Chapter Text
Rufus was listless.
He wouldn’t admit as much aloud to Tseng, primarily because Tseng had allowed him so many concessions over his years of house arrest, but Tseng could see it. He paced and stared out the window down at the slums below, D trotting along behind him every time he moved.
He hadn’t left this apartment in years and while most days Tseng barely left headquarters, he could only imagine the sort of mental toll it was taking on a creature as social as Rufus.
Tseng was not naive to the way his employees discussed his relationship with Rufus, the whispers that he was getting soft, Reno and Emma quietly arguing over whether or not there was anything more between them. He wouldn’t dignify their gossip with any remarks one way or another, but he could at least internally acknowledge that he was in fact aware he was too lax with Rufus.
And yet he had no desire to alter his behavior. He had come to trust Rufus in a way he hadn’t expected, but it had been earned trust, built slowly over years of cohabitation. Lingering in the back of Tseng’s mind was the worry that his trust was misplaced, that Rufus only latched onto him in this way because he was his only consistent company in that apartment.
Many times, Rufus had tiptoed over acceptable boundaries and Tseng had let him: brushing their fingers together, moving his foot against Tseng’s leg under the table, exaggerated displays of his body whenever he had the opportunity.
Tseng dealt with the mounting frustration this caused by finding other outlets, ones he could pay for and walk away from. He had never left those encounters dissatisfied until Rufus. They weren’t scratching the itch that was plaguing him almost daily now.
He watched Rufus pace, his sleek figure silhouetted against the light from outside, and unsavory thoughts filled his head.
What would Veld say?
Maybe it was time for him to pass off responsibility of Rufus’ oversight to Emma, who stood no risk of being wooed by Rufus at all.
Instead of some sort of logical move like that, which would have benefited him, Tseng found words leaving his mouth seemingly of their own accord.
“Rufus, you’ve never been down to the under city have you?”
Rufus craned his neck to glance back at Tseng. “You know I haven’t.”
“What if we were to take an outing?”
Rufus turned around fully then, a mixture of curiosity and concern on his face. “Who are you and what have you done with Tseng?”
Tseng chuckled. “Consider it a reward for good behavior and time served. You won’t be armed, and you know that if you tried to run I would outstrip you. But I also trust you not to do that, especially not in the slums where you don’t know your way around.”
“If you’re fucking with me, I swear to Shiva-“
Tseng stood up. “I’m not. But you can’t go down there or past the cameras in the lobby looking like that.”
He moved down the hallway to his room and Rufus followed, leaning against the door frame while Tseng pulled a spare uniform from his closet. He held it up to Rufus.
“It might be a little big at the shoulders and waist, but it should fit you with a belt.”
Rufus smirked. “You want me to dress up like a Turk?”
“Yes. A matter of disguise.”
“Is this some sort of elaborate fantasy scenario of yours, Tseng? You can be honest with me.”
Tseng gave him a withering look. “If you want me to change my mind-“
“No, no.” Rufus held his hands up and took the suit from Tseng’s grasp. “I’ll try it on.”
He disappeared into his room, leaving the door noticeably open. Tseng returned to the living room rather than take the bait - he was already treading on remarkably thin ice by allowing Rufus another concession, and such a major one at that.
Rufus returned a moment later with Tseng’s suit fitting as poorly as Tseng suspected it might. It wasn’t horrible, but the jacket certainly hung too large at his shoulders and too short at his arms, the pants fastened tight with a belt, but slightly too short thanks to the inch or two of height Rufus had on Tseng.
“It’s not my best look,” said Rufus.
“You’ll have to wear a wig as well,” Tseng told him.
“Have you got a wig hiding in your closet too?” Rufus asked, quirking his eyebrow.
Tseng frowned. “We have a room full of items to use when out on missions.” He moved to the security door and unlocked it with his keycard. “Keep your head down and come with me.”
Rufus stayed close behind him, too close in Tseng’s opinion, but he would rather have Rufus where he could keep an eye on him once they were out of the security of the apartment. Most of the other Turks had gone home for the day, so Tseng and Rufus moved quietly down the hall to the supply room where a number of items used for disguises were cataloged according to type.
Tseng stood against the door to keep anyone from entering.
