his cigarettes and picking up one of the
discarded glasses to use as an ashtray. "I distinctly seem to recall
hearing about that last year."

	Sephiroth sighed again. "Have you come for any particular reason, or
did you simply come to sit down and taunt me?" The faintest of smiles
played around his lips; this, too, was an old game.

	"Just to taunt, really," Rufus responded, with a wider smile. "I saw
you talking with the Prof. before. I suppose he headed home when the
real party started?"

	Wordlessly, Sephiroth pointed to the dance floor, where, after a
moment, Rufus could pick out the form of Hojo bouncing his way through
the jitterbug with an executive assistant Rufus vaguely recognized as
belonging, somehow, to the Science department. "Good Gods," Rufus
exclaimed, softly. "I ... I just have no possible way I can react to
that."

	Sephiroth smiled sourly. "That's about what I said. I do not
understand that man." 

	"I ... I don't think I want to." Resolutely, Rufus turned aside.
"I'm just going to pretend I didn't see that."

	"That is probably the wisest course of action." Sephiroth reclaimed
his drink, sipping from it. "We were discussing the plausibility of
faster-than-light travel, and he decided that it was time for him to
dance. I believe that means that I won the argument."

	Rufus laughed. "And you're just sitting over here in the corner
sulking and pretending that you're still crippled."

	"I am not sulking." Sephiroth drew himself up a little further,
managing to look for all the world like an offended cat. "I simply see
no point in joining a dance floor with hundreds of other people, simply
to rub your body up against some willing partner in crime."

	"That /is/ the point, Seph," Rufus said, dryly. "Dancing is just the
human version of strutting around with your feathers all puffed up,
looking like a jackass for the sake of impressing a woman." He paused,
giving Sephiroth a side-long glance. "Or a man."

	There was a bit of a pause, then, and after a moment, Sephiroth
smiled lightly and said, "Perhaps."

	Rufus read that as what it really meant: /was that an offer, Rufus,
and if so, when would you like me to take you up on it?/ Their
relationship, friends and casual lovers, had survived for nearly four
years; it had not been since Sephiroth's last visit home, before his
injury, that Rufus had gone to him. He opened his mouth to answer the
question that he had not heard, though it had been plainly audible, and
was startled to hear himself say, "I don't think it would be a good
idea."

	Sephiroth paused, and then smiled again, a bit more thinly. He
didn't say anything, simply looked back at the dance floor.

	A half-beat, Rufus looking out at the dance floor himself; he was
painfully aware of the silence between them, of the hundreds of pairs of
ears unobtrusively eavesdropping. "Look, we haven't really gotten a good
chance to talk since you got out of the hospital, you know. Why don't I
drop by your place sometime tomorrow, and we can ... well, I'd say that
we could go out drinking, but that wouldn't work. But you know what I
mean."

	Was it his imagination, or was there just a bit of a chill in
Sephiroth's voice? "Very well. Shall I assume that this time you will
knock, instead of pounding?"

	Rufus forced a smile. "I think that would disturb the fundamental
nature of the universe." Something caught his eye, and he looked up,
suddenly desperately grateful for the reprieve. "Oh, jeez, Professor
Creepy is on his way back. I'm gonna make myself scarce. I'll see you
tomorrow, all right?"

	Sephiroth simply nodded, distractedly. Half-stumbling, Rufus rose
from the chair, blindly heading for the door. He'd catch hell for it
later, but right this moment, he needed to duck outside for a few
moments, clear his head in the evening air of Midgar.



				-- * --



	"We lost Rufus."

	"I saw him leave. I think he was trying to avoid someone."

	Shinra was a company that was divided, sharply, along age lines. The
older employees, mostly either executives who had been working for the
company for years, or career underlings who showed up, collected their
paychecks, and went home, had all gone to bed. The younger employees, a
generation of talented, aggressive, ambitious workers, were more than
capable of partying until dawn. Tradition -- a force, in Shinra, almost
more weighty than the bottom line -- dictated that they would be allowed
to, in celebration of the previous year's work.

