(no subject)
TsengxRufus. If you're looking for porn, don't bother.
Misconceptions.
No one has ever seen Rufus ShinRa bleed or cry.
Tseng never wants to.
Blood and tears, after all, would mar the gleam of the glowing white marble that he's built up beneath the Vice President's feet to honor the man. Piece by piece, it's been a lifetime's work-Rufus's lifetime-and it's Tseng's greatest joy. Although Rufus can't see it, each time he speaks, Tseng mentally adds another inch to the pedestal; although Rufus can't feel it, every time his voice rings out flat and cold, he rises higher and higher in Tseng's eyes.
For he, Tseng feels-no, perhaps for this-is a leader worth dying for, a leader that symbolizes all that Tseng values. A level head, at all times. Amazingly sharp intelligence. Cold efficiency. Rufus gets what he wants and never lets anything get in his way, blasting all other emotion aside.
To Tseng, Rufus has never really seemed human.
But then, Tseng has no qualms with working under a god.
In fact, he prefers it.
He prefers it, greatly, to the distasteful, familiar ways of his old teachers back in Wutai. Drinking with the students, giving them friendly advice, forgiving their failures out of sympathy, showing them flaws-and utterly losing Tseng's respect in the process. With Rufus, Tseng knows exactly where he stands-succeed and live, fail too often and be replaced-and he prefers that, too, because it forces himself to be a better man than he's ever thought himself capable of being.
Rufus looks up and casually orders another assassination, and Tseng feels blessed as he draws his gun.
-----
No one has ever seen Tseng cry.
Rufus sometimes wonders if he ever has.
He can't imagine it. Not at all. Tears, streaking down Tseng's cheeks? Impossible.
But then again, that's what most people would say about him, too.
He likes the man, likes the Turk, because he likes the worshipper that he senses in Tseng. When Tseng's around, it drives him to be colder, more merciless, more effective. When Tseng's around, it drives him to be a better actor than he's ever thought himself capable of being.
Because when Tseng's around and watching him with approval in those hard black eyes, Rufus can almost share his faith and believe, too, that he's something beyond human.
After all, everyone knows that Rufus ShinRa can't bleed or cry.
And even though he knows they're wrong, Rufus looks in the mirror sometimes and wonders if they're right.
He wants them to be. God, does he want them to be.
If only all of it were true.
But Rufus looks up and casually orders another assassination, and from the way Tseng nods and almost smiles, Rufus knows that Tseng believes.
Somehow, that's good enough.
-----
It's with tears on both sides that the illusions come tumbling down, flecks of white marble scattering everywhere as the god-man falls and his follower fails to catch him.
Rufus hides in the dark of his bathroom, lights off so that he doesn't have to see his face in the mirror, ignoring the wet streaks of warmth that crawl down his cheeks and the wet streaks of warmth that crawl down his palms from where his hands are bleeding from his tight-clenched fists. He's not crying, he's not bleeding-not happening, damn it-but it's dark and he's alone, so it's okay.
Except it's not. It's never okay, just knowing for himself that he resorts to this, time after time. It hangs on him, his humanity, dragging him down into a pit of shame--one that he finds is harder and harder to rise from with each violent, hated descent. This in the mirror is not the man he is, he repeats in his head. This tearful bloody wreck of a man is not Rufus ShinRa.
And all he wants, right at this moment, is to see that look in Tseng's eyes: that look--the only look--the one tells him that he's right.
Except when Tseng knocks on the door, informing him that his car departs in fifteen minutes, Rufus freezes, eyes wide in the dark, and repents of all his wishes of the second before. He can't speak, for the thickness of his voice, can't tell Tseng he's alright when he asks. And Rufus hesitates just a moment too long.
A moment that Tseng uses to draw his gun before he breaks through the door.
And then they stare in horror at each other, Tseng at his false idol and Rufus at his cultist, and the only noise is Rufus's ragged breathing and Tseng's weapon falling and clattering on the tiles of the floor.
Sir- Tseng starts in revulsion. You're-
Then the Turk's disillusionment hits Rufus like a train, and Rufus turns away, unable to bear the scathing light of truth.
-----
Rufus turns away, and Tseng can't stop him, frozen in fear in the doorway. His tongue stops working, mind stops thinking, heart races far too fast in his chest. This is his idol, the man he's worshipped, crumbling to pieces before his eyes, and the stone built up around his figure is falling away to reveal that what Tseng's covered up for so damn long is only human.
Tseng's tears, when they form, are of anger.
How long, he wonders, has he been blindly following Rufus? How long, he rages, has he been fool enough to believe? How much admiration has he wasted on this crying, bleeding boy in the bathroom?
How long has he been obsessed with a man that doesn't exist?
But it's realization and not anger that makes his first tears actually fall, jarred out of his eyes as they open wide in shock.
The man he's been obsessed with doesn't exist-that's been proven far too true.
But, it hits him then, a different one does.
And that's the Rufus he's looking at now. A human Rufus who isn't human. He's looking at a Rufus who has been-who still is-the man that Tseng's worshipped so long, not out of nature but out of sheer strength and force of will. The only difference there, he realizes, is that it's been harder for his leader to appear to be all that Tseng has loved.
In a way, Tseng feels blessed.
Blessed, for his idol of ice has just taken on two extra dimensions, and it's the three-dimensional Rufus he wants as he shuts the door behind him and pulls him into his arms.
-----
Rufus stares at the door in stunned silence, chin resting all of a sudden on Tseng's right shoulder, and forgets to breathe for just a moment as his cheek brushes against Tseng's hair.
What is this? What sort of game? What exactly the hell does Tseng think he's doing?
Just because Tseng thinks he's human-
Is it pity? Tseng pities him, is that it?
Rage.
Rufus draws himself up, raising a hand to wipe at his eyes, then reaches behind Tseng for the wall, finding the light switch and flicking it on. The harsh white brilliance of the bathroom lights instantly flood the little room, and Rufus glares up at Tseng in cold defiance, daring him to say anything at the extra dose of reality and ready to retaliate with icy chill.
Except Tseng doesn't say anything.
And Rufus can't find any words, either, when he realizes his Turk can cry.
But the disillusionment, he notices, is completely gone. The expression in Tseng's eyes is different, now, as hard and as black as ever, but approving all the same. Approving, and patiently waiting for Rufus, as always, to take command.
So Rufus does, straightening and running a hand through his hair, and pulls himself out of Tseng's arms, fixing his eyes on those of Tseng's.
Your message has been noted. As you can see, I'm fine. Now get the hell out of my bathroom, Turk.
Sir.
But Rufus can't miss the smile that Tseng only half-heartedly tries to hide. There's no belief in that smile any more, none of the fanatical devotion Rufus has so long relied on, but that's been replaced by something else-understanding, maybe, possibly a truer respect. It's the smile of a man who's lost one god and found another.
It's the smile of a man who's found another, and the smile of a man who isn't, in front of this one, afraid to show that he feels blessed.
Tseng.
Sir.
I'll be out in five minutes.
And I will be waiting.
Somehow, that's good enough.