“Pick one you like and put it on, then we’ll head out.”
Rufus dug through the box of wigs like a child opening presents. “Just being out of that fucking apartment is doing wonders for me,” he said to Tseng. “Oh, what do you think of this?”
He turned around wearing a large mane of curly red hair and the most ridiculous expression Tseng had ever seen him make. Tseng was so surprised by it that a bark of laughter left his lips before he could even consider checking his response.
Rufus grinned. “You don’t like it?”
“I think it may have the opposite effect we’re hoping for,” said Tseng, holding back another chuckle.
“I’ll put it in the ‘maybe’ pile.” Rufus removed the wig and returned to digging through the box. Eventually, he settled on a plain shaggy brunette wig that did a good job of obscuring his true identity to anyone who wasn’t looking for it.
“That will do,” Tseng nodded. “Now let’s go. And keep your head down until we’re on the train.”
“We’re riding the train?” Rufus’ eyes lit up.
“Well I’m not taking a helicopter below the plate,” Tseng snorted. “That would draw more attention to us than we want.”
“I’ve never ridden the train before. I’ve never been allowed.”
Rufus truly had lived a life completely removed from the average person’s. Tseng used to despise him for it, but more often than not he just pitied him now. There was so much experience he had been deprived of because of his name and his status.
They made their way up to the lobby, Rufus obediently keeping his head lowered until they were out of the building and reached the train station. The station was relatively empty at that hour: the day shift employees left hours ago and the night shift employees had already arrived, so there was plenty of room when the train arrived - enough for Tseng to find them an empty car which he hoped would remain empty until they made it below the plate.
Tseng sat down while Rufus paced up and down the length of the car, running his hands along the grip rails and marveling at the digital map next to the door displaying their position within the city.
“It’s filthy in here,” he noted.
“That’s public transportation,” Tseng shrugged.
In truth, he hadn’t taken the train in several months. Missions below the plate typically entailed use of a Shinra chopper, and even when he had been living in his apartment he typically just walked home from work.
Rufus stared out the window as the train moved into the tunnels leading down below the plate. “How many people could fit on a train car this size?”
“At rush hour there might be a hundred people packed into this space.”
“A hundred?” Rufus glanced around. “Nauseating.”
“How else are they supposed to get home? There’s no pedestrian path below the plate, and anyway it would take far too long.”
Rufus looked appropriately ashamed at his statement, but said nothing. After about twenty minutes, the train came to a stop at a station in the Sector Five slums, one Tseng was intimately familiar with, and they stepped out of the car together.
Tseng strode ahead and only stopped when he realized Rufus wasn’t behind him. For a heart-stopping second he worried he had been tricked, but when he turned around he found Rufus with his feet rooted firmly to the ground, staring up at the massive metal plate overhead.
“I never knew what it looked like from below like this,” he said. “It’s so…”
Oppressive was the word that came to Tseng’s mind, but Rufus never finished his thought. He tore his gaze away from the plate and looked around at the slum surrounding them with the same wide-eyed look of wonder. The ramshackle lean-to’s and decaying buildings mashed together into some semblance of living quarters were like nothing Rufus had ever experienced in his life, Tseng knew, but to him the slums were not a far cry from the cramped little home he had grown up in. There must have been families like his, three or four children to a room huddled together, children raising children while the parents worked tirelessly just to scrape by.
For a fleeting moment he thought of his sisters and wondered if they were still alive.
“Let’s go,” he said to Rufus. “I want to take you somewhere else.”
Rufus followed close behind him, his head swiveling this way and that to take in the view.
“Which sector is this?” he asked.
“Five.”
Tseng glanced in the direction of the Gainsborough residence and kept walking. He hadn’t seen Aerith in several months either, delegating the task to his subordinates. It was strange how much he missed her, and yet he felt the distance would only do him good - it might make it easier to take her in when the time came for it.
They continued on down a well-worn path through a section of collapsed expressway on the border of sectors five and six.
“This fell when the city was being built,” said Rufus. “I remember my father telling me about it. They never finished the plate over this part of the city because of it.”
“Director Tuesti is interested in pursuing completion of it one day,” Tseng told him. “But Don Corneo opposes it. He’s the only one in the slums with a view of the sky.”