	Jason Louis, recently promoted from telephone customer service -- a
beknighted department, if he'd ever seen one -- to managing the
technical support department's graveyard shift, sat back in his seat and
unobtrusively tried not to cough from the cigarette smoke. He'd been
hearing about this party since he had joined the company. The first half
of the night had been as dull as he'd been warned, but once Reno had
commandeered the microphone and Rude had set up the DJ's tables, things
had started to get interesting.

	"Heh. Someone pissed in his whiskey tonight. Have you noticed how
surly he's been?"

	"Isn't he /always/ like that?"

	Jason still didn't feel completely comfortable in the crowd that had
absorbed him, but he was getting closer to being okay with things. Like
a lot of his life, it had just happened to him by accident. He'd sat
down next to Marie in Accounting at breakfast one morning. She'd
introduced him to Roger, one of the Functional Vice Presidents of Sales,
a week later. They'd gone out drinking one day, and the next week, had
been joined by Aidan and Sascha from Ops & Systems. It turned out that
Sascha thought Jason was cute, and had started including him on their
weekly parties. Jason hadn't ever really considered himself a tame
person, but after a few of the parties, he had to admit that he had, in
comparison, led a very sheltered childhood.

	Still, he liked them. They were wild, but they were real. People
didn't get hurt -- at least, not often. People had fun. What more could
you want?

	He'd been to a few parties that had made even the usual Friday night
parties look tame in comparison, though. There were a few people in this
company -- some of them in rather high positions in this company, he
thought sourly, looking at Reno, the self-proclaimed DJ -- whose idea of
fun was a little less harmless. He was all too aware of the fact that
there was a subset of the younger Shinra crowd who considered drugs,
sex, and alcohol to be the definition of a good weekend. He didn't
begrudge them that. He just wished that they'd do it somwhere else.

	But at least it was better than sitting at home, in front of his
computer, doing some programming and playing a few games of Quake.

	"Hey, Jase, you with us, man?" A hand waved in front of his face,
and Jason focused back in on the conversation at the table, to see Aidan
peering at him quizzically. "Earth to Jason. Zone in."

	Jason cleared his throat. "Yeah, what's up, Aidan?"

	Aidan grinned a little. "Nothin', man, just seeing if you were
awake. You work the night shift, you ain't supposed to be sleepy yet."

	Jason looked back out at the dance floor. "Nah. Just watching. And
thinking." His eyes picked out Sascha, dancing with someone he didn't
know, her body pressed tightly up against him, her hands slowly roving
across his rear. The beat of the music changed, subtly, and the dancers
moved with it.

	"Good party, innit? I can't believe what some of these vips get up
to when they let their hair down." Aidan gestured, across the dance
floor, to where Heidegger's executive secretary danced, in nothing but
her slip and bra. "This'll fuel the rumor mill for months. Oh, hey,
there's Scarlet. Scar! Over here!" He waved a little, and the red-clad
woman turned her head as she picked her way through the tables, a glass
of some unidentified liquid in her hand, her steps unsteady and slightly
drunken. Aidan pulled out another chair for her, and Scarlet fell into
it with an uncharacteristic lack of grace.

	"Evening, boys," she said, lifting her glass to her lips. "Enjoying
the party?"

	Jason began to get the feeling, just slightly, that what he was
watching was, in some inexplicable way, a defense. The beautiful people,
all on display, given the chance to forget about their usual posturing
and let loose. And they, like perfect marionettes, took that chance,
never quite dreaming that it was what they were supposed to do. What
they were expected to do. And so it wound up being nothing but more
posturing.

	He shook his head. It was the wine. He never drank.

	"It's a good party," chimed in Marie from the other end of the
table; her eyes were a bit too bright, her smile a bit too toothy. "I
saw you and Rufus dancing before. God, you two look great together. I
wish I could move like that."