“I’ve heard about him, but I’ll admit I don’t know much.”
“He’s scum,” said Tseng flatly. “But scum that provides valuable information to Shinra. A bug we aren’t yet allowed to squash.”
“Sounds like it’s a little personal for you, Tseng.”
“If Veld hadn’t allowed me to become a Turk-“ Rufus scoffed at this and Tseng continued, “I would have been killed by Don Corneo’s men for the crime of providing medical treatment to people who needed it in the slums. But my distaste for the Don doesn’t come close to Reno’s. He grew up under his thumb.”
“So then why are you taking me to the Wall Market?” Rufus asked. “I recognize it up ahead even if I’ve never been.”
“Because, the Wall Market is the most vibrant cultural experience you can have in the slums. And there’s a very good Wutaian restaurant on the east side of the market. Almost as good as my sisters’ cooking.”
Rufus was the only person in Midgar who even knew Tseng had siblings, and whatever little Tseng had told him was far more than any of his colleagues knew. Why did he find himself opening up without prompting around Rufus? It was a dangerous situation - he no longer knew if he was being played or offering the information of his own accord, and it didn’t seem to matter anyway.
“How many sisters do you have, Tseng?”
“We can talk when we reach the restaurant.”
They wound their way through the Wall Market, stopping several times as Rufus asked questions or asked about items for sale on the main strip. Whenever someone gave them an odd look, Tseng simply shrugged and explained it away as Rufus being a rookie, though most rookies weren’t nearing thirty. Most people weren’t interested in testing a Turk, so they didn’t question it further.
The east side of the market was more treacherous the further away they moved from the main strip. Tseng wasn’t worried for his own safety, but Rufus had no means of protecting himself if someone did recognize him or try to ambush them for some reason. Tseng had never been ambushed in the Wall Market primarily because the Don made sure Turks were safe because the Turks in turn protected him, but it didn’t mean it couldn’t happen and Tseng had learned to always remain on alert.
Rufus’ look of wonder slowly subsided to one of pity and concern the further they delved into the market. Children covered in dirt with rags hanging from their bodies ran through the streets chasing each other, beggars lay under awnings with signs asking for food or gil: this was the reality of the under city, one Rufus would never have been exposed to otherwise, but one Tseng had seen more than his fill of.
“This is horrible,” Rufus whispered.
Tseng was not naive enough to think this sort of exposure would change Rufus’ goals or ideals, but if he wanted to run Midgar one day, he had to understand just who he was lording over. His father understood, even if he didn’t manage the city the way he ought to.
“This is Midgar,” Tseng replied. “In all its glory.”
He led them to a Wutaian restaurant that Reno had recommended years ago, and while he would never admit to Reno that it had been a wonderful recommendation, he frequented the place whenever he was beneath the plate.
They stepped inside and the old woman who ran the til glanced up, greeting them in Wutaian before yelling back to the chefs, “That Turk’s back again. Better not fuck it up.”
One of the chefs yelled, “What? Reno and his boyfriend?”
“No not Reno and Baldy, you idiot! The Wutaian one with the lousy accent.” Then the old woman disappeared into the kitchen and a shouting match ensued.
Rufus chuckled as they took a seat. “She thinks you have a bad accent.”
“I do,” said Tseng. “I’ve been told as much by most Wutaians. Reno likes to say he has a better accent than me.” Tseng leaned forward and covered the side of his face with the menu. “Don’t tell him, but he’s right.”
Rufus burst into a fit of laughter. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
They ordered a pot of tea and some dumplings, which Rufus savored with a look of pure ecstasy. Tseng ate slowly and quietly, a strange tightness settling in his chest as he watched Rufus. He shook it away and ordered another dish for them to share when the waiter came by.
“So, you told me we could talk when we got here,” said Rufus. “So answer my question. How many sisters do you have?”
“Six,” Tseng answered. “Four older and two younger. I was the only boy.”
“Seven kids?” Rufus balked. “Gods, that’s a lot.”
Tseng nodded and sipped his tea. “I haven’t spoken to any of them in nearly fifteen years. The last I knew, my parents were being called to the front lines in Wutai to aid Shinra. They took my younger sisters with them.”
“Surely you could look them up,” Rufus offered. “You have all of Shinra’s intelligence at your fingertips.”
“It’s a stone better left unturned. We cut ties with our families for a reason. At least, most of us do. Emma still sees her father and I think she has a sister as well.”
“When I was younger I used to wish my parents would have more children.” Rufus stared down at his teacup and frowned. “I was so lonely as a child. And when my mother died-“
Tseng tensed and thought of the story Veld had told him in what felt like another lifetime.
“I know she hated my father…I think that’s why she did what she did, but…” To Tseng’s surprise, Rufus’ eyes were glistening. He wiped them before tears could form, hardening his mouth into a thin line. “It still hurt to be left alone with him like that.”
“Rufus, I…” Tseng clasped his hand over Rufus’. What the hell was he doing? Rufus looked up at him, a horrible pain in his eyes, and the words left his lips before he could think. “She didn’t leave you behind.”
“What?” Rufus spoke in barely more than a whisper.
It was too late to backtrack then. Tseng looked away, finding Rufus’ gaze too difficult to hold as he spoke. “Veld never told anyone but me. Your father ordered it. He-“
Rufus’ hand clenched into a fist beneath Tseng’s grip. “What?” He repeated, followed by, “Dammit, look at me, Tseng.”
Tseng met his gaze once more. “I’ll tell you if you truly want to know.”
“So tell me!”
“Veld killed your mother.” The words were like twisting a knife into Rufus’ heart and Tseng felt sick with the burden of it. “They were having an affair and your father found out. As punishment, he ordered Veld to kill her and make it look like a suicide.”
Rufus shook with rage. He bit his lip and looked away from Tseng, but didn’t pull away from his grip still tight against his hand.
“Thank you…for telling me.”
“Rufus-“
“No,” he shook his head and wiped his eyes once more. “I spent my whole life thinking she left me behind to suffer and now I know the truth. So my hatred for my father has always been justified.”
“I’m so sorry,” said Tseng honestly.
Rufus looked at him with a fire in his eyes. “You’re not Veld. You never will be. And that’s a good thing.”
He slid his hand out from under Tseng’s only to brush his thumb against Tseng’s before gripping his teacup. Then he cleared his throat and squared his shoulders.
“We were having a good time. Let’s not let this ruin our day.”
Tseng nodded. “Right.”
Rufus was exhausted by the time Tseng finished his tour of the slums - physically and emotionally. It had been literal years since he had been allowed outside the cramped confines of the apartment that acted as his prison cell and so much lost time made up for in a few short hours left him feeling overwhelmed. Added to that was the news that confirmed what Rufus had long suspected: his father was directly to blame for his mother’s death.
Tseng didn’t have to divulge a secret so important it wasn’t even logged in the company records, a secret so dark that Veld had only ever burdened Tseng with the truth of it. He also didn’t have to let Rufus out of that apartment, nor did he have to make every other concession he had allowed Rufus over the last several years.
The fact of the matter was, they had both changed. Rufus still wanted to run Shinra and rule Midgar and he wanted his father dead now more than ever, but he had also learned that loyalties within Shinra didn’t follow direct lines back to his father. The Turks were devoted to one another to a degree he had scarcely seen and certainly never experienced himself, all irrespective of their work for Shinra. It was loyalty built upon trust, one that couldn’t be overwritten by the generous paychecks Shinra provided them.
He was jealous of that loyalty in the same breath that he longed for it.
Rufus and Tseng had hated one another when his house arrest began - a justified hatred on Tseng’s part and a naive one on Rufus’. Now, though he could not bring himself to say the words aloud, Tseng was perhaps the first person in a decade or more that Rufus felt he could truly call a friend. He trusted not only Tseng’s judgment, but his willingness to put him in his place, which few people were brave enough to do.
It could be written off as the result of being held captive with Tseng for three and a half years, but Rufus felt it was a bit more complicated than that.
Tseng had touched him that day in a comforting gesture, something he’d never done before despite Rufus’ repeated attempts to find any excuse to touch Tseng. For years he had considered what it might be like to cross the line with Tseng, partially out of touch starvation and partially because he had always been attracted to Tseng and that attraction was only made worse by the fact that Rufus enjoyed his company now. He fucked himself with his toys and wished it were Tseng filling him up, never ever satisfying the need he had for a warm body pressed against his.