	Scarlet's lips twisted in a sour smile. "Thank you, Marie," she
said, with a tone of forced lightness, and pulled out a cigarette. "Has
anyone seen Rufus lately?"

	"I think he went outside," Roger said, leaning half-over the table,
flicking his lighter for her as he reached. "I haven't seen him in about
twenty or so. He was over talking with Sephiroth before."

	"Ah. Sephiroth." Scarlet took a drag on her cigarette, the smoke
curling artfully around her face, and rested her forehead on the palm of
that hand. "Who seems to have disappeared as well. It seems our dear
Rufus is just leaving a trail of disappointed wassailers behind him a
mile wide." She picked up her glass and finished it, tossing back both
head and glass with a quick, rabbit-like motion, before closing her eyes
and resting her hand back on her palm, as if her head was spinning. The
color was high in her cheeks; it was clear she'd had more than a little
to drink.

	"Here," said Joel, standing up, taking his own empty glass in hand.
"Let me get another round for the table. Scar, what are you drinking?"

	"White Russian," she said, without opening her eyes. "No ice."

	Roger nodded, and looked around the table. "Everyone?"

	Marie tapped her glass. "I'll have another Harp, Joel."

	"That's good for me, too," Aidan agreed.

	"Water for me," Jason added, after a moment of thought. "I think I'm
at about the right level of shitfaced for the night."

	Roger nodded and turned, the empty glasses splayed between his
fingers. "Nobody move. I'll be back."

	Marie continued as Roger left, leaning slightly towards Scarlet. "Is
there something wrong with Rufus? I danced with him once, a while ago,
but he hasn't seemed to want to play with anyone tonight. I mean, I
wasn't all over him or anything, but he didn't even seem to notice. I
wasn't expecting that I'd be going home with him tonight, but he didn't
even seem to be really that interested in next week."

	Jason could feel the tips of his ears starting to go red; he knew
that he'd never quite get used to the casual attitude about sex that
seemed to run in this group. Aidan laughed lowly. "Are you sure that you
made yourself clear enough, Marie, dear?" he drawled. "Maybe you didn't
stick your tongue far enough down his throat. Really, we men are slow
creatures sometimes."

	"Fuck you, too, Aidan," Marie said, without heat. "Really, Scar, is
anything wrong?"

	Scarlet hadn't looked up through the whole exchange; she didn't look
up when Marie finished speaking. "He's been a little bit preoccupied
lately, Marie," she said, her tone brittle, each word carefully
enuniciated to avoid the appearance of inebriation. "New toy. He hasn't
wanted to play with any of the old ones." The bitterness bled through
the alcohol, nearly tangible as Roger returned with the drinks. "I'm
sure he'll get over it, sooner or later. He always does."

	Roger lifted an eyebrow, sliding a glass across the table. "Who're
we talking about?"

	"Golden Boy," Aidan said, succinctly. "And why he's being such a
jerk lately."

	Roger shrugged and passed out drinks. "Why's he ever? Stress. He'll
get over it as long as you let him be."

	Aidan picked up his pint glass and drained half of it. "Yeah, that's
what Scar said. It's not like it's the first time, is it, Scar?"

	Scarlet picked up her head, reaching out for the glass that Roger
had brought her with an only-partially-steady hand. Jason thought,
watching her, that things were not as simple as she wanted to pretend;
she would not be so drunk, so bitter, if there were not something
running more deeply. "Speaking of which," she said, her tone infused
with a false cheer as she lifted her glass. "His toy. Ladies and
gentlemen, a toast. To the man who will never have to worry about
funding for his department."

	Looking up, Jason saw Reeve Brannon walking by, half in conversation
with his secretary as he went. Brannon looked up at the sound of
Scarlet's voice; Jason could see the words work their way through his
ears, practically feeling the moment when their implications hit.
"Scarlet," Brannon said, his tone even, the barest hint of intoxication
around the edges of his voice as well. "What's the matter, no one to
cling on?"