He was going to do something about it. The day’s events felt like a signal to force the issue.
They returned to headquarters discreetly, Rufus keeping his head down to avoid the cameras posted all over the building. They had been out for most of the night and the other Turks would be back in soon, so Rufus and Tseng hurried into the house arrest apartment and Tseng quickly locked up the doors behind them.
“Tseng,” said Rufus, pulling off the ridiculous wig he’d been wearing all day and running a hand through his hair.
Tseng had his back turned to him, hanging his jacket in the coat closet. “Hm?”
“Thank you for today. Genuinely.” Rufus shed Tseng’s poorly-fitting uniform jacket and offered it to him.
Tseng hung the second jacket up and faced him. “Don’t mention it to the others. They already think I’m getting soft.”
“I won’t. But Tseng…”
Tseng stared at him with an inscrutable expression and said nothing, so Rufus continued.
“You know what they say about us don’t you?” He took a step closer to Tseng. “They’ve got a bet going.”
“Nothing happens in my department that escapes my notice,” Tseng answered with his typical non-response bullshit. He didn’t back away from Rufus’ approach.
“And you don’t have anything to say about it?”
Again Tseng said nothing, but his eyes darted to Rufus’ lips before moving back up to hold his gaze.
“Look me straight in the eyes and tell me you’ve never thought about it,” Rufus breathed, moving until he was practically pressed against Tseng, curling Tseng’s tie around his hand. “Tell me the truth, you won’t hurt my feelings.”
Tseng’s breath was shaky against Rufus’ face. “No, never. You’re far too annoying,” he said.
Rufus smirked. Tseng had always been funnier than any of his colleagues gave him credit for, but Rufus had rarely experienced being toyed with in that way. Trying to flirt with Tseng often felt like talking to a brick wall, but in this instance, his sarcasm felt like an invitation.
Rufus traced his fingers against the side of Tseng’s face. It was the boldest he had ever been with his intentions, and he was certain he had never wanted anything more - if he had, he couldn’t be bothered to think of it in that moment.
There were a number of things Rufus considered saying next - lewd declarations of all the times he’d thought about Tseng while he was fucking himself - but he was tired of talking and he was tired of waiting. He tugged on Tseng’s tie and brought their lips together, tense with anticipation until Tseng gripped his waist and opened his mouth against Rufus’.
After nearly four years without that kind of touch, Rufus’ entire body was reacting. Tseng’s fingers dug into his skin, his tongue moving against Rufus’ as they stumbled back against the wall and Rufus ground his body as hard he could against Tseng’s. His skin felt like it was on fire, he wanted - no needed - to remove every scrap of fabric between them until their bodies were touching.
He broke away from Tseng to pepper kisses along his neck, sucking at the skin until it bruised. Tseng gulped in air and a strangled sound left his throat.
“Rufus…I….”
It was over as quickly as it had started. Tseng’s hands moved to Rufus’ shoulders and he put an arm’s length of distance between them.
“Don’t,” Rufus begged. He felt more desperate than he ever had in his life. He clutched at Tseng’s shirt collar. “Don’t think about it.”
Tseng turned his face away from Rufus. “I can’t do this. I can’t-“
“Why the fuck not, Tseng? Are you going to tell me you haven’t thought of it? You didn’t kiss me like someone who’d never considered it.”
“Rufus-“
Rufus took several steps back and stared at him, a realization suddenly dawning.
“Do you not trust me? Is that it?” he demanded.
If that were the case, he was furious. He had gone above and beyond, eschewing his tendency toward selfishness in order to earn Tseng’s trust and while he would admit at first it had been in hopes of bending Tseng to his viewpoint, they had been well past that for some time now.
Tseng looked apologetic, but he didn’t deny it. “Rufus, you don’t understand.”
“Don’t understand?” Rufus balked. “What is there to understand? I’ve lived with you for almost four fucking years Tseng. Do you think I’m faking it every waking moment? I could have run off at any point today and I didn’t.”
Tseng frowned. “I…” He gripped his forehead. “When I found out about what Veld did…that was the day Lazard fled Midgar.”