	That shocked Jason; he'd never heard Reeve sound quite so snide.
Maybe the man had limits to his patience after all, he thought, as
Scarlet stood, slowly, pushing back her chair. "Oh, and here I thought
that clinging to people was your job," she said, her voice sugar and
honey. "That is how you've made your social status over this past year,
now isn't it?"

	Jason could remember thinking, very clearly, /Shit/.



				-- * --



	"Hand me that CD, willya?" Reno asked Rude, around the cigarette
that dangled from the corner of his lips. "Th' one in the red case." He
held out his hand for the expected disc, and then looked up and scowled
when he didn't get it. "Rude, man, I said, hand me th'fuckin' CD. Hey,
you awake?"

	"Trouble," Rude rumbled, resting a hand on Reno's wrist. "Looks like
Scar's finally blowing her lid."

	Reno looked over the room, where Scarlet and Reeve were standing
nearly toe-to-toe. The expression on Scarlet's face made Reno groan; the
expression on Reeve's face had him already heading around the makeshift
DJ table to intervene. He had the sinking feeling that he was already
too late, though.

	Rude was right behind him; that was why they had perhaps the best
vantage point that they could have when the music suddenly ran out,
letting Scarlet's voice ring out shrilly in the preternatural silence
produced by a crowd that's suddenly certain that something interesting
is going to happen. "...cocksucking son of a /bitch/!"

	"/Shit/," Reno spat, and doubled his stride. He missed Reeve's reply
in the sudden rooba of crowd noise, but Scarlet didn't; even as Reno
grabbed a bystander to shove him out of the way, Scarlet shrieked in
pure rage and fury, launching herself the few inches that spanned them,
nails flying directly for Reeve's face.

	It was all over in a few seconds. A chair fell, a glass broke; one
of the three men who had been at the table with Scarlet cursed as the
table was upended, batting quickly at the hot wax from the candle that
spilled into his lap. Reno lunged to catch Scarlet before Reeve could
break his rule against hitting women; someone shouldered him out of the
way before he could get there, pinning the woman's arms behind her back
easily. Another glass fell. Rude lunged in between Scarlet and Reeve,
one hand on Reeve's chest. And a familiar voice, laced with anger, cut
through the sounds of Scarlet wildly hissing and struggling against her
captor: "What the /fuck/ is going on here?"

	Rufus strode through the sudden tableau, stopping next to Rude, eyes
whipping angrily from Reeve to Scarlet. "What is the /meaning/ of this?
What the hell is going on? Let her go, Seph." He waited until Sephiroth
-- and Gods alone knew how the man had managed to get from the other
side of the ballroom to step into the conflict, much less that quickly
-- had released Scarlet, before taking another step, to grip Scarlet's
elbow, hard enough to bruise. He shook her once, sharply, as if to
punctuate. "What the hell happened?"

	Reeve lifted the back of his hand to his cheek, bringing it away
bloody; Scarlet had managed to mark him. "She lunged at me," he said,
his voice shaky, though with shock or indignation it was impossible to
say. 

	Scarlet's hair had come loose, tumbling around her shoulders; she
tossed her head, sharply, to throw it out of her eyes, the fight having
gone out of her for the moment. "And you deserved it, you little prick,"
she hissed, her chest heaving. 

	Rufus growled, softly, half-shaking Scarlet again; he addressed
Reeve. "You. Go home. Get cleaned up. Stick your head under the shower
until you sober up. And you." He shook Scarlet yet again. "Little bitch.
You know the rules. You know the /agreement/." His face was finely
drawn, pale with anger; Reno had never seen him look so purely angry, an
anger not tainted by any other emotion. "And the rest of you, turn the
fuck around and at least have the decency and good graces to pretend
that you're not trying to eavesdrop."

	A low murmur went through the crowd again; Reno stepped forward.
"Uh, chief, what are you gonna --" He stopped at the look Rufus threw
him, a look that clearly said /Don't push it any further, Reno./ 

	"Let go of me," Scarlet rasped, lowly, struggling slightly against
Rufus's grip. "Asshole, let go of me --"

	Rufus leaned forward, his lips almost brushing against her ear. Reno
could just barely hear, as he took a step backwards, Rufus's low voice.
"If you don't shut up and stop struggling, I'm going to throw you on
that table over there and beat you senseless. And don't think that I
won't."

	Scarlet froze. Reeve stumbled backwards -- at the look in Rufus's
eye, perhaps -- and nearly stepped into Reno; Reno brought up his hands
to rest against Reeve's back, bending forward just a little, enough to
mutter, "Don't move, don't do anything, and don't say a word. Trust me,
I know what I'm doin'." Rufus cast another look around the assemblage;
as a low growl of frustration escaped his lips, he turned, sharply, and
propelled Scarlet forward by the elbow, ignoring her as she stumbled. 

	In the wake of Rufus's departure, the room was silent, that tense
silence that follows a storm, when no one is certain what to do. Reno
made a cursory scan of the crowd; not finding Tseng, he mentally
declared himself in charge. "Rude," he said, quickly, filling up the
space, "go turn on the music. Any music. It doesn't matter what." 

	Rude nodded and turned around; a few moments later, the heavy
drumming beat of an techno tune filled the air. Reno had to bite back a
smirk at the music Rude had chosen: "I am the city that will lie, you
are the one who blame passed by ... Be mine, sister salvation. Juke
Joint Jezebel is coming for my cremation." That was just asking for
trouble; but it had style, that much he had to admit.

	Under cover of the music, Reno stepped forward again, one hand going
up to Reeve's arm. "Lemme take a look at your cheek," he said, loudly
enough for the bystanders to hear, and led him off to one corner of the
room -- where, true, the light was better; but also where they would be
less likely to be overheard. Behind them, the last of the spectators
dissolved, most of them heading for the dance floor, some of them
heading for tables to buzz and chatter, as Reno snagged a chair and sat
Reeve down in it.

	"Look like you're in shock," Reno hissed, his lips barely moving.
"This is a disaster already, and you're gonna damn well have to come
outta this lookin' like roses, or life's gonna be hard for you from now
on. You've got about thirty seconds to make an impression. Start
impressin'." For the sake of appearances, he tilted Reeve's face to the
light, ducking his head to the side and inspecting the shallow grooves
that Scarlet's nails had left behind. He didn't particularly think that
Reeve was badly injured, but appearance was everything.

	Reeve's eyes were wide; Reno thought that perhaps acting like he was
in shock wouldn't be too much of a stretch. "What are you talking
about?" he asked, not fighting against Reno's touch; Reno could feel the
other man trembling beneath his fingertips, just slightly, enough to be
noticed but not enough to be commented upon. 

	Reno didn't spare time for comfort; he knew that he couldn't. Not if
things had any hope. "You just made yourself a powerful enemy, Reeve. Or
she made herself your enemy. Th'one thing that Scar hates more than
anything else is looking like an idiot, and she sure as fuck looks like
an idiot right now. Your only hope is to win this one in the public
courts of opinion. Now, me'n Rude can do what we can to swing things in
your favor, but you're gonna have to cooperate. I want you to get up
from here when I'm done with ya, go an' pick up a drink -- anything,
don't matter what. Let people see you for about ten minutes. Mingle --
look shocked, disappointed, but above all else, look baffled. You have
no idea what made Scar leap for you. She must have been drinking. You
didn't say anythin' to her, at least nothin' that you wouldn't say at
any other time. When enough people have seen you and talked to you, make
your apologies, say you wanna get changed, and leave."

	Reeve nodded, slowly; Reno could tell that he wasn't processing
information quite properly yet. Reno resisted the urge to shake him.
"Listen to me, Reeve. I'm not exaggeratin' when I say that more rests on
this than I could possibly tell you. You don't need to know what me'n
Rude are gonna come up with to cover ya. All you need to do is get up,
look confused, and leave. Can you do that, or do we need to come up with
somethin' else?"