Rufus bristled, still fixing Tseng with a furious stare. “You said you and Lazard never-“
“We didn’t. He took advantage of my fondness for him. He kissed me in his office and then used powerful sleep materia to knock me out. When you kissed me…I started to think of that day.”
“I’m nothing like that bastard,” Rufus said.
“No. You’re not. But-“
“Do you want further proof of my loyalty, Tseng?” Rufus asked. He felt a pang of pity and disbelief that anyone could manage to take advantage of someone as stoic and steadfast as Tseng, let alone Lazard, but he was still angry at being treated like he didn’t deserve at least an ounce of Tseng’s trust.
When Tseng said nothing, Rufus stormed to his room and returned with his computer. Tseng remained against the wall looking morose and conflicted.
“Do you want to see something I can do?” Rufus asked, clicking through the programs on his computer. He used his software to hack into the door locks and deactivate them, each of them hissing with a release of air before sliding open. Tseng stared at the doors in disbelief. “I’ve been able to do that for the last three fucking years. So why am I still here? Why haven’t I left this apartment until you let me?”
He shut the doors once more and set his computer down on the kitchen counter before rounding on Tseng. “Don’t treat me like I’m someone I’m not. I’m sorry that Lazard did that to you, but I’m also not proposing marriage here, Tseng.” He gripped Tseng’s collar once more. “I want you to fuck me. I haven’t been fucked in almost four years and it’s all I think about.”
Tseng breathed heavily through his nose. Rufus slid his hand between Tseng’s legs and gripped him through the fabric of his pants.
“Will you fuck me or not, Tseng? Because I know you want it too.” He kissed Tseng’s neck and reached for the zipper on his pants. “Tell me you want it.” All of the blood was gone from Rufus’ brain, redirected between his legs. “Tell me you want to fuck me, Tseng.”
“Ah,” Tseng breathed.
“Say it.”
“I do,” he gasped.
“You what?” Rufus whispered against his ear.
Tseng answered by pulling Rufus against him and kissing him, digging his fingers into Rufus’ ass and lifting him easily, stumbling over to the couch and falling against it on top of Rufus. The solid weight of Tseng’s body against Rufus’ was a feeling Rufus had longed for for some time, their bodies grinding against each other, both of them hard and aching.
Rufus arched his back, gripped Tseng’s hips with his legs, thrust against him as they kissed and writhed against each other. Tseng moaned and tugged at Rufus’ shirt until the buttons came undone, a few of them snapping off. In turn, Rufus did the same to Tseng until their chests were flush against each other: skin against skin.
Tseng’s lips moved to Rufus’ neck, across his throat to his collarbone and shoulders. Rufus clutched Tseng’s back with one hand, gripping some of his hair with the other. Tseng’s erection pressed against his hip and he could just imagine it inside of him until they were both as close as they could possibly be.
A loud ringtone sounded from the pockets of Tseng’s pants. Tseng paused, his face pressed into the crook of Rufus’ neck, and Rufus shook his head.
“Don’t answer it,” he gasped. “Don’t even look at it. Turn it off. Forget it.”
But Tseng was already propping himself up to reach for it. “I can’t ignore it,” he sounded apologetic. “We both know that.”
“Tseng,” Rufus whined, a horrible desperate sound. He tugged Tseng back against him. “Please. Gods, don’t do this. I haven’t had sex in years. I’m so hard…please.”
Tseng frowned and sat up completely, glancing at his phone. “It’s Heidegger.”
Rufus scoffed and fell bodily against the couch, resigned to his fate.
“This is Tseng.”
He watched as Tseng nodded, his look of annoyance turning quickly to one of concern, his brow knitting as his face dropped. “Right. Of course, sir. I’ll have my people on it immediately.”
He was already on his feet as he hung up and Rufus sat up quickly.
“What happened?”
Tseng, who rarely showed emotion beyond the occasional chuckle, looked utterly stricken. “I never told you about what happened in Nibelheim, did I?”
Rufus shook his head. He had long been curious about the events that led to Sephiroth’s death, but only the President and the Turks were privy to the details.
“I left a friend to rot in Hojo’s hands,” he moved to the door. “That was five years ago. And now he’s managed to escape with his life.” His eyes flashed as he unlocked the security doors. “I won’t make the same mistake twice.”