	Wide eyes looked up at Reno. "Rufus," Reeve whispered, softly. "He
was so angry..."

	Reno sighed a little, his shoulders slumping. "Shit, he'll be fine,
Reeve. When you leave here, head up to his rooms, take a shower, put
something on that cheek, and just wait. He'll be back."

	Reeve nodded, after a moment. "All -- all right. I can do that. I
can." He took a deep breath. "Thank you. But -- why?"

	"Shit," Reno repeated, feeling a bit embarassed. "Look, I know what
you two are up to. I ain't as stupid as people like to think. An' you're
good for him. The last thing we need around here is an all-out war, but
the last thing /you/ need is this. We'll fix it for ya. You just get out
there, get something to drink, and then go home. Let us handle it."

	Reeve nodded again, and took another deep breath. "Right. Okay." A
fractional pause. "Thanks."

	"Don't mention it. But you owe me one."



				-- * --



	He threw her to the ground, roughly, not caring if she hurt herself;
shut the door behind him, leaned against it, his shoulder holding it
closed. "Explain yourself."

	Scarlet pushed herself up on her hands and knees, her hair trailing
around her face, not looking back at him. "I don't know what the fuck
you're talking about," she hissed, sitting up fully and pushing her hair
out of her eyes; she inspected her elbow, stifling a sharp inhale as she
saw the marks, already beginning to darken, from Rufus's iron grip.
"Bastard. You fucking /hurt/ me."

	"Good." His tone was dark. "You fucking deserve it; I only wish I
could beat you senseless. What the hell do you think you were doing?
What did you hope to accomplish by that little display?"

	Something seemed to snap; she picked up one of her shoes and threw
it at him, the shot going wide, leaving a black scuff mark on the wall.
"You little self-righteous prick," she growled, her tone rising towards
hysteria. "Who the hell do you think you are, barging in here, throwing
me around, manhandling me like I'm your fucking /property/?" The other
shoe joined the first, this one going just as wide. "Just because you're
Rufus Fucking J. Shinra you think you can do whatever you want and the
rest of us will just roll over and show our throats? Just because you're
the fucking Heir to the Throne, the /real/ child, the one he gave birth
to? I've got news for you, you little prick; you aren't the only person
in this damn company, and you'd better start realizing that!"

	Rufus's eyes narrowed at the outburst. "You sound like a spoiled
child, Scarlet. Listen to yourself. No, listen to me." He crossed the
space between them, yanking her up to her feet with little care for her
already bruised skin; he dragged her close to him, his voice going low
and deadly. "I don't care what the hell crazy conspiracy theory you've
constructed for yourself; I don't care what the fuck you think is going
on behind your back. None of it is outside your head. Now unless you
want to end up with a diagnosis of clinical paranoia, with a nice
I-love-me jacket around your shoulders, doped to the eyeballs in some
shit-stinking backroom clinic somewhere, I suggest that you /get a grip/
and fucking do something about it." 

	He shook her again, sharply, like one would shake a rag doll. "You
hear me? /You broke the truce/. You fucked up, Scarlet; you fucked up
hard."

	She looked up at him, her eyes full of venom. "It wouldn't have been
breaking the truce, /big brother/," she spat, "if you weren't so
unreasonably and stupidly attached to that little nothing."

	Her words broadsided him. ~Shit.~ She was right. No matter what else
was true, that much was right. He grabbed that fact and stopped it
before he could let it penetrate his anger; it could be dealt with
later. Crazily, he hoped that Reeve had understood that when he'd
ordered him "home", he'd meant to his rooms, not back to Reeve's
apartment. "I don't fuck with your toys, Scarlet," he grated out from
between clenched teeth. "You don't fuck with mine. We agreed that years
ago. Now, if you want to re-negotiate the agreement, you let me know.
I'd be more than happy to take care of things." The low growl in his
tone made it more than clear how much of a threat that was. "Since I
don't think you're stupid, I'll just suggest that you go take a shower,
sober up, go to bed, and re-think things in the morning. When you decide
that you want to play with the grownups again, you let me know. I'm sure
as hell not going to trust you again soon, though."

	Slowly, deliberately, she drew back her head and spit in his face.



				-- * --



	"...couldn't believe her. I wonder what he did to her to make
her..."

	"...must have been his fault. I mean, she's not the most stable of
people, but I've never seen her just go off like ..."

	"...never really liked him, anyone that /nice/ has to be up to
something..."

	"...see the way Rufus looked at her? Like she was some kind of bug?
I never thought I'd ..."

	"Nah, I heard that she's just off her meds again. You know,
sometimes she just goes a little loopy."

	"Really? Who told you that?"

	"Reno. He seemed really exasperated, like it was gonna be his mess
to clean up."

	"Well, he sure as hell did step in when all hell broke loose..."

	"...heard from Dave that she just stopped taking her drugs, and went
a little nuts..."

	"...didn't know she was on anything, where'd he hear that?"

	"I don't know, he didn't say..."

	"...heard from Zack that she had some kind of nervous breakdown or
something a little while back, and she couldn't handle the stuff that
Hojo put her on to control it..."

	"...been acting awfully funny lately anyway. I thought there was
something wrong with her..."

	"...might have been anything he said, but I've never known him to
deliberately piss anyone off..."

	"...think there's any truth to the rumors?"

	"What, that she's jealous of him? Honey, I don't think that there's
anything going on between him and Rufus except in her imagination, do
you really think that Rufus would be interested in a guy like that?"

	"...father would kill him, I don't think he's that stupid..."

	"...heard from Jolie, she said she heard from Zack that Scarlet is
on some kind of drugs for paranoia or stress or something..."

	"...still don't trust him, he's just too /nice/..."

	"...the look on his face when he dragged her out of here? He was
pissed, but it didn't look like someone who was trying to protect
someone, he just looked pissed..."

	"...not what I heard from Zen, he heard from Zack and Jolie that
she's strung out on something, she sure looked like she was a little
/too/ cheerful before, if you know what I mean..."

	"...wouldn't put any weight to gossip this time around, I mean, I
sure as hell don't think that he and Rufus are ..."

	"...feel kinda sorry for him, the gossips are going to just /shred/
his reputation after this..."

	"I won't say anything about him. He doesn't have anything to do with
this. She just happened to be by him when she finally snapped..."

	"...kinda respect him for putting up with it, I mean, I would have
just decked her..."

	"...decent guy, he doesn't deserve this kind of shit..."

	"...just wish that if there really was something wrong with her,
they would have kept her home tonight, I was enjoying the party..."

	Reno stood back, lit a cigarette, and listened to the conversations
ebb and flow around him. After a long moment, he nodded, as if in
satisfaction, and went to change the music again.



				-- * --



	~He's not coming back.~ Reeve looked out over the streets of Midgar
that stretched out beneath him, propping his chin up on his elbows,
quietly appreciating, once more, the view from the floor-to-ceiling
window that took up one entire wall of Rufus's bedroom suite. His hair,
damp and chill in the air conditioning, clung to his back and shoulders.
~He went home with her, and they're right across the hall, fucking their
brains out at the moment, and --~

	He cut off the thought before it could take root, and sighed. If
he'd thought he'd been confused after a year of /knowing/ Rufus, it had
gotten ten times worse in the six months that they'd been sleeping
together. He just didn't /understand/ the man. He was honest enough to
admit to himself that he had strong feelings -- the strongest he'd ever
had, if he was being truly honest -- but it was something that was
simply never discussed. They'd had their argument, they had their
agreement, and that was good enough.

	And then something like this came along.

	He sighed and tucked the pillow closer to him, watching the lights
beneath slowly blink out and be replaced by others. His mind painted him
pictures, pictures that he tried to ignore.

	The door opened behind him; he didn't turn around, though his
shoulderblades itched from the sudden weight of eyes on them. The voice
came through the darkness that surrounded him, soft and incredibly
weary. "I'd hoped that you would be here when I got back."

	"I was just about to go home." Reeve could hear the distance in his
voice, cool and perfect, and wondered when he'd learned such detachment.
Was it telling, their relationship, that he could summon that tone now,
when he'd never been able to before?

	"Gods. Don't say that. Don't even think that." The jacket that Rufus
was carrying got thrown, carelessly, at the dresser; it missed, sliding
to the floor, and was followed by Rufus's tie. "I don't think I'd have
been able to get through tonight if I didn't know that I'd be able to
come home to you."

	Reeve pushed himself up on an elbow and turned, watching
dispassionately as Rufus undid his cufflinks, tossing them too on the
dreser with a casual disregard for their worth. "Me?" he asked, simply,
hating himself even as he heard the words. "Or Scarlet?"

	Rufus froze, closing his eyes for half a moment; his skin, pale in
the reflected neon of the street below, shone in the darkness. "I
probably deserved that," he said, after a long moment, lifting a hand to
his chest and unbuttoning the few buttons of his dress shirt that had
not already been open. "But no. You. I took Scarlet back to her room,
knocked her around a bit, yelled at her for a while, and then we started
the wrestling match. She jumped me, I pinned her, we had a bit of a
struggle, and she finally screamed at me to get out. If I gave a flying
fuck, I'd probably have stayed to make sure that she wasn't hurt, that
she wouldn't pass out, that she would be okay in the morning. But I
don't give a flying fuck anymore." He stripped off his shirt, the lines
of his shoulders indicating a bone-deep weariness. "Are you all right?"

	"Yeah. She didn't get me that badly." Reeve watched him in the
darkness, secure in the knowledge that he was lying in the shadows, that
Rufus could not read him. 

	"I'm glad." A few more quick motions, and Rufus stripped, leaving
his clothes in a heap on the floor. "What happened down there after I
left?"

	Reeve closed his eyes. "Rude turned the music back on. Reno took
charge. I don't really understand what he was trying to do. He had me go
and get a drink, told me to mingle. That he would take care of it."

	Rufus nodded, once. "Then I'm not worried. He'll be able to run
damage control just fine. I can't think of anyone I'd rather have making
sure that the right story gets spread; he's usally the one spreading the
wrong stories, unless he decides that it's time to help. And he knows
who it's wise to help." He ran a hand through his hair, raggedly,
letting a sigh accompany it. "I'm sorry, Reeve. I'm so damn sorry."

	"It wasn't your fault." Reeve knew, even as he spoke the words, that
he believed them. He wasn't sure whose fault it was, but it wasn't
Rufus's. "It ... " He sighed, deeply. "I never want to go through
anything like that ever again."

	Rufus smiled, just a little, the barest hint of amusement touching
his lips. "Welcome to the fishbowl," he intoned, softly. "I'm going to
go take a shower. I'll be back out in a few minutes."

	"All right." Reeve turned his head to the side as Rufus slipped into
the bathroom, looking back out over the city.

	~He's been dealing with this sort of thing since he was born. We
both had shitty childhoods. His just stuck with him. Is it any wonder
that he doesn't realize...?~ The lights of Midgar, below, had no answer.
~This is normal for him. In his world, people act like this. He's not
shocked that Scarlet attacked me; he's more shocked that she did it when
she wasn't supposed to. Can I /handle/ this?~

	~Can I afford not to?~

	He dropped his head, burying his face into the pillow, and sighed,
deeply. ~I couldn't just walk away from him. Not now, not after these
past months. I don't want to. But I don't know if I can stand to have
this sort of thing happen on a regular basis.~

	~I'm just not cut out to be the kind of person who can /cope/ with
this kind of madness. He is. It's what they made him to be. I'm a little
hick boy from the backwaters of Gongaga. I was made to ... I don't even
know what I was made to do.~

	In the darkness behind him, the hiss of the shower clicked off,
leaving Reeve alone in the darkness with only the sound of his own
thoughts for company.